Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 3

Mizuni-sama

Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 3

1. Credits

2. The Giant

3. The Prince and the Moon Goddess

4. The Prince and the Wolves

5. The Huntress

6. The Huntress

7. The Siege

8. Poison

9. Discord and the Prince

10. The Huntress and the Wolves

11. The Serpent King and the Huntress

12. The Phoenix King

13. The Prince and the Scribes

14. The Prince and his Honor I

15. The Prince and his Honor II

16. The Huntress and Her Prey

17. Royal Negotiations

18. Ritual Sacrifice

19. The Siege I

20. The Siege II

21. The Prince and his Sorrow

22. The Prince’s Penance

Credits

Copyright © 2007-2014 Mizuni-sama (real name unknown)

Original publication on FanFiction.net

EPUB and MOBI edited by Brendan Long
Source code for these versions is available on GitHub

Based on the characters of J.K. Rowling, and her books:

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The Giant

“Potter! Where are you?!”

Harry grimaced at the sound of his wretched teacher and guardian came storming up the stairs from the potion’s lab. He was almost done drying the dishes from breakfast, and had been looking forward to spending the rest of the morning exploring the acreage around the house. So far he’d barely stepped foot outside accept to clean the windows and banish some gnomes from the garden, and though he didn’t know if it was intentional he was getting extremely annoyed. It was summer vacation for the love of Merlin!

“In the kitchen,” he replied dutifully, biting back a sarcastic remark. Sarcasm got him nothing with Snape but more chores.

The potion’s master stalked inside, an overwhelming shadow in the bright kitchen. He was dressed in his usual black robes, but his hair had been pulled back tightly and a cloth mask and goggles hung around his neck. Whatever he was experimenting with was obviously dangerous.

“What are you doing in here? Don’t you have homework?” he said testily, stripping off his safety ware and tossing them in the sink beside Harry. Not bothering to wait for a reply, he rummaged through the cupboards. “Where is the bread? There was a loaf this morning.”

“It was moldy so I threw it away. Along with Thursday’s leftovers. Milk is gone too, and I had to give Inana the last of the eggs. About the only think left is tea and some potatoes.”

“A simple ‘You need to go shopping’ would have suffice.”

Snape set about brewing some tea.

“We need to go shopping,” Harry said pointedly. “If I’m going to have to cook, I need the right ingredients.”

“You have homework.”

“I’ve done nothing but homework and chores since I got here.”

“All five days, oh how you must have suffered. Besides, you start work tomorrow, you’ll have less time to do it then.”

“Just let me come or you’re going to have to go to town every other day because you didn’t know what to get.”

Snape snorted.

“This is why I never wanted to get married. Nag, nag, nag.”

Funny, I was thinking this is exactly why you need a wife, Harry thought, but wisely didn’t say, continuing to dry the remainder of the dishes. Life with Snape was pretty much an on going battle of wits and wills. Snape would have been more than happy to order Harry around all day long no doubt, but Harry had plenty of experience at avoiding house work and sneaking about from his time at the Dursley’s. Additionally, since Snape proved very quickly he couldn’t scramble an egg let alone make a meal, Harry had the power of food. A tired, irritated Harry meant Snape would be left to forage for himself. How he had survived without a house elf (or wife) for this long, the Gryffindor had no clue.

Snape never did agree to take him along, but by the time he was finished with his tea Harry had already finished the dishes, made a grocery list, and gotten on his shoes. The potion’s master gave him an annoyed look as he traded his potion’s robes for a lighter (although just as dark and plain) robe, but said nothing when Harry followed him out the door.

The day was typical English summer, hot and sunny and the air thick with a subtler magic Harry would never have noticed before that winter. The acreage around the house was mostly wild field surrounded by a low rock wall, two gravel paths leading from the house, one to a dirt road on the other side of the wall and the second to the back of the house to the green house and some woods beyond that. The fields were thick with wild flowers, and their seedlings floated about the two travelers slowly, their defiance of gravity casting the place in a sense of time slowed. Harry peered about, feeling a strange sort of euphoria come over him.

“Potter! Stop daydreaming!” Snape snarled, crushing Harry’s happy feeling. The sense of magic retreated, and the young Gryffindor scowled and trudged along unhappily after his professor. This was not the first time the strange distraction had come upon him, but it was always fleeting. He often wondered if his ability to sense magic was growing or he was imagining it. He thought occasionally of asking Snape, but one look at that scowling gob and he changed his mind.

They walked the mile from the house to the village of Elvenshire, just as the market was beginning to fill. Harry had only been through the village once while picking up supplies after leaving Hogwarts, and he had been too tired to take much notice of his surroundings at the time. It wasn’t much different than Hogsmeade, with the exception of a collection of about eight stalls in the center of village. The witches and wizards wore simpler clothes than city wizards and his classmates, rough home spun material rich in needlepoint details as well as patches and stitches. If they weren’t rich, they certainly weren’t starving either, and the market was full of shoppers haggling for the best deals. Several of the merchants manning the stalls regarded Snape and Harry’s gentlemanly attire with hungry eyes as they passed.

They stopped first at stall selling chickens. Live chickens. Now Harry thought he had a well rounded education, but no where in his school books or lectures had poultry come into play. Elsbeth didn’t count. She wasn’t for eating.

“A sickle for a dozen eggs,” the woman said, and despite being startled by the birds, he was aware enough to snort at the ridiculous price. Snape looked at him questioningly.

“You could buy a hen for that,” Harry said, though he didn’t know if that was true, he did know eggs couldn’t be worth more than a couple knuts. Snape turned a suspicious look at the woman, who paled and stuttered, then tried to laugh it off.

“Your son’s a cheeky lad. Half a sickle for a dozen, just because I admire his spunk.”

This clearly wasn’t the right thing to say for Snape’s expression turned from suspicious to down right livid.

“This,” he hissed, pointing to Harry as if he were a malfunctioning house elf, “is not my son.”

She looked flustered and a bit confused. After her absurd suggestion that he was related to Snape, Harry didn’t feel the least bit sympathetic.

“I’m his father,” Harry said, “Potion’s accident, you know. I blame his mother for buying him the potion’s set as a child.”

“Potter, shut up!”

“Don’t talk like that to me, young man!”

Snape slapped upside the head. It was almost worth it to see his professor cringe in embarrassment.

“Seven knuts,” she offered, “Seven knuts for the eggs.”

“Five,” Snape said, clearly still irritated with her as well as his ward. “Five and I’ll never bring him with me again.”

“Deal.”

The shopping trip didn’t improve after that. For what ever reason, everyone seemed convinced that Harry was Snape’s son and couldn’t seem to comprehend any other situation where a boy Harry’s age might be living with a man of Snape’s age. Snape hated the presumption, but more so he hated explaining the same thing over and over again to strangers who didn’t have any reason to meddle in his private affairs. Harry wouldn’t have minded explaining, but the towns people’s growing confusion was the most entertainment he’d had all week. So the Gryffindor said nothing except to point out something on the grocery list or to prod Snape into haggling (the man was a natural if a bit uncertain about when it was appropriate or not), all the while thinking how he wished the twins were there to make everything ten times worse.

An hour later, the little square was buzzing with bizarre rumors of Harry being Snape’s son, father, nephew, apprentice, servant boy, and shape shifting golem sent to torment the man by an ex-girlfriend. Snape was in a perfectly foul mood as they trudged back home, and Harry was on the verge of laughter despite having to carry all the groceries.

“Potter,” the man said as they entered the privacy of the house, “if you ever breathe a word of this day to anyone, it will be the last you ever breathe.”

Harry had to turn away on the pretext of restocking the cupboard, biting his lip to keep a series of very cheeky comments from escaping.

Harry’s first day of work started out as an exercise in well controlled panic. He woke up perfectly on time, and decided immediately it wasn’t early enough. He hustled through his morning routine easily enough, until it was time to get dressed at which point he became inexplicably lost. What did one wear to a hospital for magical creatures? He had never even been to a muggle veterinarian’s office, let alone a wizarding one. Should he dress in his nice school clothes or would this be a dirty job that required something sturdier?

Snape would probably have known, but if Harry asked him what he should wear he’d more than likely get a snarky remark like ‘Anything that isn’t blue. Blue makes you look fat,’ or ‘Do I look like the editor of Witch’s Wardrobe?’ He finally opted for a set of his older school clothes, but then had to spend an extra fifteen minutes ironing them out.

He set about making a simple egg and sausage breakfast, then remembered half way through that he hadn’t made lunch for later. By then, Snape had come down and grumbled about preferring his eggs over easy, and immersed himself in a newspaper. After rushing through the rest of breakfast, he rummaged through the cupboards but couldn’t find anything to put his lunch in, and the only response Snape had given him was ‘they have a cafeteria, you know’. No, Harry hadn’t known, nor did he know if he would have to pay for lunches there or if they were provided. He didn’t want to ask either.

He grabbed a couple of sickles from school trunk, the last of his previous job’s wages he hadn’t sent to the bank, and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. No sooner had he closed his trunk then the door bell rang. Rushing to tidy himself in the mirror (and realizing too late he was missing a button on his shirt and his hair was messier than usual, so he looked like a hobo), he descended the stairs towards the entry way.

Snape was already there, interrogating a skinny little man in pressed white medical robes whom Harry could only describe as ‘antiseptic’.

“Really, Mister-”

“Professor.”

“Yes, of course, Professor Snape, is this really necessary?”

Snape stared at him stoically, until the antiseptic man bent to his superior professional egotism. He let out a mumbled jumble of words that must have been his approved password, though Harry could only make out ‘baby hippo’ and wonder where Snape’s sadism ended and his sense of humor began.

“Very well,” the professor relented, a reluctance in his tone meant to prolong the other man’s torment rather than any true suspicion. “Potter!”

“Here, sir.”

“Behave yourself!”

And he stalked off. Harry and the antiseptic man stared after him for a long moment, then hurried out the door.

“Sorry about that, Mr.?”

“Healer Meldwich,” he corrected pointedly, then seemed to ease up a little. “It’s quite alright. Important man, Professor Snape, but a bit high strung. I hear teaching does that to you.”

Harry doubted that Snape had been any less of a prat before working at Hogwarts, but didn’t contradict. They walked at a clipped pace towards the road where the anti-apparation wards ended. Harry caught Meldwich peeking curiously at him several times, always on the verge of saying something.

“Did you want to ask me something, sir?”

The man became flustered, but his eagerness sparked like a wildfire.

“It is just… I never thought… Would it be… uh…”

Harry waited patiently. Finally, Meldwich seemed to put together what he wanted to say.

“My colleagues and I were so excited when we received approval from your guardians to have you work with us. You have a rare and magnificent talent, and so little is known about it. I feel like a silly little school girl when I think about it. Would you mind terribly…?”

Harry felt a blush coming on, burning at his ears and thought of declining, but couldn’t think of why he should be so shy. It was just talking. No different than talking in English or German. Yet to describe anything of his as ‘magnificent’ was intimidating.

“Ah… yeah, sure. Um, is there anything in particular you would like me to say?”

Meldwich’s grin was awkward, unnatural, and perfectly genuine all at once.

“Lets do something simple… today’s date?”

Harry tried, but came up short as if he’d been asked to name the King of the United States.

“Er… I’m sorry but I don’t think snake’s have a word for ‘June’.”

The healer looked startled, disappointed, and then delighted.

“Oh of course! Snakes certainly wouldn’t use a Gregorian calendar to tell time. How silly of me! How about counting to ten? Do snakes count?”

Snakes apparently did count and Harry proved it easily enough, hissing out the requested numerals.

“Magnificent! So they do have a sense of numerical understanding. Healer Beets will be so pleased to have it confirmed! Marvelous! Learning something like this just walking down the road. What wonderful things we will accomplish, Mr. Potter!”

Harry wasn’t so sure. He thought his job would be caring for animals they studied, but it seemed more and more that hewas the animal they were going to study. He turned a bit to look longingly at the house, but all he got from that was the slightest glance at what may have been Snape watching from the window when Meldwich grabbed his arm suddenly and they disappeared.

Snape moved from the window and towards the lab, wondering idly if he would be given an excuse to curse the ratty little creature that afternoon or if it would take a few days. There was no doubt the man would need a lesson in ‘boundaries’ eventually. He knew Meldwich’s type.

Curiosity without conscientiousness.

He’d poke and he’d prod, test and record and test and interrogate and test again and again and again without consideration for the subject he inflicted his curiosity on. Or the fact that his subject was on loan from a very temperamental and possessive Dark Lord.

His Master’s own decision to ‘hire’ Harry out, was of course more for the dictator’s gain than Harry’s. Voldemort was a powerful man, but also a bit conceited. Parseltongue was an ability he prided himself on, and his wide subject knowledge was another. The fact that he knew very little about his own talent was no doubt irksome, even a bit embarrassing. Just the same, allowing scholars to study and experiment on him was too undignified. Ignorance had been preferred until Harry conveniently stumbled into the picture.

Snape didn’t envy Harry for a moment.

If the brat were of a meeker disposition, he might have considered chaperoning for the first day, but he wasn’t so Snape didn’t. It was only four hours anyway. Certainly, a couple of eggheads were no match for the Black Cat of Gryffindor. In fact, he should probably be more worried about them. Yes, he better go check his stock of anti-venom potions right now. The silly boy might have smuggled out a cockatrice egg under his shirt or something.

Damn, Potters. Inconveniencing him even when they weren’t around.

The ‘veterinary’ hospital Harry was led to was called a ‘medical bestiary’, more specifically Lanthrope University Medical Bestiary and Research Center, and more simply the LUMBAR Center. It was a four story red brick building, which would have looked perfectly at home in any English city but stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of a cow pasture three miles outside of the wizarding town of Bridges Burning.

A stable, a barn, and an aviary stood at three different ends of the building, housing the larger creatures in need of care and fresh air. There were several wizards and witches roaming about in white robes and heavy galoshes, carrying medical equipment, feed buckets, and the occasional injured creature.

Harry and Healer Meldwich entered through the lobby, where a several people were waiting with their animals. Some of the animals were perfectly normal, a cat or dog or rabbit, but others Harry had trouble identifying, such as the six legged goat-like creature or the monkey that could take off its head. He had little time to gawk before he was handed a white lab coat and an identity badge by the receptionist. It read:

Harry J. Potter
Research Assistant
Herpetology

The very adult sounding title gave him a distinct thrill. The unfamiliar term ‘herpetology’[1] made him feel like an idiot.

They took the stairs to the fourth floor, Meldwich rambling distractedly and in no particular order about each floor, it’s departments, Lanthrope University (which apparently taught Bestial Medicine and funded the building and its research), Healers, scientists, students, research subjects, the cafeteria, bathrooms, kennels, laboratories, exam rooms, the apothecary, supply closets, the library, and various other things Harry couldn’t keep track of. The healer was clearly eager to get Harry to the lab, but it didn’t stop him from introducing him to every healer they came across in hopes of inducing some sort of envy.

It seem to work in several cases, and Harry was getting increasingly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Here we are,” Meldwich said at last, stopping in front of a plan office door with a golden plaque titled ‘Herpetology’ on it. Beside it was another plaque with a list of four names, one of which was Melvin Meldwich. Melvin?

“Melvin! Is this him?”

A young man, stocky and eager, was standing before him and shaking his hand before he had stepped completely through the door.

“Hello, hello! I’m Jarod Beets. It’s ever so good to meet you at last!”

“Er… nice to meet you too?”

“Healer Beets, please refrain from using such familiarity. It’s unseemly in a professional,” Melvin scolded, but Beets paid him no mind and dragged Harry over to meet the other people there. One was a woman, plain by all account but for slightly wicked tilt to her lips that reminded him of Natalie. He barely noticed her however, for the last man was so stunning, Harry couldn’t help but gape.

He was HUGE.

Easily as wide as three men, and he had to crouch so his head wouldn’t knock the ceiling. Unlike everyone else Harry had seen, he was wild looking with a mess of a beard and scraggly hair, that his pristine white robes could do nothing to hide. He fidgeted nervously, clearly uncomfortable in the room and the white robe with the tidy little people crowding around him. Harry felt a wave of compassion come over him.

“This is Healer Gabriela Coulter,” Beets introduced. “She specializes in lizards.”

“But I’m interested in all sortsof creatures,” she said smoothly. Harry felt a shiver run through him, as he felt her categorize him into said creature category.

“And this is Rubeus Hagrid. Officially, he assists in caring for all of our…er… more dangerous specimens. Unofficially, he’s a bit of a dragon expert. You’ll be working together a lot in the milking room.”

“Dragons? Milking room?” Harry asked.

Hagrid puffed up a bit, but bumped his head into the ceiling and had to go back to slumping just as quickly. When he spoke, his voice rumbled gently in a Scottish brogue.

“Aye. Ya more than like be see’in a bit o’ both. I be gett’n a new clutch of Irish Blues with’n the week. You might’n luck out and see’m hatch, eh?”

“Really?!”

Harry had seen an Irish Blue once, at a great distance during one of the summer class field trips. It had been massive, and strikingly blue so that if it had taken flight it would have been impossible to see against the clear sky. But it didn’t take flight, instead it snarled and rubbed its body against a grove of trees, snapping them like bread sticks to relieve some minor itch. It never would have occurred to Harry that he could get any closer to such a creature.

Meldwich let out an impatient cough.

“Yes, well… perhaps. You’ll be quite busy here. Now let me show you what you’ll be doing… ah, Hagrid, would you mind stepping out for a bit? I’m sure you have plenty else to do…”

Hagrid hesitated, looking between Harry and Meldwich, something so clearly on the tip of his tongue. Harry gave the man a smile.

“Would it be alright if I had lunch with you?” he asked. “I’d like to ask you a bit about dragons.”

Hagrid grinned, straighted a little, and bumped his head again on the ceiling.

“Aye, I’da be liken that. Meet ya at say, twelve-thirty or so?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you later then. It was nice to meet you.”

“It was good to be meeting ya as well ’Arry.”

With that, the giant man ambled out, squeezing through the door awkwardly. When the door closed, Healer Meldwich gave a snort.

“You needn’t pander to the oaf out of politeness. He’s a fool with a fondness for anything that kill a man. Treats them like misunderstood kittens. He didn’t even finish his schooling.”

Harry looked sharply at the healer, his expression turning very cold.

“I haven’t finished my schooling either, Melvin.”

The healer was so utterly shocked, he fumbled for several moments between embarrassment and indignation, before Beets jumped in.

“Why don’t I introduce you to our lovely ladies?” he said, beaming happily, he led Harry towards another door at the far end of the room, past a couple of cubicles and assorted office and medical equipment. “They’ll be delighted to meet you, I’m sure.”

Beets opened the door, and a rush of heat and humidity immediately fogged up Harry’s glasses so he missed Healer Coulter’s look of predatory amusement as she gazed at her still befuddled supervisor.

By noon, Harry was more than just eager to escape to lunch, he was desperate. Healer Beets was an alright fellow, cheerful and pleasant, but either very insensitive or willfully oblivious to everyone else’s feelings. He’s introduced Harry to some two hundred or so snakes in the ‘specimen’ room, a large room that looked and felt like the outside of several different places in the world depending on where you were in the room. The snakes were kept in individual territories using some sort of magical boundary, rather like a miniature version of the ones Harry had helped set up last summer, that the snakes couldn’t leave without being held my a witch or wizard with a Herpetology Security Badge.

The hot, and occasionally humid, room smelled of vegetative rot and the musky scent of reptiles, and the sound of softly hissed whispers gave the entire place an eerie feeling. The snakes themselves were alternately bored and resigned or temperamental and restless. All seemed quite pleased to meet him, though disappointed when he said he wasn’t there to help them escape.

Meldwich and Coulter had followed Harry around as he greeted each snake, learning their names and their personalities. One snake, a highly venomous and imperious Rainbow Serpent from South America, even allowed him to help remove some loose feathers that were clearly bothering her, and Meldwich nearly fainted from the sight.

That all had been fine and dandy, if a bit disconcerting, but then they took him to the infirmary where they treated the injured and sickly serpents. It was awful. He was surrounded by broken and torn bodies, withering in pain and crying for relief that no one knew to give them. They were all already undergoing treatment, and there was nothing more Harry could do for them, but assure them that they would heal and be whole again soon.

Worst of all had been the questions afterwards, endless questions about each snake and their treatment effectiveness, and all Harry was hearing was a morbid curiosity about their suffering.

At noon, he quickly but firmly excused himself, and went to meet Hagrid.

“Eya, ‘Arry, you alright’? Ya look’n a bit pale,” the giant man said.

“Fine,” Harry tried, “I’m fine, just… er…”

Hagrid nodded in understanding.

“It takes a some gett’n used to, all that suffer’n in one place. Breaks yer ’art, assum’n ye got one.”

Harry smiled weakly. He knew what Hagrid was saying and he couldn’t agree more. Hospitals were apparently unpleasant places regardless of species.

They chatted a bit inanely about this and that as they made their way towards the stables. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing out there alone with this strange man. Supposedly, they were having lunch, but Harry doubted the cafeteria was behind one of the stalls.

The stable was about ten times larger on the inside than the outside, lined neatly with stalls and an exercise pen in the center. A few animals peeked out from their paddocks as they entered, gazing as curiously at Harry as he was at them.

“What are we doing here?”

“I was think’n ya’d be need’n a bit’o cheer. Thought ya might like to see Wind. She’s good at that,” Hagrid said, his dark eyes twinkling in good humor.

Harry was led to the very farthest end of the stable to a stall door that was locked and encased in several security wards.

“She’s a very precious creature. ’Ave to keep ’er safe from poachers.”

Inside the stall stood a creature of dazzling white, glowing in the dimness like a lantern though it cast no shadows. Harry had only seen pictures of unicorns before, and the real thing was as a like to those pictures as it was to a donkey.

“Oh…” was all he could manage, and spent several moments just gaping. Hagrid let out a chuckle.

“Yeah, she does that. She had a nasty run in with some rogue dementors. Came in looking about as bright and cheerful as an Irish bog. Ya can see she’s doin better now, but the Court is still tryin’ to round up the last of the dementors before they release her back into the wild, so she’ll be here fer another month or so. Some things never change. Government still drags its feet where ever it can.”

As he was talking, Hagrid handed Harry a few sugar cubes, and after a few moments of hesitation the unicorn took a few timid steps forward. Harry held perfectly still and tried to radiate an air of absolute calm and innocence. Unicorns were attracted to innocence, but he wasn’t sure he had enough left in him to appear at all appealing.

Eventually though, she took the sugar and nuzzled his palm.

A feeling of absolute joy ran through him, and in response Wind gave a sort of pleasant shiver and looked at him curiously.

“Ah, she likes you,” the giant said, looking as if he’d just had a theory proven true. “I thought she would. Yer mother had a way with unicorns.”

Harry gave him a startled look and the unicorn edged away.

“You knew my mother?”

“Aye, I did, and a fine lass she was. Yer father too. A brave and truer friend I’ve never known. I used to work at Hogwarts as the grounds keeper while they was getting educated. Of course, that was until after the war.”

Harry’s thoughts exploded into a thousand different directions. Who was this man? How well did he know my parents? Why isn’t he the grounds keeper anymore? Did he fight against or for Voldemort during the war? Did he work with my parents? Does he know about my godfathers? How much does he know about me? How much should I trust him?

“Ya look just like your father, but you ’ave your mother’s eyes,” Hagrid said, then turned away, and sniffed rather conspicuously. It occurred to Harry that Hagrid wasn’t capable of deceiving anyone.

Harry arrived home at exactly one fifteen. He was tired, distracted, and completely ignored Snape’s snide comment about his new white robe and badge. Instead, he went upstairs to shower and then pulled out his sketchbook. Yet his mind wouldn’t let him concentrate on a single subject, and he found himself doodling and abandoning each doodle randomly. An hour later he gave up, and went to his trunk to get something else.

The wooden box he’d received during his last birthday was still there. He sat on his bed and studied it for a long time, running his fingers over the engravings. The password, his mother’s favorite flower, still escaped him, and none of his memories of his home in Germany brought it to mind. Had she even had a favorite flower? Listing off several flowers that came to mind yielded nothing, and finally he set the box aside as well.

Why did it even matter?

His parents were gone, nothing more than memories and stranger’s stories. In the wizarding world, a world they had denied him, he doubted they would have recognized him at all. Wizard, monster slayer, quidditch champion, duelist, black cat.

Prince.

And yet they remained a part of his life, trailing behind him as he looked ahead. Dogging his steps, hinting at a mysterious path that not only lead him away from the wizarding world but also back into it.

Where would their secrets take him next?

1. Herpetology is the study of reptiles and amphibians. Serpentology is the study of snakes specifically.↩

The Prince and the Moon Goddess

“Potter, stop fidgeting.”

Harry threw a mutinous glance at his potion’s professor. He didn’t know how the man could expect him notto fidget. Wizards had always seemed a very…er… proper(?) sort of people. For all their bad taste in fashion, one could rarely find a witch or wizard ‘under dressed’ or ‘inappropriately revealing’.

Werewolves apparently couldn’t be expected to adhere to the same unspoken dress code. Harry had understood this when he had met Sirius and the other werewolves, minimally clad in in leathers and furs.

Or at least he thought he had.

After two years of nothing more casual than a white button-up shirt, Harry had habituated himself to wearing layers outside of the bed and bathroom. Wearing only a pair of black drawstring shorts, his leather gauntlets which held his wand, and sandals left him feeling utterly naked, and standing in front of his potion’s professor no less. Inana’s cool, smooth skin encircling his throat and chest did nothing to distract him from that feeling.

He had been told not to wear anything else and to bring nothing but his wand and Inana, if he chose. It was disconcerting and thrilling and in this case a bit embarrassing. He was keenly aware that he looked scrawny despite his Quidditch exercises and his skin was pale and unhealthy looking from the neck down.

“Won’t I get cold?” he asked, feeling strangely chilled already despite the summer heat.

“You will be provided for, as the Dark Lord’s guest, but don’t make a habit of whining about every little thing. They’ll see it as a weakness.”

It had been two weeks since they had been informed of the date of the werewolf festival, and Snape’s usual criticism of everything Harry had gradually morphed into warnings of Harry’s doom at the hands (claws? teeth?) of his future hosts. As with all things Snape, Harry took it all with a healthy dose of indifference and skepticism.

There was a loud pop, and an unfamiliar wizard appeared on the road. After a moment, there were several more pops and more wizards, and amongst them was Voldemort himself. The Sentinels were all dressed in their usual uniforms, but there was nothing usual about the Dark Lord’s attire.

He was stripped down to a pair of black leather pants, and a leather gauntlet on each lower arm. Around his body was a length of dark cloth that appeared black and then blood red and then forest green depending on how the light caught it, and secured in place by a garnet brooch inlaid with a silver serpent. He was decorated from the top of his head to tip of bare foot with ornaments of bones, tooth, leather, and feathers. In his hand, he held a spear in place of his wand, ashen white with symbols burned into it and armed with an obsidian spearhead. Nagini lay at his feet, coiling loosely around one of his ankles so that he might slip from her grasp easily enough.

Shaman.

The word flitted through him, not from his mind, but deeper to the part of him he knew belonged to the Earth.

He scampered ahead, while Snape followed more leisurely behind, eager to leave and face his fears and see his godfathers and whatever magic werewolves practiced. Voldemort greeted him with a patient indulgence, ruffling his hair when he came close. Without warning, he plucked off Harry’s glasses and handed them Snape.

“These won’t survive where we’re going,” he said, and Snape pocketed them and waited. “How are you, Severus?”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“Any problems? I trust Harry is behaving?”

“Well enough, though he takes a firm hand, like all children.”

Voldemort didn’t doubt Snape’s ability, but he did find it a bit amusing that the man thought he had some sort of control over his protege, especially when said protege didn’t hold back the series of nasty looks the potion’s master’s comment earned him.

“No doubt you’ll be enjoying your ten day reprieve. I wish I could stay longer to talk, but I am expected soon. Good day, Severus.”

“Good day, my Lord,” he said dutifully.

Harry was about to say something, but his words were lost when Voldmort’s hand suddenly seized his shoulder and they apparated away. They reappeared without the entourage in a forest Harry recognized, despite his sudden blindness. The scent of it all was familiar to Harry, warm and sweet and earthy all at once, and the birds and insects sang out in a familiar tuneless song. A few paces away, he could make out a glowing green line in the shadows of the trees marking off the border of the werewolf territory.

Voldemort took a moment to gather up Nagini, who flickered her tongue curiously, but was otherwise limp and sedate. Inana reared up and flared her hood as they became more level, but the larger serpent merely chuckled mockingly. The Dark Lord smirked.

“Come along, Harry, they are expecting us.”

They passed through the barrier effortlessly, and once inside a feeling of being watched came over the young Gryffindor. He scanned the surrounding vegetation, but heard and saw nothing.

“They are there,” Inana reassured him. “I cantastethem.”

Voldemort nodded.

“Low level pack members only. They are here to alert their alpha when we arrive, and too timid to show themselves.”

Try as he might, Harry could find none of them, although he felt their presence as they walked the two miles to the werewolf commune. Voldemort held light conversation with him along the way. He was appraised of Healer Meldwich’s research and the progress that had been made in deciphering the limits of Parseltongue-to-English and vice versa translation.

“Healer Meldwich is an idiot,” Harry said at last. “He goes on and on about how little a snake can understand in comparison with a human, but that’s a lot less than what a snake understands that a human can’t. He never listens to me when I try to explain this. Just bushes it off as unimportant or changes the subject. If you ask me, Hagrid understands animals a hundred times better than Meldwich ever will.”

Voldemort started, but he recovered so quickly Harry didn’t even notice.

“And who is this Hagrid?”

“He’s… a sort of magical creature enthusiast. He takes care of the really big or dangerous or troublesome animals, and not just the snakes. He’s raising a clutch of Irish Blue dragons and a unicorn, and he showed me how to ride a Hippogriff. I don’t care how educated all those healers think they are, Hagrid’s the one that got it right. Well… except for this odd idea that all creatures, especially dangerous ones, are all misunderstood babies, but… well every wizard seems to have his quirks.”

It had been years since the Dark Lord had heard the name Rubeus Hagrid, and he could still recall him both as a boy and a man with this extreme love of any creature with a nasty disposition. He wasn’t quite sure what had made him spare the oaf, for he was an abomination and worse yet, an idealistic and naïve one. Ah well, he was harmless.

They continued to chat for another twenty minutes, when the sound of people caught their attention. They crossed a narrow creek and found a road of compact earth, along which was the occasional man or woman or child bedecked in leathers, ivory, and fur. The werewolves all paused when they spotted the two, and bowed low when they passed and didn’t look up until they were well ahead of them. Harry squirmed under their reverence and hoped none of it was directed at him.

At the end of the road, the werewolf commune appeared as a crowded mass of merchants, buyers, musicians, dancers, fighters, and riotous children. Many of the werewolves were painted with bright blue or red paint, some with runes, others with celestial symbols, and even more with shapes that seemed to signify some sort of status or occupation. The air was thick with the smell of cooking meats and somewhere a fiddler played a dancing tune over the merchants hawking their wares and the snarls of two young men boxing bare-fisted in a tight circle of spectators.

Harry tried to take it all in at once, but the commune was too crowded and quick and his vision too lousy to keep track of one thing let alone all of it. He was spared his dizzying assessment by the arrival of Fenrir Greyback. The Alpha was just as monstrously large and intimidating as Harry remembered him, and even Voldemort’s solid presence couldn’t keep Harry from retreating a few steps at his approach. The werewolf, dressed similarly to Voldemort, but for a sword rather than a staff and a fur of bright red in place of the shimmery tartar. Behind him followed some half a dozen other werewolves, attendants of some sort. Greyback’s yellow eyes lingered on Harry’s petite form for an intense moment, before he turned his attention to Voldemort. The two men, kings in their own right, greeted each other as friends and embraced as best the man eating snake between them would allow.

“Greetings to you, Lord of Snakes,” Fenrir said in his growling rumble. “Arrangements for your stay have all been prepared. We are glad to have you. The moon will be in a powerful alignment this year.”

“It is good to be here, Lord of Wolves. And yes, I have done the calculations as well. The signs are promising.”

The two men turned away from their entourage and began walking towards the Western end of the grounds, discussing astrological alignments and goddesses and pack politics and various others things Harry could make neither head nor tails of. He hung back with the troupe that had accompanied Greyback to meet them, and noted that a few of them were familiar. Athena, for one, who now carried a young infant in a sling on her back, and snarled at all who crowded too close to her and her fragile charge. Also Jackal, who flashed a hungry grin at him, before turning his attentions to a lanky female.

He was looking for his godfathers, but they still managed to take him by surprise. One moment he was scanning the crowd around a fighting circle, and the next he was seized by either arm and practically carried away.

“Prongslet! Fancy seeing you here!” Remus greeted.

“And without your robes on. How scandalous!” Sirius laughed.

They pulled him along so quickly, that he was dragged clear out of sight before either Dark Lord or Alpha could be notified, let alone interfere. Harry pondered any potential trouble be might be in later, and dismissed it in favor of playing with his family.

“Oh, no, I’ve been abducted! You’re not going to eat me, are you? I’m terribly bony. You might choke.”

“Well, since you aren’t very appetizing,” Remus said, looking thoughtful, “we could initiate you into our pack. What do you say?”

“Would I get to stay up late?”

Sirius and Remus laughed and released him, letting him follow them behind a tent. There a girl, no older than Ginny, sat surrounded by buckets of red and blue paint. Both his godfathers bowed respectfully to her, and she gave them a distracted smile and gestured toward a stool in front of her. Harry took it as an invitation or possibly a gentle command and sat.

“Harry, this is Luna Moonshine,” Remus introduced, “She’s… ah… she’s a ?”

“I’m a goddess,” Luna offered, “A minor one.”

He blinked at her, and couldn’t help but stare. She was very pale, but not from ill health, for she glowed just as Hagrid’s unicorn had with implacable and incorruptible magic. Stone beads of every color were woven into her pale yellow hair, and dangled from her ears and her neck and arms and just about anywhere her skin was bare enough to be decorated. A cloth of the same material as Voldemort had worn was wrapped around her body in a tunic and held together with crescent moons carved of ivory. Pale blue eyes stared at him and though him and beyond him not with intensity, but a sort of benevolent indifference.

He did not doubt her claim for a moment.

“She acts as a conduit for her mother, the Moon Goddess, during the festival. She will paint your markings to describe your position in the Moon Goddess’ favor,” Sirius explained and gestured at the red triangles running up each of his arms and the thick red stripe that ran from his forehead to his navel. “These mean ‘leader’ and ‘equally balanced’.”

Remus’ were different. His markings were blue and covered only the right side of his body, consisting of three bands around his arm and a series of interlocking loops from the tip of his toe to the top of his shoulder and down his back again.

“Mine mean ‘mediator’ and ‘faithful’.”

Harry nodded and turned back to Luna, who had already selected a bucket of red paint and was sorting through a variety of brushes. Having made her selections, she gently unwound Inana from his neck and placed her around her own, and the serpent went without protest.

“You are many things,” she began, lifting her paint laden brush to sweep over his eyelids. “Your present is composed not only of your past, but of your future. Your future defines your past. Your past reveals your future. Your life is composed of destiny.”

She was silent for a long moment, concentrating on the mask-like band of red she was creating over his eyes. Every so often she would pause to blow the paint dry, and Harry could feel magic in her breath, tingling like pins and needles. When he could open his eyes, his vision was perfectly clear.

“You are many things, more than destiny too. King and usurper. Truth seeker and conspirator. Soldier and ambassador. Earth and Heaven. In all things defiant. In all things defined.”

Her brush moved from his face to his neck, and he opened his eyes to watch. Luna was looking beyond him, looking to something he could only sense as the faintest touch of cool air at the base of his neck. Yet Inana was alert and focused on him, her majestic indifference replaced by a sort of fascination. Harry could not begin to guess what she made of all this. It might well be that she understood these symbols and Luna’s words far better than he did. As a Queen of the Nile, she held some claim to the divine herself.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked, moving down to paint over his nipple. He felt himself darken with embarrassment and tried to think of something distract himself.

“What is my destiny?” he said, though truthfully such a thing struck him as bit absurd.

“To succeed or to fail.”

“To succeed or to fail in what?”

“Too soon for that,” she said, moving along. She stopped for a moment, and looked him in the eyes. It was very brief, but for a split second her unfocused gaze found his and there was a sort of kindness. Or was it pity? “You will discover it on your own, but it is not a destiny to be shared. Even I have not been told.”

And he said no more and she said no more, and behind them Sirius and Remus guarded their privacy and shared concerned looks over this latest non-revelation. Luna worked steadily, but even so it took her almost an hour to complete her painting. Unlike his godfather’s markings, his were not simple or easily defined, but a true piece of art. In the Celtic style, a dragon twisted and knotted its way up his right arm and a lion mirrored the pattern up his left, while a circle with an unfamiliar design rested over the center of his chest and a similar yet different symbol rested on his back. Finally, she painted a tiny little ‘L’ on his right pointer finger and then kissed it.

“She calls you Twilight Seeker, searching for truth in the light of day and the dark of night, but never becoming one or the other,” the strange little goddess said, smiling, and her eyes suddenly very definitely focused on him. “But I shall call you Harry.”

Heat blossomed from his cheeks and headed in every direction, darkening his skin like a evil storm cloud of embarrassment. He had thought Natalie very bold in her attentions at times, but even Natalie hadn’t been so brazen as to paint her initials on him!

“Ah… I.. um… er… thank you?”

She laughed, and it sounded the same as the beads clacking together as she moved. Water and moonlight over stones. And somewhere the fiddler had been joined by a flute, and Luna leaped to her feet. She twirled around him, and with infinite grace replaced Inana around his neck and danced away. Harry could only sit and stare after her, befuddled, charmed, and embarrassed all at once.

A pinch to his cheek drew him out of his stupor.

“Ouch!”

Sirius laughed.

“Oh, if only your father could see this. His little Prongslet picking up girls. Ha ha!”

“Hey, I was not! I have no idea what just happened!” he protested, his face becoming even darker.

Remus wasn’t at all helpful.

“I believe the muggle equivalent is ‘she gave you her number’.”

He took Harry’s hand, dangled the besmirched finger in front of his eyes. Harry quickly took his hand back and sat on it, scowling at the both of them.

“You’re both being stupid! Why would a goddess flirt with a twelve year old?”

Sirius was grinning, so pleased by the turn of events and even more amused. Luna was an odd duck, there was no doubt about it, but she was beautiful and gentle and seemingly unreachable. Yet there she went, reaching out to his godson herself.

“A goddess wouldn’t,” Remus said, smacking Sirius upside the head when it appeared his musing were taking control of his reality. “But Luna is also a girl.”

Harry gave him a confused look. Remus took pity.

“How to explain it? Well, lets just say that before Luna became a werewolf, she was completely normal… er… completely human, I mean. It wasn’t until after she was bitten that she was able to commune with the Moon Goddess. Just like Sirius and I are part wolf and part human, so too is Luna part girl and part spirit.”

“Guess which part likes you?” Sirius leered.

Harry petulantly ignored him. Seeing their godson’s mood quickly souring, they dropped it for the time being, though there would be a more serious discussion between themselves when they were alone. They might be making fun, but the love of a goddess wasn’t anything to snub, and could have serious implications later in the festival. Before that though, they had to properly prepare Harry for what he would see and do while there and what dangers to look out for.

“Come on, Seeker,” the darker werewolf called, slapping his shoulder to get him up and following. “We need to get you some proper clothes. It wouldn’t do to have my godson walking around looking like a weirdo.”

“You’re one to talk!”

Sirius just laughed and walked on, knowing both his mate and pup would follow.

Voldemort and Fenrir had reached the Dark Lord’s temporary domicile, a large tent lavishly decorated without a trace of magical illusion, when they finally noticed the absence of Harry. The serpent king felt a vague thrill of alarm, but his host just let out an annoyed grunt.

“Blackbone, that over grown fox,” the alpha muttered.

Voldemort’s alarm was now replaced with irritation. He had wanted Harry with him during the ritual preparations of the Marking and the Naming, and to ensure that all the werewolves present saw the boy with him and knew not to handle the human child too roughly. Yet the boy’s godfather had run off with him. He was thinking very seriously about laying a curse on Sirius Black.

He passed the next couple of hours cleansing his tent with incense to entice spirits that associated themselves with the night, more specifically night times spirits that were affected by the cycles of the moon. Bird, insect, and flower spirits were the most common, and the weakest, yet they still had their uses. As did the demons, but he would need more than incense to entice those clever creatures into his claws.

From a particularly chatty dragon fly spirit he learned his ward had visited the child goddess and priestess Luna, and had been granted his pack name. Yet for all the spirit’s cleverness it couldn’t tell Voldemort what markings Harry had received, for dragonflies understood little about art or abstracts. The Mona Lisa would have held about as much meaning as a stop sign to it.

An owl spirit informed him that the boy was already mingling with some of the pack’s children by starting a game of football. The boys, though the same age, were larger than Harry and leery at first of playing too roughly with stranger of some mysterious rank, yet Harry was more than up for some rough housing. He fought over the ball savagely, and though he was knocked over several times, he didn’t whine once and leaped right back into the game. Two adult male werewolves were refereeing the match, one urging more playing and less fighting and the other urging the exact opposite.

The owl understood abstractions, but all of the boys had been half covered in mud from their play and Harry was no exception.

Voldemort had no sooner decided to let the child be and meditate on greater powers when the boy appeared at the entrance of his tent. He was dirty, bruised, and looked roguish with his tattoo-like markings. The Dark Lord gave him a thorough once over, unsure of what to make of them. The dragon and lion tattoos were easily enough to interpret, but the symbol for ‘heaven’ on the boy’s chest was a bit baffling.

“I’m sorry I wandered off,” Harry offered politely, though not the least bit contrite.

“No doubt. You seem to be enjoying yourself. The packs are treating you well?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty normal accept for being half naked and all.”

Voldemort’s mouth twitched in amusement.

“Go to the creek we crossed earlier and wash up. There will be feast in a short while and I want you looking presentable while eating beside me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Harry disappeared, revealing the symbol for ‘earth’ on his back as he went, but a moment later he returned.

“Um, my Lord… do you have a pack name?”

Voldemort’s smile was all teeth and malicious glee.

“Why yes. They call me God Eater.”

Harry hadn’t felt so excited since he’d gotten his wand and a whole world of possibilities, most beyond his imagination, had opened up to him. Now amongst a people, at once alike and utterly alien to his own, he felt yet another world opened, if not a door, a window through which he could see clearly. He found himself rushing from place to place, conversation to conversation, idea to idea, and soaking it all up without stopping to consider.

He knew if he stopped and thought about any of what was happening around him, he would be afraid. The werewolves were not as savage as most witches and wizards thought, but they were by no means gentle. They were hunters and gathers, as untamed as the land and its creatures. Adults and children alike were quick tempered, prone to bullying, to teasing, to testing for weaknesses.

Harry had to act assertive, more than would have been tolerated among more ‘civilized’ company. He could not stop to think about his chances of winning a fight against one boy or whether that particular woman expected him to pay for the meat she offered him. He had to throw punches and accept them and get up and eat and run away before the woman noticed he was done. If a strange girl dragged him off to a dance he didn’t know, he would just have to do the best he could until he figured it out. If a strange man snapped at him, he had to dodge rather than freeze.

These instincts came naturally, from out of no where, and as Harry finally had a quiet moment to think about it, he though it might be due to Luna.

“Do you think she… I dunno… blessed me?” he asked Inana, as he washed, knee deep in the creek. The cobra was sunning herself on a near by rock, and hadn’t paid much attention to him after his meeting with Luna.

“Probably,” came the disinterested reply.

“Am I her boyfriend now?”

Inana snorted. Feeling stupid for asking, he concentrated on his washing for a long time. The mud came off easily, but the paint remained completely unaffected, as it would until a special oil was used to remove it at the end of the festival. When he was done, he sat down on a rock beside Inana and waited to dry enough to dress.

A sudden awareness of presence filtered through to his senses, much like it had when he’d first entered the werewolf territory, and he quickly threw on his shorts and stood up to look around.

Fenrir Greyback stood some twenty feet behind him, his expression dark and unreadable. Harry found his eyes riveted to the alpha’s bright yellow gaze, but then realized such an act was considered a challenge to a werewolf and looked away. The werewolf king stepped forward. Harry stepped back.

“Don’t run,” Greyback growled, “If you run, I’ll have to chase you, and you won’t like it when I catch you.”

Harry froze and the werewolf closed the space between them. The young Gryffindor struggled with himself not to look the man in the eyes, not to run, not to fidget, not to do anything other than stand straight, motionless, and staring straight ahead (which was left him level to the head of the skinned animal and its empty eye holes).

“Don’t wet yer self, pup, I only wanted ’ta see for myself.”

The alpha grabbed his arm, relatively gentle considering he could have ripped it out of its socket, to inspect the lion, and then took the other to inspect the dragon. He spun Harry around to look at the symbol for ‘Earth’ on his back, and finally released him once his curiosity was satisfied.

“Luna’s doing, then?”

Harry nodded.

“Your name?”

“Ha- I mean, ‘Twilight Seeker’.”

Greyback grimaced.

“Awful name for a werewolf.”

“I’m not a werewolf,” he blurted, and wished he hadn’t. The man glared at the boy, but he already looked contrite so there was no point in smacking him and he let it slide.

“True enough. Pity too. Luna doesn’t take to very many, and never a man,” Greyback said offhandedly. “Are you afraid of her?”

Harry looked up at him in surprise, then looked away quickly again.

“No… should I be?”

“Yes.”

Greyback didn’t elaborate. He walked off and within seconds disappeared completely. Harry didn’t try to call back, despite the many new questions he bad left behind on his brief visit. Why should he be afraid of Luna? Why didn’t Luna get along with others? Had she done something that had scared the others? He didn’t ask, and if it meant spending another minute in Greyback’s dangerous company then he’d rather not know.

The feast took place outside in a large clearing, with a series of low tables laid out in a spiral, at the center of which a stage had been built for performances. There were no chairs, but furs and pillows had been laid on the ground so that everyone might sit or recline comfortably. Greyback sat closest to the stage, with his wife and brood of young but fierce looking offspring to his right, and Voldemort to his left. Harry was placed next to Voldemort, though he was allowed to wander to other places since he was still too young to be bound to the etiquette of rank.

He found himself near his godfathers more often than not, listening to their wild tales and meeting their equally wild friends and associates. Yet even they couldn’t hold his attention all night, and he found the company of children closer to his age alluring. They had seen him sitting fearlessly beside Voldemort, and were eager to hear about the Dark Lord and Harry’s mysterious position by his side. Harry couldn’t define the relationship exactly, but he was amused enough by their fixation that he told them he was Voldemort’s apprentice and deemed it accurate enough in his own mind.

Eating was a very small part of the festivities, though it was all as lavish as any Hogwarts’ banquet. There were succulent meats of every kind, some Harry had never tried before and still some he had never even heard of before, prepared in a variety of manners- barbequed, baked, broiled, boiled, roasted, grilled, fried, stewed, seasoned, unseasoned, stuffed, shredded, whole, minced, curred, and raw. More surprising was the array of breads and fruits and vegetables available as well. Some of the berries and unusual roots were clearly gathered from the surrounding forest and gardens, and some of them held magical properties (or else got everyone thoroughly drunk very quickly), but just as common were imported items from other countries. Pineapples, oranges, lemons, peanuts, seaweed, rice, and various other non-native foods. When he had asked, Voldemort had told him that werewolves permitted to do business directly with muggles, and much of their monetary wealth came from acting as middlemen between muggles and wizards. Despite their unassuming dress and lifestyle, the werewolves were actually quite rich.

Or at least Greyback was. There was a heavy tax on the trade, which went to the alpha to determine how it might best be used to benefit all werewolves.

Still, the food played a minor role, serving only to satiate and energize those gathered for what followed. There was a tournament for wrestlers and another for boxers and still another for knife fighters (and there were almost as many women involved as men), all of which were fought in one round and were to be continued the next evening after the winners had rested and tended their wounds. Then there had been performances; dances, singing of ballads, acrobatics, fire jugglers, and a comedian who had Harry choking on his food.

It had lasted long into the night, and at some point Harry had leaned back into his pillows and nodded off. His dreams were strange, disjointed and abstract, filled with unfamiliar symbols and half-familiar places.

At one point, he dreamed of Luna, completely naked but for Inana wrapped around her shoulders, dancing on something that mirrored the three-quarter moon and the stars, but not Luna herself, who shone brighter than all of them. She danced and swayed and raised her arms to the sky and lowered them to his cheek, his eyes, his mouth.

When he woke up the next morning, he was exactly where he had fallen asleep, on a mound of pillows not far from the stage. What was not exactly the same was Luna curled up sleep beside him.

Completely naked.

The Prince and the Wolves

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Harry gave Sirius a look that screamed teenhood was well on its way, along with the belief that all adults were idiots. Waking up next to a strange naked girl alone was awkward and embarrassing enough. Waking up next to a strange naked girl and having several hundred people there to see it as well, meant that the world was quickly coming to an end. He would never be able to look anyone in the face again.

So he had left, quickly and quietly, without waking Luna or a majority of the werewolves. Voldemort was nowhere in sight, but Greyback was, and though he didn’t bother getting up from the comfortable pile of bodies he was lounging against, his yellow eyes followed Harry’s retreat intently. The boy couldn’t go far though, knowing he couldn’t leave the territory and completely unfamiliar with the terrain. His godfathers had found him early, and sensing his anxiety, had taken him deep into the forest to talk and think in private.

“Look, Harry, it’s just a werewolf thing. I’ve woken up several times next to naked people and not remembered how… in fact, I was the naked person on several occasions,” Sirius supplied unhelpfully.

Remus slapped him upside the head, and tried himself.

“What the big idiot is trying to say, Harry, is that no one is going to think it was odd or sexual or anything like that. Luna just had one of her… ‘conversations’ with the Goddess that inspired a good dance- which is too bad you missed because it was really something- and then was exhausted afterwards. She might have laid down anywhere, but it just happened to be beside you. Nothing to get embarrassed about. Alright?”

“Mmm.”

Harry never really considered himself a sulker, and found the behavior extremely annoying in others, but try as he might he couldn’t stop thinking about that morning and since none of his thoughts were particularly happy he wasn’t either.

Sirius sighed.

“Harry, you can’t stay out here forever. You’re going to have to return eventually and face this. You’ll just get teased more if you run away.”

“I’m not running away!” Harry snapped, pride prickling. “I’m just trying to figure this out. I mean, how am I suppose to act? What is Luna gonna do? What does she expect? Why does she even like me? And what about the others? How are they gonna act to some outsider running around with their goddess? I mean, isn’t that kind of… taboo? Or something?”

Sirius waved it off as insignificant.

“She won’t be goddess for much longer. The fact she’s showing you attention is just a symptom of that. She’ll just be a regular girl soon.”

“What?”

“Luna’s divinity is fleeting”, Remus supplied, “Once she… ah, becomes a ‘woman’. Then her body becomes her own to do what she will, and the goddess inhabiting her body will move on. Treat her like you would any other girl. I imagine that’s all she wants. She wants a boy, who hasn’t looked at her as goddess all her life, to treat her like a regular girl.”

Harry thought on Remus’ words, found that they fit, and aside from the embarrassment of that morning, they cured most of his worries. He could be friends with a girl. He had several girlfriends…er… girls who were friends already.

“Will Greyback be alright with that?” he found himself saying, recalling the alpha’s intent gaze that morning and the day before at the stream. “I mean… even if she isn’t a goddess, she’s still a werewolf of his pack right? Like a niece or a cousin twice removed or something? I know he doesn’t like wizards any… except for Voldemort of course, but he’s… well…Voldemort.”

Sirius and Remus shared a look, and Harry caught it easily and frowned.

“What? What did I say?”

Remus looked away, and Sirius stood up and paced, trying to think of what he wanted to say. It made Harry nervous.

“Yes…” Sirius said darkly, “He is Voldemort. You have nothing to fear if Voldemort doesn’t allow it.”

The hatred in his godfather’s voice was earth shaking. Not even Greyback had earned that depth of venom and scorn. It brought back to mind that Sirius and Remus were a part of Greyback’s pack, not as an eccentric lifestyle choice, but as a punishment for treason. Treason against the Dark Lord that had overthrown everything they had known, likely killed friends and family, chased his own family from their native land, and whom they had risked their lives to fight against.

And Harry had spent Christmas with him.

A great unease came over the young Gryffindor, a fear of what his godfather’s must have heard about him and Voldemort, and what they thought of him because of it. He wondered what they would have thought if they knew the entire truth of what happened between them since that fateful meeting at the Welcoming Feast.

They hadn’t accused him of anything, hadn’t even asked, and he had naively assumed it wasn’t important to them. But now Sirius was pacing, and Remus was looking anywhere but at Harry, and this was obviously something that was important to them.

After an awkward silence, Sirius spoke again, this time more calmly and looking directly at his godson.

“Harry… are you alright?”

The boy was baffled.

“I mean, are you alright with your situation? Are you unhappy or… scared? Does he treat you well? Does he make sure you are treated well by others?”

Harry fidgeted. He wasn’t entirely sure how he should answer that, but he didn’t want his godfather to hate him. What did he want to hear? That Harry was safe and happy and perfectly content with his excellent education, his new clothes, his chance to see his godfathers? That he was miserable, frightened, and hated the Dark Lord for trapping him in his own private library of lies where curses and monsters lurked in the aisles? Neither was true, neither was false, but his shelves were starting to creak under the weight of his falsehoods so he told the truth.

“I suppose I’m… happy and unhappy and scared and excited and… I dunno. There are some things I don’t like… like having to lie all the time.. because I do you know. I have to lie to everyone, even you, even when I really don’t want to. And I don’t like living with Snape, cause he’s a crotchety old bat…”

Remus’ lips twitched, but Sirius remained oddly stoic.

“And some of the things I’ve seen Voldemort do… I hate it. He frightens me… but also… I sort of… he’s shown me other things. Not all of it was bad. He showed me about where magic comes from and he gave me Elsbeth and this really neat compass thingy and let me write to you and visit this summer and I love all of that, so I’m grateful too. And the school, oh I love Hogwarts, even though it frightens me sometimes, just like Voldemort does. I have these great friends, and they’re all so clever and interesting and brave in their own ways. We have so many adventures, and not just those little kiddy adventures you pretend to have when your small, but real, dangerous adventures that get to be put in books and newspaper articles. And Quidditch! I love flying in Quidditch! And Dueling Club too, even though Ron the Prat got selected as Junior Captain because of that bastard Snape. But… yeah. I guess I’m happy, except when I’m not. But everyone is like that, aren’t they?”

Sirius said nothing for a long moment, simply staring down at Harry and weighing his words, his body language, and his scent in equal measure to discern the truth in that jumble. It was his duty and his privilege to protect his best friends’ son, and not the law, his alpha, a Dark Lord, or Harry’s own reluctance to worry him would get in the way of that. Yet he could sense nothing amiss. His godson, despite his admittance of being a liar, was being completely honest at the moment.

Yet, Sirius still felt ill at ease.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true… but things can go bad real quick, especially when you’re surrounded by powerful and arrogant people like Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Remus and I, we’ve been thinking long and hard about it, and we wanted you to have a way out if you had to or if you simply decided to.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“A way out? Of what?”

Sirius hesitated, but Remus gave him a reassuring look and nodded at him to continue. They both looked around intently for a moment, wary of spies despite the unlikelihood of anyone sneaking up on the two lycanthropes.

“Out of Britain. If things turn ugly, you’ll have to leave the country all together. There’s no where safe here, if the Dark Lord turns on you…”

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. He knew that wasn’t true. There was nowhere safe anywhere if the Dark Lord turned on him. No where on an Earth that loved him more than anyone else.

Sirius gave him a sympathetic look, and continued.

“Anyway, I have a house, or rather I had a house. It’s probably half rotted away by now, but it’s under a spell so that no one can find it unless I want them to. I want you to know it. If you ever need a secret place to stay, go there, and no one will ever be able to find you. I have a wizarding friend I’ve managed to give some items to. If you get to the house, look in the ice box, and you’ll find everything you need to get to Europe, including a list of some people that would be willing to take you in, old friends of your parents as well as some of my own.”

Harry could only stare at his godfather. It was true he had thought about possibly escaping Britain before, but that was a long time ago before Hogwarts had become a home and before he had made himself a sort of family. Now the thought of leaving was sad, terrifying, and lonely.

But if things went bad like Sirius said, they would go very bad, and wasn’t it better to have a last resort than no options at all?

“Okay. What should I do if I… have to leave?”

Sirius sighed in relief, and gave him his plan.

After the revelry of the day and night before, morning in the werewolf settlement was relatively lethargic. Many of the pack had moved from the feasting area to the shade of a tree or a tent to nap or do some mundane task in the shade. Fenrir Greyback was no exception. He and his entire family had moved tp their private lodge.

Among them was Luna.

She did not have a lodging of her own, nor anywhere she stayed regularly, but of the places she liked best she supposed her alpha’s home was it. It was crowded, dark, and smelled of earthy things. The children were napping upstairs, so it was less crowded, but that was good too because she needed to think.

Most people who watched her at all, thought all she ever did was think, but the opposite was true. Very little of Luna’s mind was devoted to considering herself or her environment at all. Of course, as a goddess, she never had to figure things out. She just knew. Most of the time anyway.

Today she didn’t know something, and now she had to think about it. It was quite a wonderful experience. Full of strange emotions like uncertainty, frustration, and wonder.

It was almost enough to make her get up and pace, but Athena was sitting behind her on the kitchen bench, brushing her hair. That was wonderful too. Funny how she had never realized it before. The alpha female’s rough, calloused hands threading through strands of hair, easing the knots away at the barest touch, and singing the only lullaby she knew.

“I’d put my own sweet childie to rest… In a cradle of gold… In the bough of a willow… To the sholuen sho of the wind of the west…”

It was slow and peaceful and so full of affection, and Luna felt herself giving as well as accepting it all for once.

“And the lullo-a-lo of the soft sea-lil-low… Sleep, baby dear… Sleep without fear… Mother is here, beside your pillow…”

Athena stopped for a moment, undoubtedly surprised, but a moment later she joined in and they sang together.

“Sleep, baby dear… Sleep without fear… Mother is here, beside your pillow…”[1]

This was the happiest Luna had ever felt since she’d become a werewolf and a goddess. In fact, it was perhaps the only thing she had ever truly felt for herself.

And it all started with Harry.

Oh, it wasn’t because of Harry. This transformation was inevitable, and she understood that, but it had begun with the boy. That strange boy with the pretty eyes and the proud mouth and the fearless body and that secret fate. It had to have been the secret that made her feel this way. Nothing had ever been kept a secret from her before. Even when she prodded her mother for answers, the secret remained.

She had felt curiosity, and that in itself was curious, and thus this feeling of self awareness had grown. Then came the awareness of others. Awareness that some people were stronger than others, braver, more beautiful or handsome or fierce or kind, and then that she liked certain traits better than others. She liked the curious children more than the obedient ones, and the women who smiled over the ones who were more beautiful, and the men who laughed more than they fought.

She liked Harry most of all, she thought. He was curios about everything, smiled over everything, and laughed at everything. He wasn’t afraid of the pack, though he was smaller than most and smelled of prey, and reminded her inexplicably of a young male buck. Proud, graceful, and energetic.

That’s how she liked to think of him. As her ‘Deer’ one, and it was her first joke, even if it were only to herself.

Her singing trailed off, her rush of thoughts suddenly just too much and she felt herself sliding back into the all-knowing state that was the goddess.

That’s when she noticed Greyback was watching her, and she knew what he was thinking too. He was thinking about her becoming his daughter when the goddess finally left, about Harry’s hold over her, over Blackbone and Slivermoon, and over the God Eater. He was thinking about missed opportunities and opportunities to come. His thoughts were hot and slick like the blood she could always smell on him when he passed close to her.

Something in her trembled, beneath the goddes, and whether it was fear or pleasure she wasn’t sure.

The days passed with sun and rain in equal measure, and Harry found himself extremely busy and yet floundering for something to do. The werewolf boys around his age had taken a strange sort of liking to him, which very much resembled hate. They pranked him constantly, or tried to anyway, to see how many tricks he would or wouldn’t fall for and to see just how he might trick them back. Harry, having the benefit of a wand and two years under the tutelage of the Weasley twins, won out more often than not.

The girl’s weren’t any better, and kept teasing him for being a ‘cute little boy’, kissing and pinching his cheeks, before running off in feigned terror when chased after them. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be minding his own business, when some random girl would suddenly grab hold of him and drag him into a dancing circle he didn’t know the steps to or tossed into a wrestling match over some one he’d never even heard of.

Sirius thought it was hilarious and slipped in a few jokes of his own. Harry was not at all pleased to find Inana missing and then found only when several woman came screaming out of the communal bathhouse.

He left the retaliation up to Remus though, whose experience ran decades over Harry’s paltry two years.

Their talk that morning in the forest was not mention again, and by all appearances had never happened, but Harry recalled his instructions perfectly. It was suppose to reassure him, he knew, but it did exactly the opposite. Suddenly, he had a new option he had never considered before, and it was an unpleasant choice in response to even more unpleasant possibilities. Exile or worse, was what it boiled down to.

And yet another secret, this one he would have to keep from Voldemort and Snape, who specialized in uncovering other people’s secrets.

He wished his godfathers had said nothing.

Perhaps he should have put ink in their flasks.

But there was nothing for it but to distract himself. The craftsmen and women were not secretive of their trade, and if ever he stopped to watch them work they readily explained. The leather smiths showed him how to use every centimeter of skin for something. The glassblower how to handle the hot glass so it didn’t shatter, and what minerals would change the colors once melted. The weapon’s smith showed him how to carve an arrowhead from obsidian, flint, and bone. Remus taught him how to care for a bow. Sirius taught him how to shoot with it.

Perhaps Harry’s only true regret in coming to the werewolf settlement was that he couldn’t bring his sketchbook with him, for everywhere he looked there was something he wanted so desperately to commit to paper. To make up for it, he tried his hand at some other crafts he thought to make gifts of.

Jewelry of turquoise for Hermione, green malachite for Natalie, and red carnelian for Ginny, all done in richly complicated patterns with the help of several of the more vain she-wolves to offer him tips. With Sirus and Remus’ help, he was able to construct another two sets of personalized leather gauntlets for both Clyde and Draco, and while they were at it, his godfather’s took measurements for a breastplate and leg guards for Dueling club. It turned out to be simpler than he thought to manipulate the leather, and the only really tricky part came when they had to varnish the leather so it would be waterproof and stiffen to provide the intended protection without chaffing.

After a hard day of working and playing and avoiding being played with, Harry would settle down beside Voldemort on the feasting grounds, and they would eat and watch the stage performances and talk of the day’s events. Voldemort rarely had much to say, at least to him, but Harry suspected much of what the Dark Lord did involved earth magic and lots of meditating.

Even as the end of the festival drew near there was still much to see and do, and with each passing night the werewolves became more and more wild and unpredictable. The familiar traditions of fighting and merry making were gradually replaced with more mystical rituals. Bards that had sung of the seasons and love and foolishness began singing of ancient legends, hunts, sacrifices, the moon and all her many faces. The stage had been torn up and mangled in a seemingly mad pique by several young adults, who set it alight so that they might dance around it late into the night, singing and howling and kissing and biting.

Tensions finally culminated with the hunt. One minute Harry and the rest of the pack were huddled together in their shelters during an afternoon shower, and then suddenly there was a sound from some sort of horn, and all the adult men and women moved out into the rain and into the forest without a word. Harry was too stunned to do anything for a moment, and when he finally realized something was happening, he got up to follow.

He didn’t make it far before Voldemort stopped him, just outside the settlement. He did not look alarmed, but the grip he took on Harry’s arm was firm.

“This is not an affair for men,” the Dark Lord said, turning his ward back towards the shelter of the settlement. “The moon will be full tonight. You will remain with me for the rest of our stay.”

Harry seemed disappointed, but that hardly phased the man. The lycanthropes would be at their most savage today, and tonight that savagery would peak in a transformation of both body and mind, so he could not risk having the boy wander the camp freely. He had seen too many interested in Harry to risk leaving him unattended.

“I would like your help,” he said, hoping to turn Harry’s disappointment into interest. It seemed to work. “I am going to set up a barrier so that we might observe the transformation safely, and I need to prepare it before tonight.”

“We’re going to see that? Won’t they try to kill us?”

“Hence the barrier. This will be a time of intense magical resonance, and I intend to tap into that. You recall last winter?”

Voldemort watched interest turn into excitement at the prospect of another round of Earth magic, and felt a stirring of enthusiasm himself. The Dark Lord always enjoyed those brief communications between he and the Earth, but before Harry he had never particularly cared to share the experience with anyone. Yet here was a pupil who understood the beauty of the magic itself, and not just the intended after affects of magical sensitivity and increases in power and otherwise unattainable knowledge.

For the first time since they arrived, they spent their time together in uninterrupted company. There was a brief stop at Voldemort’s tent, which Harry was startled to find full of … things. At first they appeared to be little more than random puffs of smoke, sometime in different colors and sometime moving around, but the longer he studied them the more they seemed to take form. In fact, if he stared at any ‘puff’ long enough it turned into something. A bird. A spider. A fairy?

“They’re spirits,” Voldemort explained. “If you grant them enough of your concentration, they can take more solid forms. The trick is getting them to come near you. Communing with the Earth helps a great deal with that. Come on, I will teach you that later.”

They went back out into the rain, and into the field were a charred pile of rubble marked the former location of the stage. The tables and cushions had all been removed, leaving the area clear to work with.

First, Voldemort cast a spell to keep the rain out of the their work area, and then they both worked for almost an hour scouring a fifteen by fifteen foot area for litter and debris. Another hour was spend scouring the area clean of impure spirits, accomplished by burning a fragrant bush of some kind. Harry could feel the difference in the air afterwards, and marveled at how clean the air felt and tasted.

At last came the barrier itself. It was not the same one they used that winter. The outline was of two squares over-lapping each other at forty-five degrees, creating a perfect eight pointed star. In each of the eight points they buried a silver coin, each marked with a different rune and a moon at a different phase.

“This is what will keep the werewolves at bay. If even one coin were incorrectly placed, the barrier would fail.”

“I’ve seen this before,” Harry said, his brow creased in concentration. “In arithmancy class, but I didn’t realize this is what it was used for.”

Voldemort smiled, pleased that the boy had made the connection.

“Arithmancy as a study arose much later than the use of the geometric patterns themselves. The study was originally intended to explain how such symbols worked, and later how to create new symbols for different purposes. It wasn’t until about the sixteenth century before it incorporated things like numerology, and it’s true purpose was muddled.”

He let the possibilities of what he was saying sink in, and set about making the next symbol. Octagons were hard to work in because they lent themselves poorly to purposes outside of barriers and tended to disrupt the magic of circles. So he drew another square first, and set the four main elements to each side: a candle for fire, a bowl for water, a tiny sapling for earth, and a butterfly safely ensconced in a basket for air.

“These will counteract the magical disruption within the barrier, without affecting the magic of the barrier itself. Now for the hard part.”

For this Harry had to wait outside the barrier, in the rain unfortunately, but he didn’t utter a peep of complaint. He simply watched intently as Voldemort drew a circle and within that circle a pentagram, and within that pentagram a crescent moon surrounded by some twenty or so unfamiliar symbols.

Then Harry was called back into the barrier, and together they pricked their fingers on Voldemort’s obsidian spear, and let their blood drip on to the ground

Nothing happened.

Voldemort laughed at Harry’s crestfallen look.

“Don’t look so upset. We’re communing with the Moon tonight, not the Earth. She has to come out first. Come. There is still more to do.”

When the werewolves all came back late that afternoon, Harry was ready to run out and greet them, but Voldemort held him back. It was a good thing too, for when they got closer, Harry could see they were all covered in blood.

“They’ve been hunting,” Voldemort said, “And they will hunt again tonight. Stay close to me, do you understand?”

Harry nodded, unable to speak as Luna, the most blood drenched of them all, saunter past them towards the main lodge. She offered him a bloody grin as she went, and still none of her ephemeral luminosity faded.

He stayed close to Voldemort as instructed, and even if he hadn’t been told he doubted he was brave enough to leave the powerful wizard’s side. The werewolves had become decidedly more hostile, or perhaps he was just finally noticing how their eyes narrowed when they turned to him and how some occasionally followed him, until an irritated sound or look from Voldemort sent them scurrying. Even Sirius and Remus were affected. They hovered some distance away, but always kept watch, their expressions turned humorless and fierce.

How Voldemort remained above such hungry regard, Harry couldn’t fathom, but where ever the man went the wolves slunk away or bent to his demands, from oldest to youngest, omega to alpha. Only Greyback was unintimidated, though he too remained respectful.

“It’s going to be a good moon tonight,” Greyback growled happily. Voldemort was ‘entertaining’ the Alpha in his tent briefly before nightfall, offering a private cleansing with the same fragrant brush they’d used in the barrier. The wild man was thrumming with energy, the blood of his most recent kill swimming through his body and caked underneath his fingernails. “I can feel it.”

“Yes,” Voldemort agreed. “I’ve sensed it too.”

Greyback’s yellow eyes spun to Harry.

“Can he handle it?”

Voldemort didn’t even bother to answer. Harry’s defiant glare at the Alpha spoke for itself.

The rest of the day passed in a tense quiet, the werewolves busy securing their belongings from their own inevitable rampage of destruction, and preparing places to rest and recover for the morning after. Harry and Voldemort kept mostly to themselves, the elder teaching Harry how to give the spirits solid shapes. The boy was still too inexperienced to hear what the spirits said or to summon them, but even this faint relationship he formed with them pleased the Dark Lord immensely. More and more his knowledge made Harry closer to the Earth, and her hold over his soul strengthened.

The rain stopped well before evening, and the clouds retreated to the south, leaving the sky clear for the rest of the night. The only two humans in the settlement went to the barrier an hour before sunset, and half an hour before the packs swarmed into the clearing like ants. The barrier was already active, and though they hadn’t transformed yet, no one but Harry and Voldemort themselves were able to enter their fifteen ft² of space.

And that was a very good thing, because even before their shift, the werewolves were thrumming with latent violence. Fights broke out everywhere, between aggravated males, females savagely guarding their children, and the children bullying each other, and were suppressed even more violently by the pack alphas. Around their barrier, several men and women were pacing, and Harry could feel his heart hammering against his chest.

At last the sun sunk behind the trees, and a quarter of an hour later a fat yellow moon rose to take its place. The affect was instantaneous, and even if Harry had been deaf and dumb, he would have known something was stirring. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and goosebumps shivered down his body. The barrier beneath his feet started to glow, and a sort of humming started, like electricity through a power line.

The awareness sprung up through the souls of his feet, different than before. It was awareness from a different perspective, he realized. The Moon was not the Earth, and She felt and experienced things differently.

For one, She rather enjoyed insanity.

There was plenty to go around. The awareness was more focused as well, and it lingered around the mass of bending and breaking bodies crowded into the clearing. Hundreds of cries of agony and the crunch and snap of bone, failed to convey what it felt like. Harry felt as if his own body were changing, while at the same time perfectly aware that it wasn’t, and the insanity brought on by the pain was nothing compared to the mad blood lust that soon followed. Screams gave way to howls until every werewolf, from the tiniest pup to the most wizen and frail called out in a deafening exaltation to the the sky.

Harry fell to the ground, convulsing in pain and fear, every part of his body and mind resonating and resisting the power of their savagery. But the Moon was not finished, for no sooner than he thought he was going to die of pain, it all retreated like tsunami back into the ocean. He lay there, wrecked and baffled by what had happened. Weakly, he turned his head to Voldemort.

The man was still standing, though leaning heavily on his spear, expression tight. His eyes were luminescent red as they found their way to Harry.

“Wait for it.”

And it came. Gently at first, like a soft breeze, warm with affection and tenderness. The werewolves around them shifted, feeling it as keenly as they, their muzzles pointed fixedly on the Moon. The feeling grew stronger, becoming joy and another jolt of awareness, bringing in to stark clarity all that hid from the sun. Night birds and beasts, the shadow fae, ghosts, and most vibrantly of all- dreams. Thousands and thousands of dreams, all with their own unique scent and flavor, floating in the wind or caught in the boughs of willows and the blossoms of moon flowers.

Harry lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers as a nightmare slip through them, tingling and smelling vaguely of sulfur.

And the feeling grew and the awareness, spreading over wider grounds and delving deeper into things Harry had never conceived of. Love and blood lust and freedom from fear found in bondage to rage and the Earth sighing blissfully under the Moon’s passionate touch.

The werewolves knew only a fraction of it, but that was enough to have them trembling with power and need. Quickly, they dispersed, forming into smaller packs to scour the surrounding forest for food and enemies, in the back of their primeval minds the Moon ran Her fingers through their fur affectionately and urged them on.

At last, the field was empty of all but handful of females with pups too young to follow and…

Luna.

Harry knew her immediately. Of all the werewolves, she was the most beautiful. Brilliant white with silver eyes that stared with curiosity rather than hunger as she trotted towards the barrier. He was aware of her, and yet he was only aware of her enough know that she was hiding from his awareness. She was not open like the other werewolves or the rest of the world or Voldemort who was now as keenly interested in her approach as Harry was. Still, she was so beautiful, and his body hummed with the special love the Moon felt for its daughter.

He sat up, swooned a bit, but managed to climb to his hands and knees and crawled a bit closer to meet her at the barrier’s edge. He watched her sniff at the ground, the air, huff in annoyance, then trot away, circling the perimeter.

“What is she doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

Voldemort was uneasy. Harry could feel it through their connection, not as deep or loving as it was in the Earth Circle, but clear and telling just the same. Luna was a goddess after all, and despite his pack name, Voldemort wasn’t entirely sure he could defeat her while she was in her most powerful form on the second most powerful moon of the year.

This uncertainty should have bothered Harry, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than how beautiful and graceful Luna looked as she circled. At last she stopped and sat down in front of Harry and waited. He smiled at her. She smiled back, and that made Harry laugh riotously. Luna just kept smiling and wagging her tail, asking to play, and Harry wanted to.

Everything was tilted and skewed. The word ‘lunatic’ stumbled through his brain like an answer searching for a mystery to solve.

Was that what was happening? Was the Moon driving him insane?

It must be, because he was crawling closer to the barrier’s edge to Luna, reaching out towards her.

“Harry, stop.”

It took a moment for Harry to realize it was Voldmort who had spoken, which was funny, because he was supposed to be aware of him, but the only thing in his attention was Luna who he wasn’t aware of at all. His didn’t stop, possibly wasn’t able to, and his hand touched fur and sunk deep into it. It wasn’t very soft, but it was thick and warm and so bright against the dark of his skin.

Luna just kept smiling at him as he ran his hand over her shoulder, her neck, her ears which were the softest part, and finally towards her face. She nuzzled his hand affectionately, her mouth opening to lick his palm, to nibble gently with her great white-

Voldemort’s hands pulled him away harshly, and Luna snapped after the retreating hand. She snarled when Harry moved completely out of range, snapping and clawing angrily at the air. Gone was the playful pup, and in her place raged a scorned goddess. The barrier rippled under the force of her magic, and the Dark Lord spun quickly to defile the crescent moon symbol with the obsidian head of his spear and draw a new one. Dazed and finally frightened, Harry could only shuffle out of the man’s way until it was complete. Immediately, the barrier strengthened and cackled with renewed magic, causing Luna to yelp and retreat a ways.

Voldemort and Harry could only stare at one another and wonder what had just happened.

Harry arrived at the house shortly after noon. He was bone tired, and wanted nothing more than to take a real shower and go to sleep till the beginning of the school year. He dragged himself up the gravel path to the house, a satchel full of souvenirs slung over his shoulder that felt like it was full of bricks. The front door was lock when he tried it. Unsurprising since he was a day earlier than expected.

The full moon had left everyone exhausted and several injured, which meant the festivities were officially over. Voldemort hadn’t wanted to linger after Luna’s botched attempt at turning Harry into a werewolf, and told Greyback as much. The Alpha couldn’t really argue, although even Harry could tell he was disappointed that the young goddess had failed. Harry would have liked to have said goodbye to his godfathers properly, but hadn’t been able to muster the effort in the face of the Dark Lord’s insistence.

He shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Everything else could be dealt with after he slept. He rang the door bell. A moment later the door opened.

Harry blinked in surprise.

Hermione blinked back.

“What are you doing back so soon?” she said, moving so he could step inside. “And what in Merlin’s name happened to you?”

He was too tired to be embarrassed, but he could just imagine what she saw. Harry, sun-baked, half dressed, still in his paints, laden with all sorts of primitive ornamentation, and without his glasses no less.

“Bloody hell, Potter, did you go to visit the werewolves or go undercover to spy on them?!”

“Good to see you too, Malfoy, now what are you both doing here?”

Draco was too busy ogling Harry to bother with a reply, so Hermione explained.

“Narcissa always sends us to spend a week with Uncle Severus in the summer. We were going to surprise you when you got back. Ah… surprise?”

“Yes, Hermione, yes it is.”

Since Harry’s surprise was spoiled, they decided to surprise Snape instead. The man spent the entire afternoon in his potions lab, leaving Harry plenty of time to shower, nap, and then tell both his friends a little of what had happened before he appeared.

“That’s insane,” Draco said, and the story was only half way through. “You’re insane. Your first girlfriend was a werewolf?”

“Technically, she was a goddess and also, no, she wasn’t my girlfriend… I don’t think…”

Hermione had pulled out her quik-quotes quill and was scribbling down everything he said, completely enraptured with his tale.

“Oh, I never dreamed werewolves lived such magically rich and complicated lives. I don’t think I’ve ever read even half of this stuff before.”

“Well, I doubt this sort of thing was normal before the Snake and Wolf Treaty. After all, werewolves didn’t live in communities before that, did they? At least not in the last couple of centuries. I bet a lot of this stuff they just developed recently.”

“I suppose your right, but even that is interesting. Imagine building an entire culture in less than a generation? I would love to read a case study on their cultural anthropomorphism.”

Draco yawned.

“Oh, shut up, Draco!”

“What? I didn’t say anything. Besides, we were talking about Harry’s girlfriend. The one who happens to be goddess, not cultural ants, ropes, and morphisms. So what was she like?”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Well, she was nice I suppose, until she tried to eat me.”

Snape had chosen that exact moment to wander into the living room and find his godchildren sitting around a savage looking creature who happened to sound like the bane of his existence. He hesitated in the doorway just long enough to hear Draco’s question and Harry’s answer, before turning around again in search of the liquor cabinet.

1. This is a real lullaby, called An Irish Lullaby with words by Alfred Perceval Graves and music by Charles Villier Stanford.↩

The Huntress

“That’s enough, Shuref.”

The viper obediently pulled away from the ‘milking jar’, drops of his precious venom pooling at the bottom. Harry hissed words of thanks and praise to him, caressing the top of his head in the way he liked best, before returning the snake to its enclosure. He turned to Healer Coulter and handed her the jar with barely a glance.

“That’s the last of it, I think.”

The woman eyed the jar and then Harry with a sort of fondness he didn’t reciprocate.

“We’ll miss you around here, Harry. You’re a very interesting young man.”

Harry wasn’t sure what she wanted, but he had made his dislike of her clear from the first day and if she thought he was going to change his mind now she was sorely mistaken.

“Goodbye, Healer Coulter.”

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Healer Reed and Meldwich?”

He didn’t bother to reply, but left the artificial jungle without looking back at her. After half a summer of being treated like a particularly clever guinea pig, there was only one person in the bestiary that he felt he owed a proper goodbye to. He descended the stairs, dropped off his lab coat and security badge at the front desk, and headed out to the recently added dragon nursery, little more than a dome of fireproof stone with a massive steel door. Hagrid was there, using his break to read the newspaper to his clutch of three tiny Irish Blues. The half-giant insisted that even though they didn’t understand a word, they loved to listen to the sound of their ‘mama’s’ voice. Harry thought this true, but only because the babies had very poor vision and liked to know in which direction they should blow their flames.

“… and despite the Sentinel’s diligent search, no trace of the prisoner has been found. It is believed, that as an Auror of the old Ministry, Moody had inside knowledge of the workings of Azkaban and law enforcement procedures, which were used in his escape- oh! Hey, there ’Arry!”

“Hey, Hagrid. What’cha reading?”

The man smiled and showed him the article. The paper was badly singed, evidence of the Irish Blues enthusiasm for their ‘story time’, but Harry could make out the picture of a rather frightful looking man with a dirty eye-patch and a headline reading:

FORMER AUROR ESCAPES ‘UNESCAPABLE’ PRISON

“That there is an old acquaintance of mine, and your folks too. He was part of the Old Crowd. His name is Alaster Moody, but we all called him Mad-Eye. One leg and one eye and still causing the Dark Lord’s cronies hell,” Hagrid chuckled, and Harry smiled.

All summer the half-giant had been telling him tales about the war, and some of the adventures he and the ‘Old Crowd’ had while working for Dumbledore to stop the Death Eaters. It was strange to hear names of people he knew and liked or at least respected being cast as both heroes and villains, but with Hagrid telling the tales it had all the wonder and believability of a child’s fairy tale. It was fun, like making his mother Snow White, Headmistress Lestrange the evil witch, and all his friends as the dwarfs.

“It’s a strange world, ’Arry,” Hagrid continued, turning to stop a scuffle between two of his dragons, who thanks him promptly by setting his beard alight. The half-giant had it out again with practiced ease in a mere second or two. “Used to be men like Moody going around catching men like Malfoy. The whole place goes topsy turvy in a year, and half the time you can’t even tell the difference.”

“Is it like that saying? You know, ‘the more things change the more they stay the same’?”

Hagrid thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement.

“Aye, tha’d be it. Just like that. You’re a clever one, ’Arry. You’ll do good in life. Speaking of which, it’s almost time for school again, ain’t it? Ya ready ta go?”

“I can’t wait. I haven’t seen my friends since my birthday and then we only went shopping for school supplies. Plus, no more living with Snape for the summer or those silly etiquette lessons or Healer Meldwich or… is it bad that I enjoy the school year more than the summer break?”

Hagrid burst out laughing.

“Nothing wrong with liking school. It’s probably more of a home than anywhere else at the moment. You wouldn’t be the first to think so and you won’t be the last.”

Harry straightened his tie as an excuse to look at his reflection in the station house window, looking for any remainder of the pale band of skin over his eyes that marked where his ritual paint had been. After nearly a month, the untanned skin had mostly darkened to match the rest of his complexion, but underneath his shirt Harry could still quite clearly see where the symbols had been. He wasn’t intending to make his vacation into werewolf territory public knowledge, and trying to explain his markings might prove a bit awkward.

“Mr. Potter, if you don’t stop fidgeting with your tie, I will be forced to strangle you with it.”

Harry looked over at his potion’s professor, standing stiffly ahead of him. The man was just as dour and unpleasant as ever, and despite spending almost an entire summer with him, Harry couldn’t say he was any more or less fond of the man. Snape, it seemed, would forever be Snape, regardless of his setting.

“Yes, Professor.”

“I trust you can make it the remaining twenty steps to the passenger cars without falling into mortal peril or starting a riot?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“I should like to see you demonstrate.”

“See you at the Welcoming Feast, sir.”

He rolled his trolley over to the baggage handlers, leaving his trunk and Elsbeth’s empty cage in their care, and took only his school satchel and Inana in her basket to the first available car. No mortal peril or riots presented themselves, and feeling quite proud of his success, Harry went in search of his friends.

The train was only half full, and Harry had the benefit of leaving his clunkier luggage in the baggage car, so he was able to navigate fairly well. Perhaps the only impediment was the number of school mates who stopped to greet him and ask about his summer and what his plans that year were. It was a bit odd since no one had seemed nearly as interested the year before, but the narrow and busy aisle of a train wasn’t the place to ponder it so he focused on finding the right compartment.

He was coming towards the end of the passenger cars, when his way was obstructed by a woman heading in the opposite direction. Something about her immediately caught his attention. She was pretty with pale skin and chocolate brown hair cropped just under her chin in Parisian chic. She was only in her early thirties, but carried herself like a confident professional, vaguely arrogant and daring anyone to stand in her way.

Harry didn’t particularly feel like taking up that dare, so he looked for a place to move out of her way but before he got the chance, she had spotted him.

“Harry!”

The Gryffindor jumped in surprise, and looked quickly behind him, but there wasn’t anyone there but Colin Creevey and his brother. Turning back towards the woman, he found she had moved much closer, and he nearly stumbled back in surprise but she caught him by the hand and shook it firmly.

“You must be the infamous Harold Potter. I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Um… hello?”

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to startle you. I am Professor Vesper Larousse, your new DA&D instructor.”

Harry took another moment to reassess her. Still quite pretty, but on closer inspection he could spot a faint scar over her lip and one of her fingers didn’t close completely over the case she was carrying. Her outer robe was a fashionable lavender color, but under that was a courser black set, and she wore boots with steel toes and short heels. Her dark brown eyes were alert, examining him while he examined her.

“I see. Well then, it’s nice to meet you, Professor Larousse. I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts.”

“No need to be so formal, Harry. I suspect we’ll be good friends before the end of the year.”

“Er… yeah, perhaps we will. Um…”

“If you are looking for Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy, they are three doors down and to your left,” she offered, and neatly moved into one of the compartments to let him pass.

“Oh, yeah, thank you, Professor.”

He hurried past her, and straight to the indicated compartment, barely making sure it was the right one before shutting the door behind him. Hermione, Natalie, and Draco looked up when he entered.

“What happened to you this time?” Draco drawled, fully prepared to accept a story involving unicorns and Viking invaders.

“Creepy new professor. She called me ‘Harry’.”

Hermione expression was condescending. “Well, that is your name. I don’t think you should go around calling people ‘creepy’ just for that.”

“Hermione, she called me Harry, she called you, Ms. Granger and Draco, Mr. Malfoy, and knew that I was looking for you without me saying so. And then she said we’d be ‘good friends’ by the end of the year. She was definitely creepy.”

Natalie laughed.

“Presumptuous woman. I’d like to meet her.”

“You’ll get your chance. She teaches our Dark Arts and Defense class. Have any of you ever heard of Vesper Larousse?”

Hermione perked up.

“I remember her. She used to come to our Christmas parties. She scared McNair silly. I remember wanting to be just like her, but then I haven’t seen her in years.”

Draco and Natalie just looked blank, nothing coming to mind.

“Well, if she can scare McNair, at least she must have some clue about what she’s doing.”

“What ever happened to McNasty anyway?” Natalie asked.

“Azkaban, last I heard,” Draco said, “Lets hope he doesn’t pull a ‘Moody’ and escape.”

“That isn’t funny,” Hermione scolded. “Moody is very dangerous. The newspaper says his cell was covered in pictures of him killing Death Eaters in all these horrible ways. A lot of people are really scared he’ll decide to come after them. Lucius included.”

“Father isn’t afraid of anything. Besides, if the man is really clever enough to escape from prison he should be clever enough to get the hell out of Britain.”

“That’ sort of the point, Draco. He’s crazy, but he’s clever too. Who knows what harm he could do if he isn’t caught?”

Neither Draco nor Natalie were impressed, and Harry didn’t understand her concern either. A crazy escaped prisoner was interesting, but hardly a concern at Hogwarts. He doubted she was worried about Lucius.

“Hi, Harry!”

“Hi, Dean.”

“Natalie, you curled your hair!”

“Horrid, isn’t it? You’ll have to help me straighten it again, Pamela.”

“Good to see you again, Harry!”

“You too, Oliver.”

“Hermione, did you know when our first meeting is again?”

“Probably tomorrow! You’ll get a note in the morning!”

“Welcome back, Malfoy!”

“See you on the pitch, Hughes.”

“Nice tan, Potter!”

“Thanks, Jacobson.”

“Can I have your autograph, Harry!”

“Scram, you stupid twit,” Draco snapped, sending the second year Hufflepuff scurrying. They hadn’t been off the train for even a minute, before they had been inundated with friends, classmates, acquaintances, and complete strangers all wanting to say hello or chat. It took another five minutes for Harry to realize half of these were directed at him specifically, and twenty minutes later as he walked though Hogwart’s entry hall he still didn’t know why.

“Who was that?” he asked, not recognizing her.

“Who knows?” Natalie said, clearly uninterested in finding out. “Just another silly little girl with a crush. You’re going to be quite popular this year, you know.”

“No, I hadn’t known,” Harry admitted, “Why?”

His friends all gave him a disbelieving look. Clyde, who had shown up with Ginny shortly after the train left the station, was the most flabbergasted.

“Humility is grand and all, Harry, but now you’re just being stupid.”

“Hey!”

Ginny interrupted before a fight broke out.

“We talked about this last school year, Harry. You remember, right? Nice clothes, good at sports, special talents, Voldemort’s favorite little tyke. Oh, and Jacobson was right That’s a really nice tan… oh wait, all that blushing has gone and ruined it. You look like a tomato now. So much for your exclusive in Witch’s Wardrobe.”

They laughed as Harry turned darker and darker. He really didn’t understand what they were talking about. Sure he was good at Quidditch and Dueling, but the rest of it? Parseltongue was little more than a party trick. Political associates? Voldemort? Did they really admire or envy his time spent with the unpredictable dictator? Most readily admitted that the man was terrifying. Why would they want to associate with him? Why the heck would school kids care about that sort of thing anyway?

The cloths… nonsense. There wasn’t anything cool or sexy about his cloths. Aside from a few of his formal things, most of what he wore was just generic school things. His new tailored clothes definitely fit better, but he didn’t think they made him look any less like a geek. Frankly, he was afraid he resembled Percy Weasley a little too much. Most of the other guys opted for t-shirts and jumpers and jeans under their robes, and he thought those looked cooler than his mini-accountant look.

Oh, Merlin, who was he kidding? He did have a lot going for him, but he knew something his new admirers didn’t. He had twice as much going against him. Things that could send him fleeing from Britain or living as a werewolf or …well, dead.

“Hurry up, Potter, or you’ll have to sit next to the first years,” Draco said, breaking him from his thoughts. “We’ll see you in class, tomorrow.”

With that Draco and Natalie moved ahead to crowd into the Great Hall and towards the Slytherin table. Harry and his remaining friends moved to their own house table, and squeezed in with their fellow third years, except for Ginny who went to sit with a group of second year girls who giggled and glanced at Harry furtively.

He ignored them in favor of checking out the teacher’s table. Voldemort was there this year, looking particularly mysterious and intimidating in blacks and blood reds. They hadn’t spoken in a month, and Harry still had no idea about what had happened at the full moon. He wasn’t going to ask either, and unless he was expected to return the following summer he didn’t see a reason why it should mattered. He would just prefer to forget about it all together. Besides, the Dark Lord wasn’t there to answer to Harry. He had learned from Snape that Voldemort had taken time out of his busy schedule to make an important announcement regarding the school, and he would leave immediately afterwards.

Speaking of Snape…

He found his potion’s professor a little ways down the table.

Along with Professor Larousse.

Who was smiling at Professor Snape. She seemed to be engaging the taciturn man in conversation, and despite his obvious displeasure it seemed his usual insults were not successful in ending her interest in him. In fact, judging by the way Snape somehow choked on his tea, Harry suspected the woman had gotten in a few successful jibes of her own. She had just graduated from ‘creepy’ to ‘scary’ in his young mind.

“Wow, she’s cute!” Clyde said, beside him.

“Who?” Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

“The new teacher, of course! What’s her name again?”

“Larousse,” said Hermione.

“No, I mean her first name.”

“Why would you need to know that? You think you’ll ever be in a position to use it? She’s a teacher.”

“I’m only curious.”

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one. Several other boys at their table were asking the same thing, and commenting on how pretty she was. No one but Harry seemed to notice that she her taste in men seemed to lean towards tall, dark, and unpleasant.

The girls were all amazed that a teacher would have such a daring haircut and bright red lipstick, which was like sticking a rose in a bouquet of daisies. Striking and completely out of place.

It was such a silly topic, he thought, and turned to Hermione to say so, but she was staring at the other woman, completely smitten. Oh, for Merlin’s sake…

Finally the Welcoming Feast began with the sorting of the first years. Harry tried to stay interested, and looked for any potentially interesting new students, but they all looked the same. Young, timid, and… short. Really short. God, had he been that short two years ago?

Soon enough the seventy or so new students were sorted and settled at their House tables, and Headmistress Lestrange made the usual announcements, warnings, and introduced their newest teacher.

“… Professor Vesper Larousse-”

And there was a round of very enthusiastic clapping, as the woman stood and smiled at them.

“- will be teaching Dark Arts and Defense this year. She has a very extensive resume, but as this is her first year of teaching I expect everyone to demonstrate why Hogwarts students are renown as the elite of the wizarding world.”

Lestrange gave a brief, but very pointed look in Harry’s direction. The Gryffindor fought the urge to shove his finger up his nose and drool into his dinner, but just barely managed to contain himself. Another teacher, Professor Mothman, part of a completely new class for seniors involving ancient magical texts and artifacts, was introduced and received with considerably less enthusiasm. He didn’t seem to notice, but then if he coke bottle glasses and the funny little funnel he held up to his ear was indication, it was probably because he could neither hear or see well enough to tell the difference. A few more trivialities were addressed that Harry left to Hermione to worry about while he searched the student body for familiar faces. There was Horace McGunny, the Hogwarts Herald’s editor and chief and Hermione’s (recently usurped) hero, scribbling in his notebook at the Ravenclaw table. Cedric Diggory, the most popular sixth year boy (and that said something coming from Hufflepuff, long regarded as the dorkiest of houses) and Harry’s potential friend ever since last year’s Sweetey debacle. Further down his own table were Fred and George, strangely reserved since the train ride and thoroughly behaving themselves as they appeared to listen to the announcements. Several students had been inching away from them, fearing the calm almost more than the storm they knew was coming. The twins spotted Harry, and broke character to offer him a mischievous smirk.

So many familiar faces after months of disassociation brought a feeling of warmth in his chest.

And yet, there was someone missing. Harry scanned the Slytherin table from one end to the other, but no sign of his friend Tom Rook could be found. Tom’s usual cluster of friends seemed unnerved by their leader’s absence. He turned to Hermione, but before he could ask her anything the Great Hall became deathly quiet.

Voldemort had stood and was preparing to speak.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he said, his fierce gaze making it a command for quiet obedience as much as generic titles, “You are all aware of your schools importance to wizarding Britain, both historically and contemporary, as a sanctuary of learning for our country’s magical community. What many of you do not realize is the state of decline the school has undergone for the last three hundred years.”

This brought a confused murmur, and even Harry found the idea disturbing. Hogwarts was the finest school in Britain, some would boast in the world, and after centuries of magical advancement it was somehow declining?

“Do not be alarmed. I do not mean to say that your education is somehow lacking or the structure of school is deteriorating. Hogwarts’ students are as bright as ever, and her walls are the strongest and the most numerous they’ve ever been. However, in the last three centuries, with the emergence of alternative schools, the number of students has greatly declined even as the school itself has expanded from the absorption of excess magic. To put it simply, compared to three hundred years ago, Hogwarts is four times as large with one fifth the number of students.”

Another excited murmur, much of it confusion. Harry didn’t understand much of what was being said either. Hogwarts was growing? Not being expanded, but increasing in walls due to magic it absorbed? From what? The students? Britain in general? And there was suppose to be more students? Certainly, the school had always seemed excessively large, and there were dozens, perhaps even hundreds of unused rooms, but had the school really held… he paused to do the math and the exact number escaped him, but it was well over two thousand students.

Two thousand students?

He looked again to Hermione. She didn’t look surprise, and in fact was scribbling things down on a napkin. After giving the students a moment to absorb what he had said, Voldemort continued.

“I believe this to be an incredible waste of Britain’s resources, and have decided to expand the school into a preparatory two-year college, accepting approximately one thousand students and seventy new professors.”

The students started to panic. If Hogwarts was going to be a university, where would they go to school in the meantime? The Dark Lord glared, and everyone quieted.

“Hogwarts will continue as a secondary school, with very little change on the part of her students or teachers. There will be a rearrangement of classrooms, some expansions to the library, several renovations, and a few other minor accommodations, but little else will change. The college level students will have their dorms in Hogsmeade, and should not interfere with your usual pattern of living.”

“All of this in fact, will take several years to accomplish, and the college itself will not be opening for another five to ten years. I am only bothering to explain this to you now, because of the engineers that will be roaming the school making measurements. You will not get in their way, and if one finds need of your assistance, you will be courteous enough to provide it. More specific instructions will be provided by the Headmistress and your Heads of House as the need arises. That is all that need be said, I believe. Have a nice school year.”

The ‘or else’ hung in the air as the Dark Lord stalked off through one of the side doors, leaving the students momentarily struck speechless. It was broken by Fred and George’s suddenly excited exclamation.

“COLLEGE GIRLS! YES!”

The Great Hall broke out into peels of laughter, and then into excited gossip. The Headmistress, finding no reason to break the festive mood, snapped her fingers to begin the feast. Hermione was on her feet before she had so much as a nibble of dinner.

“Harry, I need to go talk to McGunny. This news is HUGE!”

The young Gryffindor didn’t doubt it, and he was interested, but there were several other things that he found more concerning. Like, where was Tom? and what was with Professor Larousse?

There were no opportunities to learn the answers to his questions until the next morning, on the first day of classes. Hermione, who had spent most of the Welcoming Feast with McGunny and the newspaper crew, organizing for the first issue of the Hogwarts Herald, had heard nothing of Tom and had no idea what he meant about Larousse. The other Gryffindors were equally unhelpful.

“You can ask Professor Snape about Tom after potions,” Hermione said during breakfast. “He’s the Head of Tom’s House, so he would definitely know.”

“Do you think Draco would know?”

Harry would much rather ask his friend, than Snape and the cranky potion’s master would probably prefer the same thing.

“You can try him, but he’ll only know the rumors and hearsay. They weren’t friends, so I doubt he knows anything concrete. Your most reliable source is definitely Professor Snape, and we have potions just before lunch today so it’s would be convenient.”

There was nothing convenient about the snarky man, but Harry wasn’t going to try and argue with her. The first class of the day was History of Magic, the worst sort of class to have first thing in the morning, even with a professor as zealous as Toure. He managed to keep awake through the first lecture of the day by worrying about his next class. Dark Arts and Defense, one of Harry’s best subjects, loomed like an ominous storm cloud, threatening anything from a light drizzly to raining down fire and brimstone.

He was nervous, perhaps more nervous than he had been when Hermione had told him about McNair, and he couldn’t say why. Larousse hadn’t been threatening when he met her, quite the opposite in fact, and he was good enough in Dueling Club and his previous DA&D classes to feel confident of his skills. Still, there was something about the woman that made him uneasy.

Hermione on the other hand, couldn’t get to class fast enough, and despite his misgivings he followed her into the lion’s den and straight to the closest seats at the front. They were not, to Hermione’s displeasure, at the very front, for several boys (including Clyde) had shown up even earlier than they to snag the choice spots. Larousse was already there, cleaning up after her previous class, which had something to do with the importation of non-native dark creatures, and hopefully wasn’t a subject they would have to learn until seventh year. She had been ignoring the students until he caught her attention entering the room. She offered him a bright smile and wave.

It was odd enough that even Hermione seemed surprised, while the others turned jealous eyes his way. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and pretended to look over the text books. They were good books, Harry thought, emphasizing practical applications rather than theory or history, but he still had his misgivings about the woman that would be teaching them.

At last, the rest of the students shuffled in, and class began.

“Good evening, class. As you know, I am your new DA&D instructor, Professor Vesper Larousse. It is very nice to meet you all. Before I begin, I am afraid I need to rearrange you all a bit. Oh, do not sulk. It is only for a week until I can put all of your names with your darling faces,” she said, her smile so charming no one could muster up any resentment.

She had a paper with her and a pile of folders, and every time she assigned a seat, she placed one of the folders with that students name on the desk. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to were anyone sat, but Harry (and the boys who had arrived early) couldn’t help but notice how very close he’d been placed next to the teacher’s desk. At the very least, Hermione had been placed right next to him, and she was quite happy to be there.

“Now then,” Larousse began once everyone was settled. “I have given each of you a folder, and in each folder is your syllabus and assignment list, as well as an assignment journal and score card. Each of your folders are unique and keyed to you specifically. It will inform you everyday what we will be studying, what assignments are due, past assignment grades, study progress, and various other statistics and useful information. Do no lose it, it will be vital for your final grade and you will be completely lost within a week without it.”

Everyone immediately started browsing through the folder. Sure enough, it was crammed with information. Not only was there everything that she had mentioned, but also an announcement sheet for tutoring schedules, extra credit assignments, recommended reading material, and class ranking (Harry was number three).

“Rather than waste time handing out papers and returning assignments, they will appear in your folders at the very front. Check your folder everyday just before and after class. Further more, these folders are for you only. Do not show or share the contents with your fellow students, and do not ask to see or borrow them from others. I will deduct five points from each student I catch doing so. In case you are wondering, I am modelings this system after the Court Executive and Judiciary system, which emphasizes confidentiality and thorough record keeping. Many of you will go on to work at the Court after graduating, and will be happy to have familiarized yourself with the system before hand.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Hermione murmured to herself. Harry wasn’t so sure. It just seemed like a whole lot more paperwork to keep straight to him.

Professor Larousse gave them all a few more minutes to look through their folders, before beginning her first lecture on protective clothing. She called up Harry and Hermione to be her volunteer demonstrators. She transfigured them both a closet and had them change into some dueling gear they were both already familiar with.

“Most of you should be familiar with these,” the professor said, gesturing up and down Harry and Hermione’s uniforms. “They are used during official Duels. Now can anyone tell me why leather is preferred over metal?”

“Because it is lighter?” a Hufflepuff girl offered.

“A good guess, but no my dear. Metals can be magicked to be much lighter than even leather. Anyone else?”

Harry and Hermione both knew, but as volunteers they knew they weren’t suppose to supply the answer. Snape had lectured them on it on the first day of Dueling Club, but even Clyde and one of the Hufflepuffs who attended didn’t seem to recall it. Larousse, however, was prepared for that.

“Let’s do an experiment then. Mr. Potter,” she crooned, causing him to blush like a fool. “Would you cast a light stunning hex on each of the dummies over there.”

She pointed to two dummies at the end of the room, quite the distance away in fact for a hex, one dressed in typical leather dueling armor and the other in a knight’s metal armor. He did as she requested and hit each perfectly in the middle of the chest. The dummy in leather shook a little, but remained standing. The dummy in metal however, spasmed and sparked from head to toe and fell off its post.

“Wonderful aim, Mr. Potter! Three points to Gryffindor. Now can anyone tell me what happened? No? Well, you see, metal conducts most magics just like it does electricity. The hex traveled from the chest through the entirety of the armor, causing more harm than good to the body it was suppose to be protecting. The leather armor, however, is organic, magically neutral, and non-conductive, so it keeps the effect of the hex localized, even absorbing some of it.”

The lecture continued similarly, with Harry and Hermione changing into various articles of protection, some they were familiar with and much of it they weren’t, and Larousse explaining how it all worked and why. Then they played a game, mixing and matching armor and protective pieces to see what would stand up best against certain spells and hexes. The combinations looked pretty ridiculous on their models, but Harry and Hermione took it all in good humor and laughed along with everyone else.

“Alright, everyone settle down,” Larousse said finally, looking more energized than when they had started. “That was an excellent practical, but now we must move on to theory I’m afraid. Please applaud our gracious volunteers.”

She gestured at the two Gryffindors, who bowed playfully as their classmates clapped and whistled. They changed back into their school robes and took their seats. The remainder of the class was notes and some assigned reading.

“Before you go, check your folder for today’s assignment. You will all be given a scenario, a list of protective clothing and items, and you must select three items from the list you would wear or use and give your reasoning. One foot minimum and don’t try to cheat off your classmate. You’ve all been given different scenarios. It’s due Wednesday and be prepared to demonstrate your choices as well. Dismissed.”

There was some token grumbling, but it had been a good first class and everyone was feeling cheerful. Harry and his friends were already comparing scenarios, laughing at the examples that were used. Who on earth would leave a three-headed dog to guard a bread box? Or a place a Hairy Hands curse on a bath tub?

“Oh, Mr. Potter, would you stay a moment?”

Harry and his friends stopped abruptly, looking over at Professor Larousse. She didn’t seem at all upset about anything, but Harry couldn’t fathom what she might want. She had been extra complimentary of him during class, subtly so, but he could tell every time she patted his shoulder and praised one of his spells. Not that she had ignored Hermione or anyone else, but there was a difference. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what that difference was, but it was there.

“Uh, sure, professor.”

“We’ll wait outside for you, Harry.”

“Thanks Hermione.”

Once alone, he approached the teacher’s desk, and she smiled encouragingly.

“You look nervous, Harry. Don’t be, you’re not in any trouble, quite the contrary in fact.”

She had just called him Harry again, when during class she had referred to him as ‘Mr. Potter’, and it made him even more uncomfortable than before.

“You know I was looking over the students records- to better design the student curriculum you see- and yours caught my attention. You’ve had a very exciting couple of years, Mr. Potter.”

“Er… yeah, I guess so.”

“And Professor Snape is now your guardian?”

“No… well, sort of. He looked after me this summer, but I pretty much belong to the school.”

“Mmm… is that so? How interesting. I don’t suppose you’ve made any plans for your future? You and Professor Snape?”

“Why would Sna- I mean, Professor Snape make plans for my future? I’m only thirteen anyway. Graduation is a long way off.”

“Not so long, my dear. Besides, next year you’ll have to take electives, and those will have a serious impact on your continued education and job opportunities. I only say this to make you aware of your situation. I know you do not have a parent to explain it all, and I wasn’t sure if your Head of House or Professor Snape would do so.”

Harry had to concede her point. Neither Snape nor McGonagall or anyone else mentioned it. He suspected Hermione would pretty soon, but certainly an adult should have made it known to him first.

“Thank you, Professor, for bringing it to my attention.”

She practically sparkled with happiness.

“You’re quite welcome, Harry. Now I don’t want you to stress. You have all year to think about next year’s classes and what sort of job you’d like, if not the specific field. You have excellent grades in all your classes so far, and your club activities increase your options, so I doubt you’ll find yourself limited. In fact I think you’ll have too many options available. If you find yourself stuck, I want you to know I’m here to help, if you ever need it.”

“Oh… I… Thank you. That’s very generous of you. Are you sure Professor McGonagall won’t get mad at you?”

Larousse didn’t look the least bit concerned.

“I don’t see why. After all, she has all of her students to supervise in class and an entire House to supervise outside of class, and could use the help, I’m sure. Plus, didn’t you say it yourself? You belong to the school? It’s the entire staff that is responsible for your wellbeing, you know.”

Now that was a bit of twisted logic, but Harry wasn’t really in a position to argue with her. She was just being helpful after all, and he’d be some kind of jerk for fighting with her over that. So he smiled as best he could, thanked her again, and left to rejoin his friends in the hall.

“What did she want with you, Harry?” Clyde asked, obviously suspicious.

“She didn’t want a date, if that’s what you think.”

The other boy turned pink around the eyes, then turned away to sulk.

“So what did she want?” Hermione picked up.

“Nothing really. She just wanted to remind me to think about what classes I want next year. She said, she didn’t know if anyone else would bother to tell me since I don’t have parents. Which they haven’t…yet, anyway.”

“Oh, so it was just a pity thing? Maybe that’s why she’s mother henning you?” Clyde said hopefully, earning him a hearty Hermione slap.

“So you noticed too? I don’t know, maybe it is just a pity thing. Maybe she’s sucking up to me to get in good with the Dark Lord. I don’t know.”

“Harry, I really don’t think she’s the sort to ‘suck up’,” Hermione insisted. “She seems pretty straight forward. Maybe she just likes you. A lot of the teachers do.”

He didn’t think a lot of teachers liked him personally, though he got along with them all well enough, and he didn’t think Professor Larousse could have decided she liked him before they even met without an ulterior motive. He didn’t say anything though. Larousse hadn’t done anything or said anything that he could use in an argument one way or the other, and only time would tell if he was just being paranoid or if she had something up her sleeve.

“Well, lets find a teacher who doesn’t,” Harry said instead, “Professor Snape is going to skin us alive if we’re late to the first potion’s class of the year.”

The Huntress

“What’s wrong with him? Is it serious?” Harry asked worriedly. He had stayed back after Potions had ended, just as Hermione had suggested, to ask the Slytherin Head of House about Tom. Snape wasn’t at all pleased to have him linger, especially over something as frivolous as ‘friendly concern’.

“Mr. Potter, it is not my habit to break teacher/student confidence by releasing medical information to random students. Suffice to say, Mr. Rook was sick long before attending Hogwarts, and he suffered a relapse over the summer. Perhaps he will return later this year or perhaps he won’t. If you wish to know anything more, I recommend writing to him yourself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another class to prepare.”

Harry was in no position to fight with the professor, and stalked out of the classroom in a huff. Hermione, Draco, and Natalie were there waiting for him, but Clyde had seemingly disappeared.

“Any luck?” Natalie asked.

“Just that Tom is sick again. I’ll have to write him myself if I want to know what’s going on. At least he’s alive, though. Where’s Clyde?

“He said he was hungry,” Hermione offered.

“Well, I am too,” Harry said, “Want to have lunch outside today?”

“Naturally,” Draco said, “We can’t have a real conversation with all the plebs squawking in the Great Hall.”

Hermione shook her head.

“Sorry guys, but McGunny called an emergency meeting. You’ll have to go on without me.”

“I don’t know how we’ll survive,” Natalie mocked. So Harry went to the lake with Natalie and Draco, laden with a basket of sandwiches and apples. It was a little strange to be together without Hermione, but soon enough they were talking comfortably about this and that.

“You should show Natalie your tan lines. I bet they’re still there, aren’t they?”

“I’m not taking off my shirt to show her that. What if someone saw?”

“I don’t mind,” the Slytherin girl grinned, but then frowned again as she looked over Harry’s shoulder towards the castle. The boys followed her gaze and spotted Hermione hurrying towards them. “Oh, bother.”

“Do you think something happened?” Harry asked. Draco shrugged.

“We’ll find out soon enough. What’s wrong, sis?”

Hermione looked frazzled, although not quite panicked. In fact, she looked more indignant than anything.

“This is so utterly ridiculous, and to call an emergency meeting over it is… ridiculous!”

“We gathered that,” said Draco, “Now what is so ridiculous?”

“Sara Bella Parker said she wanted to discuss rearranging the paper’s format, but all she really wanted was more room for her gossip column, or more specifically, a new section of it.”

Now here Hermione actually looked embarrassed and was having trouble meeting Harry’s eyes. The Gryffindor boy was starting to catch on.

“It involves me, doesn’t it?”

Hermione grimaced.

“Involves you? No, Harry, it is you. She wants to add a Harry Potter column and call it something stupid like-”

“‘If Only You Were Half This Cool’?” Natalie offered.

“‘Read If You Have No Life’?” was Draco’s suggestion.

A witty come back escaped Harry at the moment, being smothered in an overwhelming feeling of dread and embarrassment. Hermione picked up the slack for him.

“No, more like ‘The Prince of Hogwarts’ or something lame like that. Even worse is I think McGunny might do it. He kept saying things like ‘human interest stories’ and ‘increased market appeal’. For once, Weasley and I were on the same side. I think we managed to scare Parker into dropping it, but now McGunny seems to have picked up the idea. I’m really, really sorry Harry, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Harry just nodded, unable to say anything. Increased popularity, he could handle that, but a newspaper article? He was too young to deal with paparazzi! What if they started following him around? What if they learned some of his secrets? About his parents, his godfathers, Voldemort, Sweetey?

“Maybe… maybe we can get Professor Toure to stop it. I mean, she has the final say about these things, right?”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Of course! I can ask her after dinner… or perhaps you should ask her, since you’re the ‘victim’ so to speak. It might be awkward for one of the reporters to object to doing a story.”

“Er… yeah.”

“There, there, Harry,” Natalie said, patting his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time. What with you being Voldemort’s potential ‘love child’, this sort of thing was bound to happen. Think of it as practice for the real world.”

“I would have you know, I know my real father, and I look just like him. From my impossible hair to my knobby knees. I wish people would stop implying Voldemort as the alternative.”

“Perhaps he’s your grandfather? You could always ask Ms. Parker to investigate.”

“Natalie…”

“It was only a suggestion.”

“In the mean time, Potter,” Draco said, “Be as boring and uninteresting as we know you can be.”

That, despite being utterly rude, was probably the most helpful advice anyone could offer.

Unfortunately, it was also impossible. Harry’s life simply wasn’t boring or uninteresting. Even the avoidance of the newspaper article was an adventure. Asking Toure to put a stop to it was like asking the Pope to worship Satan. When he had asked, she went into a very long spiel about the rights of the public and uncorrupted news flow, and Harry understood within the first thirty seconds she wasn’t going to help and was crazier than he had thought. Despite Hermione and Ron’s attempts to block the article, it had gained popularity with the rest of the staff and it was decided to officially incorporate it into their first issue of the school year by next Monday.

Defeated on one front, Harry had to battle for his privacy on another. He asked all his friends not to answer even casual questions about him, and talked to Fred and George about possible ways to discourage the reporters from asking. He should have known better than to ask, because they took his request for assistance a little too enthusiastically. They followed him around when ever they could between classes and meals, acting like bodyguards and frightening the reporters and his classmates alike.

The Hogwarts Herald crew, however, took on the challenge with a fervor. At least one person (usually Parker, who was the same year as him and was in several of his classes) followed him around, sometimes asking him questions, sometimes asking his friends questions, sometimes asking complete strangers if they knew anything. Harry had taken to using the Maruader’s Map to sneak in between classes and avoided the Great Hall whenever the weather permitted. When it became clear that Harry wasn’t going to be offering any information himself, the crew turned to McGonagall, who had nothing to say but ‘student files are confidential’ and listed the many possible punishments should anyone think to violate that privacy.

In the end, the Hogwarts Herald had to resort to scavenging off of Wizarding Weekly articles to put together an article of their own, but even so, much of it was speculation rather than facts. Monday’s article took up almost half of the gossip column (which had already been expanded), and brought into question several assumptions about Harry. Everyone knew that Harry had lived in Germany, but few knew the reason why or how he had ended up in England. Fewer still knew about his parents, if he’d even been raised by both or one or neither of them, or if they had been from England themselves and fled during or after the war or originally been from the colonies, or if they had even been wizards or not. In addition to Harry Potter’s mysterious origins, lay his mysterious abilities. Parseltongue, excellent flying skills, and unusually strong control of wandless magic. Where had these skills come from? Were they inherited by the mysterious parents? Innate? Or from something stranger? Certainly, Harry Potter had had strangely numerous run ins with danger. A kidnapping no one seemed to know the specifics of accept for Morgenson and Whitehall, who had mysteriously disappeared after their expulsion. The closure of a business Harry worked at for the summer (now where had they learned about that connection?). Then of course, the attacks at the school that Harry had finally put a stop to. The relationship between Voldemort and Harry was equally as mysterious, and the only thing confirmed was that Harry spent last Christmas and a portion of that summer with the Dark Lord.

It all read like a Spanish soap opera commercial to Harry. Hermione didn’t know what a Spanish soap opera was, but agreed that it was poor journalism.

“It’s just a bunch of teasers. Parker is trying to get people hooked on ‘The Mystery of Hogwarts’, before she starts giving out any real information if she even has any. It even sounds like a cheesy mystery novel not a real article. ‘The Mystery of Hogwarts’. Ppffftt.”

Harry almost laughed at the sound from the normally very articulate Hermione, but he wasn’t really in a laughing mood. They had gotten the paper that morning, and were now on their way to Potion’s and pretending to ignore the whispers and speculative looks the students were sending his way.

“This is stupid,” he said at last, “They all knew most of what she said before. Why is everyone so interested now?”

Hermione couldn’t offer any answers, and the rest of the walk was spent in silence. If only Potion’s class had been so uneventful.

“Potter! Detention!”

Harry blinked in confusion, turned to Hermione, who looked equally surprised. They hadn’t even taken their seats yet. Class hadn’t even started yet! The potion’s master must have found something to get pissy about though, because his expression was down right livid.

“And see me after class, as well.”

“Er…”

“Shut up.”

Disoriented from this latest surprise attack, he let Hermione pick a seat and perform most of the potion work, while he tried to figure out what exactly he had done to earn Snape’s ire. He could think of nothing, however, and nearly ruined the potion due to his distraction. The great bat snarling something at him every five minutes didn’t help matters at all. After a grueling hour of uncertainty and annoyance, the class finally finished and Harry found himself standing before Snape’s desk. He told his friends not to wait up, since the potion’s master often took his time with tormenting him, and Hermione left with her Slytherin cohorts to get lunch. For once, Snape didn’t ignore Harry for the first five minutes like he usually did, but glowered behind his desk the moment they were alone.

“I trust you know why I am so angry?”

“You’re angry, sir? Sorry, it’s hard for me to tell.”

Harry couldn’t see Snape’s eye twitching, but he could imagine it very clearly. The man startled him, however, when he suddenly slammed his hand on to his desk, bringing forth a copy of the Hogwart’s Herald. Harry groaned. God, as if having every student in Hogwarts read that tripe wasn’t enough, now Snape was getting into it.

“I demand an explanation.”

Harry just stared at him. Snape stared back, and after a moment realized Harry really didn’t have any idea about what he was talking about.

“About the article.”

Still, completely blank.

“Involving you.”

Nothing.

“Oh, come on Potter, I know you’re a conceited little snot but I didn’t think you were so conceited as to have it set down in paper.”

Not so blank now, and quite thoroughly angry, just like Snape wanted.

“This,” Harry hissed in what may or may not have been parseltongue, “was not my idea. I went to Professor Toure to put a stop to it, but she refused. I avoided being interviewed, despite being hounded everywhere I go, and asked everyone I knew to keep to themselves too. What ever is in there is just speculations taken from common knowledge and old newspaper articles. As if I want everyone snooping into my business.”

“Don’t lie, Potter. I’ve already heard about the ‘exclusive’ interview you promised Ms. Parker. You’re playing a risky game, and you’re a fool if you think you can win it.”

“I didn’t promise that! Who said I did?”

“A source from inside the paper,” he said vaguely.

“Does this source have a name that bears a remarkable resemblance to ‘weasel’?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I-”

“Hellooooo?”

Teacher and pupil stopped, mid-argument, to turn their attention to the unexpected interruption. There was a light tapping on the classroom door, and then it opened to reveal Professor Larousse. She had relinquished her teaching robes for a set of light green ones, and in her hand she held a picnic basket. Both wizards tensed at the sight of her beaming face.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

They shared a brief look, deciding how much was worth giving away and how much to keep to themselves. Snape took the lead.

“No, I was just discussing an assignment with Mr. Potter here.”

Harry just nodded. Larousse looked approving.

“Hogwart’s staff has always impressed me with its willingness to help their students,” she said, completely missing the glare Snape sent at Harry, who looked as if someone had punched him in the gut. “Well, since you’ve been working so hard, I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me outside for lunch? The weather won’t be this nice for long, after all.”

“As much as I would like to madam, I am in charge of supervising my House during lunch,” Snape said in mock regret.

“Oh, I know. I had Professor Vector take over for today. He owed me a favor.”

“Oh…”

A moment of silence, while the dour potion’s master mentally scrambled for an excuse to back out. Harry decided to leave the man to his fate, and turned to leave with a cheerful spring in his step.

“Enjoy your picnic, Professor Larousse, Professor Snape. I’ll see you-”

“Why don’t you join us, Harry dear?”

The boy stopped abruptly.

“What?”

“Since Professor Snape is your guardian, why don’t we all have lunch together? We could discuss some of what we talked about last week. Have you thought about it at all?”

“Er…”

“That is a good idea,” Snape said quickly, coming up to stand behind Harry, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “I should like to know what you have been up to this week.”

“But-”

The dark man leaned in and said more quietly than the other professor could hear.

“You can serve your detention now or tonight. You choose.”

“… Sounds like fun.”

“Wonderful!” she said, and led them out onto the grounds. She found a nice little spot by the lake very near to where Harry liked to go with his friends. Summer was already starting to give way to autumn, and despite the heat of the day there was a cool breeze flowing down from the north, smelling of potential rain for later that evening. Harry and Larousse settled on the cheery little checkered blanket easily, and after an awkward moment of uncertainty, Snape sat down as well, albeit stiffly. Larousse wasted no time to start up a conversation.

“You know, I used to have picnics under this very same tree with my husband. He gave me my first kiss here, too. We couldn’t have been much older than Harry when we started dating. It makes me quite nostalgic.”

“Fascinating,” Snape said blandly, accepting a roll from her, followed by some blueberry jam.

“Of course, you might remember it, Severus. You cursed this tree to throw its apples at every boy that got underneath it. It gave Jonathan a rather nasty black eye. Oh, I was so mad at you,” she said, laughing at the memory.

“I assure you, I wasn’t aiming for your boyfriend. It just so happened this tree was very popular with several individuals with whom I was feuding at the time,” he replied evenly, although there was a touch of amusement. “As I recall, you unleashed a plague of maggots in my cauldron and ruined a perfectly good batch of Coughing Drought. Very nearly cost me my top spot in Potions that year.”

“You went to school together, Professors?” Harry asked curiously. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that they might have known each other before, or even that Larousse had gone to Hogwarts. He couldn’t recall anyone having mentioned it.

“I was in Ravenclaw and a year behind Severus, and my boyfriend, Jonathan, was a Hufflepuff and a year ahead of him. We were all in Dueling Club together, before the school dissolved the club anyway. Some nonsense about encouraging House rivalry and violence. It was all pretty hypocritical since they kept quidditch, which caused ten times the number of injuries Dueling club did.”

“You threw quite the hissy fit over that as well,” Severus recalled, something very close to a smile tugging at his lips. “I was surprised you didn’t go into politics. You seemed to enjoy arguing so much.”

“I very nearly did join the ministry, but those were bad times and I was very pregnant with Tony. Jonathan didn’t want me caught in the middle of all of it in my condition, for all the good it did any of us in the end.”

There was a tense silence, and Harry felt the conversation had stumbled into a very sensitive subject, and anything he said might make it worse. So he waited, and at last Snape spoke again.

“I’m sorry about Jonathan. He was alright, as far as Hufflepuffs go. Very down to earth. And Tony, of course… so young.”

“Oh, shut up, Severus,” she said, not harshly, but firmly. “You never gave either a second thought after you first heard about them. So many people were dying left and right, what did a couple you barely knew matter? I can’t say I thought about you or anyone else after glimpsing them in the paper. Our names never even got that far. The Ministry made sure of that.”

“…”

“Poor Harry, you have no idea what we’re talking about, do you?”

“I think I have an idea.”

“Half an idea is worse than no idea at all. My husband and I were making money as Harvesters- we caught and disassembled animals for potion ingredients- and someone told the Ministry we were performing dark rituals with animal sacrifices. About ten aurors barged into our house in the middle of the night without announcing themselves, and we both assumed we were being attacked by Death Eaters and tried to defend ourselves. Jonathan and my little Tony, not even a year old, were killed. I spent almost a year in St. Mungos trying to recover. Even when everything was cleared up, the Ministry never apologized. Never acknowledged their mistake. I suppose that’s why no one was really that sorry to see it go. It was rotten to the core by then… no, it was rotten long before.”

Harry could say nothing. It was such a personal and tragic story, and bore uncomfortable familiarities with his own. A sole survivor of a murdered family and even after the truth is revealed, justice fails, and they’re left alone to make the most of things. Even Snape’s vile insensitivity was held at bay by the aura of loss that hung around his companions. Larousse took a deep breath and shook herself from her melancholy.

“Why are we even talking about this? I came out to enjoy the weather, not reminisce on old wounds. Let’s change the subject. So Harry, decided what you want to do with your life?”

“… not die?”

Snape rolled his eyes and Larousse laughed, the bitterness in her eyes retreating instantly.

“That isn’t as funny as you think,” Snape said. “I’m quite skeptical of Mr. Potter’s survival into adulthood. Frankly, I doubt he’ll survive puberty.”

“… that pretty much sums it up,” Harry agreed, taking a bite of his peach. “I think there are bets going around about how I’ll die. I think I’ll get eaten, but Hermione’s quite convinced it will be the result of a quidditch accident.”

“I put 20 galleons on poisoning.”

“No one will accept a bet you could help bring about.”

“Ah well…”

“Severus! That isn’t funny!”

“Of course not,” he agreed as blandly as he had every thing else. “How else am I to reach early retirement, now?”

“I’ll bequeath my glasses to you,” Harry offered, “You could auction them out to the fan girls.”

“How generous of you. Who gets your cloak? The one that changes colors?”

“Natalie. Hermione has a thing against furs.”

“Severus, Harry, enough. That really isn’t funny,” Larousse said, any humor she’d had before completely evaporated. Harry looked away, staring at his fingers, shiny and sticky from the peach. No, it wasn’t really funny in a ‘ha ha’ sense, but it was rich in irony. He wasn’t kidding about the glasses or the fur coat. In fact, he had his very own little will written out and magically protected at the bottom of his trunk. Only Clyde knew about it, and he was the only one Harry intended to tell, but it was legally binding and should automatically submit itself to Robert Reiger, the lawyer whom he had met at his first adoption party and whose card was still settled snuggly between the pages of a school book.

Larousse sighed as the silence stretched after her admonishment.

“Honestly, you two really are such boys.”

“I believe I still have a birth certificate around here somewhere, if you doubt it,” Snape said.

“I could get a note from the nurse.”

“Now you’re ganging up on me. Play fair, won’t you? I’m only one woman after all.”

“Maggots,” Snape reminded her.

“Maggots aside, no ganging up on a lady. Besides, we’ve gotten off topic. We were suppose to help Harry figure out what he wants to do.”

Snape gestured toward Harry to answer, already surmising what the boy would say.

“I really don’t know. Am I suppose to? I mean, I haven’t even gotten into the upper level courses yet. I don’t know what I’m really good at. I don’t even know half of what kind of careers are out there. I know most of the court positions and about teaching jobs and some research jobs and construction, but there has to be a lot more out there. Like… who collects all the ingredients for potion’s class? Who runs the floo network? Who makes up all these spells and potions we learn about in class? If there are lawyers and doctors and veterinarians in the wizarding world, are there dentists and real estate agents and normal jobs like that too? What about art school? Or trade school? Should I-”

Snape held up a hand to stop him.

“The ‘I really don’t know’ was sufficient.”

“It seems you really have thought about it, Harry, and you’ve got a lot of questions too. I think you might try some aptitude tests to narrow down your search.”

“They have those here?”

Snape shuddered. “Yes, but don’t give them too much weight. I took one once.”

Amused, Larousse asked what it suggested.

“Teaching.”

“Harry, are you alright?”

In the lamp light of the common room, Ginny Weasley was half shadows and half concerned friend. The subject of her concern was curled up in the windowsill, looking out into the rain that had blown in shortly after nightfall. There had been rumors going around all afternoon that Snape and Larousse had both been absent from lunch and were secretly on a date, but Ginny knew from Hermione that Harry was with Snape, so that was impossible. Something must have happened with the potion’s master, because the boy had been acting strange. Harry had returned from his meeting with Snape, very quiet and withdrawn, and despite his friends attempt to cheer him up, he had remained listless.

“Oh, hey Ginny. Why aren’t you in bed?” he said, startled from his introspection.

“I could ask the same of you. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, really. Just thinking about things.”

She moved to the adjoining windowsill and pressed her hand against the glass, feeling it cool and vibrating from every drop of rain that struck it.

“Sad things?”

“… Yes, I suppose so. I’ve been thinking about parents.”

Ginny had suspected as much. She did not know all the details, but certainly more than the Hogwarts’ Herald could claim. She knew Harry was an orphan at the very least, though not what had taken his parents from him.

“About how they died?”

“No… not that. Not just my parents. I was just thinking about all the kids who don’t have their parents, and parents who don’t have their kids. Like me and Hermione and all those boys and girls in WYRA, and how all their parents are either dead or don’t remember their kids ever existing. Or all those people who lost their families during the war. Did you know Professor Larousse had a husband and son? I don’t think even Hermione knew that. They were both killed by the old Ministry by accident. How awful is that?”

Ginny didn’t say anything for a long time, taking in what Harry had said and how he had said it, his vibrant green eyes haunting in the white-gray reflections of the glass.

“It’s very awful. I know how you feel Harry. I know my situation isn’t the same because my mum’s alive, but in some ways I think it makes things worse. After dad…”

She had to stop for a moment. It had been years since she had thought about it, locking the pain of it away for the sake of both her and her mother. But she would unlock it for Harry, and it was as shiny and sharp as it had ever been, kept safely in that little cabinet in her heart.

“After dad was arrested, everything fell apart. It wasn’t just that he was gone, and that really hurt by itself, but there was no one to help mum. We all tried, we really did, but what could we do? Mum wouldn’t let Bill get a job because he was in Hogwarts then, and that was really the only safe place to be at the time, and none of the rest of us were old enough to work or really take care of ourselves. I wasn’t even old enough for kindergarten yet. But we tried to make things at least easier for her, but it wasn’t enough. Everything so expensive after the war and jobs were hard to come by, so when she could find work she had to work really, really hard and still couldn’t pay all our bills and keep food on the table. No matter how hard we tried to keep out of trouble and keep clean and help with chores and not eat much and look after each other, mum was always working and tired and cried at night when she thought we were asleep. I remember thinking once it would be better for mum if we all got taken away… and then we did.”

Tears were falling, fast and hard, a dam released, and Harry’s arms were suddenly around her, pressing her against his chest. His heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears, drowning out her own sobbing and he was trembling as hard as she was.

“Oh Merlin, I can’t forget it,” she wept, “I can’t forget how those men and women came to our house to take my brothers away. Mum was screaming and screaming, and we all tried to run away from them, but they cast stunning charms on us and mum just kept screaming. And when I woke up, she was crying and my brothers were all gone, and she couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t stop either, and I still can’t stop.”

They were on the floor now, Harry rocking her against him as she sobbed into his chest. It was so strange and painful and wonderful. She hadn’t told anyone about that day, about the days that had led to it. Her mother and brothers knew already, and she had figured that was enough, but this was so much better. Harry was warm and kind and so strong, and she knew he understood. And after a while the tears stopped, and she felt calm and strangely clean, her head still resting against his chest.

“You know, it’s strange,” she said, “But eventually, it did get better. It’s still hard, it still hurts, but it’s better. Mum misses my brothers a lot, but we still get to see each other, especially Charlie and Bill. They come over all the time and help around the house, and Percy has started coming over more often now that he learned to apparate. I don’t know what’s wrong with Ron though. He can be so sweet, he really can, especially to me and mum, but he’s so angry too. Do you know why he’s so angry?”

Harry said nothing for a moment, just continuing to rock her gently.

“… I can make a few guesses, but I don’t know him that well.”

“Do you ever get angry about it? I mean, that your parents died and left you behind?”

Another silence, and he stopped rocking her for a moment. She pulled back a little to look up into his eyes. Still so incredibly green even in the shadows and half light of the lamps, and burning even in their grief.

“Yes… sometimes. I know they didn’t want to and they would be here if they could, but… there’s a lot of things they never told me. Really important things, and now I’ll never be able to ask. I think that’s what really gets me some times. I should have grown up knowing I’m a wizard. I could have been so much more prepared for things that have happened to me, but they… they wanted to live as muggles, even though they weren’t, even though they must have known I wouldn’t be one either. I feel cheated. That makes me angry sometimes.”

Ginny nodded, wiping away the remnants of her tears. She sensed their time was coming to an end. She was all cried out and Harry was withdrawing into himself again. She wanted so badly to kiss him then, to draw him back into their brief moment of closeness, before it dissolved into the thing of dreams.

But she couldn’t. Despite her House’s boast of bravery, she couldn’t bring herself to risk his rejection. It seemed impossible that he would accept her like that. There were already two beautiful, proud, and confident girls in his life. What would he see in a dumpy, broken little thing like herself other than a friend?

“You should get some sleep. Tonight’s a school night,” Harry said, helping Ginny to her feet.

“Yeah, you too,” she finished lamely, finding herself now unable to look him in the eyes again. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Ginny.”

She was half way up the stairs when he spoke again, just barely audible over the pattering of the rain.

“And Ginny… thanks.”

“For what? You’re the one who listened to me whine, not the other way around,” she said meekly.

“For telling me… for telling me it gets better. That’s what I really needed to know. That it will all just keep getting better. And that I’m not the only one who gets mad at dead people, even though its a silly thing to do.”

They chuckled softly, and she could look him in the eyes again.

“Your quite welcome, Mr. Potter.”

“Until tomorrow then, Ms. Weasley,” he said with an exaggerated bow, then retreated to his dorm. Ginny stood on the stairwell a long time, feeling all a flutter. She hadn’t thought she could love Harry anymore than she did, but what she felt at that moment made any previous affection seem pale and frivolous.

“Until tomorrow…” she sighed happily.

The Siege

September was an awkward month for Harry. The transition from summer vacation to school, from one school year to the next was always a bit jarring, especially for someone as active as him. The classes all seemed to have increased their work load, complicated their subject matter, and given less time to study for it all. Professor Larousse’s warning of next year’s scholastic decisions were repeated in several other classes, and hung over the students’ heads like a guillotine’s blade, waiting to drop on anyone found guilty of slacking.

Extra curricular activities took a turn as well. With Oliver Wood’s entry into seventh year, he was desperate for another Gryffindor victory, convinced his choice of university depended on it. The team practiced at least five times a week, usually more, with much of the team sacrificing their Hogsmeade weekends to do so, and their captain drove them like beasts. Dueling Club was facing a similar situation. Snape had submitted the Dueling Club’s application papers to the League of Young Duelists, the official dueling league for students, and they were expecting a representative to visit in November and determined if they were skilled enough to qualify for competitions. Junior Captain Ronald Weasley, an utter prat to begin with, was now a prat with a mission, and bullied and harassed his ‘subordinates’ mercilessly towards some impossible ideal of perfection. It didn’t help that there were twenty new members who were way out of their depth. Harry had unofficially taken them under his wing, and Ron was more than happy to let him while he focused on the more experienced members.

Harry was surprised at how much he enjoyed teaching his classmates, but the extra work load did little to ease his growing stress level.

And then of course there was the newspaper. Avoiding it took too much energy, and soon Harry had to resort to simply ignoring the students reporters. That was easy enough. Ignoring the rest of the students whispering and pointing and wondering every time he passed them was a bit harder. There was a particular group of students, most of them second or first year girls, who had formed a sort of informal club and seemed to spend most of their time following or gossiping about Harry. They were called the Harriettes as a joke. Harry wasn’t laughing.

Making things worse and occasionally better, was Professor Larousse. It was quickly discovered that the DA&D professor had a soft spot for Harry, which might have earned him a lot of enemies among the male students, if it weren’t so obvious that her romantic interest lay with Professor Snape. Whenever he was feeling particularly strained or tired, she had a tendency to pull him away from what ever he was doing to have a ‘chat’. It was awkward and rather annoying, yet strangely comforting. Despite being surrounded by teachers and friends, she was the only one who seemed interested that he not work too hard, and let him know that it was alright if he didn’t take everything so seriously.

Nevertheless, Harry was immensely happy when November finally rolled around, and things began to settle into a workable routine. Even better, the Quidditch season had started, and wonder of wonders, Gryffindor’s first match was against Slytherin.

“How you feeling, Harry?” Oliver Wood asked, looking him over from head to toe, making sure nothing was missing apparently.

“The same as I was the last time you asked. And the time before that. And before that. Not much has changed in the last five minutes, Wood.”

“Oh, er… yeah.”

“I hope that wasn’t your motivational speech for the match,” said George, coming around a row of lockers with his brother. Fred wore a matching grin and laughed.

“Oh, shut up, you two!”

“I’ve got motivation for everyone!” Fred said, then turned to the rest of the team. “If we win this match, less practice!”

“Hey, I didn’t agree-”

Too late. The team all let out a cheer, Harry among them, and hurried to finish putting on their gear and headed out to the pitch. Clyde met them before they reached their destination, looking aggravated.

“They’ve tricked us!” the Gryffindor said by way of greeting, catching everyone’s attention. “They switched out their Seeker, and get this, it’s Malfoy.”

That actually made Harry smile.

“Really?”

“How can you be happy about this, mate? He’s your friend and he lied to you! This could screw up your entire game plan!”

Harry just kept smiling and shook his head.

“It was a bad move on their part. Malfoy doesn’t have any experience playing in a real match, so even if he’s better than their last seeker, it wasn’t very bright to have him play his first match against us. Everyone knows Gryffindor-Slytherin matches are the trickiest.”

George was quick to point out they did the same thing with Harry.

“Yeah, and we barely came out of that match alive.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment, then sighed.

“Nothing to be done about it now. Just do your best… or I’ll double your practices.”

They continued on towards the pitch, but Clyde grabbed Harry’s arm, still clearly bothered by the turn of events.

“You’re not mad at him?”

“Who? Malfoy? Why would I be? I didn’t tell him when I got on the Quidditch team, so I can hardly hold it against him. Besides, I’ve wanted to see if he’s as good as he says he is for a while.”

“But what if he wins?!”

Harry looked at him oddly.

“Gryffindor loses, I guess. We’ve lost before, you know.”

Clyde still didn’t look happy, but Harry had more important things to worry about. Chances were if he won the match, his friend would be happy again anyway. He took to the field with his team, waving at the crowds cheering at them from the stands. With brief glance at the Emperor’s Box, Harry was surprised to find that Voldemort had actually shown up. The Dark Lord nodded to him in acknowledgment, before turning back to talk with Lestrange.

“Eyes forward, Potter. I want to see your face before its run into the mud.”

Harry smirked as he looked over at Draco, standing amidst his teammates, broom in hand. The Slytherin offered a smug smile of his own. It was rare that they had direct competition, but as Harry’s popularity had grown, Draco had been increasingly eager to test himself against his Gryffindor friend and Harry felt the same. This match promised to be quite exciting.

“Players, mount your brooms!” called Professor Grimm, drawing their attention back to the game. “Release the snitch!”

Draco was fast. Harry was faster. But the Slytherins were prepared for Harry’s speed. Harry had just inched past the other Seeker in pursuit of the Snitch when a bludger caught him in the side. The force of it knocked him clean off his broom and sent him careening into the ground. Luckily, he had only been hovering a few feet. Draco had been so close behind him that he had been forced to break away. Both lost sight of the Snitch. Breathless and disoriented, Harry hurried back onto his broom and took to the air.

“Didn’t I say you’d be face first in the mud, Potter?” Draco laughed, hovering nearby as they searched the arena for the snitch.

“Marvelous, Malfoy. You’re assured a job as a fortune tell after this. A good thing since professional Quidditch player is out of the question.”

“I’ll show-”

“Found it!”

Harry was off and again Draco followed closely, but now Harry was more conscientious of the other players and easily avoided the bludgers and the Slytherins. In fact, Draco was having more trouble evading his own teammates than he was Gryffindor’s, and barely avoided two bludgers meant for Harry. He was tenacious though, clinging closely to Harry and blocking much of his maneuverability whenever the snitch made an unexpected turn.

“Both seekers are clinging tight to one another, making it difficult for the beaters to get a clear shot with their bludgers. Gryffindor Seeker Potter is renown for his agility on a broom, but it seems he may have met- and Slytherin scores! Forty points to Slytherin!”

They dived and spun and twisted and pitched and just plain flew with all their might, the crowds and stands and players mere blurs as they rushed past so the only thing in focus was that little glittering ball flying even faster than they were. It was intense and liberating, and even if he lost, Harry didn’t think he could have been any happier on a broom. His limits tested and exceeded and the danger of crashing sent his heart pounding and sharpened his senses, bringing his awareness of his body and his magic and Draco’s magic and the hundreds upon hundreds of bodies of magic surrounding him into stark clarity.

His joy lasted only for a brief minute, when the snitch suddenly flew low over the stands. Draco bulked, pulling back to keep from careening into the spectators, but Harry had more confidence. He kept going, and sent several of the people below him ducking for cover.

Unfortunately, those several people who ducked didn’t include one Colin Creevey with his ever present camera.

The flash of the bulb caught him squarely in the eyes, stunning and blinding him simultaneously. He pulled up sharply, only half in control of his broom. He was caught by one of the twins before he ran himself clean into the wall.

“You alright, Harry?”

“Argh! No! I can’t see!”

“Give it a sec, it should clear.”

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Oh..ah… just about ready to win the game…”

Harry squinted and managed to make out Draco’s blurry form rushing towards the Emperor’s box. The Slytherin Seeker took a sharp downward turn and reached out. Harry grimaced and turned away, not wishing to see his team’s inevitable defeat.

Said defeat was interceded by a rather unexpected turn of events, most important being that the stands exploded. There was no fire or heat, but the sound of shattering wood blasted through the pitch. Draco had been the closest player, and was hurled from his broom and even higher into the air. Harry quickly focusing eyes locked onto the boy’s falling body, unable to move or look away. Even before impact, the shock had gone straight to terror, and the screaming began.

From somewhere in the crowds Harry thought he heard Hermione’s, but it was for her brother.

“Levi corpus!”

Draco’s fall stopped abruptly, not by the ground, but by the spell that caught him a mere hand’s length from certain death. Harry’s line of sight brought him to a red head, but he didn’t linger on which Weasley Draco now owed his life to. His attention now turned to the shattered stands, the supports destroyed, the whole structure was starting to tilt forward onto the pitch. The men and women trapped there were thrown from their seats as it started to lean, scrambling to gain purchase and their wands. As abruptly as Draco’s fall had stopped, so too did the collapse, and Harry felt the familiar electric tingle of Voldemort’s most powerful magic pervade the air.

“Come on! We have to help get them down from there!”

Harry pulled himself out of the twin’s arm and flew straight for the stands. Behind him, he heard some of the flyers rally the rest of their teammates to follow. Harry reached the stands first, taking hold of woman who had slid almost completely off the platform and was clinging desperately to Professor Vector’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve got her! Let go!”

Harry and his passenger struggled for a moment as she tried to climb on in a dress not meant for movement, but at last they could pull away and move to safety. As he retreated, he could managed to glimpse Voldemort, standing perfectly balanced, both hands and one wand held out before him, eyes closed and chanting something that definitely wasn’t Latin.

He dropped his passenger beside Draco, who had been levitated to the other side of the pitch. Ron was beside the blond, checking to make sure his former friend was merely unconscious and not as dead as he looked. They caught each other’s gaze briefly, but Harry didn’t have time to speak, and flew back to the stands for another passenger. The rest of the teams had cleared out most of them, leaving the least panicked for last. McGonagall mounted his broom with perfect poise, as if it were a mere bicycle ride and not a a rescue, and once on the ground she hurried off to help return order. Snape followed shortly after, not bothering to be rescued, he transfigured his robes into a set of black wings and glided down, Professor Larousse riding calmly in his arms. No sooner had everyone reached safety, then the stands collapsed into a cloud of dust.

Harry gasped. Voldemort had still been in there! He made to run for the wreckage, but Snape caught him before he got far.

“Wait, Mr. Potter,” he said, holding firm. Harry hesitated, his eyes still locked at the other side of the pitch, unable to see anything. It was likely only a few seconds that had passed, but to Harry it may as well have been an hour. Yet the dust did clear, and slowly the form of a man began to appear, becoming clearer and clearer until at last the Dark Lord strode from the cloud of dust, perfectly at ease and perhaps a little annoyed at being coated with a layer of dirt.

“My Lord!” Lestrange called, striding quickly towards her master. Snape released Harry and followed suit, Larousse right behind him. Harry stayed where he was, unsure if his presence would be needed or welcomed at the moment, but close enough to hear most of what was said.

“Bella, I want you and Larousse to go ahead to the school and check for any curses or traps that may have been laid. I doubt anyone could get passed the castle’s defenses, but I don’t want to take any chances. Severus, I want you and the rest of the Hogwarts’ staff to gather up the students, and take them back to the castle as soon as the all clear has been given. I will go to Hogsmeade and meet with my Sentinels. No doubt they are already on their way. We should have the culprit within the hour. Go.”

“My godson…” Snape said quickly, as the rest hurried off to their assigned tasks.

“I will send a healer on ahead to the castle. There will likely be several amongst the Sentinels.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Snape moved away quickly, snatching up Harry as he went.

“Professor, what just happened?”

The man didn’t even glance at him, shoving him towards McGonagall and the students that had begun crowding around her. Harry lingered though, watching the man head towards Draco and Ron and a now very distraught Hermione, holding her brother’s hand. He turned away, finding wreckage and a rather lovely view of the lake peaking in where the Emperor’s box had once stood.

“What just happened?”

“Mad-Eye Moody,” Ron Weasley said knowingly, surrounded by a crowd of students. Harry was amongst them, but kept towards the back of the Great Hall to listen. “I overheard some of the Sentinels talking while I was up in the hospital. They said ‘This was definitely Mad-Eye’s doing.’”

“But why?” someone asked.

“Why do you think, stupid? To kill Voldemort, of course. The papers all say he promised he would. They think he might have already gotten a Death Eater in Nottingham.”

Harry turned away and headed towards the tables to join the rest of the Quidditch players huddled into one corner. For once, their team rivalry had been put aside as they tried to make sense of what they had seen.

“Ron have anything to say worth repeating?” Flint asked as Harry entered their circle.

“There’s a suspect. Mad-Eye Moody, the escaped convict, right? But I’d wait till Hermione and Draco get back before spreading that rumor. Ron’s been known to latch onto an idea, even if it’s a bad one.”

There was no need to explain what Harry was referring too.

“Know when they’ll be back?” Angelina asked.

“I’ve been concussed before,” Fred said, “They kept me for a night and let me go.”

“Assuming a bump to the head is all that’s wrong with him,” a Slytherin chaser muttered.

“Weasley might know,” Oliver suggested.

“He’s sort of busy right now…”

They all shared an exasperated look at the redhead, shoveling out as much bullshit as the other students could swallow. Harry shook his head.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Some bangs and bruises when everyone tried to evacuate, but nothing as bad as Malfoy that we know about,” Flint said. “We’ll just have to wait till the teachers tell us what happened.”

“Maybe we’ll luck out and they’ll tell the truth,” Harry muttered, earning him a few curious looks. Deciding he’d said more than he should, the young Gryffindor wandered away, but there wasn’t anywhere to go really.

“Potter.”

Snape stood at the side entryway. After everyone had been herded into the Great Hall, the potion’s master had left, presumably to help secure the castle with the rest of the Heads of House and several Sentinels. Harry glanced around to see who was watching. The Quidditch players had noticed, but Ron’s audience hadn’t. He moved quickly before they did.

“What is it, Professor?”

“Come with me for a moment.”

Snape stalked off before Harry could question, and the Gryffindor had to jog after him to keep up. He didn’t know why he had been called out, but he never would have thought the ruined Quidditch pitch to be his destination. Sentinels were scouring the remaining stands and debris, crawling over it all like ants on the prowl. On the green stood Voldemort, Lestrange, and Chief Sentinel Morgan who watched Harry’s approach expectantly.

“Um… how can I help you?” he tried.

“Do you have your wand, Potter?” asked Voldemort.

Harry nodded.

“I want you to cast a Lumos charm, making it as dim as possible and gradually making it brighter and brighter. You may begin at any time.”

Confused, he did as instructed. He did not have a lot of practice with controlling the flow of his magic through his wand, but if he concentrated on the result he wanted his magic tended to regulate itself. Sure enough he managed the dullest of sparks which slowly grew brighter, until it was about as bright as a votive candle and a ringing sound distracted him. He turned to Sentinal Morgan, who was holding a metal ball with all sorts of dials around it, spinning their hands this way and that. The man nodded, and looked to the Dark Lord.

“It didn’t take much. Young Malfoy must have picked up some residual magic from Potter and that’s what set off the explosion.”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm.

“What? My magic set of the explosion? How?”

“The specifics are rather beyond your education level to understand,” Snape said easily, “Besides, the better question would be ‘why’?”

“To blow me up, I assume,” Harry said tightly, then shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense either. Why set it up in the stands? Wouldn’t it have been easier and more certain if the bomb… spell? were in the locker room?”

Voldemort patted him on the head, and smiled vaguely proud, vaguely indulgent.

“You obviously weren’t the only target. I, too, was probably an intended victim. A witness said they heard one of my private Sentinels send away someone trying to get into the stands. If that person was the culprit, they may have succeeded in killing everyone during the explosion. Well… everyone but myself. I am not so vulnerable as mortal men.”

It would have sounded extremely conceited if Harry hadn’t seen the truth of it himself. Voldemort was no mortal man.

“What about the sentinel?”

“He was very near the explosion.”

Harry decided the details weren’t really necessary.

“So someone is trying to kill me again, along with the Dark Lord… what now?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I only wished to confirm whether or not you were the trigger for the explosion. We knew it was someone, and Malfoy has already been tested. You were the next most likely person.” Voldemort said, then turned to Morgan who was clearly thinking. “What do you intend?”

“The castle is secure still, and I intend to keep it that way. Potter shouldn’t leave the premises without an escort, and only when it’s absolutely necessary. Hogsmeade weekends and outdoor activities are on hold. I would recommend keeping your distance from the school as well, my Lord. The boy is only a secondary target, but he’ll be more vulnerable to any attack meant for you.”

“How serious of a threat do you think he poses?”

Morgan looked over to the pile of obliterated wood meaningfully.

“Fairly significant.”

Chief Sentinal John Morgan had a love/hate relationship with anarchy. On one hand, he hated it. Plain and simple. On the other hand, he loved destroying it. Had made a living, a reputation, and even a few slots in history conquering it. So he liked to keep a fairly positive view when faced with the newest threat to wizarding society.

He was having a tough time with this case though.

There had of course, been worse acts of terrorism in the course of his career. Relatively speaking, this rated a meager 7 on the one to ten scale, but it easily had the potential to turn into a 1. Voldemort had been present, along with a generation’s worth of Britain’s most powerful children. Things could have gone very, very badly.

“Chief?”

He looked up from some documents to see one of his least experienced officers standing nervously before him, behind her was a familiar face.

“Ah, Chief, this is Professor Vesper Larousse. She says she’s the Dark Arts instructer at Hogwarts. She said it was important she speak with you.”

“Do you believe everything someone tells you? I don’t suppose you asked for identification?” Morgan asked, and the girl paled. He waved her off. “Check next time before you escort a potential assassin across the premises. I’ll talk with her.”

The young Sentinel rushed away, and Larousse took a seat. It looked rather cozy with the lace table cloth and little vase of carnation sitting between them. The Court had temporarily requisitioned Madam Puddifoot’s as base of operation until something more appropriate could be constructed. The rest of the village was empty, its inhabitants currently rounded up for questioning as their homes and shops were rummaged for additional suspects and clues.

“You look well, Vesper. Civilian life seems to agree with you.”

“At least something agrees with me,” she said, coyly, “But I’m not here to talk about the past. I want to offer my help.”

Morgan felt uncharacteristically amused by that. He almost smiled, in fact. Almost.

“What sort of help are you offering?”

“I want to help guard Harry,” she said. She was all smiles when she said it, but the glint in her eyes was hard. Morgan’s amusement evaporated.

“What makes you think Harry needs to be guarded?”

“I know you called him out to the Quidditch pitch earlier, and I know you passed on instructions to Minerva that Harry should not be allowed out of the castle afterwards. That means he is either a suspect or a potential target. I’m going to go with the later. Am I wrong?”

“No, you are not wrong, but you’re not honest either. How much snooping have you done to make you feel you needed my cooperation for this task?”

“Just enough, obviously.”

He snorted.

“You don’t need my permission to watch over the boy. He’s your student after all.”

“But I do need information on whom I’m supposed to protect him from. Who ever set that explosion was very good.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair and thought about it. Larousse was good. Really good. If she hadn’t been so vocal about her disagreements with certain Court policies, she likely would have become his second in command by now and he would have been happy to have her. It wouldn’t hurt to have another person looking after Potter, someone less obvious and more flexible than the Slytherin’s Head of House. She understood discretion as well. Chances were, no one was even aware she was missing from the castle yet.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Just tell me why? Are you trying to get back into the Court?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not interested in that sort of life any more. Like you said, civilian life agrees with me. I’ve been thinking about starting a family again.”

That certainly surprised Morgan. Larousse was a beautiful, capable woman, and for as long as had known her there had been men lining up at her door to be with her, and she had always kept the door firmly shut. He was not a family man himself, but he had seen enough tragedy in his life to know how the loss of one could damage a person. Larousse’s damage had seemed unrepairable.

But that wasn’t really the important thing at the moment.

“You didn’t really answer my question. Why do you want to protect Potter?”

“Have you read his file?”

“Yes.”

“Sad, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but he suppose it was.

“I keep thinking Tony would be about his age now. I keep thinking about Tony living through what Harry had to. It really is too sad. I can’t stand it. I want him to be safe and happy the way my baby should have been. Nothing more than that.”

He didn’t believe her, but he knew better to expect any more from her. Her discretion was just one of the things he admired about her, even when it was inconvenient. He turns to one of his men studying a map of the surrounding area.

“Crighton, get over here. I want you to take Professor Larousse and have her fill out a Civ-2-60 with level 2 clearance. Debrief her on our progress and then let her go. I want her back in Hogwarts within the hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, John.”

“Just don’t make me regret this.”

She nodded once and left him to his work.

Poison

Sunday morning found most of the Hogwarts’ students huddled over copies of Wizard Weekly’s front page, looking for answers and the names of people they knew. Harry had tried and failed to resist the temptation, and retreated into one of the deserted hallways with Ginny and Clyde to read aloud.

“… Thanks to the quick action of Hogwart’s students, only a Sentinal guarding the stairwell of the platform was killed by the explosion. Despite the misfortune of such an attack occurring at a school event, Great Britain should feel proud of its young people. They showed great bravery and poise blah, blah, blah Britain’s number one and everyone else sucks.”

“Harry!” Clyde laughed.

“I think we can all do without the ego stroking right now. I just wanted to make sure Draco was okay and see if they have any leads.”

“They said it was Moody just like Ron did.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’d rather ask Hermione and Draco myself. They’re better at telling when the paper is just throwing out ideas and when they’ve got something to back it up.”

“You’re just grouchy because they canceled quidditch,” Ginny said knowingly. “We should see if McGonagall knows when they’ll be back.”

They did as she suggested, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Hermione was just stepping out of the Head of Gryffindor’s office when they arrived. She gave each of them a warm hug, even Clyde who looked rather embarrassed.

“How is Draco?” Harry was the first to ask.

“A bit shaken, but perfectly alright. He was quite thoroughly irritated that he didn’t catch the snitch before he was nearly killed. Boys! Honestly!”

Even Clyde found that pretty funny, and they laughed as they headed towards the library.

“Seriously though, it was a close call. If Ron hadn’t…”

She sighed.

“I’ve been giving him grief all year and now he turns around and saves my brother’s life. I’ve been a real snob to him, and I didn’t realize how much of one until yesterday. I’m definitely going to have to apologize to him.”

Harry grimaced at the thought. True, he and Ron weren’t fighting anymore and had fallen into a tense sort of neutrality, but both knew the other was just waiting for someone to falter, to push, and they would be back to warring as if they’d never stopped. A subject change was in order.

“Did you learn anything about the attack?”

“Moody is still a strong suspect, but with all the parents coming in through Hogsmeade, no one has been able to figure out who or how he disguised himself. It would have to be difficult to cover up a lost leg and eye.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, “Muggles are pretty good at that. I’ve seen men with these really neat metal legs that they can run and even jump in. If they’re wearing pants you can’t really tell they’re injured at all. And glass eyes aren’t uncommon. Surely magic can make better ones than those.”

“Maybe…” Hermione conceded, her thoughts drifting off to new theories as Harry presented her with a completely foreign idea. Wizards hiding amongst muggles? What a fascinating concept!

The library was fuller than usual, but not enough to discourage them from finding a table to themselves. They cast a silencing charm and checked for ease-droppers, and continued.

“I was the trigger,” Harry said immediately. His friends were, unsurprisingly, startled. “The explosion was linked to my magical signature. It was suppose to go off when I got close enough to the stands, but Draco was flying so close to me he must have picked up enough of my residual magic to set it off himself. That explosion was meant to kill both me and Voldemort.”

Everyone was quiet for a long moment.

“Why you?” Ginny asked, almost in a whisper. Harry shrugged. He really didn’t know either.

“I think,” Hermione began. “I don’t think it was about killing Harry per se. I mean, for the explosion to be set off without killing the culprit, he’d have to… no, he could have used a timer. Setting it to a quidditch player’s magical signature was much riskier. You all fly around so quickly and randomly he risked blowing himself up. But how do you know it was set to you, Harry? It could just as easily have been set to Draco or one of the other players.”

“I got called out and they tested me. They were certain my magic was the trigger. But they didn’t say why I was chosen. If he intended to use a quidditch player to begin with, it might just have been bad luck.”

Clyde shook his head.

“No way your luck is that bad. I bet Moody believes all that stuff in the paper. You know, like you possibly being the Dark Lord’s illegitimate son or grandson or something. He probably wanted to kill off the man’s entire line.”

“That’s just silly. What good will killing a kid do? It’s not like he’s listed Harry as his heir or anything,” Hermione said.

“Crazy person,” Clyde pointed out. Hermione conceded that with a shrug.

“Do you think Harry’s still in danger?” Ginny asked anxiously.

That was a rather good question, and no one seemed certain of the answer.

“Don’t worry, Ginny. There are Sentinels crawling all over the place from Hogsmeade all the way to the Great Hall. Plus Voldemort would be his main target, and he’s gone back to London. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s right. And don’t forget we’ve all got your back, Harry. Ain’t no on who’ll sneak up on you while we’re around, right?”

Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Clyde. I appreciate that.”

“Welcome, mate. That’s what friends are for. Although that reminds me. Where are Cypher and Malfoy? Shouldn’t they be hearing this too?”

Hermione sighed.

“Can’t be helped. Draco was talking with Ron last I check and Natalie decided to stick around to watch for potential bloodshed. I think she’ll be disappointed. They both looked pretty mellow.”

“Do you think they’re making up?” Ginny asked hopefully.

“It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do. Ron did save Draco’s life after all. Draco might even owe him a life debt.”

A pang of guilt hit Harry. It should have been him who saved the boy. He was the Slytherin’s friend and would have been happy to help him without calling on any compensation for it. Instead, he’d frozen like an utter fool and nearly allowed his best friend’s brother to die. He might even have been responsible for it.

“Harry, stop thinking morbidly,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “You look utterly silly when you mope.”

“I was not moping.”

“Fine, festering in internal torment then. Just stop. It’s not like any of this is your fault. You didn’t set up that explosion. You didn’t hurt my brother. So stop feeling bad about it. Look on the bright side. Perhaps you can use this opportunity to try and get along better with Ron. He is the captain of the Junior Dueling Club, and you’re probably his best duelist. It wouldn’t hurt to be on better terms.”

That sounded about as much fun as testing potions in Snape’s class. He forced a smile anyway.

“Sure. I can try.”

Harry had plenty of time to practice his diplomacy skills on Ron in the following weeks. Without quidditch practice eating up so much of his free time, he found himself filling it studying and practicing for Dueling Club. Professor Larousse had offered her time to supervise practice duels on Mondays and Tuesdays, which is exactly how Harry enjoyed spending his afternoons. The young Gryffindor did not really consider himself much of a scholar, but he loved the practice of magic itself. The entire art of dueling held many elements that he enjoyed; competition, challenge, unpredictability.

However the duel turned out, long, short, victorious or defeated, Harry felt energized at its conclusion and eager to try again. During the spare time between matches, he drew sketches, working on his technique for action rather than the still lives he was used to. Some of the better ones had been framed and placed in the new display cases, filling the spaces where their trophies would go once they began completing with other schools.

The Weasley twins were happy to lend themselves to him for private tutorials, as well. Their spell repertoire was second to none amongst the student body, and their ingenuity was geared toward offensive and defensive reasoning to begin with. Hermione had accompanied Harry on one of his tutorials, but she was too focused on the mechanics of their techniques to really understand the art of them and was mentally overwhelmed within minutes. Harry on the other hand had the problem in reverse. He fell into the art of it, their speed, their ingenuity, their mind games, but lacked the knowledge of their specific techniques. Unlike Hermione, however, this didn’t intimidate Harry, but merely motivated him to finding the answers.

“Oh, Lord of Chaos, exploder of things and maker of mayhem” Fred gushed after one session that had Harry on his back, “You make us so happy. If I could feel my arms I’d hug you.”

Fourteen spells that could keep that from ever happening immediately popped into the younger boy’s head. Not that he wasn’t grateful. Thursday club meetings held little practice value for Harry, who was still overseeing the rookies, and the only ones who held a real challenge for him in the junior division, Draco and Ron, never attended Larousse’s practices. Harry suspected Snape was tutoring both of them in private, but couldn’t muster the energy to be resentful. He didn’t fancy anymore time with Snape after last summer anyway.

He did, however, miss Draco. The Malfoy heir wasn’t around as much, having found Ron’s company somehow more agreeable this year than last and Harry finding the exact opposite. They sat together during classes, smirking and joking to each other whenever the teachers’ backs were turned, and pranked the younger students in the halls and meal times. Whenever the Slytherin Weasley caught Harry watching them, his obnoxious little smirk would get just a little bit smugger.

It might have been a bit petty, but Harry was really starting to wish Ron’s wand would blow up in his face. Yes, he had plenty of opportunity to practice diplomacy, but he didn’t. Perhaps he couldn’t. The only tried and true technique for keeping peace between them was avoidance.

Even when they were standing right next to each other.

“Allbright is still struggling on shields. How can we get an endorsement when our duelists can’t make a simple blocking charm?” Ron growled, starring directly at the struggling first year.

“You’re asking too much. He’s only had a wand for two months, of course he’s struggling. He knows the spell, just give him a bit longer to control his magical output.”

“We don’t have that time. The representative from the dueling league will be here in two weeks.”

“They’re not expecting miracles,” Harry said, impatience quickly descending. He didn’t know why Ron was scolding him for this. He wasn’t the captain. He wasn’t even the vice captain, despite Ron’s insistence that he was going to pick someone before the end of the month. Harry didn’t get his hopes up that it would be him, even though everyone said he was perfect for the position. Draco Malfoy was a fine duelist himself, and if he wasn’t exactly the sort of leader the other club members were hoping for, he certainly worked with the captain a lot better than he did.

“This is Hogwarts, they damn well better be expecting miracles.”

The red head stalked off, snapping something at Hermione about being more aggressive with her hexes. Harry glared at the boy’s back, but catching Snape in the corner of his vision, he headed over to assist the rookies. Allbright saw him coming, and looked pointedly at his shoes, fully prepared to be reprimanded for his shields that kept failing.

Harry just patted him on the shoulder. Allbright was the only first year Hufflepuff in Dueling Club, and the Gryffindor thought him very brave for staying after what must have seemed like failure after failure.

“First years over here,” Harry called, “The rest of you can keep practicing your shields or go over to practice your aim with the others.”

They all moved quickly and without question to do as he said. After two months, he had finally started getting used to that.

“Alright everyone, I’ve noticed you’ve been having trouble using the proper amount of magic in your spells.”

“You mean Allbrightis having trouble,” grumbled a Ravenclaw girl, causing the boy to flinch.

“No, you’ve been doing it too.”

She looked startled, then embarrassed, then predictably angry.

“I have not!”

“You’re over exerting yourself on your offensive spells. How many Disarming Spells can you get out before you’re exhausted? Three? Four tops. You should be able to get out a dozen before you even feel the strain.”

She couldn’t refute it. Hadn’t even realized she was doing anything wrong in fact. She just assumed she needed to work on her stamina. Seeing she was suitably chastised, Harry continued.

“We are going to practice a very simple exercise that will help you learn to control your body’s release of magic. You are all familiar with a Lumos charm?”

They nodded, it was one of the very first spells they learned in charms class.

“I want you to cast the spell, and then I want you to practice controlling how bright the light is. Stay aware of how the magic flows out of your body and how it affects the spell. I want you to practice this in and out of practices. It’s perfectly safe and you’ll find it helpful in your other classes as well as in duels. Any questions?”

Allbright raised his hand.

“If we can’t do it… um… are we going to get kicked out?”

“Of course not. But don’t worry about not being able to do it, until you’ve tried first. Go and-”

“HA! HA! HA! HA!”

All eyes turned towards the other side of the dueling hall and the source of the scornful laugh. Hermione stood, arms crossed, and sneering haughtily at an infuriated red head. Apparently, Ron had done or said something that had made the girl forget completely about her attempt to be nicer to him, and reminded her just why she had hated him in the first place.

“As if you’re captain for any other reason than because you’re Slytherin. Harry is twice the leader you are and a better duelist too!”

“As if! I could beat that little goody-goody any time, any where. I’ve done it before!”

“No you didn’t! You dropped your wand and fought like an over grown monkey, not a wizard!”

There was a scattering of snickers. Ron’s face darked in anger.

“You think I can’t do it? Are you really so sure? Care to make a wager on it?”

Hermione hesitate.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you believe what you’re saying? Or are you really just full of it? The Great Hermione Granger of Malfoy, just another spoiled little girl hiding behind her money and family name. Well?”

“He could beat a horrid little toad like you in a heartbeat!”

“How much you willing to wager on that?”

“Gambling isn’t-”

“Of course, I’d never suggest anything as- what’s Draco’s term for it?- ‘plebeian’ as money. Let say we make it more interesting? If Potter can beat me I’ll acknowledge it and give him vice captaincy, but if I win, you have to go to the winter formal with me as my date.”

For once in her life, Hermione looked completely without words. She just kept staring at Ron with a mixture of disbelief, horror, and embarrassment.

“I… um…”

“Well, if you think you’ll lose, you could always just admit right here and now that you were just full of hot air, and Potter really isn’t a better duelist than me. Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone will understand. It was just a moment of female hysterics. It happens to woman all the time, I hear.”

“Ron, you’re such a pig. I can’t wait to see Harry turn you into one!”

“I take it we have a deal then?”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Harry, I’m really, really sorry,” Hermione said, pursuing her friend as he stalked down the corridors towards the common room. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Harry stopped abruptly, turned to tell her exactly what came over her, then thought better of it and continued on towards his destination. He was madder than he had ever been at his best friend. After months of relative peace, Hermione had shot it all to hell in less than five minutes. She’d started a fight and dragged him in to it, not thinking of the consequences. And there were consequences.

He couldn’t turn down the challenge without being seen as a coward by friend and foe alike, and any respect the rookies gave him would likely go up in smoke. The humiliation of conceding would be worse than defeat or victory. If he lost, Ron would never let him live it down. If he won, Ron would never forgive him, and he’d have Harry as a direct subordinate to take his revenge on. The club members would become confused on who was in charge. He didn’t like the Slytherin, but he certainly didn’t want a mutiny. Snape would kill him.

Snape might kill him anyway. It was clear to everyone who had seen his and Ron’s first duel that their club supervisor had been keeping them from dueling each other since then and showed no signs of ever letting them face each other again. Snape certainly hadn’t been happy about the wager being made in the middle of club practices, but he hadn’t interfered. It wasn’t his habit to interfere with student intrigue unless some school rule was broken and, technically, none had.

“Hermione, just… I understand losing your temper,” he said, still not looking back at her, “But I really don’t appreciate you backing me into a corner here.”

“I know, I know. It was unfair of me to volunteer you without asking, especially about this. God, I’m such a hypocrite. All this time I was telling you to get along better with Ron and that you should avoid risky situations and here I go sending you into a fight with Ron, the one guy who might really be your match on the platform. I’m so sorry!”

Harry sighed.

“I know. It’s fine. It was probably going to happen eventually anyway. At least now I have some forewarning.”

“I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Well, do you think…” he paused, and looked up and down the corridor. It was almost deserted excepted for man in a green hard hat. The engineers Voldemort had warned them about had arrived at last, and were making themselves known by their hard hats, security badges, and their ability to show up everywhere and anywhere without warning, tape measures and schematics in hand. Everyone had started referring to them as ‘the Green Ghosts’ or ’GG’s. They never talked to the students and their sole interest seem to lay in the stones of Hogwarts, but Harry was a bit paranoid about anyone eavesdropping. He pulled Hermione a little further up the corridor.

“Do you think you could keep this out of the paper?”

She looked doubtful.

“Yeah, I guess not. Do you think you might get a reporter who isn’t going to turn this into some sort of ‘fight to the death’ story?”

“I think I can do that. There’s a Ravenclaw girl who I think has a pretty good head on her shoulders, but the decision is really up to McGunny. I can’t do it because I’m already involved. This is so embarrassing. I hope they don’t print that.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk at that. It would certainly serve her right.

“I really don’t know what she was thinking,” Snape grumbled as Larousse poured him his tea. The staff room was currently overrun by the engineers who, being the opportunistic bastards they were, had decided it was easier to ‘share’ with the teachers than set a break room for themselves in the hundred or so unused spaces. This had lead to the acquisition of one of the towers for his own personal use. He hadn’t told anyone else about it, and so far only Vesper had caught on, and he suppose she was plenty.

The tea set was hers. The tea was his. They were quite complete without the twenty or so other people rampaging about with their clumsiness, their bad jokes, their complaints, or their god awful coffee.

“You can insult a girl’s honor as easily as a boy’s, Severus,” she offered, taking a seat across the little round table from him. “No doubt she was very flustered. Cream? Sugar?”

“A little cream, thank you. Then why drag Potter into it? I’ve been very careful about keeping those two from each other. Do you know anything about their last duel?”

“I’ve only heard a few rumors, and mostly how it ended. However, if Harry’s current skill level is any indication, they both must be quite gifted for their ages to have lasted so long. I am quite interested to see it for myself.”

“No doubt it will be fascinating, but it’s also problematic. An open feud between Slytherin and Voldemort’s favored? I could ring my goddaughter’s neck right now.”

He took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair, trying to clear his head. This was hardly a crisis situation, he reminded himself. Pride was at risk, not lives. He would be there to make sure things didn’t get out of hand, and Vesper would be there to back him up.

It was strange to trust someone after so long, especially a woman, not just for her support but for her competence in supporting him. The last woman he had truly trusted had been Lily Evans, and that had ended badly. Vesper was no Lily though. That was probably for the best. She was not as naive, not as idealistic as his childhood love, and she understood loss and sacrifice just as much as he did and was stronger for it. She had unnerved him at first with her straight forward approach, but he was starting to warm up to her. He already respected her.

In the warm sunshine of the tower, sitting as poised and elegant as the porcelain tea cup in her hand, he could even admit he found her attractive.

“She’s a smart girl. No doubt she is regretting her hasty words already. Perhaps some good might come of this. Do you suppose Harry would make a good vice-captain?”

“Certainly. Weasley is good at pulling the others after him, and Harry pushes from behind. They would make a great team if they could look at each other without bursting a blood vessel.”

She smiled at that.

“Do you suppose Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley would make a good couple?”

Snape choked on his tea, and she laughed at him.

“Woman, what are you thinking?!”

“I think they like each other already.”

“You’re mad. Hermione hates that boy more than even Potter does.”

“She doesn’t hate him. He just frustrates her, and she him. Have you ever noticed them watching each other? I’ve seen them do it during meal times. They’re always curious about what the other is doing or saying. They seek out each other’s company just to fight. It’s really cute.”

Snape made a face that stated clearly that he didn’t agree.

“A cobra and a mongoose would get along better.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about her virtue then, or about rumors that she’s secretly Harry’s girlfriend. I know her father is looking into potential betrothals and that sort of thing could be disastrous for her.”

Clearly, Vesper was better at optimism than he was, for she did make some very good points. He raised his cup to her.

“Perhaps you are right. There’s no stopping it at this point in any event.”

They spent the rest of their break in silence, enjoying their tea and their quiet company.

By that Friday night, the entire school knew about Harry’s duel with Ron, scheduled for that Monday. By Sunday night, Harry just wished it was over and done with. He hadn’t bothered studying a lot so close to the day of the duel, knowing any attempt to integrate a new technique so soon would hinder more than help his cause, and the extent of his preparations were a few brief practices with the Weasley twins to keep him mentally prepared without exhausting his magic and double checking his equipment.

He would have been perfectly satisfied with that and spent the rest of his weekend on assignments and hanging out with his friends, but it seemed everyone else was bent on ‘helping’. Every one seemed to have some sort of advice or secret spell they felt would ensure his victory. Finnegan had insisted aiming for the knees was perfectly legal (it wasn’t) and impossible to block (it was). Hermione informed him Ron dueled like a chess player, thinking at least three moves in advance but was easily frustrated when the set up failed (true, but not really helpful to Harry who improvised rather than planned). Diggory said Ron didn’t have as much endurance as Harry, so he should focus on that. Harper, his arithmancy partner, pointed out that just left him vulnerable until the Slytherin boy was tired.

To make matters worse, the paper hadn’t assigned the girl Hermione had suggested, but a rather vampirish looking boy called Hadrian Greystoke, who stalked him relentlessly, asking questions and taking notes on every little thing he did.

“Mr. Potter, do you feel training with older students gives you an unfair advantage?”

“Mr. Potter, I see you have specialized body armor. Did you purchase them yourself or were they a gift?”

“Mr. Potter, what made you decide to challenge your club’s captain? There are rumors that he insulted Ms. Granger, and you rose up to defend her honor. Is it true? Or do you believe him incompetent?”

“Mr. Potter… Mr. Potter… Mr. Potter…”

More than ever, Harry wished he could have gone outside. It was unusually cold for November and a heavy snow had been falling all weekend, leaving the outdoors pristine and empty and an excellent place for him to escape for a few hours. If he wore his Baluvian cloak, anyone following him would have lost track of him within minutes.

His professors had been insistent, however. No outdoors. No escape.

“You alright, Harry?” Clyde ask at Sunday dinner, peering at his rather glum looking friend. “You’re not getting sick are you? That’d be lousy luck the day before the fight.”

“Duel,” Harry corrected. “It’s not a fight. It’s a duel. A game. No big freak’n deal everyone is making it.”

“Yeesh, sorry I cared.”

Harry sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just sick of this thing and it hasn’t even started yet.”

“It’s fine, man. I get it. I won’t mention it again.”

“Thanks.”

He reached for his glass, hoping everyone else around him would have heard them and just let him have his dinner in peace. The glass disappeared the moment his fingers brushed it.

“Hey!”

“What is it Harry?” Hermione asked.

“My glass disappeared. What gives?”

“That’s odd. Was it empty?”

Harry tried to think on it, but honestly couldn’t remember. His cup reappeared, full of pumpkin juice, and decided it must have been. House elves were known refill cups like that, although they were usually more subtle. He took a drink, choked, and spit it back out.

“That isn’t funny!” Harry yelled at the Weasley twins, two just looked at him with innocent confusion.

“What did they do?” Clyde asked.

“They switched my drinks. Tasted like swamp slime and vinegar.”

Hermione grimaced.

“Lovely.”

“Ugh, I’m going back to the common room. I’m not going to be able to eat anything until I get this taste out of my mouth.”

“Alright, Harry, we’ll save you a potato.”

“Thanks.”

Once Harry had disappeared, Clyde look disapprovingly at his uncles, who were still acting innocent and went back to talking with Angelina.

“We should turn them in you know. They get away with this stuff so often they don’t think they can get caught.”

“Too late,” Finnegan said, pointing to the cup which slowly emptied itself of contents before their very eyes. “Damn, they’re good.”

Harry’s pranked drink was the beginning of a string of unfortunate events that lasted through to the next evening. While trying to brush the bad taste out of his mouth, he accidentally dropped his tooth brush into the trash can, and then swallowed his tooth paste while he was cursing. This resulted in a vomit fest and no toothbrush to boot. He was not in the mood for dinner afterward, so he stayed in the common room to read his Quidditch magazine, only to find it had disappeared and wouldn’t be found. To make matters worse there was a draft in the tower, and the fire place was blown out. Harry tried lighting it with his wand, only to have his wand catch fire. He managed to save his wand by dunking a vase full of water on it, but got drenched himself.

Frustrated, cold, wet, and still slightly nauseous, he gave up any hope for the remainder of the evening and went to bed.

He might have given up on the day, but the day was not finished with him. He was missing a blanket on his bed, making it too cold to sleep, and when he called on the house elves to get him some more, they put it on the wrong bed. The bed’s owner walked in just in time to see Harry ‘blanket stealing’ and a thirty minute argument resulted. At last allowed to retire , he realized that his dorm mates weren’t ready to sleep so early, and he could hear them for several hours before they came up stairs, turning on too many lights, and still not shutting up. When at last they had settled, Harry thought he would finally get some peace and quiet.

It wasn’t so.

One of the boys had congestion, and the series of snorts, whistles, squeaks, chuffs, huffs, and sniffles that emanated from his nose was enough to leave Harry staring wide-eyed at his ceiling until dawn. His silencing charms all failed after thirty minutes regardless of how strongly he cast them.

Morning brought no relief. One misfortune after another strove to kill Harry or make him want to kill himself. He lost everything he could conceivably lose, from his wand to his socks to his book bag, two of the three showers Harry tried sprayed him with cold water, he lost two buttons, broke a shoe lace, lost his wand again, tripped down the tower stairs and ripped his school robe, snapped at his friends when they laughed, missed breakfast, and of course Toure decided to start the day with a pop quiz. He forgot his homework for DA&D, and couldn’t recall anything they had studied. Half way to potion’s he realized he had lost his wand again and gone back for it, and was late for class. That earned him one detention with Snape that night, and the potion he ruined meant he had to stay during his lunch break to finish if he planned to get a grade, which he did, but not a good enough one to justify missing another meal over.

And so went his entire day, one mishap after another, everything that could conceivably go wrong short of a dragon falling through the roof. By the time his afternoon duel had rolled around, he had six detentions, failed two pop quizzes, lost all of his assignments, ruined a text book, fought with all of his friends, was sporting several bruises, a stubbed toe, a twisted ankle, and was ready to kill God.

“Christ Potter, what the hell happened to you?” Ron said upon his opponent’s arrival at the Dueling Club. The entire Dueling Club, seniors and juniors and professors, as well as several others who really didn’t have any business being there were milling about anxiously. Harry flashed Colin Creevey a glare that probably would have melted his camera if he’d been pointing it.

“Shut. Up,” he snarled, stalking straight to the supply closet.

Ron merely sneered and waited, already prepared. He took Harry’s brief absence to irritate Hermione. She too, had had a fight with Harry, for the stupidest reason now that she thought about it, and she was starting to worry about her friend now.

“I want you to wear a red dress,” he said.

She glanced at the Slytherin, before looking back to where Harry had disappeared.

“What are you babbling about?”

“On our date. I want it red. You’re a Gryffindor, you like red, don’t you?”

“Only covering my enemies.”

“Ouch. So you really are a Malfoy, after all.”

She gave him sour look, and he felt deeply satisfied to have earned it. Harry appeared dressed in his usual white with brown leather. If possible his scowl was even deeper than before and he was clenching and unclenching his hand, as if it were bothering him.

“Someone left their dueling knife in the closet,” Harry remarked sourly as he passed Snape. The potion’s master studied him for a long moment, and was becoming increasingly disturbed with his semi-ward’s state. He was clearly exhausted, hurt in some manner, and in a bad temper. None of this was particularly unusual for Potter, but it wasn’t an ideal state to be in just before a duel.

“I will see the culprit punished. Do you wish to have the match delayed?”

“God no. I can’t take another day of this.”

Larousse came around from the other side of the platform to have a look at the boy herself, and what she saw disturbed her.

“Harry, are you-”

“I’m fine. Let’s get this over with,” he said shortly, and stalked up to the platform. The third step collapsed under his weight, sending his foot clean through the wood, while the rest of him stumbled forward, smacking the platform with his head.

There was startled scream and several gasps by the on lookers.

“Harry!”

The Gryffindor groaned, but lifted himself up. Gingerly, he pulled his leg free.

“I’m fine.”

His leather leg braced had protected him for the most part, but a large splinter had found an opening in the back and causing a trickle of blood to stain his white pants. Irritated, he pulled it out sharply.

“Potter! Stop that,” Snape snarled, coming forward to inspect the wound himself, but Harry pulled away from him and up onto the platform.

“It isn’t bad. We can fix it after the duel with whatever other injuries I might get.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Harry’s reply was to turn his back on the man and face his opponent. Ron was looking a bit confused, but eventually smirked.

“Good to see your balls have dropped. Fighting little kids just ain’t sporting.”

“But you’d do it anyway.”

“Fuck you!”

“Gentleman, positions!” Snape demanded, determined to get this all over with as quickly as possible so he could find out what was going on. Both boys dropped their argument, and rearranged themselves. The placed their wands in front of themselves, their free hands behind them, saluted, and turned their bodies sideways, their wands ready.

“Begin.”

The left lens of Harry’s glasses popped out.

“What the fu-”

“Fastidium facio!”

The Nausea Curse hit Harry dead center. If he had had anything in his stomach, he would have been sick, but at this point it only left him slightly disoriented.

“Comprimo!”

The Squeeze Curse missed, more from Harry’s lack of vision than Ron’s dexterity in dodging.

“Aracnisortia!”he tried, sending out a wave of spiders crawling towards Ron. The vaguely squirming motion of the hundred little bodies had the unintended effect of making him dry heave. The Slyterin bulked for a moment, but then destroyed them with a Fire Hex that Harry barely managed to block. The curse bounced of his shield and hit the wooden chandelier above them, setting it alight. Another curse, this time one Harry didn’t recognize, forced him to dodge rather than block. Unfortunately, when he jumped out of the way, his foot landed on his missing lens, causing him to slip. He smacked face first into the platform, and his mouth was instantly filled with blood.

There were shouts for Harry and shouts to stop the match and shouts to keep it going. Not knowing who would win the argument, he rolled to avoid any curses Ron might have sent at him, just in time to see the chandelier collapsing down on him. He rolled again, falling off the end of the platform and onto the stone floor. A deafening crash, a wave of debris, and several screams later found Harry alive and surrounded by his professors and several less welcome individuals.

“Potter, are you alive?” Snape demanded.

Dazed, and choking on the blood from his possibly broken nose, Harry couldn’t come up with anything more witty than, “No.”

“He needs to be taken to the infirmary, Severus,” Larousse said, “Will all of you back up?”

The students retreated from Harry’s blurred vision. He felt himself being lifted, not levitated, but actually carried, and it was so utterly strange and nostalgic that if he didn’t feel like he were dying Harry might have enjoyed it.

“Potter, tell me quickly, have you ingested anything strange recently? Food or drink that didn’t taste right?”

Harry merely turned his head and spat out some blood, not even bothering to answer the question. He didn’t think he had, but he couldn’t think of anything at the moment. Everything was spinning and painful. Hermione, sweet, quick thinking Hermione, was there for him though.

“Wait! Something odd happened yesterday. His pumpkin juice disappeared and then reappeared, but it tasted bad! We just thought the twins…er… I mean, someone, had played a joke on him! He spit it out though! Why?”

“I’ll tell you later, but right now I need to get Potter to my lab. Clear the way for me, Professor Larousse, Weasley, go inform the headmistress of what has happened, and Ms. Granger I want you to inform Madam Pomfrey. The rest of you… go do your homework or something.”

Harry closed his eyes, nauseated and unable to see clearly any way, and focused on breathing around his discomfort and listening to what the professors were saying.

“What’s on your mind, Severus?” Larousse asked, flicking her wand this way and that to open doors and move aside obstacles as they strode quickly down the hall. Snape didn’t speak until all the students were safely out of ear shot.

“The knife in the closet, the broken stairs, the glasses lens, the chandelier… there were several complaints during lunch about him misplacing homework and generally being an utter spaz before this too. It’s too much coincidence working against him. Either Potter it the focus of a very clever and discreet prankster or he’s been poisoned.”

Discord and the Prince

“Poisoned? How could this all be due to poison?” Harry heard Larousse ask.

The air suddenly became very cool, and he knew they had entered the dungeons.

“You have heard of Felix felicis?”

“Yes… it’s illegal, but hardly a poison.”

“No, but its lesser known counter part, Infelix misera is.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s why you’re not a potion’s master.”

“Severus,” her voice warned. There was the sound of opening and closing doors, and Harry felt himself set down on what was probably a couch. Snape moved away, and Larousse moved in, bringing a tender touch and some cloth to stem the flow of blood from his nose. “What is Infelix misera?”

“A bad luck potion. Just as Felix felicis distorts one’s magic to align with favorable lei lines, creating good luck for the drinker, Infelix misera aligns one’s magic with unfavorable lei lines. Potter has been, ironically, rather fortunate. If his magic had come too close to a particularly hazardous lei line, he would be dead.”

There was a tense moment of silence, and Harry could hear Snape ruffling through his cabinets and drawers, and Larousse’s hand was softly running though his hair.

“Do you have an antidote?”

“Not exactly,” Snape said, “It’s a rare enough poison I haven’t had to brew an antidote in years, and that batch is still probably stored somewhere in St. Mungo’s, and there’s no guarantee it’s any good now or hasn’t been used already. Potter will not last another day at this rate.”

“But you have an idea?”

“Of course. I can’t neutralize the potion, but I can neutralize Potter’s magic to keep it from aligning with lei lines. Are you listening to all this, Potter?”

“Yeah… someone’s trying to kill me again?”

“It’s getting rather redundant, isn’t it?” Snape said, and Harry felt his presence replace Larousse’s again. “Chew and swallow this.”

Something touched his mouth, and he reached up to take it. It was some sort of vine with little berries on it. He bit into it and the closest thing he could describe the experience to was eating grass-flavored licorice rope. Even as hungry as he was, it was an incredibly unpleasant experience.

“Japanese Soul Eater? How on earth did you get it? It can’t be imported.”

“Professor Sprout has an entire green house dedicated to Asian plants. She is very generous in giving me her left overs from pruning and harvesting. This should be enough to hold him over until the potion breaks down in his system.”

“And the rest of his injuries?”

“None of Madam Pomfrey’s potions will work with this running through his blood, but first-aid spells should help with some of it. Potter, don’t fall asleep. You need to finish it.”

Harry made a face, but kept chewing. Snape and Larousse talked for a long time about what they should do next. Larousse wanted to take Harry out of Hogwarts altogether, perhaps to St. Mungo’s, but Snape thought re-securing Hogwarts, already a necessity, would provide enough protection. Besides, St. Mungo’s was a quack shop in his opinion.

There was more talk about where to keep Harry until things were considered secure, then irritation about what was taking Lestrange so long, and several reminders to Harry to keep eating. Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of his younger years, on the rare occasion when he was sick enough to be stuck in bed. His mother would touch his hair just like that. His father would pace and ponder and plan just so. And he, he got to just lay there and trust them to look after him, miserable but safe and cared for.

At some point he must have eaten what was required, for he’d fallen asleep and no one had woken him for several hours. He was roused by someone calling his name, and opened his eyes to something crimson and blurry. A pair of glasses were slipped over his nose and his vision cleared.

“My Lord?” he said sleepily, and slowly sat up. He had been cleaned up while unconscious and stripped down to his slacks and shirt, bandages sticking out through the tears in the fabric. He felt around his person for his wand. He found it up a sleeve, but it felt strangely lifeless. Voldemort watched quietly as Harry slowly pulled himself together.

“How do you feel?”

“Alright. I’ve lived through worse.”

That brought a hint of a smile to the Dark Lord, but it became neutral quickly enough.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“I came to see you as soon as I heard. I was worried.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should be moved or suspicious, so opted for polite.

“Oh, thank you. I’m okay now. Professor Snape made me eat this nasty thing so I should be fine. Did you catch the person, yet?”

Voldemort said nothing for a moment. Slowly, he lifted a hand and lightly brushed a dark bruise on Harry’s face. Most of his face was purple and blue from from multiple face plants, his lip split, a cut just above his eye, and a nose Pomfrey said just barely avoided being broken. There were more injuries beneath his clothes, bruises and cuts and abrasions he had acquired throughout his night and day of misfortune. Harry looked to all the world as if he had been assaulted, and despite his protege’s nonchalance, Voldemort found the current state of affairs unacceptable.

“No, he has evaded us again,” he said at last, when Harry looked away nervously.

“Again?”

“We suspect it was Moody. I don’t know how he breached the castle’s defenses, but I have my Sentinels scouring every corridor and room from tower to dungeon. He will not be making fools of us again.”

Harry ’s silence spoke volumes about his skepticism. The Dark Lord could hardly blame him after the debacle with the basilisk the previous year.

“So now what?”

“Now, Professor McGonagall is going toescort you back to your dorm room. There will be several Sentinels standing guard throughout the tower, so you’ll be perfectly safe. You’re excused from classes until your magic returns and the rest of your injuries can be healed properly.”

With a little help, Harry managed to climb to his feet. Voldemort handed him a set of crutches, and together they moved out of Snape’s parlor and into the corridor. Snape, Larousse, and McGonagall were there talking to Chief Sentinel Morgan and some underlings, but they broke off once they spotted Harry. The boy hobbled over to them and managed a tired smile, and Voldemort stayed back to observe what he would do.

“Evening, Professors.”

“How do you feel, Harry?” Larousse asked.

“I look worse than I feel.” Undoubtedly a lie, but a Gryffindorish one. “It seems you’re out twenty galleons, Professor Snape. I appreciate your sacrifice.”

The dour man didn’t have a witty come back for once, and nodded slightly in acknowledgment. McGonagall fretted over him for a bit, but the boy’s cool disinterest made the attention seem rather ridiculous and she had to give it up in order to lead him back upstairs. Harry turned back to give him a tired wave goodnight, before hobbling up the stairs with her help. Once he was gone, Voldemort turned to his men.

“I will not have a repeat of last year. Discretion is not an issue here. I want Moody’s crimes to be made as publicly abhorrent as possible and his capture equally as glorious,” he said sharply. There was no opposition, but no one seemed to know what he intended them to do, and indeed it seemed to take the Dark Lord a long moment to come up with some ideas. When he did, however, a rather wicked grin found its way across his lips.

“This requires creativity. Something the old Ministry would never dream of doing, that Moody would never expect. I want to use the werewolves.”

“My Lord, in the castle?” Lestrange asked, seemingly nauseated by the very idea.

“In and out of the castle. Hogsmeade, the Hogwart’s Express, London, Bristol, Canterbury, everywhere . They will sniff out his scent through every corridor, every secret passage, every safe house, and hostel from here to the sea. And if he tries to flee the country, the Dementors will destroy him along the coast. He won’t get away.”

“Will Greyback agree though?” Morgan asked, tumbling the practicalities of the idea around in his head.

“If the payment is sufficient… He’s been complaining about a lack of females for several years. They seem to have an unusually high suicide rate.”

Of those gathered only Morgan seemed to be seriously considering the idea. Lestrange wasn’t being vocal, but her body language was fidgety and irate, while Snape and Larousse remained completely blank faced. Voldemort could guess what they were thinking though. Both had a special hatred reserved for those of the lycanthropic persuasion, each for their own reason, but they would never oppose him. Snape because he was obedient and Larousse because she wouldn’t risk her position at Hogwarts like she had at the Court. He gave them both a condescending smile.

“Of course, if you’re able to find him before I have settled negotiations with Greyback, then releasing werewolves won’t be necessary. I would be most impressed if you were able to accomplish this all on your own.”

They shared a look, a quiet agreement, and nodded.

“Delightful,” he laughed. He was starting to feel a sort of thrill that came with a hunt and the expected destruction of an enemy. His adversary was clever, dangerous, and doomed the moment he persisted on his protege’s death. When he finally tracked Moody down, the man would look back on his time in Azkaban as a paradise vacation.

Harry spent the next two days in his dorm amidst several get well tokens and jokes about ‘princesses and towers’. He smiled for all his visitors and dorm mates, made a few jokes of his own, and pretended to enjoy the lack of homework, but when he was alone he’d curl up in a window sill and wonder when the next attack would occur.

Not ‘if’. ‘When’. He had no doubt there would be another attempt, and while that frightened him, the thought of his friends and classmates getting caught up in it was heart wrenching. It didn’t even have to be Moody necessarily. This wasn’t the first attempt that had been made on his life, and some how he didn’t think it would be the last either.

He was, for the first time, seriously thinking about leaving Britain.

It wasn’t quite the situation his godfathers had been expecting, but it was close enough. He told himself the only reason he hadn’t left already was because he was helpless without his magic and still in too much pain to play fugitive. The truth was that he was just as afraid of leaving as he was of staying.

He could remember last year, while under the affects of McNair’s phobia curse, how his friends had suddenly disappeared as if they had never existed. If he left Britain, wouldn’t the result be the same? His last attempt when he was ten, his escape from the Dursely’s and the discovery of how truly helpless he was shortly after. He had since made huge leaps in self proficiency, and magic seemed to make all things possible, but if he did end up outside of Britain would he be any less helpless? He knew no one and nothing about witches and wizards abroad, and if he found himself in trouble where could he go? Would he be any safer in France or Germany as he was in Hogwarts?

Being alone again was just too painful.

Then he would remember Hermione laying unconscious in the infirmary and how afraid he was that she was going to die, and some how it hurt even worse.

So what should he do? What could he do?

Footsteps on the stairs drew Harry’s attention, and he checked his watch. Classes should have still been going on. He snatched up a quidditch bat, a gift from the twins, from beside his bed and moved to the side of the entrance way. The person who stepped through did not have their wand drawn, and the brilliant red hair was the only thing that kept him from smashing the person over the head. When Ron turned around, Harry sort of wished he hadn’t noticed.

“Jesus, Potter!” the Slytherin yelped, stumbling back several paces. Draco’s head popped into the room, looking over at Harry in amusement.

“I knew it was a good idea to have Ron walk ahead of me,” he said, striding in confidently. It was then that Harry noticed both Slytherins were wearing Gryffindor badges.

“Did you steal those?” he asked.

“Of course not. Malfoy’s don’t steal. We file lawsuits.”

Harry checked the stairs for any other possible visitors, then turned back to the intruders. They were wandering around the room in blatant curiosity, making comparisons with their own rooms.

“It’s a bit small,” Ron said.

“That’s the drawback of living in a tower,” Harry said, “The view makes up for it.”

The Slytherins went to the window, and managed to look mildly impressed. From their vantage point they could make out the Forbidden Forest draped in its autumn colors and the lake reflecting vibrant sky blue.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get past the guards?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Ron said, moving along in exploration, fingering through the various cards people had left on his bedside table. “We just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The guards let us through when we told them we forgot our homework assignments. Rather pathetic security you’ve got, Potter.”

Harry laid his bat across his shoulder, a clear reminder that his pathetic security nearly smashed the other boy’s head in.

“If you’re done gawking then, you can leave.”

“No, give me another minute. I’m still gawking.”

And Ron proceeded to just stare at him for several moments. Draco rolled his eyes.

“I came to get the story straight from the source. What gives Potter? People are saying you got curse, other people are saying you got poisoned, and some even say you’re dying. Looking at you now I’m voting on the last one. You look like shit.”

Harry shook his head and moved back to his bed, laying down. His ankle was starting to bother him.

“I was poisoned, but it’s the sort of poison that acts like a curse. Some sort of bad luck spell. Everything that could have conceivably gone wrong, did. Snape made me eat some nasty plant and now my magic is shot to hell, but I’m not dead at least. I can’t have any more potions until they’re sure the poison is out of my system, hence the dying look.”

“I think it suits you,” Ron smirked.

“Care to try it on yourself?” Harry smirked back.

“Now, now, you two. Lets not fight. I came to check on you, but Ron has something important to say.”

Perhaps to think of his next words or perhaps just to be annoying, the redhead turned his back on Harry in favor of another window, this one overlooking the roofs of Hogwarts.

“I’ve decided to make you my vice-captain,” he said at last. “I’ll need you to come to Dueling Club next meeting to make it official. The YDA representative is coming tomorrow, and I’ll need you there to meet them. Can you do it?”

Harry just looked at him blankly.

“Potter, am I being unclear on something? You’re my new vice-captain. Meeting tomorrow. Can you come?”

“… yeah, as long as you don’t expect me to give a demonstration… what the hell, Weasley? I didn’t win the duel. Technically, I lost spectacularly. Shouldn’t Draco be taking over?”

Draco shrugged.

“I’ve got other ambitions. Did you hear I’ll be taking over as Seeker for the Quidditch team?”

“No, I hadn’t. Congratulations… well, congratulations when we’re all actually allowed to play again.”

Draco waved it off.

“Flint is graduating next year, so there’ll be an opening in the team captain’s position. You might be the youngest Seeker in a century, but I fully intend to be the youngest captain ever. If I’m going to do it, I won’t have time to look after all those little idiots you seem so fond of.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. So Draco was going for the gold, rather than settling for the silver? He had to admire that, despite the arrogance.

“Wait a minute, if Draco was never going to accept the vice-captain position, doesn’t that mean… You asshole, you lied to Hermione!”

Ron laughed at that.

“Slytherin, remember?”

Harry looked to Draco.

“And you’re ok with that?”

“I lost at chess. He gets one date with her without me spelling his nuts off. I’m amazed he even got the date.”

“She’s still going to go out with you, even though the match was …sorta… rigged?”

“Yeah, you Gryffindors are a weird lot. She figured if I was big enough to let you be my vice-captain, she’d be big enough to go to the Christmas ball with me. So, thanks for all your help mate.”

“Weasley, Draco may have promised not to curse you, but I didn’t.”

“Club meeting at five o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

“See ya, then, Harry.”

With that, the Slytherins left on their merry way, leaving Harry exasperated and amazed all at once. It also made him realize he couldn’t leave. It wasn’t just the new responsibility he’d received, but the reminder that he had a life at Hogwarts. A life worth fighting for, perhaps even dying for. What would he have if he left?

What would he be?

London had not seen a werewolf in seven years, but even before that it certainly hadn’t been in the numbers gathered in The Iron House, Sentinel headquarters. There were nearly a hundred, men and women all strong and proud in their baring. Hunters, alphas, each and every one. Voldemort observed them closely from beneath a Notice-Me-Not spell as they explored the conference room and one another, sniffing and watching, but saying very little. Fenrir had been very generous.

But then again, Voldemort had been very generous with him as well. WYRA would hardly miss a couple of little girls, always harder to adopt away than the boys, but the sudden abandonment of a squib work house would hardly go unnoticed by the local wizarding population. He had to be quite clever with his cover-up and it cost him dearly to keep everyone quiet.

The current selection was more than worth it. He could spot several werewolves he knew by sight and reputation. Alexis Bloodclaw, killed her pack’s old alpha female by ripping open her neck with only her claws. Jackal, lanky and unassuming, but once he found prey he never lost it. And of course, Sirius Blackbone, next in line for Head Alpha.

Currently, he was moving through the crowd like a shark through water, target locked in his sights. His beta and mate, Slivermoon, kept close behind to protect his flank and snarled every so often if anyone moved in too closely. Now what was their goal?

Bitefirst, formerly the Slytherin Morgenson, and Hawkeye, once Whitehall, were the youngest werewolves present, and kept together in the corner. Voldemort hadn’t thought much about them since their exile, but he couldn’t help but feel vaguely pleased that the former Slytherins had both survived to become alphas. Very young alphas, little more than particularly ornery betas in fact, but alphas nonetheless. The two tensed when they noticed the approach of considerably stronger opponents.

They both shrank away as Blackbone stopped, towering over them.

“This them?” Blackbone asked his beta. Slivermoon nodded, glaring at the two.

“Yes, I recognize their stink. I could never forget it.”

Hawkeye was soon all but cowering, while braver, more arrogant Bitefirst let out a warning growl. It had both larger werewolves laughing at him, before Blackbone snarled at him.

“Watch it, pup. I could gut you in the middle of everyone and it’d be in my right.”

“What do you want?” Bitefirst snarled.

The blow Blackbone landed sent him sprawling to the floor with a pained cry. The other werewolves all turned to look, and one of the females broke off from the rest to step in front of Blackbone.

“What are you doing, Blackbone?” she demanded.

“Get out of my way, you mangy bitch,” he snarled back. “I’m within my rights!”

“You’re not Head Alpha yet! Until then you can’t go around beating up other packs’ members. Back off!”

Blackbone moved to shove her out of his way, but she knocked his arm aside and snarled back. Several other werewolves were starting to move in to assist their own, but the man’s next words made them hesitate.

“They tried to kill my godson! He was just child, only eleven! I’ll cut off my own arm before I let them get away with that!”

“Liar! We’ve never been near your mangy pack!” Bitefirst snarled, touching his bruising cheek gingerly.

“Eleven years old. Glasses. Messy black hair. A little bit small for his age. Ring any bells?!”

Hawkeye looked vaguely nauseous at the reminder, and Bitefirst eyes widened.

“That doesn’t count! We were all normal kids! And it’s not like he was hurt!”

Slivermoon, whom the female hadn’t been keeping track of, slipped by her to smash his fist into young werewolf’s stomach and then his uninjured cheek. Other werewolves joined the melee, pulling Slivermoon and Blackbone away from the clearly outmatched juveniles, but the two godfathers were incensed and their strength was nearly impossible to restrain.

A loud explosion rocked the conference room, sending the wolves scattering in different directions before turning to face the possible attacker. In the center of the room stool Voldemort, God Eater, and general nightmare of all those gathered. Most had the man to blame for their current condition, and as much as they hated him, they feared him even more. Of that fear, came a respect rivaled only by their Head Alpha, Fenrir Greyback.

“Tut, tut, Blackbone,” the Dark Lord chided, wagging a finger at the volatile man, “You should be saving your energy for the hunt. Your godson has a more dangerous enemy now than a couple of arrogant little boys.”

The hatred in the werewolf’s eyes was positively delicious. Voldemort could feel the wild energy permeating towards him from all the way across the room. He strode forward, and not to be outdone, Blackbone came forward to meet him. At last they stopped before each other, scant inches apart. Voldemort all dark amusement and Blackbone all dark rage.

“Do you have something to say to me, boy?” Voldemort asked.

“This is all your fault.”

The Dark Lord’s hand shot out, faster than Blackbone could dodge, latching onto the werewolf’s neck and squeezing. The werewolf struggled, digging his clawed fingers into his aggressor’s arm, but his strength was more than a man’s, more than a werewolf’s. At last, Blackbone’s legs collapsed beneath him, and Voldemort released him.

“My fault? Maybe so,” he said, as the werewolf sat gasping on the floor. “But I’ll take responsibility. So must you, Sirius Blackbone, once Sirius Black, godfather to Harold James Potter. You have failed him miserably so far.”

That earned him a growl from both Blackbone and Slivermoon, who was moving steadily towards his mate. This only amused the Dark Lord more.

“I require some werewolves to search Hogwarts, ones who are familiar with the castle. Now that leaves either you and Slivermoon, or Bitefirst and Hawkeye. Since I’ve warned the other two of their immediate death upon nearing young Harry, I believe you both would make better choices. Am I wrong?”

Blackbone was looking at the floor by now, just as angry but more controlled. After a moment of silence, Voldemort smacked him upside the head to regain his attention. The werewolf glared up at him.

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

He patted the werewolf on the head, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Good boy,” he said, then moved away to face the rest of his new forces. Blackbone was easily the strongest and most dominant wolf among them, and having defeated him the others bowed to his authority without question. “The rest of you will be working in pairs under the supervision of a Sentinel. Obey them as you would me or I will take it as a personal insult and punish you accordingly. Line up. You two, follow me. We are leaving now.”

The werewolves did as instructed, and Blackbone and Slivermoon snarled at the two pups as they slunk by them before following the Dark Lord. Neither were happy with their position, but James’ legacy, the closest thing they would ever have to a child themselves, was in danger and needed them. Even if it meant following the lead of the devil himself, they knew they couldn’t turn away.

Worst of all, the devil knew it.

The Huntress and the Wolves

“The herbology quiz focused a lot on explosive plants, so I hope you reviewed chapter seven. Also we have a transfiguration practical today, but you’ll probably be able to get out of that. Did you do your DA&D homework? Of course not, you couldn’t get to the library. I should have offered, but you did need your rest-”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed. He was heading down to breakfast with their house mates, having finally rid himself of the ineffectual poison and finally gotten the potions needed to fix the rest of his injuries. His wand still felt lifeless to him, but Pomfrey assured him his magic would begin to return by that weekend. Now he found himself assuring Hermione that his academic life wasn’t over. “Chill out. I missed two days… okay, three days because of the ‘Unlucky Day’, but still not a crisis situation. My magic is still shot to hell, so I’ll just catch up on everything instead of going to dueling practices. It’ll be fine.”

“What about that meeting tonight? Don’t you have to come?” Ginny reminded as she came up from behind with Clyde. Clyde was looking his usual sunny self, grunting occasionally when he ran into something and mumbled something that was either ‘good morning’ or ‘sock puppet’.

“I’ll show up for a bit to help set things up and greet the inspector, but I’ll duck out after that. Like I said, my magic isn’t working. My reputation will have to be enough.”

Hermione frowned.

“Harry, you’re the vice captain now. All of the rookies look up to you. What are they going to think if you skip out early?”

“That I need to take my medication?”

“Harry!”

“Hermione!”

“Harry Potter!”

He turned around just in time to get a face full of recorder and Sara Bella Parker, tabloid terror and bane of his anonymous existence. Following like the ever eager puppy was her photographer Colin Creevey, who looked more like a kicked puppy when Harry sent a warning glare at his camera. Parker was less easily intimidated.

“Mr. Potter, now that you’ve recovered from your injuries would you mind answering some questions?”

“… I’m hungry. That’s all I have to say at the moment.”

With that he turned and moved purposefully towards the Great Hall. He was cut off once again by Parker and her recorder.

“You’re going to take my eye out with that thing one of these days,” he said, shoving the recorder out of his face. If only he could do the same to the girl.

“Please, Mr. Potter. All of Hogwarts, all of Wizarding Britain, in fact, is buzzing about Monday’s attack. Won’t you confirm some of the facts? Rumors are-”

“Listen, didn’t Lord Voldemort,” there was a gasp somewhere, reminding Harry that he was one of the few to use the dark wizard’s name out loud, “already make a statement?”

Parker hesitated.

“Er… well, yes, but-”

“Well, I’m hardly going to contradict him, now am I?”

And with that he moved around her and Colin (or rather Colin fled upon his approach), and ducked into a secret passage behind a suit of armor. They couldn’t follow him because the entrance locked for thirty seconds automatically, and by then he had exited at the bottom of a staircase.

“You should probably give her an interview,” Hermione said, waiting patiently as he emerged. “She’ll just keep annoying you until you do.”

“Can’t you do it?” he groused, brushing off cobwebs from his robes.

“Conflict of interest. The paper would lose credibility. If you want, you can decline to answer certain questions, but you shouldn’t deny all of them. It just makes them hungrier for answers.”

“Then let them starve. It’s none of their damn business.”

Hermione was about to contradict him, but then wisely refrained. As much as Harry disliked his secrets, he guarded them fiercely. And who was she to say he was wrong?

“Just promise me you aren’t going to punch anyone for asking?”

The silence that followed was not encouraging.

It was a long day for Harry, who hadn’t realized quite how much magic he performed in his daily life until he couldn’t use any at all. The teachers were sympathetic for the most part, and the students predictably oblivious and insensitive. Parker hadn’t given up, and hounded him mercilessly, but also ineptly. Harry had plenty of practice at evasion.

He supposed one day he would have to give in, but he didn’t want it to be too easy. He wouldn’t have her annoying him constantly with meaningless inquiries, so if she were intending to ask him something she had to expect to work for the answer.

By far the best tactic for keeping her away was Slytherins. It didn’t matter how young or old, male or female, unfriendly or … less unfriendly they were, if Harry found himself around them, Parker found somewhere else to be. Slytherins were more tolerant of Harry and Hermione than they were of the other Gryffindors. Harry because he was in with Voldemort, Slytherin king as far as that house was concerned, and Hermione could play the perfect little pureblood sister to their up and coming golden (silver?) boy to a tee.

So if he happened to ask Flint if he had heard when the Quidditch pitch would be repaired or tolerated Ron’s obnoxious smugness to discuss that evening’s club meeting for a few minutes, no one could describe his behavior as unusual or suspicious. And when it came to Snape, nothing could send Parker further, faster, than an irritated glower. So it was with a some what more congenial mood that Harry entered Dueling Club, ready to impress (or ready everyone else to impress) their observer.

“Potter,” Ron said by way of greeting, “check the supply closet to make sure everything is up to code. Make sure no one from the senior club left their knives in there again.”

Cedric Diggory, Captain of the Senior Dueling Club, gave the other captain a rather unflattering look at the insinuation. It was technically a Junior Club practice, but since the inspector was coming to rate both divisions they were sharing space for once and were feeling a bit territorial. The seniors were congregating near the platform, while the juniors remained by the practice dummies.

“On it. How much time do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes, tops. Hurry it up!”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

The supply closet was unusually empty with the entirety of the club having donned their equipment, and while Harry changed into his own, he did a once over. No one had left out their knives or any other dangerous equipment, and aside from a few fallen gloves and boots, everything was in its place. Satisfied, he turned to go but found his way blocked.

“Natalie,” he said, startled by her sudden appearance. She gave him an apologetic smile.

“Hello, Harry. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I haven’t seen you since…”

She shuddered, recalling Harry covered in his own blood as Snape carried him away. She knew he had been seriously injured before, but never had she seen anyone so damaged up close. And for that first time to be Harry…

“Yeah, about that. Sorry if I frightened you. I’m told I was quite a mess.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Idiot, you don’t apologize for getting injured unless it’s your fault. Which is wasn’t, so… yeah.”

He was bemused by her sudden lack of haughty eloquence, and she could feel her cheeks burn from the warmth of his smile. She was starting to feel silly, and if she didn’t get her feelings off her chest quickly this was quickly going to turn into something horribly awkward and embarrassing.

“Listen, Harry,” she began, “I know I can be kind of blasé about a lot of things even when they’re serious, so everyone thinks I don’t care, but I do. I really do. Especially with what happened to you.”

It was Harry’s turn to darken a few shades as Natalie took his hands into hers. Her expression was so uniquely serious and brave and beautiful.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes locked to his so that she was so close he could feel her breath on his face. “I’m so happy that you’re-”

His lips were suddenly pressed to hers, and he was stunned to realized it was he who had leaned down to kiss her, and it was another shock when he felt her chest press against his own as she gasped. He nearly keeled over dead when she kissed him back.

Neither was very good at it. Their lips never aligned quite right after first contact and both were too timid to try anything with tongue, but it was thrilling and electric and vaguely dangerous too. She pulled back first.

“… okay…”

He smiled at that and she laughed breathlessly, and soon they were both laughing softly, giddy from the experience. A sound from the doorway simultaneously drew their attention and sobered them completely. A familiar figure stood, wide-eyed and pale, one hand holding her wand and the other covering her mouth. Harry felt his insides sink at her horrified expression, and Natalie’s previous mockery of the younger girl’s affection danced around his head.

“Ginny…”

She disappeared, and he instinctively went to pursue but Natalie grabbed his arm.

“Leave her be,” she said, and he would have ignored her, perhaps even blamed her if she’d adopted her usual aristocratic disdain. Instead she was reserved, staring at the spot where her common target of mockery had just been. “It won’t do her or anyone else any good to cause a scene in front of the entire Dueling Club.”

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Don’t think about it for now. You’ve still got to go out there and give the rookies their little pep talk and make nice with the inspector… and pray to whatever pagan god you worship that no one else noticed.”

“I’m not a pa-”

She shoved him out of the closet before he could object, and he was forced to compose himself very quickly. No one seemed to be paying him any mind, except for Snape who was watching him suspiciously. Harry avoided eye contact and looked for something else to do. Quickly enough, his attention was directed to a man in rather fancy dueling robes, covered in shiny brass fixings over deep purple leather. He seemed rather foppish to Harry, but he seemed to hold some sort of importance judging by the attention Ron and Professor Larousse were giving him.

This man must be the inspector, Harry decided, and made his way over to greet him before he talked to his rookies. He looked around for Natalie, but she still hadn’t come out and he supposed she wanted rumors flying as little as he did. Or she was just being considerate to him. Which was sweet of her… or very politic. Oh, God, what if Luna found out about this? She wouldn’t hunt them down in the middle of Hogwarts, would she? Could she? Crap. Did this mean Natalie was his girlfriend? Should he have learned to establish this sort of thing before he went around kissing girls or sleeping naked with them?

Okay, really he should be concentrating on the more pressing matter.

And just as he decided to do just that and attempt a convincing smile as he approached the inspector, he received the second surprise of the day. His only forewarning was a sudden jolt of unease when the inspector’s dark eyes locked onto his, and the briefest lifting of the man’s arm. Magically defenseless and caught off guard, he froze.

And everyone else around him burst into chaotic motion.

Two bodies, large and faster than the average human burst out from the shadows of the hall, careening with the inspector, and sending Larousse, Ron, and several other students scattering in surprise and fear. As the majority fled away from the attack, Harry could see his rescuers clearly, but for the life of him couldn’t process the reality of it.

Remus.

Sirius.

Beating the living shit out of the man.

“Stupefy!”

Remus paused only long enough to bring up his wand to block Larousse’s spell and snarl in warning. By now a third person had appeared, a Sentinel looking as horrified by their violence as every one else. He lifted his wand, as did Larousse, and from the corner of his eye he spotted Snape doing the same and knew Remus couldn’t take them all on at once. At last, he found himself able to move.

“Sirius, Remus, stop! Stop, stop, stop!” he shouted, moving his body between the werewolves and wizards. “I think you’ve got him!”

Sirius and Remus both paused, looking over to Harry questioningly, before Sirius dropped his prey and jaunted over to his godson. The young Gryffindor found himself encased in a bear of a hug.

“There’s my pup! We’ve missed you!”

“Phlaa…” was all Harry could gasp.

“Put him down this instant and step away!” Larousse commanded. Sirius ignored her, instead setting him down to get a better look at him.

“You smell a bit off, Harry. Are you alright? I heard you had a bad couple of days.”

Harry could only blink at him dumbly.

“What are you doing here?”

The werewolf pouted.

“What kind of a greeting is that?”

“I would consider Mr. Potter’s greeting worthy of your entrance, Blackdeath or Dogbreath or whatever they call you now,” Snape snarled, stalking past Larousse and the Sentinel. “Is there a reason you’re assaulting the YDL representative or did you just get an itch?”

“Bite me, Snivelus,” Sirius growled. His distraction was enough for Larousse to grab Harry and quickly pull him away. The students were all recovering from their surprise enough that they had pulled out their wands in preparation of defending themselves and their professors, which made Harry extremely nervous for both werewolves. He knew they had attacked in order to defend him, but they needed to let everyone else know that as well.

“Please, Sirius, just explain. I’m kind of confused too,” he begged. There were murmurs amongst the students, unsure of the situation and how one of their own could possibly know these crazy people. The alpha shrugged and wandered back to his mate who stood guard over the battered and bloody man. He was still conscious, flinching and cowering as Sirius grabbed him by his robe to drag him over to the other adults.

“This isn’t a YLD or DLY or whatever you call it. This is a supposedly dead man making trouble,” he growled, circling his terrified victim. “Meet Torence Quick.”

Remus flicked his wand, and immediately the man’s sleek appearance morphed into something haggard. There was an instant recognition amongst the adults, but the students were even more baffled than before. Who was Torence Quick? Snape took charge of the situation.

“Alright, everyone, it seems our debut into the Young Duelist’s League has been postponed. You’re all dismissed.”

No one moved.

“Get lost, ya little punks!” Sirius snarled, and they all went scurrying. Snape and Remus both rolled their eyes. Larousse spoke to Harry, but kept her eyes and her wand directed at the werewolves and Quick.

“Harry, you should go with them.”

“No way. I deserve to know who’s been trying to kill me, and why,” he objected.

Her voice turned hard with warning.

“Harry…”

He wasn’t moved in the slightest. Sirius chuckled at his stubbornness. The Sentinel who had been watching things unfold, finally took charge.

“Professor Larousse, I believe it is best that you over see the students and then report to the Headmistress. The rest of us, including Mr. Potter, will report directly to the Dark Lord with… Mr. Quick here. He wished to be informed the moment we made progress, and I dare say that moment is now. Professor Snape, if you wouldn’t mind leading the way?”

Harry watched in fascination as Larousse’s normally beautiful face, hardened with anger and hate as she turned to his godfathers, softened into something akin to worry when she turned to him, and then disappeared into a blank neutrality as she went to attend the other students. Amongst them were all his friends and Natalie, as confused and unsure as the rest. He offered them a reassuring smile, before following his party out of the Dueling Hall and into the castle’s corridors.

“I’ll be damned, Snivelus, you’ve found a woman almost as annoying as you,” Sirius quipped, pulling Quick to his feet and shoving him after the potion’s master.

“At least I found a woman,” Snape countered, staring pointedly at Remus who just stuck out his tongue at the other man. To diffuse, or at least distract, any further arguments, Harry started asking questions.

“Who is Torence Quick and why is he trying to kill me? I thought it was Moody who wanted me dead?”

Sirius answered first. “The only one of those questions I have the answer to is the first. Torence Quick, the ornery little shit, was a former Death Eater. More specifically, the Death Eater who caught me and Remus. I spent nearly three months in Azkaban before being thrown to the wolves because of him. Pay back’s a bitch, ain’t it, Torence?”

The man didn’t even attempt a reply, merely limped along. Looking at the sniveling little man, Harry couldn’t help but feel disappointed. This was who had nearly succeeded in poisoning him? To be nearly defeated by such an enemy tore at his pride.

They continued on through the castle in silence, passing the occasional student and teacher who all gaped and wondered at the odd procession. As they drew closer and closer to Voldemort’s office, his godfathers began to pull back a little further from the others and more towards Harry. They obviously did not like where they were going and they liked taking Harry there even less. There was no avoiding it, however, and eventually they all crowded into the Dark Lord’s office.

The Dark Lord himself did not looked surprised, so much as pleased. Whether it was occlumency or cleverness, he could already tell something significant and in their favor had occurred. Sirius and Remus pulled Harry over to the couch nearest the door, sitting down so that their godson was safely ensconced between them. This seemed to amuse the Dark Lord, but he let them be for the time being.

“So what have we here?”

The Sentinel saluted sharply before speaking.

“My Lord, this one is Torence Quick, former Death Eater, believed to have been killed by Alastor Moody on September 3. Mr.’s Blackbone and Slivermoon discovered Mr. Quick impersonating a representative of the Young Dueling League sent to inspect Hogwart’s Dueling Club for qualification into said League, and… subdued him… before any harm could be done.”

Voldemort smiled, darkly pleased that after less than a day he was already making progress using the werewolves. Already another assassination attempt appeared to have been thwarted. It was not Moody, yet that didn’t exclude the convict as a suspect. He knew Quick well enough to know he wasn’t clever enough to come up with all of the attacks on his own.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you anything else to add, Severus?”

Snape nodded.

“Yes. I would like to say their actions were completely unnecessary,” he said sharply. “Professor Larousse and I already suspected something amiss. She was moving in to confirm her suspicions and I was standing a distance to cover her in case he tried something. We could have handled this without all the theatrics.”

Sirius made a very audible snort, but Harry believed his professor. He trusted the man, probably more than he deserved, but trusted just the same. Voldemort acknowledged his servant, but looked unconcerned.

“And you, Blackbone and Slivermoon? How did you know he was an assassin.”

“We could smell the enchantment on him, and the stink of the man underneath it.”

“You didn’t explain this to your Sentinel?”

Sirius just shrugged, and Remus wouldn’t speak out of turn.

“What about you, Harry? Anything to say?”

“Thank you for not letting me get killed?”

“You’re welcome,” the Dark Lord chuckled, before turning to Quick. The man was quivering pathetically, looking at the floor, unwilling or unable to move from where he had been dropped. Voldemort sauntered… yes, sauntered around his desk to stand before the man, smiling pleasantly. It was so strangely surreal Harry couldn’t even blink. A pale finger slid under Quick’s chin, lifting it so that he was gazing directly into crimsion.

“And, of course, Mr. Quick, I haven’t forgotten about you. Is there anything you would like to say? Some sort of explanation? You have to admit that your current predicament is very odd.”

Quick could only shake mutely. Harry looked around him and saw only cold regard amongst the adults, and felt a strange sort of empathy for the man. He was not sorry the assassin had been caught, and he wasn’t sorry to be alive, but he wished they wouldn’t torment him. It didn’t serve any purpose Harry could see.

Voldemort’s benign expression didn’t change, but his grip on his prisoner’s face did. He seized his jaw, holding it steady as Quick tried to jerk his head away, keeping their eyes connected. Suddenly the resistance ceased, turning instead to violent shaking. It only lasted a few seconds, and Voldemort released him, letting the man collapse onto the carpet and continue his seizure there.

“Severus, make sure he doesn’t bite off his tongue,” the Dark Lord instructed, turning back to is desk. As the potion’s professor knelt beside the spasming body, shoving something into his mouth and holding his head, Voldemort pulled out some paper from his desk and scribbled a couple of quick notes, sealed them magically, and handed them back to the young Sentinel. “Give these to Chief Sentinel Morgan. I have made some preliminary discoveries he will find of interest, but I want a professional interrogator here within the hour to uncover further details. From here on out, this is to be considered a Class X national security case. Go.”

The Sentinel saluted sharply, and sped out of the room. The room was tensely silent, the only sound was the choking gasps coming from the floor and Snape’s grunts as he struggled with his task.

Voldemort wasn’t smiling anymore, more thoughtful than anything, and at last he turned to Harry. He said nothing, and neither did Harry, though he was filled with questions and barely restrained horror. Was that what Voldemort had done to him during his second year? Harry didn’t recall seizing, but he couldn’t recall much of anything really. He felt his godfather’s hold on him tightened protectively, pulling him back to himself. At last, the Dark Lord turned away.

“It would appear your services are still required.”

“Harry’s still in danger?” Sirius growled.

“Indeed, but the threat is greater than I realized. It appears as though Moody found some powerful allies.”

“Quit being a dramatist and just spit it out. What did you learn?”

Crimson eyes flashed at Sirius’s impertinence, causing the werewolf to flinch. Sirius recovered quickly, but the slip was enough to satisfy the Dark Lord.

“Quick neither set the explosives during the quidditch match nor poisoned Harry. In fact, his presence here is not entirely of his own free will. His mind has been tampered with. I couldn’t fish out all the details I wanted without destroying him utterly, but I caught a few essentials. Moody kidnapped him out of his home and made it appear as if he’d killed the man, and has been holding him for just such a purpose as today. However, he wasn’t alone. He had help from a very old friend of ours.”

“Santa Claus?” Sirius suggested. Voldemort flicked his finger at the werewolf. Sirius made a panicked sound, then went very quiet. The anger in his eyes screamed his hatred loud and clear though.

“No, Fido,” the Dark Lord hissed, “Dumbledore.”

There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. Even Snape, busy keeping Quick alive, turned sharply towards Voldemort in surprise.

“Impossible,” Remus said. In the quiet of the office, even his whisper could be heard clearly.

“You think so? Do you really think so?”

Sirius was on his feet in an instant, and at first Harry thought he was going to attack, but instead he merely pulled Harry to his feet as well. Unable to speak, he made a sharp gesture to Remus, who rose as well. Harry found himself being shoved towards the smaller werewolf, who caught him easily. Sirius made another gesture for them to leave. Voldemort voiced no objection, and the atmosphere was far too tense for Harry to voice any of his own. Remus offered his mate a reassuring nod, before escorting their pup out to the relative safety of the halls.

Voldemort smirked as Sirius turned his attention back to him. The werewolf’s black eyes had gone yellow, dominating and delightfully feral.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised, Blackbone? After twenty years of raging war upon me, do you really believe your old general is above destroying one little boy? He abandoned hundreds of his allies and their families to death, including you and the Potters, just so he could escape to continue the fight that he had already lost. Look around you. Britain is stronger than she has ever been, her people just as safe and happy and satisfied as before the war… and yet still Dumbledore sends his assassins and saboteurs. And for what? To fight against evil? Ha!”

Sirius said nothing, couldn’t after Voldemort’s hex shriveled his tongue into non-existence, but neither did he interrupt.

“All he does is fight against me and peace and being proven wrong after all this time. And if he is to do that, he must destroy the symbol of our nation’s success. Harry is the new generation, Blackbone. He’s the ideal. He’s everything every generation past wished to aspire to, but were always unable. Brave, noble, talented, strong. He’s the slap in the face of every ignorant fear Dumbledore and the Ministry ever planted in the minds of the people should they aspire for change, for greater things than what came before. Do you understand? The greatest threat to Dumbledore is Harry, and the greatest threat to Harry is Dumbledore?”

Larousse and Lestrange were half way up the stairs with a contingent of some twenty Sentinels when Sirius Blackbone, alone and unarmed came storming down to meet them with a wordless snarl and a look that promised death. Lestrange was the only one amongst them bold enough to issue out an answering hiss as he shoved passed her, though Larousse had a curse on the very tip of her tongue and watched the broad target of his back intently until it disappeared behind the curve of the staircase.

At the top of the stairs, the painting that led to Voldemort’s office was slashed open, as if by claws. Inside was further destruction, consisting of the Dark Lord’s beautiful mahogany desk laying in splinters on the wrong side of the room, having taken out an entire bookshelf in its flight. Amidst the wreckage stood Voldemort, laughing hysterically, and the only witnesses to the madness that had just transpired, Snape and the catatonic Quick safely pressed against a wall.

Larousse let out her held breath when she saw Harry was no where in sight.

“Merlin’s beard, are you telling me there are werewolvesin Hogwarts? How did this slip under our noses?” McGunny shouted at the thirty or so students crowded into the Journalism office. An emergency meeting had just been called upon word of the attack during the Dueling Club. Aside from Hermione and Ron, there had been other reporters there to cover the event for the sports section of the paper, and they had rushed to inform their editor of their far more exciting story the moment they’d left the hall. A little more digging had turned up the identity of the men as werewolves who may very well have just caught Moody. Soon however came even more information and speculation until the truth was quickly becoming addled and uncertain.

Some were saying that the werewolves were part of a planned ambush. Others that they had simply attacked and gotten lucky. Still others were saying the man that was attacked was really Moody, others that it wasn’t Moody but someone under Imperius by Moody. After that things got weird. Several witness said they heard Harry Potter and the werewolves greet each other by name, and some even insisted that it was Harry who set the werewolves on the possible assassin. Others were saying they saw Ginny Weasley leave the supply closet Harry had been making preparations in a hurry and thought she had been sent by Harry to get the werewolves, but no one had been able to find the girl to confirm it. No one was brave enough to find the werewolves themselves, and Potter was proving as elusive as ever.

“This was an executive order from Voldemort himself. It had to be. He’s the only one who could authorize the use of werewolves according to the Snake and Wolf Treaty. He probably kept it hushed up until the very last minute. You know, so as not to warn Moody. I bet they were released into the school sometime this morning while we were in classes, and have been hunting the castle all day,” Hermione said, the only one who hadn’t been saying anything without something to back it up.

“Does anyone know where Voldemort is?” McGunny asked.

There was silence all around. The Dark Lord’s location was never made public knowledge, and even on those occasions he visited the castle, few could testify to his presence unless he intentionally made himself known.

“I overheard that Sentinel say they were taking the prisoner to Voldemort first, and then ordered Larousse to get the Headmistress. I figure he’s somewhere in the castle. Either his office or the dungeons,” Ron said.

“We can’t print that unless we’re certain,” she pointed out.

“Whose talking about printing anything? We’re just getting trying to sort it out. Jeez, lighten up.”

The Gryffindor looked ready to do the exact opposite and verbally punch Weasley into the ground, but McGunny, quite used to their antics, cut her off.

“Both of you knock it off. You both were there. Is there anything you can confirm? Was the attacker Moody? Did you get the werewolves’ names? What about the Sentinel?”

Granger looked hesitant. It set off warning bells in McGunny’s mind. She was one of his most diligent reporters and assistants, but when ever a topic arose that involved Harry Potter she froze up like Antarctica. Fortunately, Weasley had no such compunctions.

“Yeah, I got some interesting stuff. The guy wasn’t Moody. Get this, his name is Torence Quick, the guy everyone thought Moody had killed.”

Oh, that was perfect, the editor thought, but still didn’t explain Granger’s hesitance.

“Excellent, anything else?”

“Yeah, the werewolves… they called Potter their ‘pup’ and the big one even hugged him. I think we might now know why we never hear about his parents now.”

“Fucking hell, no!”

The silence that followed could be attributed to either Weasley’s suggestion or the fact that Hermion Granger of Malfoy actually swore. She gave a polite little cough afterwards, and explained herself more eloquently.

“If you had been paying more attention, you would recall Harry called them each Sirius and Remus, not dad or anything. ‘Pup’ is probably just an endearment, like ‘sonny’ or ‘kiddo’, only you know… werewolf.”

Good points, but no one was buying it. If anyone knew Potter’s secrets it was Granger, and few doubted that she knew the boy’s connection to the werewolves and possibly the secret of his origins altogether.

“Hhhmmm… Any other insights you might have, Granger? Like say, how Potter would even know werewolves to begin with?”

She looked away. Parker sent her dirty looks. She had always been jealous of Granger, over various things, but her closeness to the Black Cat of Gryffindor was at the top of the list.

“Oh, fess up. Everyone knows you know everything about everything, including the Mysterious World of Prince Potter, enigma of the universe,” she sneered.

The Gryffindor’s response was typical aristocratic disdain.

“If I were ever to tell secrets, it wouldn’t be to the Queen of Melodrama and Tripe, and certainly not the secrets of the person who saved my life. So you can take to your sass, swallow it, and send it back out with the rest of your crap.”

“Eloquent as always, Granger. I think we get the point. I don’t suppose you could convince him to do an interview willingly?” McGunny tried. It was worth a shot. Here she had the decency to look a bit exasperated and apologetic.

“He’s shy.”

Everyone looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. Ron was first to put all their thoughts into words, in his usual succinct manner.

“You’re fucking joking.”

Remus followed silently behind his enraged pack mate on their way to Sentinel Headquarters. Whatever spell Voldemort had cast to silence Sirius had since faded, but the man had yet to speak beyond asking about Harry and informing him they were leaving the castle. Their godson had been left with McGonagall, and the beta was glad the child hadn’t been forced to accompany them to London. The press had already caught wind of a man taken into custody and practically stormed the castle and headquarters in a quest for further information and juicy pictures. Sirius, despite his bad mood, hadn’t torn any of them to pieces as he made his way through the throng, but nor did he slow his pace and more than few people had been knocked over and nearly trampled as he shoved pass them.

Remus followed close behind until at last they squeezed through the doors and into the reception area. The press was still limited to the outside, and though they could still hear them, both werewolves were relieved to have escaped the overwhelming scents and heat of so many bodies crowding around them.

They only had a moment to relax before a new threat made itself known. Snape and Larousse were there as well. Not really surprising, but hardly welcome. Neither professor looked particularly pleased to see them either. Ideally, they should just avoid each other, but Sirius was an alpha and in their own ways so were Snape and Larousse, and both had been caught encroaching onto territory they each considered their own. They both stepped forward to meet in the center of the lobby.

“You know there’s a ‘no dogs allowed’ sign on the front door,” the woman said.

“Then how’d a bitch like you get in?” Sirius countered, meeting her head on. Remus normally wouldn’t approve of his mate’s behavior towards non-werewolves, but Larousse’s reputation preceded her. He would support his mate completely against her.

“Cute. Where’s your handler?”

Sirius just smirked. He didn’t have to answer to her.

“Oh, my Dear,” Snape said, sidling in. “They don’t need handler’s anymore. The Dark Lord has tamed the mongrels into his well trained pets. They obey all his commands. Come, sit, fetch… attack. I dare say even Potter would be impressed. The little one that is. The big one probably would have killed himself if he weren’t dead already.”

Sirius’ clawed hands were at Snape’s neck almost simultaneously with Larousse’s wand pointed at Sirius’ chest, and Remus’ own wand was at her breast as if it had always been there.

“All I have to do is squeeze,” the alpha warned, but Snape’s smirk never wavered.

“Yes, that’s all you have to do. But you won’t, because after all is said and done, you’re one of us now. Another servant of the Dark Lord. Just like me. Just like your beloved godson.”

Sirius growled, but his words were close enough to the truth that he couldn’t follow through with his deepest desire. Who would protect Harry if he was executed over a puppet like Snivelus? Larousse was looking a bit confused, and he decided to take advantage of her weakness.

“Didn’t you know, woman? Harry Potter is my godson. I’m his only family. He’s the only reason I’m even here. You can call me Voldemort’s pet or puppet or whatever you want, but in the end I’m doing this for Harry, and when he learns the truth about him and you and all your black hearted schemes I’m going to be the one he turns to. And then we’ll see just how strong your master’s leash really is.”

Her face was perfectly blank, but Sirius could see her emotions flitting across her dark eyes and smell them coming off her like olfactory message board. Anger, hate, fear, despair… jealousy?

“You speak treason,” she hissed, and he merely laughed at her.

“Greyback is my king, not Voldemort. You might know that if you ever bothered to learn about werewolves outside of how to kill them.”

“Harry will never be yours.”

And that, as far as Sirius was concerned, was a declaration of war.

The Serpent King and the Huntress

Voldemort lingered at Hogwarts for another day, a calculated risk given the latest security failures, but there were some issues he wished to address before he left and the day before was too chaotic. Besides, he needed the night to analyze the many facets of the lies he had told, and how he might exploit them.

And there were so many wonderful ways to exploit the situation, so many different people he could manipulate.

But there was also the danger of the truth. Not that his lie would be exposed, but the truth was as frightening to Voldemort as the lie must have been to Blackbone.

Dumbledore wanting Harry dead? No, the old bat had found a better use for the boy. Or really, he had stolen Voldemort’s idea. The man was slipping in his old age.

Quick had indeed been kidnapped, but he had never so much as glimpsed Moody. Some traitorous citizens had taken advantage of the fugitive’s escape to kidnap the former Death Eater, and after several weeks of meticulous applications of occlumency and potions and simple torture, Quick had broken. The man had been sent to contact, not kill, young Harry, on behalf of a ‘family friend’ and lure him out of the castle so that he might have been kidnapped and presumably slipped out of the country and into Europe. And there the Wizarding World would wait to hear how ‘horrible’ and ‘evil’ and ‘hopeless’ life in Britain had become, and how the young boy just barely managed to survive against incredible odds and finally escaped to beg their aid in over throwing the tyrant king.

The idea, though clever and manipulative, brought on a powerful rage in the Dark Lord. Harry belonged to him, not anyone else. That anyone would attempt to steal his protege and use him against his mentor, against his own countrymen was unforgivable. After taking Britain and rebuilding her in his image, he had been content with his successes. His deepest hatred for his old nemesis had dissipated into smug indifference. Now it rose and burned like a phoenix from the ashes once again.

A gentle chime drew him out of his internal storm, and upon checking the magical signature of his visitor, swept the mental maelstrom away. He would save his rage for the traitors once they were found, but right now his audience required a far gentler touch.

“Enter,” he said, and Harry stepped into the office. This was the second time Harry had come to him alone and of his own accord, and though he looked a bit unsure, it pleased the Dark Lord. It saved him the hassle of summoning him.

“What happened to your desk?”

The beautiful mahogany desk Sirius had destroyed required more than a simple repair spell, and was currently being pulled back together by Industrious Sprites. They are a wizard made creature vaguely resembling sprites and about the size of female termites, whose sole purpose was to repair antiquities made of wood, bone, or leather. Voldemort could easily understand why the pile of wood covered in these creepy-crawlies in the middle of the office might draw the boy’s attention, but he doubted it was why he was there.

“Never mind that. You wished to speak with me?”

Harry hesitated, then fidgeted for a moment, before finally sighing.

“Yeah… I… I’d like a favor.”

Voldemort felt a peak of curiosity. Harry never asked for things.

“I don’t give gifts, Harry,” he reminded, “But tell me what you want and I’ll see what I can do.”

Again he hesitated. He looked around the office for a moment, and finally reclaimed a mostly in tact chair from the pile on the floor, brushing off a few of the irritated little sprites before sitting down. To Voldemort’s amusement that seemed to calm him, sitting in a chair across from his desk, however little remained of it. It was comfortably familiar.

“I’d like the taboo on my parents’ names removed.”

It was to the point and not particularly unusual or extreme as favors go, which Voldemort liked, but the reasoning behind the timing was elusive enough that he wanted a bit more of an explanation.

“Any particular reason you want this now?”

“I’ve got a lot of reasons… mostly… well, you’re going to have to do it eventually any way, aren’t you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Everyone wants to know who my parents are now, and I… I’m not ashamed of them. There isn’t any reason why they shouldn’t know, but I can’t tell anyone until the taboo is lifted. Everyone is just going to keep thinking I’m your illegitimate son or grandson or Sirius’s son or any number of weird ideas, unless I set the record straight.”

“I’m rather fond of the ‘Grandson Rumor’,” Voldemort said, which was true, “It resolved several other rumors about my sexual orientation.” Which wasn’t true, but making Harry blush was fun.

“… are you going to do it or not?”

Darn, the boy knew when he was being teased. Should he oblige the request? It was true he was going to have to do it eventually, and with Dumbledore’s latest move, perhaps now was the perfect time. After all, if the public wasn’t outraged by the attempted assassination of a child, they would certainly be disgusted by the assassination of the child of one of the old coot’s own supporters. Perhaps this could even be seen as a symbolic reconciliation between the past and present. Ah, there were definitely benefits, as long as he could keep his own followers’ outrage at being socially usurped by the enemy’s child out of the papers. If the Court officials kicked up too much of a fuss it could cause some serious setbacks in his plans for Harry, and perhaps stir up even more enemies against his vulnerable protege than were currently plaguing him.

It was a risky move. It grew riskier every day, but that was as good of a reason to do it now as any. Harry would at least have public sympathy on his side with the attempted murders and no one could accuse him of ‘fraternizing’ with an enemy that wanted him dead. The situation wasn’t going to get better than this.

However, Harry didn’t know any of this. It was the perfect opportunity to demand compensation for this ‘favor’. He let out a put upon sigh, and settled in his own chair across from the boy.

“Very well, but on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You sit through an interview with the press.”

For a moment it looked as if Harry were going to retch, but he quickly composed himself.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t really matter does it? That is the price you must pay.”

Harry thought for a bit.

“What will they ask me? How will I know which questions I can even answer? I know there are a lot of things you don’t want me talking about.”

“The questions should be limited to recent events and probably inquiries about your life with your parents and how you ended up at WYRA and then Hogwarts. I will have one of my people there to safe guard against any… inappropriate questions. I’ll try to keep the number of interviewers down to half a dozen.”

“The Hogwarts’ Herald?”

“It would be appropriate to invite them, but I won’t if it bothers you.”

“No… so long as it isn’t Parker… or Weasley, I’m fine.”

“So you agree?”

“Yeah…”

Voldemort made an annoyed sound.

“‘Yeah’ is such ridiculous word. It implies a lack of resolve and enthusiasm. On paper it expresses a lack of character. I recommend you refrain from using it during your interviews, along with any other vague and unclear words such as ‘sure’, ‘whatever’, and ‘ya know’. Don’t shrug either. It drives the interviewers crazy and makes for very boring quotes.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry said, sulky from the reprimand.

“Good. Now, have you been informed of the current circumstances?”

“You mean that a lot more people than we thought want me dead? Yeah… I mean yes, yes, Remus was very thorough in his explanations. I can’t say I understand though. What did I ever do to this Dumbledore guy?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. However, now that we’ve caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, I doubt he’ll make another attempt for quite some time if ever. Even the Europeans, who despise the British, draw the line at murdering school children. He can deny any involvement once, but he’ll lose all foreign support if he’s caught trying again.”

Harry just shook his head. Politics escaped him, especially foreign politics. That was just how Voldemort preferred it.

“Was there anything else?”

Harry considered for a moment, then smiled a bit impishly.

“Can I…er… May I have access to my family vault?”

That was a completely different subject the Dark Lord was not willing to address yet.

“Ask again after you graduate.”

This didn’t seem to surprise Harry, who just shrugged, then remembered he wasn’t suppose to do that and replied, “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

Voldemort was far more amused than he probably should be, but he didn’t question it. He wasn’t a masochist or a dramatist. He liked feeling good. Which reminded him.

“How are you feeling, Harry? You appear to be handling all this stress admirably, but if you require a few days away you are welcome to join me London.”

Harry shook his head ruefully.

“Just a little tired. Nothing to skip school over. Besides, I still have make up assignments and detentions from my last brush with death.”

He climbed to his feet, preparing to depart without being dismissed first. Poor form, but Voldemort saw no point in scolding him a second time. He didn’t want to become a nag. Harry surprised him by asking one more question.

“You… you’ve had to deal with this… this constant danger for years, decades even, right?”

Voldemort nodded.

“How do you… deal with it? Knowing that someone is trying to take your life? To undo everything you’ve made for yourself and everyone you care about?”

The Dark Lord thought for a long moment, deciding between the truth or something more appropriate for Harry’s age. The truth won out, as a fuzzy platitude might lower the boy’s guard and ultimately result in his death or injury.

“I killed them first.”

Afternoon tea in the tower was unusually tense. Snape supposed it was too much to ask Vesper to remain unfazed by the last couple of days. He wasn’t feeling particularly focused either. Betrayed was more accurate. Hypocritical to be sure, but the potion’s master couldn’t help feeling as if he’d been conned. With the announcement that Dumbledore was trying to kill Potter, still nothing more than a precocious child, his world was tilting, shifting unpredictably.

Snape wasn’t a man who put much faith in the good versus evil, light versus dark as a way of the universe. He figured that was just how the naïve or the philosophically lazy defined the nature of the world simply enough for them to understand and explain to their offspring. After all this time it was humiliating to discover he was guilty of the same stereotyping.

Dumbledore was the good wizard of the light. Voldemort was the evil wizard of the dark.

But now the evil dark wizard was the only defense an innocent boy had against the good light wizard. And Potter was innocent. He was innocent, as only children and the stupidly idealistic can be.

Snape was, himself, a dark wizard, yet he never denied the importance of light wizardry either. It was a balance not a competition, but now Dumbledore had gone and thrown it all out of whack. This was more than disappointment he felt. This was uncertainty.

Now what?

“Severus…”

He looked toVesper, twisting her napkin in an unusual display of nerves. The last couple of days had stressed her, her strange affection for Potter coming in conflict with her deep hatred for the werewolves he seemed love. She hadn’t let it interfere with her classes or responsibilities, but quiet leisure time like now demonstrated a serious lack of her usual poise.

“Yes, madam?” he said cautiously.

She was quiet for a moment, then looked him directly in the eye. Even as a skilled legilimens, Snape couldn’t interpret her piercing gaze. Whatever she saw seemed to calm her a bit, and she set the napkin down.

“… What are your thoughts on marriage?”

He looked at her blankly for a long moment, then set down his tea cup.

“A noble idea, and thusly unrealistically romanticized, and generally a disappointment in the context of everyday life. Why?”

“I want to marry you, Severus.”

He was suddenly very glad he put down his tea cup else he would have dropped it in his lap.

“What?”

“I think we’re as perfect a match as either of us will ever come. We’re close in age and maturity. We share similar interests, politics, and education levels. I find you attractive, and I believe you feel the same. I think we should get married.”

He just looked at her for a long moment. She had good points, but he hadn’t thought of marriage in all the time he had spent with her and wasn’t sure if that meant he should think on it more or refuse her right out of hand.

“This is sudden… and rather suspicious. When did you make this decision?”

“When I read your personnel file over the summer.”

She had decided she wanted to marry him before they had even met? Well, it certainly explained her aggressive courtship thus far, but it didn’t explain why.

“That’s very pragmatic. I trust you shopped around first?”

“Three years of ‘shopping around’. You’re the first one that’s held my interest at all.”

“I’m flattered.”

And he was, strangely enough. He had never considered himself particularly attractive, physically or personally, but for a woman as charming and lovely as Vesper to imply he was after a rather extensive search was an interesting sort of compliment. Rather cold blooded, but he was a Slytherin and could appreciate that. Aside from some juvenile fantasies of marriage to Lily, he had never really entertained the idea of marrying as more than long-term business contract.

“And why do wish to marry me? Why do you wish to marry at all? I doubt it’s for love.”

That was perhaps a bit cruel to say, but Vesper didn’t seem bothered by it.

“I think I could love you, Severus. I don’t think that would be hard at all, but you’re right. I have other reasons. More than being your wife, I want to be a mother again. I want children, and I don’t have many more years left to make that possible.”

Severus relaxed a little in to his chair. So that was it? Not so cold blooded as he first thought, after all. A tad admirable even.

“And you think I would be a suitable father? You should be well aware of my impatience with children, particularly young ones.”

“You’re an honorable man in your own way, Severus. Strong and honorable, if a bit bad tempered. I don’t think it’s necessary for our children to like you, so much as respect you. I know you would protect your family. I’ve seen how you are with your godson and goddaughter.”

“What would I get out of this?”

“The same thing you would get out of the arranged marriage the Dark Lord will eventually demand of you, only you’d know what you were getting. Heirs from a woman with a long line of powerful witches and wizards, a rather sizable inheritance, complete fidelity, and I’m told I’m actually quite pretty.”

Severus chuckled at that. He wasn’t looking for a bride, but he’d known for a long time now that Voldemort was looking for him. The Dark Lord had been called hypocritical for his policies on muggle-born adoption after decades of tormenting them, but he had been just as vigorous with pure-blood restoration. The general consensus amongst pureblood families had been one male child and heir per household, a risky policy should said male child die unexpectedly or prove incapable of continuing the line. With stricter and simpler laws on inheritance, tax breaks for multiple child households, and a propaganda campaign supporting the large family as the ideal family, the birth rate had nearly tripled over the last ten years. The percentage of single adult wizards and witches was less than half of what it had been.

There were government plans to aid single wizards in finding suitable life partners, but when it came to Death Eaters, Voldemort liked to meddle personally. If he thought a particular pair was suitable, he would ‘suggest’ it. If he thought the pair wasn’t, he’d right out forbid it. Severus had avoided the last two ‘suggestions’ the Dark Lord had given him thus far; one committed suicide (luckily it had nothing to do with him) and the other eloped while he was busy teaching at Hogwarts. Voldemort hadn’t given up, but he was very careful with his selections, and they were not his first concern while running the country. Severus supposed he might as well marry on his own terms before a third ‘suggestion’ came along.

But there was something he needed to know first.

“And where does Potter fit in all of this?”

She looked startled, and then rather nervous.

“What do you…”

“Let’s not start a potential betrothal with games, my dear. You came to this school with two people on your mind. One was me, apparently, and the other was definitely Potter. What plans have you made for him, I wonder?”

She conceded with a nod. Severus was a very observant man, one of the things she respected about him, but she was going to have to learn to conceal her thoughts and motives better if they were going to marry. Until then she would have to gamble with point blank honesty.

“I want to adopt him.”

Severus laughed at that, earning him a rather dour frown from his companion. After almost a minute, he managed to compose himself into reserved amusement and they continued.

“Have you any idea what you’re saying? You can’t adopt Potter. That’s like saying you want to adopt the Dalai Lama.”

“Oh, please, Severus, I’m not a fool. I know the obstacles. There’s really only one. If I can convince the Dark Lord-”

“Or Satan. I think you’d have better luck with Satan.”

“Now you’re being melodramatic. Honestly, Severus, what is the harm in asking? We’re already his guardians. We’re perfect choices for his parents.”

“We?”

Severus shuddered. Potter as his son? He’d rather set up his potion’s lab in the Hogwarts’ sewer.

“As if it would be any different than things are now. You already see him regularly with classes and he spent the summer with you too. I think you feel some affection for him.”

“You overstep your bounds. My concern over Potter’s wellbeing is directly related to my concern over my own wellbeing. In case you forgot, the Dark Lord entrusted him to me and I will be the one punished for the child’s every misstep.”

She smiled knowingly.

“That’s not the only reason though, is it? He is his mother’s son, after all,” she said.

Severus’ froze, staring at her blankly, before rising to his feet and heading for the door. She panicked when she saw him escape, and quickly rose herself to stop wait.

“Wait, Severus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for. I won’t mention her again. I promise. Just wait.”

Pity was not a feeling he was prone to, but felt inclined to show some modicum of mercy, however undeserved. He stopped at the door, looking back at her, waiting for her to convince him or blow her chance once and for all.

“Alright, you don’t care about Harry,” she said, “but you’re stuck with him, one way or another. Wouldn’t it be better to reap some benefit? For yourself? For your children?”

He turned back to her and leaned against the door frame, saying nothing, but showing some vague interest. She took a breath to calm herself and continued.

“The Dark Lord has a personal investment in Harry’s safety. Safety that a young family such as ours would benefit from. We’ve both come from pureblood families with prominent names, but those were lost to me when I married and to you when your mother married. You managed to gain a reputation through your talents with potions and your service to the Dark Lord, but that isn’t inheritable. With someone like Harry in the family, we would be guaranteed the Dark Lord’s protection and our children would benefit by merely associating with him.”

“Or be assassinated for associating with him. He has a rather bad track record of that. Come now, Vesper, surely you’ve got better arguments than this. You did very well with the marriage one.”

“I wasn’t expecting to defend the idea so soon,” she admitted, and sigh. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a week to come up with better ones?”

He considered.

“Just tell me one thing. If you had to choose between marrying me and adopting Potter, which would you choose?”

She barely even hesitated.

“I’d marry you.”

“Then I accept. You still have to convince me about Potter though. I’ll give you a week,” he said, and then wandered out the door. He smiled in amusement at the muffled ‘YES!’ that drifted through the door.

Really now, what was he thinking? Marriage? To that crazy woman? Perhaps he was just disoriented from Dumbledore’s latest plot, or perhaps she had put something in his tea. Whatever the case, he felt strangely happy as he descended the tower steps. Thoughts of dashing all those young boy’s delusions of romance with their DA&D professor almost had him giggling.

It was definitely the tea.

The first people Harry wanted tell about the removal of the taboo were his godfathers. He thought they would appreciate exactly what he had accomplished more than his friends would, and even that they would be proud of him. So he searched for them, but he may as well have been searching London. There were so many places the werewolves could be, hunting the halls and grounds for would-be assassins, and Harry couldn’t go to half of them under his current restrictions.

The only thing he managed to find were some seventh years snogging in a classroom and a couple of GGs. He finally gave up and decided to head back to his common room when he was grabbed from behind and pulled into a secret passage way. He immediately screamed and kicked and elbowed his abductor in the ribs and bit the hand cover his mouth.

“Ow!”

He was immediately dropped, and he bolted for the exit, but was grabbed again by someone else.

“Hold on, Prongslet, it’s just us! It’s just Sirius and I!” Remus whispered quickly, and Harry immediately relaxed. He pulled out his wand and cast Lumos to see them better. Sirius was inspecting his wounded hand, but flinched away from the light.

“Tone it down, Harry. I just got my eyes to adjust,” he said, and Harry made the light as dim as he could and still see. The boy let out an aggravated sound.

“Bloody hell, what were you two thinking grabbing me like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Serves you right for wandering around the castle alone. We’ve been following you since you left Voldemort’s office. Did you know we weren’t the only ones following you?”

Harry looked startled. He hadn’t even thought to look, he had been so focused on his search. How could he be so stupid?

“Who else was following me?”

“Either it was one of the school reporters or the youngest pervert I have ever seen,” Sirius said, “Nice bite by the way. You’re lucky I’m wearing gloves or you might have spent the last month sucking down silver nitrate and wolfsbane.”

Harry peeked out of their hiding place, a rickety corridor that followed the entire east wing of the fourth floor, the entrance hidden in the shadows of a support column. Sure enough, Greystoke came floating down the hallway like some sort of dementor in training, his eyes shifting about for his lost prey. Eventually, the older boy disappeared down the corridor, and Harry turned back to his godfathers.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’ll be more careful.”

Remus patted him on the head, and lead him back out into the open halls, Sirius bringing up the rear. Sirius cuffed him upside the head.

“Damn well better be. Why were you even out here by yourself? Did Lord Creepy summon you?”

Harry rubbed the back of his head, but still managed a smirk.

“No. I went to ask him a favor.”

His godfathers looked more worried than he thought was strictly necessary.

“I didn’t ask him to kill anyone, geez!”

“It’s not that Harry,” Remus said, “It’s just we don’t like the idea of you making deals with that… man.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not making a habit of it, but this was important and only he could do it.”

Neither of his godfathers looked pleased.

“Dare I ask?”

“I got him to take the taboo off of mom and dad’s names.”

“What?!”

Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit smug at their discomfiture. They both seemed to be struggling to understand what he was saying, and then whether or not they could still scold him or not. They didn’t seem to making much progress, though the expressions that passed between them were pretty funny in Harry’s opinion.

“How?” Sirius said at last.

“I pointed out how he would have to do it eventually anyway. He couldn’t have people thinking I was his illegitimate kid forever. All I really had to do was agree to an interview, which gag me, isn’t so bad. It’s a small price to pay to reclaim my family’s honor.”

Sirius paced the width of the hallway, running his hands through his hair in agitation. There really wasn’t any way to argue with Harry on that point. When Voldemort had taken power, and the name of Potter fell into disgraced anonymity, it had pained Sirius more deeply than the end of his own family’s name. The Potters had virtually adopted Sirius after he was disowned, and amongst those kind and noble people he had finally felt the pride of being part of a family that fifteen years of rhetoric hadn’t instilled in him for his biological one.

Yet to have the name of Potter returned by the very man who destroyed it smacked of its own sort of dishonor. Sirius didn’t doubt Harry’s intentions, but his godson was still just a child, and he felt perhaps he was confusing honor with pride. It wasn’t something he felt qualified to lecture Harry on. To a werewolf pride and honor were the same thing, and though the wizard in him knew the difference, he wasn’t eloquent enough to explain it to a thirteen year old. Remus, a beta by standing and an omega by nature since childhood, hadn’t had pride or honor for all the years Sirius had known him. Loyalty and gentle nobility were as close as the man came, and though he loved him for it, they didn’t qualify him to explain either.

“I thought you would both be happier,” Harry said, disappointment clear.

Sirius sighed, and ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. Who was he to belittle what Harry had done? It was certainly more than most men would be able to achieve, and in the end the honor of the Potter name lay in Harry, not Voldemort, to dishonor or glorify. He managed a smile.

“I am. And I’m proud of you, and I know your father would be very proud too. Do you think you’re ready to uphold your family name all on your own? It’s a big responsibility.”

“I can do it, I think. I just have to do the right thing, don’t I? Like obey the law and don’t sleep with other people’s wives and stuff like that, right?”

That earned him genuine laugh from both werewolves. Such a simplistic answer, like saying babies came from a cabbage patch. Naïve and sweetly innocent.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said, “That’s close enough to the truth for now, I suppose. You’ll figure the rest of it out as you go. Just concentrate on doing the right thing for now, and we’ll help you out if you get stuck.”

Harry was perplexed. What exactly was he expected to do? It couldn’t be too hard. Draco hardly did anything at all, and still managed to make the name of Malfoy seem like some sort of demi-god all should lay down to worship.

Sirius put his arm around Harry’s shoulder, and started leading him down the hall, Remus following behind with his wand drawn and one eye always checking behind them.

“Lets get something to eat from the kitchen, and you can tell us what else you’ve been up to aside from reclaiming your name from Lord Doom and Gloom and avoiding another brush with death. Do you have a girlfriend yet?”

Harry blushed, earning another laugh from the werewolf. He had forgotten how embarrassing Sirius could be. It was still nice though. Walking and talking about the menial and extravagant of everyday life with adults who not only cared but could be trusted.

They spent the hour before dinner making nuisances of themselves in the kitchen, requesting dishes from the house elves that didn’t exist and then daring each other to try the mystery concoctions that ended up in front of them. Harry told them about Natalie, who he liked but didn’t entirely trust, and Ginny, who he trusted but hadn’t really thought of romantically. He told them about Ron’s trick on Hermione, and how he became the vice captain, and how this was the second time quidditch had been canceled for a season. He told them about Professor Larousse.

Then, they told him about Professor Larousse.

“She’s a serial killer,” Sirius said, bluntly, “The werewolves’ public enemy number one. She’s killed at least a dozen that we know about, and most of those weren’t in their wolf form either. We don’t know how many she’s done in and never gotten caught. If it weren’t for the Snake and Wolf treaty, she would probably still have kept killing, but even she’s not crazy enough to come into our territory without Court support. As it is, I’m having a serious problem being within sight of her. I can’t swear to either of our safety if we find ourselves alone together.”

Harry was horrified. He knew Larousse didn’t like werewolves, a lot of witches and wizards didn’t, but hadn’t realized her position was so extreme. She had seemed so nice!

“Why? Why does she hate werewolves so much?”

Here, Remus cut in before Sirius went on a tirade about her being a stupid curse-happy whore. His mate had a problem with objectivity when it came to certain things, and Larousse was one of them.

“Most of use believe it’s a revenge thing, others believe it’s a sort of crusade. You know her husband and son were killed by the old Ministry?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, after that the only family she had left was her brother and his wife and daughter. They were very close. Her sister-in-law contracted a severe case of lycanthrosis. No one is sure if she was raped and covered it up or she had an affair, but she must not have realized she was sick until it was too late. The full moon came around and she went crazy. Killed her husband and daughter. When she realized what she had done, she hung herself. So whether Larousse is trying to avenge her family or trying to prevent it from ever happening to anyone else, I couldn’t tell you, but her views were extreme enough that she got kicked out of the Sentinels for it. I’m amazed she was allowed to teach in Hogwarts.”

A heavy silence fell over them. Harry felt ill. He liked Larousse, he even trusted her a little. She had been looking out for him all year, and though that was awkward it was also kind of nice. Now he found out she was homicidal, and her ideal target was people like his godfathers? Like Luna or Athena or any number of the men, women, and children he had spent time with over the summer?

Her story was tragic, loosing not only her husband and son but what remained of her family shortly after. It had to have been unbearable, but to murder… How many husbands had she killed? How many wives, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters?

“She never said a thing… I didn’t even know she didn’t like werewolves until she met you. Jesus…”

“Are you alright, Prongslet? You smell kind of… off,” Remus said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.

“I don’t know… It’s just…”

He didn’t know what he wanted to say or how he should feel. His teacher was a mass murderer. What was the appropriate response to that?

“Come on, pup, we’ll take you back to your room,” Sirius said, helping his godson to his feet. It hadn’t been their intention to upset him, but there were some things they felt he had to know.

Not to trust homicidal maniacs was one of them.

Although, they might have been three years too late for that lesson.

The Phoenix King

Far away, across the Channel, an elderly wizard stared out from a run down, but quaint little shop. From this particular window he could stare out at row of muggle restaurants, cafés, and boutiques covered in snow and Christmas decorations. If he went to another window he could stare out at an almost identical row of buildings inhabited by witches and wizards with their own brands of holiday decorations. He liked this particular shop because when ever he held meetings, the men and women who gathered there could look out with him, and see for themselves how both peoples were as human and beautiful and flawed as the other.

It was an important reminder, for him as well as they, exactly what they were fighting to preserve.

Days like today made theses reminders necessary.

“You have read the papers? The English ones?”

He half turned to acknowledge Tonks, noting with some amusement that her hair was flaring red with her bad temper. Tonks was one of the youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix, but also the most zealous and proactive. She had only been a child when her family fled England, but she was old enough to know what was being lost and why, and the years she had struggled as a refugee in the elitist German school system had hardened her resolve. He had picked her up at a wizarding university, intrigued by the woman’s student movement for the liberation of Britain and sympathized with her frustration at everyone’s lack of interest. Were they really so naïve as to think the Dark Lord would be satisfied with only Britain?

“I have read them, Miss Tonks. Paint a rather poor picture of us, don’t they?”

“It’s ridiculous the lies this creature can spread about. I’m surprised he doesn’t blame the German Minister and declare war!”

“We’re lucky he did not,” he said, stroking his beard. “Or perhaps unlucky. I fear what he will be capable of once his military is fully organized. The Germans are playing a dangerous game waiting for him to attack first. They assume their allies will come to their aid, but we thought that too, didn’t we? And look what happened?”

Her expression was so clearly frustrated, but she couldn’t say anything. What could she say that he didn’t already know? Their silent tension was broken by the tinkling of a bell from the down stairs as someone entered and was followed by a quick “’ello!”

“We’re up here, Gilfred,” Tonks called out. A handsome man in his mid-thirties came up the stairs, followed by a younger man with a severe countenance. The handsome man immediately greeted both, while his dour companion remained near the stairs, watching both the door and a window for signs of their companions or potential danger.

“Hello, Lovely and you too Tonks,” he smiled, earning him an eye roll from his partner.

“Not now, Gil, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, that makes two of you. Johnny has been in an outright snit all morning. And considering how he normally is, it says something that I am able to even tell.”

“Mein Name ist Johan, nicht Jonny, Sei Idiot!”

“See what I have to put up with?”

There was another ring of the bell, followed by a burly young man who looked as if he should be in school still and a raggedy looking woman, so dirty it was impossible to tell her age.

“Timmons and Fredric took another lap,” the boy said, his English through his heavy Bulgarian accent. “Fredric thought he saw something.”

“Are the pigeons after him again?” Johan asked nastily, falling into English now that his temper was in check.

“That’s enough of that,” Dumbledore chided. “How are you Viktor? Phoebe? I’m sorry to bring you out in this cold weather.”

“It is a fine spring day in compared to my village,” Viktor said. His home town was a quaint little settlement hidden between two alpine mountains, renown for the quality of its brooms and the abundance of bears.

“Speak fer yerself, sonny. I can’t feel me toes,” his companion huffed.

“Come and take some tea,” Dumbledore offered. “It will occupy us while we wait for the others.”

They all gathered around the table at the center of the room, except for Johan who remained stubbornly guarding the door, and poured themselves and each other tea. There was a pile of newspapers in several different languages at the table as well, and a few of them shifted through the stack, but most knew what they would say already.

The British paper went on a verbal rampage against Dumbledore’s latest attacks on the peace of a recovering nation, going so far as to attack school children to invoke a response. Pictures of Hogwart’s quidditch stadium partially demolished and some of young Harry, dressed in his Quidditch robes and a layer of dirt from the explosion and then later ones of him, bruised and battered as he stood between his werewolf bodyguards, chatting easily.

The German papers had a counter rampage of their own, accusing the British of manipulating events that were of their own making and incompetence, and blaming it on Light wizards in order to finish off the last of the Dark Lord’s opponents. They had pictures too, smuggled out of Britain over the years through hijacked newspapers and illegal missives. One was of Moody’s before his incarceration standing proud in his Auror robes and another of his wanted poster, looking deranged after ten years of incarceration. There were a few of Harry as well, one from the year before after the attacks at Hogwarts and another of him talking to the Dark Lord outside of some Court building.

The French papers lamented the lack of intergovernmental cooperation, pointing out the war had been over for ten years and that it was a time for restoration not antagonism. So condescending in their righteousness.

The Spanish paper had only a brief blurb about the recent incidents in Britain on the third page, but for the most part were keeping their heads buried in the sand.

Austria, Hungary, and Bulgaria were clueless, but who knew what they’d end up printing over the next couple of days? Likewise, the Eastern European countries were tentative about putting anything in their paper, afraid of contradicting or conflicting with their neighbors, and Italy was keeping with its stance that Britain belonged to the devil and shouldn’t be spoken of let alone spoken to.

It seemed things were beginning to stir again, and Dumbledore wondered if that was bad or good. On one hand, this was likely the precursor to much more serious events. On the other hand, it might also mean Europe would quit twiddling their thumbs in regards to the Voldemort issue. War had its horrors and left its wounds, but this willful complacency had a rotting affect that was just as devastating.

“They’re here,” Johan said, and a moment later the bell rang. Timmons, fatter than was strictly fashionable for a middle-aged man, came up first, huffing and puffing.

“I tell you, why in Merlin’s name did you drag me around the block again? I could have gone with the Gil and John.”

“It’s JOHAN! What is with you English wizards? Must everyone use your silly names?” the dour man grumbled, but was ignored.

“Sorry, but that cat really did look suspicious. Besides, you could use the exercise,” said Fredric, an elderly gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard.

“Welcome, my friends,” Dumbledore greeted. “Come have some tea. We have matters to discuss.”

“You mean this ‘assassination’ rubbish?” Fredric said. “Nasty trick the Dark Lord pulled there. Has the Minister of Magic confronted you about it?”

“Yes, but only to reprimand how badly it was botched. I already informed him of what we intended to do. I needed his approval to bring Potter in Germany after all. This is the only country that wouldn’t extradite him right back. Everyone else is still afraid of instigating war.”

Tonks snorted.

“Yes, if you’d brought him to France, they would invited the Dark Lord to tea before they sent both of them on their way.”

Phoebe let out a snort of her own.

“Don’t get all indignant Miss Rainbow. The aristocrats might control the paper, but you better believe the proletariat knows whats what. France got all them refugees to remind them of all the tricks You-Know-Who used to tear down the Ministry.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“You’re both right, my dears. The general public is suspicious and fearful of Voldemort and we shall find many allies amongst them. However unlike most of the wizarding world, France is still governed by an aristocracy and, however unofficially, they have come to see the Dark Lord as a king rather than a dictator. It will be difficult to convince them to help overthrow a government that most resembles their own. We must tread cautiously there.”

“So what do we do now?” Timmons asked, “Quick failed miserably and we’ve compromised our people in Britain. The Dark Lord is probably laughing at us right now.”

A despairing silence threatened to descend, but Dumbledore was quick to rally them again.

“Mansfield is already in Spain. I pulled him out as soon as Harry failed to show at the rendezvous point. He’s the only one who can connect Quick with the others, so they’ll be safe for now. It’s imperative that we get the boy out of Britain though. I’ve left orders for our people to try again as soon as they are able.”

Viktor pulled out a paper from the pile, staring at the picture of the boy they were risking so much for and wondered why. This particular picture showed him talking to the Dark Lord, confidently, as if to friend or family member.

“He does not appear to need our assistance,” Viktor said, scowling with disapproval. “He is the Dark Lord’s protege, a dark wizard by all accounts. What do you want from this little viper?”

Dumbledore smiled a bit.

“It is true, young Harry has fallen under the influence of Voldemort, but I think it is rather unfair of you to judge him a ‘little viper’ from across the sea. He’s just a child. Without family to look after him he is vulnerable to manipulations from others, particularly for someone as skilled at manipulating as Voldemort.’

“But I have hope for him. His parents were very good people, I knew them well, and as he was sorted into Gryffindor I would say he is inclined to resist corruption where he sees it. It’s a gamble, but even so that boy cannot remain in Britain. He’s already being used shamelessly to gain national support for Voldemort and his cause. With a little freedom and a more rounded view of the situation, I hope Harry might have a change of heart and aid us of his own free will.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Viktor persisted.

“Then at least he will be removed from a position where he can aid our enemy.”

The young Russian let the subject drop. The meeting moved on to other things; new political allies and hurtles in various countries, the current state of their spy network in Britain, the counter-intelligence they were running against Voldemort’s spies and Sentinels, and suppositions on when it would all come to a head. There was a great deal to discuss, but their meeting was called to an abrupt end by Johan.

“Someone is coming.”

Several of the group immediately went to the window, and sure enough there was an elderly woman on the wizarding side of the building. She was shabbily dressed, clearly too poor to be shopping the district, and yet she begged no money of those that passed her. It appeared she was meandering here and there at first, but it soon became apparent she was heading straight for them.

Dumbledore sighed, and nodded to the others.

“Take the muggle street exit. I will send you all coordinates for our new meeting place in a couple of days. Johan, Gilfred, would you both deal with our visitor? Nothing too violent, please. She may just be a reporter.”

They all readily agreed with his plan, and went about doing as he said. While Dumbledore cleared all evidence, physical and magical, of their presence in the house, the rest left quickly through a different door than the one they had entered.

Johan and Gilfred stayed behind. They pulled from their pockets a black scarf and a tiny wizard’s hat that grew to the appropriate size when they shook it. They used these to disguise themselves, the enchantment on the items distorting not only their appearance but their voices and magical signature as well.

“I’ll leave the rest to you, gentleman,” Dumbledore said, removing his hat and turning his robed inside out so that appeared as nothing more than a muggle trench coat, and strode out into the cold.

To Harry’s amusement and dismay, his newly acquired protectors proved a bit overly efficient in their job. Not only were Sirius and Remus effective at keeping assassins at bay, they kept away just about everyone else as well. Greystoke and Parker both kept a healthy distance from the men who seemed to know their every move, regardless of how stealthy they thought they were. Unfortunately, so did most of his friends.

His godfathers didn’t hover like Draco’s goons usually did, keeping a typical distance of some twenty or thirty feet ahead of and in back when he walked the halls and sat outside the doors when he had class. They spent about five minutes during lunch sniffing his food for potions and poisons, before meandering out of sight.

This was enough for Harry not to feel crowded, but also enough for his friends to feel spied upon. Draco took one look at them, and they took one rather unfriendly look back, and quickly headed in the other direction. Natalie, usually so outgoing, just… wasn’t, but she still might have been waiting for a moment alone with him that didn’t seem to be coming. Ginny had been avoiding him already. The Weasley twins took it as a challenge, attempting to grab Harry and run off with him as a bit of sport. They soon learned their mistake when Remus demonstrated that he could in fact use a wand and Sirius dropped them out a second story window and into a snow bank.

“They’re really rather… forward,” Hermione said, as they ate breakfast. Sirius and Remus had just left to, quite literally, sniff around for potential threats and left them alone for a few minutes to talk in semi-privacy.

“Yeah, that’s a nice way to say it,” Harry said, a bit amused. She was his only friend who hadn’t fled from the werewolves or been driven off, but even she was a bit intimidated. They had done nothing to make themselves more approachable, their every move and manner laced with predatory grace and precision, and while Harry was immune to it he recognized it for what it was.

“I don’t think they like me.”

Harry chuckled.

“Actually, they do. They just don’t like your brother.”

“Oh.”

For once, she didn’t seem to know what to say. This wasn’t the sort of situation they covered in etiquette lessons. Harry took pity on her.

“I’ll talk to them later about lightening up. They’re just a bit on edge with everything that’s happened. They’re really quite laid back once you get to know them.”

Hermione didn’t looked convinced. In fact, she looked a bit nervous. She had respect and curiosity when it came to werewolves, and had always wished to see and learn about them. However, when she had thought about how she would go about doing that, it was usually from a safe distance or with some sort of barrier between them. Harry’s almost reckless disregard for the harm they could do, however unintentional, was a bit worrisome.

They finished their breakfast in silence, despite everything Hermione wanted to say and the only opportunity for privacy they’d had since Monday. When they were done, the werewolves appeared out of no where and escorted them to their first class. It was History of Magic and as Toure was out and the werewolves remained outside, the rest of the students in the class quickly huddled in close to Harry.

“Bloody hell, are those guys really werewolves?” Finnegan asked, obviously the question everyone was most interested in. Harry’s reply was matter-of-fact, hoping to keep the sensationalization down to a minimum.

“Yes. The dark one is Blackbone and the other is Slivermoon. They’re protecting me until Moody is caught… at least I think that’s how long they’re staying.”

It didn’t work. Everyone was amazed to have the truth confirmed. A few were actually angry.

“What were they thinking? Sticking werewolves in a school? That’s fucking retarded,” a rather belligerent Ravenclaw boy snarled.

“What if they bite someone? I mean, have you seen them? They barely look human.”

“I’m going to write to my father about this. There’s no way let-”

Harry slammed his hands down on his desk, and stood abruptly.

“How can you all be such stupid bloody cowards?!” he snarled, shocking everyone into silence. “They’re not animals, they’re people. People I trust to protect me and you and this school. And since I’m the only one out of any of you who have actually spoken with them, eaten with them, fucking lived with them, I think you can all shut up and keep your ignorant load of tripe to yourselves. Good god, you’re the future of this country?”

Harry was not a violent person. He wasn’t really a very intimidating person either. There were a few instances where he was known to get snippish or grouchy, but no one had ever seen him direct his temper at the world in general. So whether everyone was suitably chastised or just stunned wasn’t entirely clear.

Regardless, before anyone could even think to say or do anything in response to his outburst, Professor Toure walked in and ordered everyone to their seats. Hermione herself was glad she was sitting already, or she might have keeled over. Even in her vaguely dazed state, it didn’t take long for her to notice several whispers drifting through the class, as their professor began to lecture. Harry remained stubbornly focused on what Toure was saying, but Hermione found her attention drifting to the gossip floating about.

“What’s got Potter so defensive? Does he actually like werewolves? How weird is that?”

“He said he lived with them, how does that work? No one is allowed to live with werewolves unless they are one already.”

“Do you think he really knows them? That’s bloody awesome!”

“The Dark Lord works with the werewolves a lot, maybe he introduced Potter?”

“I bet we don’t know who his parents are because they’re werewolves. Why else would he care?”

“I wonder if Potter got lycanthrosis and is covering it up?”

And so it went through the entire class, until at last Toure dismissed them. Harry was up and stalking through the door, leaving Hermione rushing to catch up. By the time she spotted him again in the hall, Sirius was leaning over him, talking quietly. After a moment, Harry replied loud enough that the werewolf and everyone else in the hall could hear.

“Let them make up stories until they’re blue in the face. I don’t care. I’m not ashamed of you.”

It sparked a flash of guilt in Hermione. She might not have been as vocal about her misgivings on Harry’s relationship with his godfathers, but she had been guilty of the same prejudice. Her friend had perfect faith in these men, did she have the right to question it? He deserved her support more than anything. So, stiffening her back, setting her shoulders, and swallowing her anxiety, she marched right up to the nearest werewolf, who happened to be Remus.

She was glad it was him, for he was definitely the less intimidating of the two. He tended to guard the back rather than lead upfront, and from this she gathered that he was the submissive of the pair. Nevertheless, he was very strong in appearance with muscular arms and a bit hairier than most of the wizards she had met, emitting an animal-like vibe whenever he moved..

“Ah, excuse me, Sir.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then around him as if suspecting a trap, then back to her again with a little trepidation.

“Yes?”

She tried to remain calm and keep herself from fidgeting or stuttering, and it took all of her Malfoy decorum to keep herself under control.

“I… Well, Harry is my best friend, so I thought it would be appropriate to introduce myself to you. I’m Hermione Granger of Malfoy. Pleased to meet you.”

She held out her hand. He stared at it curiously, then moved his gaze to study her face. He smiled, without a trace of the usual aggression, and took her hand. She noted that he wore gloves, just like his companion, despite the warmth of the castle and wondered if it wasn’t a precaution to prevent accidental scratches with their claw-like finger nails. Rather than shake like she thought he would, he actually kissed her hand, sending a bolt of anxiety through her at having her bare skin so close to his teeth. She ruthlessly crushed the irrational fear.

“Charmed. I am Remus Slivermoon of the Goddess Clan.”

Now she was stuck. She hadn’t thought about what to do after introducing herself.

“… We should probably catch up with Harry,” she said, and hurried along, followed closely by a very amused Remus. They caught up at the DA&D classroom, but before she could introduce herself to Sirius, the man had disappeared. When she turned to ask Remus where he had gone, she found him missing as well. Perplexed and vaguely relieved, she entered the classroom.

Harry wasn’t in his usual seat near the front of the class, but the one closest to the door.

“What’s up, Harry? I hope you’re not trying to pass notes to your bodyguards during class,” she teased.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, making an effort not to be snippish towards her. He had seen her talking with Remus, and was touched that despite her nervousness she was making an effort to get to know them. “I just… don’t feel like sitting up front today. You can if you want to. I’m not going to be good company for a while.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of this latest bit of weirdness, but decided she’d have to wait until after classes to get any answers and not to push until then. Professor Larousse also seemed a bit disturbed by Harry’s movement, but he was pointedly not looking in her direction.

Her friend’s reclusive behavior lasted through the entire class. Normally eager to volunteer for demonstrations or to answer and ask questions, he remained strangely reserved, not looking up from his notes or his text books even when his name was called. It could have been the whispers from the last class following him to his next that left him so guarded, but that didn’t seem quite right either.

When class was over, her chance to speak with him was denied by the professor, who told him to stay after class for a moment. In the hall, both Sirius and Remus had reappeared, disturbing the flow of the students who took great pains to avoid coming in contact with the savage looking men. The werewolves ignored them, however, in favor watching the door, perhaps even listening in the conversation occurring within. It was not a good time to introduce herself to Sirius, she decided.

Something clearly had him agitated.

“What is the matter, Harry? You’ve been acting strange all class period,” Larousse began, once the rest of her students had left the class. Harry stood, looking ready and even eager to leave, and still refusing to look at her.

“Professor…”

There was a moment’s hesitation, in which his expression darkened considerably.

“Do you want to kill my godfathers?”

She was stunned. His question came out of nowhere. Why would he think that? Even if it was true, why would he… Oh, no. He had been speaking with the mongrels. With them so close by they must have found the opportunity to spread tales of her exploits, biased and maligned to make her appear some sort of monster. She would have to undo the damage somehow.

“I only want to protect you.”

“And would you think killing my godfathers would do that?” he persisted.

Smart boy.

“… You are too careless with each other. Too rough. I doubt they wish to harm you, but it would only take one scratch, one nip, one accidentally shared cup of tea and you would be undone. Everything you are and could be destroyed by your trust in them.”

Harry still wasn’t looking at her, and his expression had not softened at all. If anything it had grown more resolved. His eyes suddenly met hers, such brilliant color she would have thought him a werewolf right off the bat, if she hadn’t known they had always been like that.

“They are my family. They are protecting me, putting their lives on the line to do so. I will not hesitate to do the same for them, regardless of who their enemies might be.”

She could only stand there, stunned by his threat and by the resolve he had shown in making it, as he stalked out of the classroom.

Now what?

Horace McGunny, school newspaper editor, Ravenclaw, and all around hard-ass was giddy. Giddy. He hadn’t felt this pleasantly excited over anything since he’d first received his invitation to Hogwarts. He had received a Court Owl at breakfast, and with it was an invitation to interview one Harold James Potter. He had forced himself to confirm this with Professor Toure before he let himself get carried away with what might be a Weasley prank. But no, it was authentic and scheduled for Friday, a mere two days away.

He called an emergency staff meeting.

The rooms they used to organize the paper was a strange mixture of business office meets factory meets medieval castle meets study hall. Their printing press, a very old but fine machine capable of printing three hundred pages of magically enhanced print and pictures an hour, looked more like a giant factory loom that spanned the entire thirty feet of the back wall. For safety reasons, they put up a cast iron gate, specially warded so that only Professor Toure or McGunny could unlock it. On the other side of the gate were several cubicles, and in each cubicle was a small wooden table with a type writer. Every member of the newspaper go their own cubicle, regardless of their job, and what they did there was represented by the state of their assigned space.

Colin Creevy’s cubicle was lined with photographs, mostly his own, but a few he had collected from elsewhere. Hermione Granger’s cubicle was a perfectly tidy little space, with appointment calendars, academic schedules, files for articles she had completed and ones she was working on, and various other knickknacks. Ron Weasley’s work station existed only in myth, hidden in the realms of absolute chaos beneath his piles of notes, interviews, old papers, paper planes, photos, and probably homework that was months overdue.

For the meeting, McGunny decided to keep it brief, and so let everyone stand in their cubicles, while he stood in the hall where everyone could see him.

“Alright, everyone I’ve got an announcement,” he said, keeping his expression serious, when all he felt like doing was giggling. He held up his letter. “We received an invitation this morning to attend a small press conference Friday evening in London with five of the leading newspapers in Britain.”

Everyone looked surprised except for Granger, but that was hardly unexpected, and then the questions started.

“What’s the conference about? Who’s going to go?” Weasley shouted out first, above everyone else’s confused murmuring.

“Harry Potter has finally agreed to an interview.”

There was a stunned silence, followed by a hoot of joy from Parker.

“Finally!”

“We have to go all the way to London for that?What the fuck?”

“Watch your mouth, Weasley,” McGunny snapped. “It’s for security reasons. They won’t allow the press into Hogwarts after what happened with Quick, so they’re holding it in the Iron House. This is big news, after all. All of Britain wants to know about these attacks, and this isn’t the first time Potter’s name has ended up in the paper. This will be the first time he’s answered questions directly. Considering how many things have gone unanswered since he’s gotten here, I think we need to exploit this opportunity for everything we can. I want a special edition out by Sunday.”

There were numerous protests.

“That’s a week ahead of schedule! I don’t have my articles ready!”

“I can’t proofread an entire edition in four days! I only have half a paper’s worth to begin with!”

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend! I’ve got Christmas shopping to do!”

“Why don’t we just drag Potter in here and get the interview now?”

“But what about my interviews?”

“How come-”

“That isn’t-”

“No way-”

“SHUT UP!”

Everyone immediately silenced under McGunny’s harsh command. He glared at all of them, disgusted.

“What is wrong with you all? This isn’t a crisis! The best in the business are going to handling this thing, and we’ve just been handed the opportunity to count ourselves among them. You should be proud. You should be excited. This is the real thing! We’ve got a classmate in this school making history as we speak and we don’t know a damn thing about him. Our school has been attacked by an escaped convict and foreign terrorist group, and we don’t know why. Every student in Hogwarts deserves to know what is going on, and it is our responsibility to inform them. So I don’t what to hear anymore whining about how inconvenient it is or how hard. Lets pull together like the professionals I know you can be and get this thing done. What do you say?”

A resounding cheer, and this time even Granger and Weasley seemed enthused. Satisfied that he had rallied his troops, McGunny moved on to more practical matters.

“Good. I want all of you to write a list of questions you would like to ask Potter and submit them on my desk. I’ll sort through the ones I think relevant, and bring them to the interview. Creevey, you’ll be going with me as the photographer, but go easy on the flash, will you?”

“Wait a minute!” Parker interrupted, “What about me? Potter is mine!”

There was a scattering of giggles, and she turned a bit pink.

“That’s not what I meant and you guys know it. The Potter articles are mine.”

“You said they were mine now,” Greystoke pointed out, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

McGunny shook his head.

“The gossip column belongs to you both, but this isn’t going to the gossip column. This is front page material. It’s also a risk. I’ll be traveling with Potter to London, and the possibility of another attack is high, so I’d rather go myself than risk one of you. Creevey’s already proven himself willing to come under fire, which is the only reason I’m bringing him.”

He made a good point, and since the only person there brave (or just plain rude) enough to contradict him publicly was Weasley and he didn’t want to go, no one argued. The truth was less selfless. He wanted to go. He wanted to sit down and talk to Potter one on one, and learn for himself what made him so special. Why had the Dark Lord picked him? What, exactly, had he picked him for?

There was an aura of purpose that surrounded Potter, as if his existence held a destiny beyond that of normal people. McGunny had heard of such people before, but the closest he had ever come to seeing one himself were brief glimpses of Britain’s dictator. He had never thought he would meet for himself such a person before their significance became known to the rest of the world.

So now was his opportunity. If he was very careful, perhaps he could gain some trust from Potter. When he graduated from Hogwarts at the end of the year and took up journalism in university, he might just be able to continue a repertoire with the Gryffindor. People like Parker and Greystoke were too hungry, too aggressive in their pursuit and it didn’t surprise McGunny a bit that they hadn’t gotten anywhere with the boy. Yet, Granger was a trusted confidante, despite her position in the paper, and guarded his secrets savagely.

He wanted something in between. He was not expecting Potter’s darkest secrets, but he wanted to be trusted with his truths. Trusted not to distort what ever Harry said into something sensational for the sake public appeal, and in turn told openly and honestly what could be said.

He wanted to write history as it happened.

Natalie had hoped to find Harry alone, but with his two new pets following him about, that was impossible. So after dinner, she waited for him by the stairs, and when he finally arrived she pulled him aside in full view of the werewolves and put up a silencing spell so they couldn’t hear.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said right off the bat, and Harry looked momentarily embarrassed before shaking his head.

“No, I’ve just been busy and I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

From over Harry’s shoulder, she could see both of his guards watching intently and gave them a rather nasty look. The lighter one had the decency to look elsewhere, but the darker just grinned at her toothily.

“I don’t suppose I was one of those things on your mind?” she said, smirking a bit. She stopped when he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. That was definitely not a good sign.

“Harry?”

“Natalie… you know I like you, right?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Don’t. I do like you. I like you a lot, but… I can’t… I can’t be with you right now. Too much is happening and we’re both so young, and I don’t-”

The slap cut him off effectively. Which was good, because she couldn’t stand to listen to him awkwardly rambling on about how he loved her and couldn’t be with her. She didn’t want excuses. She left him standing stunned, and stalked past two equally stunned men as she made her way to the dungeons. Her eyes were burning and her teeth were clenched, but she would hold back her tears until she safely out of view of everyone.

She’d be damned if she started acting like Ginny.

The Prince and the Scribes

Friday afternoon, Harry left for London. Hermione had dressed him semi-formal in an outfit he hadn’t seen since his stay at the Dark Lord’s lodge, and wrapped in his Baluvian cloak for his journey to Hogsmeade. The journey was something of a parade, with Horace McGunny, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, and himself placed into a carriage and surrounded by a large contingent of Sentinels on the ground and on horse back guarding them. Even more Sentinels wandered the streets of Hogsmeade, while curious onlookers peered out their windows at the person responsible for so much security.

It was all eerily quiet to Harry, peering out over the snow covered country side and village with only the sound of the carriage wheels and horses to break the silence. McGunny, a formidable boy in Harry’s estimation, had said nothing more than a few polite greetings, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was his own sense of professional courtesy or Snape’s presence that stayed his questions. Creevey, normally a flash happy fool, seemed to be waiting for McGunny’s permission to do anything and Harry was glad for it. He didn’t think he could stand his picture being taken just yet.

He needed the time to think. Snape knew what he would be allowed to talk about, and they had practiced signals to help them communicate what to do if the questions were to be avoided, ignored, lied in response to, or told plainly. That still left the things Harry didn’t want to talk about, and wasn’t obligated to indulge. He resolved not to discuss his friends. He didn’t want attention drawn to them with potential assassins wandering about. He also couldn’t discuss the basilisk debacle even if he wanted to. That left a lot of other things he wasn’t sure he wanted known or not.

How much was he willing to talk about the Dark Lord? About his parent’s death? His relationship with his godparents? His relatives? Who knew what everyone would start asking?

It all came down to what he was willing to let complete strangers and acquaintances know about him. Strangers and acquaintances who could be potential friends or enemies. It all made him hyper aware of his vulnerabilities.

They stopped the carriage at Madam Pudifoot’s and from there took her floo to a security check point in the Iron House. Sneezing out floo powder and soot, Harry stumbled into a lobby of some sort, with high vaulted ceilings and columns engraved with iron gargoyles staring down at them accusingly.

“Step this way Mr. Potter,” ordered a Sentinel, looking as intimidating as the gargoyles that surrounded them. She handed him some water to drink, while she ran her wand over him to check for unauthorized paraphernalia. The only questionable items she found were his watch and cloak, which she let him keep.

As they were being checked over, several other people arrived. Harry assumed they were the other reporters and photographers. This was confirmed when one of the wizards who just entered immediately tried to take a picture and was tackled to the ground by several Sentinels.

“Andy, you have to wait for security to clear you first!” the woman who preceded him admonished. She would have been quite pretty if her dress and make-up weren’t so gaudy, and she didn’t try to turn her every gesture and expression into some sort of sexual tease. At first, she looked totally ridiculous to Harry, but when she turned her attention to him he found himself terrified. He was very glad there were several Sentinels and a Snape between them.

“That would be Rita Skeeter,” Snape informed him. “A remarkable specimen of newspaper media. Her natural habitat ranges from political scandals to the sexual misconduct of pop idols, where she grazes on the babble of men unprepared for her vulgar innuendo, only to regurgitate misquotations and fragmented statements later for the rest of her pack back at the Wizarding Weekly. She is the finest of her species.”

Harry was not comforted. Snape smirked.

“Just pay attention to what she is saying, not how she says it. And if she leans forward, for Merlin’s sake, don’t look down.”

What did he mean by… oh. Oh. Eww.

“Potter,” McGunny greeted, “Mind if we get a picture?” He gestured towards Colin waiting anxiously behind him.

Harry’s first instinct was to say no, but then remember this was what he had agreed to and nodded. He didn’t smile though. In wizarding pictures, you could always tell when an emotion was fake, because after a while the people would fidget in the image and give themselves away. So he stood still and serious, and hoped he would look less nervous than fake smiling would reveal.

Colin barely got a shot off, before another reporter shoved him rudely aside to get one of his own. Harry’s wand immediately snapped up, muttering a hex. The camera was encased in a sphere of darkness. The photographer panicked, and dropped it. There was a very tense silence.

“I didn’t give you permission,” Harry said stiffly, though in truth he was most irritated by the man’s callous act towards his classmate. He might not have liked Colin, but he hated adults bullying children. He helped the younger Gryffindor to his feet, and checked to make sure both boy and camera were unharmed. The photographer, a burly young man, was flustered.

“Er… s-sorry… didn’t mean to…”

“You took too many liberties. Now you know better. Now you all know better,” Snape growled at the room.

Harry had expected to be scolded by his professor, but the man seemed to approve. He would have to ask him about that later. The Sentinels went back to checking the people and their equipment, and the reporters just watched young Harry, re-evaluating their approach. They weren’t used to dealing with children, but had assumed automatically that he would be easily intimidated. That clearly wasn’t the case. It also didn’t escape their notice that Harry and Snape had both been allowed to keep their wands while the rest of them had not.

Everyone remembered to ask before taking his picture after that.

A woman, not a Sentinel though, appeared from a side door to escort them to a drawing room. The room itself reminded Harry of a cheap knock off Malfoy’s drawing room with a large fire place, dark furniture, and a wet bar set just so. Harry was instructed to sit in the Master chair, a wing-backed monstrosity positioned dramatically by the fire, while the reporters took up the surrounding sofa’s and love seats. A few Sentinels guarded the doors and directly behind the reporters, while Snape set himself directly across from Harry in a slightly smaller replica of his own chair. From his position, Harry could see all of Snape’s little gestures and expressions that would guide him through the interview, while to everyone else he was completely hidden.

The hostess-like woman set out some tea and snacks, bid them all to keep their questions ‘civilized’, and left. There was a very tense silence. Harry looked around at their anxious, eager faces and wondered why no one had started. He paused at McGunny, who looked vaguely amused at the other reporters.

“May I ask you some questions, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smiled a bit. It seemed that of all the reporters there, the only one who knew how to start was the only one who knew how to be polite.

“Of course.”

“Your name has appeared during several events of public interest, yet this is the first time you have agreed to a formal interview. Can you tell us why?”

There was a pause as Harry thought of his reply, then “I’m a private person. I don’t like being gossiped about, but lately that’s been impossible to avoid with all the time I’ve spent with Lord Voldemort-” there were a few little gasps “- and with people trying to kill me. There’s a lot of ridiculous ideas floating around, and I thought it was time to set things right. I still don’t like being gossiped about, but the truth is better than a fantasy. At least, I think so.”

Another reporter spoke up.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, if I may,” he asked, and continued when he received a nod, “There’s been a great deal of speculation about your origins. We know you were picked up by WYRA just shortly before you came to Hogwarts, but can you recall anything about your parentage?”

Harry took a deep breath, looked to Snape for reassurance, and nodded.

“Yes, I-” he swallowed thickly, “I was born in England. My father was James Potter and my mother is Lily Evans. Both attended Hogwarts where I go to school now, and married after they graduated. I was born a few years later, but we fled to Germany before I turned one. We lived as muggles for all the time they raised me. I didn’t even know wizards existed until…”

He had to pause, and poured himself some tea. No one dared rush him, though he could read a savage hunger for his every word. Only McGunny remained respectfully reserved, encouraging him to continue with the most minute of gestures.

“Until they died when I was eight. They were killed by a burglar while I was at school. I was sent to live with my mom’s muggle sister and her family in Surrey, still thinking I was just…”

He almost shrugged, but caught himself.

“… unmagical. I didn’t perform any magic until I was ten, and then WYRA came and got me. Actually, it was Pro-”

Snape made a gesture for him to stop his line of explanation, looking rather alarmed.

“…probably the best thing that ever happened to me,” he finished.

“Are you telling us both your parents were British-born wizards?” a bespectled man asked.

“Yes. My father was a pureblood and my mother was a muggleborn. And you didn’t ask permission first. If you do that again, I’ll ignore your question.”

Rita Skeeter, finally took her opportunity to attack.

“Harry, if I may call you Harry?”

He didn’t even look at her to see if she was leaning forward. “No, you may not.”

“Oh… might I ask what your relation to the Dark Lord might be? Familial perhaps?”

“No, we aren’t related. At least not closely… I don’t think. I suppose we both come from Salazar Slytherin descendants, because of the parseltongue and all. My great grandfather was a parselmouth, but I don’t think my dad was. Probably skipped generations in the Potter line. You all knew I was a parselmouth, right?”

Everyone nodded.

“So, no we’re not related. We just… do stuff together. I’m not sure how it got started really.”

“How did you two first meet?” she continued.

That was one of those questions Snape had told him to avoid explaining and Harry was more than happy to. So he ignored her and turned to one of the reporters who hadn’t spoken.

“Do you have a question?”

She seemed surprised, and struggled for a moment before spitting out, “What are your thoughts on foreign wizards attempting to kill you? How do you feel about it?”

He smiled at her. “Probably the same way I’d feel if British wizards were attempting to kill me. I really wish they wouldn’t. It’s hard to have fun from a hospital bed and I’m way behind on my schoolwork.”

There were a few chuckles, and even Snape managed to smirk.

The next couple of questions were about the last three assassination attempts, which Harry could answer honestly and openly enough. Yes, he helped rescue teachers from the collapsing stands. No, he didn’t rescue Malfoy, the Dark Lord, or help keep the stands aloft. Yes, it made him very angry that so many innocent people could have been hurt. No, he wouldn’t be playing Quidditch that year. The poisoning was very unpleasant, but he was very happy to have a potion’s master on hand who recognized and remedied the problem. It was in his pumpkin juice. No, he doubted a classmate did it. Yes, it tasted awful. Yes, werewolves rescued him from the third attempt…(and after a dirty look from Snape)… but his professors would have done so if they weren’t there. Their names were Sirius Blackbone and Remus Slivermoon. No, he wasn’t afraid of them. Yes, he trusted them (despite the dirty look Snape gave him).

“They’re my godfathers,” Harry volunteered. The only information he’d volunteered. “My father named Sirius as my godfather when I was born. I would be living with him right now except for the whole werewolf thing.”

“How did they become werewolves?” McGunny asked, and despite not waiting his turn, Harry answered anyway.

“Remus was a werewolf since he was a little kid. My dad was a good friend when they went to Hogwarts together, even after he found out. Sirius was my dad’s best mate, and they were aurors together during the war. After he got captured, Remus vouched for him and Greyback turned him into a werewolf.”

“Your father actively fought against the Dark Lord?”

“Yeah… I mean, yes. Yes, both my parents did.”

Skeeter raised her hand, and reluctantly Harry acknowledged her.

“How do you think your parents would feel about your relationship with the Dark Lord, especially after losing the war to him?”

Harry tensed. He did not like that question, having wondered himself many times over the year. Would they be proud? Horrified? Sad? He looked to Snape, but he merely lifted a brow. Well?

“… I don’t know. I loved my parents very much, and I’ll always respect that they fought for what they believed in, regardless of whether they turned out to be right or not, but I never knew them as well as I thought I did. I only knew them as my muggle parents, not the wizard and witch and warriors that they were. I can’t say if they’d be happy or angry about the decisions I’ve made. They couldn’t be here to help me make them, so I have to accept that I’ll never know. All I can do is make decisions I can live with and be proud of, and hope they’ll understand, where ever they are.”

The reporters scurried to write down what he said (quik-quotes quills had been banned from the interview), except for McGunny who looked at Harry and gestured towards Colin waiting anxiously behind him. He nodded and Colin grabbed a quick picture of him, still caught up in the melancholy of his thoughts. It startled everyone else, a few even snapped their quills. The other photographers scrambled to get the same shot, but Harry was already distracted with fixing the damaged quills and the shot was lost.

“Do you have any plans after graduating?” McGunny asked.

“Nothing concrete. I have a lot of things I’d like to try, but they’re not really plans. I’d like to travel some. Explore the Britain beyond Hogsmeade. Take art lessons. College, though I don’t know what I’d study. I’ve got time to figure it out though.”

“Do you think you’ll go into politics or a Court related job?” someone else asked.

“I hope not. That all sounds really boring.”

That earned him a few chuckles. From there, the topics were much lighter. How did he like school? What was his favorite subject? What activities did he participate in? What about his summers? What did he like best about the wizarding world? Simple and menial, there were very few questions he had to avoid (Where do you stay for the summer? Who is your best friend? Do you have a girlfriend?) and at long last an invisible clock chimed the end of the hour and the end of their questions.

Snape managed to make it to his rooms a quarter to nine and was considering turning in early for the night, when the appearance of Larousse threw his plans to the wind. He suppose he should have expected her, but honestly he had been too relieved his responsibility for the night was over to think of other obligations. Harry had done far better than he had thought he would, and his early establishment of magical dominance was pleasantly unexpected and insured control over the reporters.

“How did it go?” she asked, as he drew near.

“It went well. The Dark Lord will be pleased, so long as Wizard Weekly remembers their place. I don’t trust that Skeeter woman not to twist everything into something insipid and melodramatic. How was your evening?”

“… I’ve lost the werewolves.”

He stiffened.

“I was keeping track of them until I had to supervise Sr. Dueling Club, and then they just disappeared. I keep getting this feeling that they’ve been stalking me though.”

She did not seem overly concerned, and he thought her rather careless for that. The werewolves were not as logical or as afraid of the Dark Lord’s wrath as a typical wizard, but relied heavily on their instinct.

And their instinct was to kill her, the wild cat to their wolf, their natural enemy.

The only thing staying their hand was probably Harry. If they learned of her intention to adopt him, then all bets were off. He would have to remind her.

“Do you wish to come in?”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate,” she said, although she looked tempted.

“We are well beyond the age were chaperone’s are necessary, madam. We will behave ourselves, and there is no one here to imply otherwise.”

He stepped into his private rooms and she followed. She had only been there once before, when Harry was injured under Infelix misera, and took a moment to gage her surroundings more closely while her host set about making them tea. There was a sitting room connected to a kitchenette and hallway that must have led to his bedroom, bathroom, and study. Everything was masculine and a bit messy. The walls were lined with shelves, crammed with tomes and scrolls and even then a few stray items had to be stacked on top or pilled beside or between the shelves, and a display case of silver and glass and more protections spells and wards than a Gringrotts’ vault stood nearby. There was a large fire place, always lit even in summer to fight the dungeon’s constant drafts, and above it a collection of swords she knew him to be proficient in. There was a sitting chair for reading and a couch for napping most likely, comfortably ragged and probably having seen very little company.

“Does it meet with my lady’s approval?” he asked from the kitchenette.

“It’s a bit gloomy without windows, but it suits you.”

“I strike you as gloomy?”

“Of course not. You’re much too aggressive a personality for that. It suits you despite being gloomy. Can you tell if the mongrels followed me down here?”

“Can’t you?”

“I thought they might have, but the dungeons at night make me paranoid.”

He was smirking as he brought over the tea, setting it on a small end table.

“They did not follow. They could not follow. I have the entire floor warded against them. You and your confidences are safe here, but I will escort you back to your rooms when we’re done.”

“That’s very chivalrous of you, but I-”

“It’s is the duty of a husband to look after his wife’s well being. I may as well practice it now.”

She smiled, and he felt strangely pleased with himself. Damn tea.

“Is there anything in particular you wished to discuss? Aside from Potter’s romp down memory lane?”

“Yes. I think I figured out why you should adopt Harry.”

“Oh? Does it involve free manual labor?”

“Severus, really. This is much better. I feel like a fool for not thinking of it sooner.”

“Well, you managed it in the nick of time. You had less than three hours before you had to abandon this enterprise altogether. So what did you find?”

“The Potter Vault.”

Snape stared at her for a moment, a bit surprised, then sighed.

“As much fun as it would be playing pirate with my old nemesis’ wealth, I don’t think the Dark Lord would approve of the misappropriation of young Potter’s inheritance.”

“Of course not, and I don’t think you’d be dishonorable enough to do such a thing. I’m not talking about galleons and gemstones, I’m talking about knowledge.”

“Knowledge?”

“Books, Severus. The Potters are a very, very old family. Their wealth is accumulated, not in money, but in books and scrolls and magical artifacts. I did some research, as much as I could on such short notice, and did you know they have the eighth largest collection of Book of Shadows in Britain? That’s a lot of never before duplicated spells, Severus. Spells that haven’t been seen in centuries. And best of all, you don’t need to steal them. Only borrow them long enough to make copies. When Harry is legally an adult, he’ll keep the originals and you’ll keep the new ones.”

Snape’s interest was definitely peaked. He could easily confess to being an all out bibliophile, and a great deal of his wealth had gone towards the accumulation of rare and valuable books. He had kept all of his college text books, written three of his own, collected over two hundred in different languages while traveling abroad, and raided more antique stores and auctions than he could remember, but what he did not have were Book of Shadows. The Prince family books had been sold in his youth to pay for his education, and such books were near impossible to pry from their rightful owners. Most preferred them burned rather than have them passed to someone outside the family.

“And then, of course, there is the dowry.”

“Dowry?”

“It should be quite substantial for Harry. You’re entitled to a percentage as the head of the family, you know? And of course, there are those who will pay handsomely just be given permissions to try and court Harry when he comes of age.”

“It would be the Dark Lord’s-”

“He trusts your judgment. He’ll let you manage the matter just as he let you manage Harry’s press conference and formal outings. Just think of it this way Severus. You would have all the same responsibilities that you have now, only you’d receive much greater compensation.”

Snape let out a rude snort.

“That isn’t true and you know it. The title of ‘Father’ entails a whole world of new responsibilities that ‘guardian’ does not. For every failure, misdeed, embarrassment, and lapse in judgment Potter commits, I will be judged in turn.”

“And every success, accomplishment, and honor will bring glory to you. You will finally be acknowledged as you deserved, but never were because of your father. You will be the head of a family of purebloods, as strong and influential as Lestrange or Broadwick or Prince. You will be the pater primoof the Snapes, the next great family of Purebloods.”

“By following Potter?” he asked, bitterly.

“Or by leading him. It’s up to you.”

Snape remained quiet for a long time, mulling over everything she had said. Some of it sounded over idealistic, but workable. It all appealed to him on some level. It was true that no Pureblood could turn him away without turning away Potter as well, and that would be a slap in the face of the Dark Lord. Unforgivable. Life threatening. Infinitely satisfying to Snape.

Plus it would piss off Black and Lestrange something fierce.

He sighed.

“Very well. You’ve convinced me.”

And she kissed him. She caught him by surprise, but… it was a pleasant sort of surprise. She was very soft and warm, and tasted of the tea they had been drinking. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he could feel them rise and fall with her quickening breath, and he was sorely tempted to stand and seize her and…

He pulled back, flush and flustered.

“Per..perhaps you needed that chaperon, after all,” he managed.

She looked utterly unrepentant.

“Thank you, Severus. You’ve made me so happy.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. I said you convinced me. Now you have to convince the Dark Lord.”

Natalie walked into Tuesday dueling practices hoping to see Harry, but he was as elusive that day as he had been since Friday. Aside from a few glimpses during classes and in the halls, she hadn’t seen him hardly at all, but then no one else had either. He was feeling extraordinarily shy since the interviews, and the unusually high influx of newspapers hadn’t helped matters. Every where she went there were students and teachers reading or talking about him, and she would be quite annoyed if she weren’t just as bad.

She had read the articles. At least a dozen of them anyway. Aside from the Hogwart’s Herald, the only paper most anyone read was the Wizard Weekly, but alternative newspapers such as Newts & News, Pellington’s Inquisition, and the Third Eye Tribune had been smuggled in with the morning mail, as well. Much of what was said was contradictory to the other papers.

Some portrayed Harry as a young tyrant, casting spells this way and that for the most minor of offenses, while others described him has mild-mannered and chivalrous, fixing broken cameras and helping some one up when they tripped. Still others suggested he was uncertain of himself and snippish, others that he was unusually self assured and humorous. She didn’t really care about any of the paper’s opinion’s regarding his personality, as she knew him better than any of them could ever boast.

What she did care about was that his parents were really wizards, his body guards were really his godfathers, he didn’t want to work for the Court, and that she hadn’t known any of that before. Oh, she had suspected his past was traumatic, that he held secrets, and liked his privacy, but she felt she should have been privy to at least someof it. Hermione must have known. She probably knew all of it.

God, she hated that girl.

Since she was already there, Natalie decided to work off some of her frustration in a duel. She wasn’t the best duelist in the club, but she did well enough that at least the girls were afraid of her. There was one other person in the supply closet changing into their combat robes, and she couldn’t help but smirk a little when she saw who it was.

“Hello, Ginerva.”

The younger girl spun around, startled, and her alarm didn’t waver when she recognized her company.

“It’s been a while. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” Natalie teased, step towards her and then past her to where her uniform was hanging. Ginny stiffened, but didn’t reply, instead securing her leather armor. “I hope there aren’t any hard feelings.”

Ginny glanced at her, then back towards the exit, but didn’t speed up her pace. Gryffindor pride cracked, but not broken. Natalie’s smirked widened.

“We shouldn’t let something as silly as a boy come between years of… history. We girls have to stick together, after all.”

The younger girl finished strapping on the last of her armor, and walked out. Natalie knew it was petty and futile and stupid considering Harry had only been hers for the briefest of moments. At least he had been hers, and if it meant reminding one silly little girl she’d had even less in order for her to be content with that, then it was all fine and dandy.

One day Harry would be ready, and she would be there to snatch him up before anyone else. Or perhaps he would come to her.

He was unpredictable like that.

Book of Shadows- a handwritten book of spells collected and sometimes created by an individual or family/coven.

Literally, it’s Latin for ‘first father’, and I use it as a term indicating the first of a genetic line. Like Salazar Slytherin would be a pater primo because no one knows anything (we assume) about the Slytherin line before him.

The Prince and his Honor I

When the first article hit the breakfast tables on Saturday, Harry thought he would never be able to look anyone in the eye again. The interview had gone well. Snape would have mocked or scolded him otherwise, but afterwards everything was left to the discretion of the reporters.

They had none.

There was no consistency in what each article had written. Some pieces were ridiculously over dramatic while others printed bare facts that somehow misled even more thoroughly than the former. Only McGunny’s article held anything resembling accuracy, but that may have been because the school would have known he was full of crap if he started rambling about Harry being a miniature Voldemort or some frightened little orphan.

That might have been giving the student body too much credit, because by Tuesday his embarrassment had dissipated into full blown irritation with all of them. After two and half years he thought everyone was pretty clear about who and what Harry was. Yet everyone was treating him like a stranger. Not necessarily rude (except for the Slytherins who all seemed to have gotten their nickers in a twist) but a nervous uncertainty, as if they did know if he was going to wave hello or cast Cruciatus on them. Some people had developed an annoying habit of adding ‘mister’ or ‘sir’ in their greetings, reminding him inexplicably of house elves.

“Sorry, Mr. Potter, I didn’t see you there.”

“Do you think they’ll have the pitch fixed by New Year’s, Mr. Potter sir?”

“Sir, you can borrow my notes.”

Very aggravating, but snapping at them would only have made it worse. When he asked Hermione how long she thought it would last, she had only given him a stricken look. He didn’t find it at all reassuring.

To make matters worse, his stress was affecting Sirius and Remus. They were all very careful not to take their unease and frustration out on each other, but their bad tempers were obvious to everyone else. Sirius insisted the extra aggression was justified, swearing he had been hearing Slytherins plotting since Saturday. Remus could neither confirm nor deny this, his senses dulled due to a mild cold, but Harry wasn’t going to take any chances until he could talk to Draco in private. Draco had been scarce Monday, but a note at breakfast was enough to secure some time during lunch to speak.

Unfortunately, the reality of Sirius’ paranoia revealed itself between his morning classes.

He had just climbed the stairs to the third floor and was heading towards Arithmancy when he found his way blocked by a group of Slytherins. Their leader was a skeletal girl with fingers like spiders, but the rest of them were large and brutish.

Sirius was not with him, having wandered off to investigate an unusual smell, leaving Remus who wasn’t half as intimidating. Hermione walked right past them, but Harry found himself cut off when he made to follow.

“Where do you think you’re going, kitty cat?” the bony girl sneered.

He knew instantly that he was in trouble, but he wasn’t sure of how much trouble until Remus’ soft growl alerted him to the three other Slytherins coming up the stairs and blocking his retreat. Other students began to realize something was happening and the hallway and stairs began to congest heavily with gawkers. Beyond the Slytherin goons, Hermione was struggling to get back to him with little progress.

“What are you doing? Let me through!”

“Don’t lose your tiara, princess. Barlow just wants to have a little talk, ya?”

It was such an obvious lie, Harry wondered why he even bothered.

“What do you want?” he asked, more to buy time than out of curiosity. The smile she gave him was Chesire wide and complete with little fangs.

“What does any modern woman want? A diamond necklace. A cute boyfriend who adores me. A summer house on the beach. But mostly, I want my parents back.”

Her expression went blank.

“But I can’t have those things anymore, because of what those bloody fucking aurors did. Hell, maybe it was your father that killed them and sent me to live with a useless aunt and uncle, and let them burn through my trust fund like they’d won the lottery. I don’t know and I really don’t care, but I believe I’m due a little compensation, don’t you?”

Under normal circumstances, he might have been sympathetic. But these were abnormal circumstances and he was only half listening, his mind running a mile a minute, sorting through potential battle scenarios and means of escape, until he settled on a plan. It was risky, but if successful it yielded the best results. He was ready before she even finished speaking.

“You’re right,” Harry said calmly, startling everyone. “And I will give you the chance to avenge your family. Remus, would you come here a moment?”

“What are you up to, Harry?”

“Trust me.”

With everyone disoriented from his supposed surrender, he took Remus’ hand and removed his glove, then spun around and abruptly slapped her with it.

“You have claimed an injustice by my family and sullied its name. I challenge you to a duel. If you stand by your accusation than accept. If it is false, then concede and walk away.”

He felt a little silly reciting the challenge by rote, but Snape had drilled proper form and decorum into all his duelists and it would feel even stranger deviating from it. Barlow just stood there, stunned for a long moment. She slowly reached up to touch her reddening cheek.

“Harry, no! You could be expelled for drawing your wand in a fight!” Hermione cried.

“Merlin, what have you done?”

Remus snatched back his glove and shoved it on angrily. Harry didn’t acknowledge either of them, his attention fixed on Barlow. As he watched her the blankness was slowly replaced by delight.

“You’re going to regret that, little kitty. I accept. Anyone who doesn’t want to die, get out of our way.”

“Lets move towards the stairs. Less chance of hitting anyone accidentally.”

Remus growled in his ear.

“You’re not doing this, Harry.”

“I can fight one on one or two on ten. You do the math,” he hissed back.

“Let him do it.”

They both turned towards the stairs at the sound of Sirius’ voice. He had two of the three Slytherins by their necks, and smiled grimly up at them.

“It’s a matter of honor now. He’ll have to see it through. Kill anyone who tries to interfere. I’ll take care of things on this end.”

“Siri-”

“That’s an order!”

“Fuck.”

Remus moved to obey, herding the students like sheep towards the group of Slytherins, blocking them from making any surprise attacks while Harry was engaged. Harry and Barlow had taken up position by the stairs, not looking away from the other for even a moment.

He had challenged her formally, but this wasn’t a formal duel and even if it was he doubted she knew proper form, so there was no customary stance or salute and they stood much closer than official gaming rules would allow. There was only steady gazes and twitchy fingers aching for their wands, and at their current range the person who got off the first spell couldn’t miss so they’d only need one.

The crowd was silent, the tension hung heavy in the air like humidity or magic. For a few seconds they did not move, but for Barlow wetting her chapped lips. Inside his pocket, Harry could feel his watch beginning to burn.

He arm shot up, her wand in her hand and a spell in her mouth. Harry still could have cast his first hex before her, but instead he ignored his wand all together. He jumped forward, grabbing her wrist and swinging her towards the stairs. Her curse broke off into a startled shriek as she lost her balance, certain of her fall. Her demise was cut short by Harry, who instead of letting go held firm to her wrist. She tried to pull herself up, but he moved forward and left her floundering for balance again.

“What are you doing? Pull me up!”

“Not until you yield.”

“What?!”

“We’re still technically dueling. I can’t help you up until you drop your wand.”

“Fuck you!”

He shifted his weight and she screamed, before he caught himself. There were gasps and snarls of warning and someone cried out for ‘Sasha’. Harry merely grunted.

“For such a skinny girl, you’re sure heavy. I can’t keep this up for much longer. Drop the wand or I’ll drop you. I win either way.”

She looked him in the eyes to see if he was bluffing, but all she could see was the strain of him keeping his hold on her. With an angry grimace, she dropped her wand. He kicked it down the stairs as a precaution before pulling her to safety.

The duel was over.

The crowd broke into a maelstrom of motion and noise. There was cheering and back slaps for Harry, until his godfather reached him and forced everyone to give him space. Hermione was in his face, shouting and calling him names that were all variations of ‘you stupid idiot’ and ‘you’re a bloody genius’. He didn’t feel particularly victorious. He had been chosen for what was likely a very bad beat down for things his parents may or may not have done by a girl he’d never even met and apparently with her House’s full support. Quick thinking and luck have saved him this time, but what would happen when one or the other failed? There was no way this was the end of things.

It took a while but Hermione finally noticed he hadn’t said a single word.

“Harry, what is it?”

“… Nothing. We’re late for class.”

They were over fifteen minutes late for class, but so was almost everyone else. When Professor Vector asked what had kept them all, Dean Thomas immediately spat out that someone had pranked the staircase so everyone got stuck to it if they tried to go up. No one contradicted him, though several people glanced in Harry’s direction.

Harry hoped everyone would remain similarly tight lipped about his involvement, but wasn’t going to be placing any bets on it. Sure enough, by the time class was dismissed the school was buzzing the latest gossip, and Harry could literally watch the spread of the tale like the gradual onslaught of plague. The symptoms involved staring, elaborate gestures, and exclamations of ‘no way!’ or ‘did he really?’.

It was stranger still when Colin Creevey rushed up to him, barely keeping himself from fleeing from the werewolf pair that glared at him, and told him he was in danger.

“Harry I think you should go the other way! Malfoy just heard about the duel and he looks really really pissed, and.. er… he’s heading this way!” the boy said, then quickly fled.

Beside him, Hermione rolled her eyes.

It hadn’t occurred to Harry that Draco would be mad at him. He supposed it was possible depending on the story he’d been told and by who. In any case, he wasn’t going to run every time a Slytherin decided to hold a grudge, even if he was a friend of his. Sirius spotted the young Malfoy first as well as Ron Weasley following close behind and gave them a threatening look. They both hesitated.

“It’s fine, Sirius. Draco’s a friend. I’m just going to sort things out with him,” Harry said. They moved to follow him, but he held up a hand. “No offense, but its kind of hard to settle a misunderstanding with you threatening death over my shoulder. Just give us a little space.”

“Harry…”

“We’ll just be in the classroom. Unless Moody transfigured himself into desk, I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Sirius, reluctantly, relented but not before sparing them another promise of painful death with only his eyes. Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Ron quickly moved into an abandon classroom and shut the door. Ron cast a silencing charm, and Harry didn’t bother mentioning that Remus probably took it down again as soon as it was up.

“Bloody hell…” Draco muttered, “They’re a fright. How can you stand them?”

“I practiced with your godfather.”

That almost earned him a patented Malfoy smirk, but then he seemed to remember that he was angry at Harry. He crossed his arms.

“What happened? People are saying you had a duel with Sasha Barlow and that you threw her down the stairs!”

“I did not throw her down the stairs.”

Hermione butted in. “It wasn’t his fault this time. She cornered him with a goon squad, and it was a duel or a mob. No one got hurt.”

Ron snorted. “Well, she obviously isn’t alright. She’s in the hospital wing, you know.”

“What? Who told you that?”

“Uncle Severus.”

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. “Did he seem mad?”

Draco gave him a ‘well duh’ look.

“She started it,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ron said, looking far more irritated than Harry thought he had a right to be. “You’re in Dueling Club. She’s isn’t. Our charter could get revoked if you’re caught abusing your skills or you’ll get expelled from the club, and who am I going to get to replace you before our next competition?”

“I didn’t use my magic,” Harry insisted. “I didn’t even draw my wand. I’ve got fifty witnesses to can testify that she started it and that she was fine when I walked away.”

“And all her cronies will testify that you did.”

“Why? What is happening? Why are all the Slytherins pissed off at me? Are you pissed off at me too?”

Draco hesitated, but Ron didn’t have enough tact to consider his next words.

“Of course they’re pissed. We’re all pissed at you. You’re the Dark Lord’s bloody heir and your family probably killed at least some of their parents. How unfair is that?”

“That isn’t my fault!”

“That isn’t the point! Lots of kids around here had parents on the other side of the war, but they’re not getting news paper articles written about them or free clothes or vacations with the Dark Lord! It’s a rip off. Their parents died for him, and the only one he has eyes for is the one with parents who tried to kill him.”

Harry didn’t have anything to say to that. It was a rip off, but it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked for any of it, and really he would have been happier to have been left anonymous with only his friends for company… wouldn’t he? Although if it weren’t for Voldemort, he might never have met his godfathers or at least never been able to talk or speak with them. He could do without the fancy clothes and gifts, but what about the knowledge that had come with the Dark Lord’s mentoring? He wish he could say he hadn’t wanted any of it, but it rang a lie in his own head.

Merlin, this was why he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. Guilt trips were not his idea of fun.

“So what am I suppose to do? Apologize?”

Draco looked horrified at the suggestion.

“Merlin, Potter, that’s the last thing you want to do. That’s just handing them the sticks to beat you with.”

“Then what? What can I do?”

There was silence, and he thought it was because they didn’t have a solution themselves but Hermione’s strained voice revealed a hesitation born of reluctance rather than helplessness.

“You have to fight,” she said, and sighed wearily. “They’re going to hate you no matter what you do. It’s unreasonable. It’s unfair. It’s self-destructive. But that the way it is. You’re going to have to keep fighting until no one dares challenge you… or at least fewer dare challenge you.”

Harry swallowed. He didn’t like it. He could seriously hurt someone or be seriously hurt himself. There had to be another way. He was good at finding solutions that didn’t occur to others, but he was currently at a loss. Draco tried to cheer him, but since he was still irritable it came off as mocking.

“Most of my house is just testing for weakness. You defeating Barlow is going to discourage a lot of people from trying anything themselves. No one is going to try anything that will seriously hurt you. Not with the Dark Lord backing you. It’s a struggle for dominance. If they can bring you to heel, no one is going to challenge them.”

“Do you want to challenge me?” he snipped.

“Don’t tempt me, Harry. I’ve lost some serious leverage because I’m still your friend. If some one manages to fuck you up, I’m going to lose control of even the first years.”

He felt irrationally guilty for that.

“Sorry,” he said, and changed the subject. “Are you sure Barlow is in the infirmary?”

“Either there or sulking somewhere. Are you certain you didn’t hurt her?”

“I might have bruised her wrist when I stopped her from falling down the stairs, but nothing other than that. I didn’t even draw my wand.”

“When was the last time you used it?”

Harry gave him a funny look, which only served to further irritate the other boy.

“You haven’t cast any hexes or jinxes today, have you?”

“No. I think the only spell I cast today was to un-wrinkle my shirt and that was before breakfast.”

“Good. Don’t cast anything unless it’s in front of a teacher. If Barlow is trying to get you in trouble, then your wand is your only sure alibi.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, unhappy but at least he knew what was happening now.

“Thank you, Draco. I’ll find a way to make this up to you.”

“I’ll consider myself well compensated if you come out of this smelling like roses. All I need is a reminder to everyone else that I’m a genius and not a sentimental sod for my acquaintance with you.”

There was a knock at the door, which startled everyone who thought the Silencing Charm was still up, except for Harry who knew better. Sirius peeked in, looking annoyed.

“Come on, we’ve got to go.”

By his tone it sounded like more bad news. However, if it related to Voldemort it might not necessarily be bad for him. This hope was quickly crushed when his godfather held up a note, folded into an origami bird and flapping crazily in the man’s grasp.

“Lestrange wants to see you.”

“Don’t worry, Prongslet. It’s not like she can do anything. She just wants to swing her weight around. Try to look important,” Sirius said. He was looking positively chipper (when he wasn’t glaring at people) since the fight. Behind them Remus was looking as skeptical as Harry.

The halls were deserted except for the occasional GG, which made the school look strange after the commotion of lunch and the confrontation by the stairs. If they had been heading to Voldemort’s office, he wouldn’t be as nervous. The Dark Lord would have understood the situation and perhaps even approved of how he had handled it. Lestrange, however, was like Snape. Voldemort put her in a position of trust running the school, and if she decided to punish him somehow the man would probably not ever stop to question it. Worst of all, she probably knew it.

She must have been waiting for some excuse to exact her revenge on him after the basilisk incident, having embarrassed her in front of her master. Well, fuck her. She wasn’t half as scary as she thought she was.

The gargoyle on the staircase let Harry pass without a password, but when his godfathers tried to follow the entrance snapped shut and blocked their entrance. He felt a twinge of nervousness, but crushed it. He wasn’t to let her intimidate him.

“Mr. Potter,” she said coolly as he stepped off the steps and into her office. It was just how he remembered it, ridiculously cluttered with books, portraits, and artifacts. The latest artifact was one he recognized very well. The Sword of Gryffindor hung upright behind a glass case near the stairs. He brushed his fingers over the case and felt the sword’s magic respond, a single ringing sound like that of a bell. Lestrange seemed oblivious to it.

“Headmistress.”

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to chair in front of her desk. Harry did so, but made a point to sit in the chair next to the one she had pointed to. He didn’t know what good it might do. They both hummed with magic.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Yes, because you think you can bully me when Voldemort isn’t around.

“No.”

She smirked.

“There’s a young lady in the hospital wing claiming you pushed her down the stairs.”

Harry felt a jolt of anger, but kept himself under control.

“Really? That’s strange. She must have knocked her head on the way down.”

“There are witnesses who say they saw the same thing,” she continued. “I find this very disturbing behavior, Mr. Potter. Don’t you?”

“Yes, mass hallucinations do seem like a serious problem. I don’t suppose they had just gotten out of potions?”

He wasn’t looking at her directly, playing at disinterest, but he did notice the little tic starting in the corner of her right eye and felt extremely satisfied with it. It didn’t last. Her cool expression took on a more smug look.

“I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps someone else resembling you did it or maybe you accidentally bumped her without noticing. This matter could easily be resolved with your cooperation.”

He was being set up for something nasty and he knew it.

“Cooperation?” he said cautiously.

“It will only take a moment.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Look at me.”

Her voice was commanding, and he looked at her reflexively. There was a familiar sense of pressure and he sprung up, escaping towards the stairs. He heard, rather than saw Lestrange stand up and follow.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you. If you want to find out the truth you can legilimens Barlow or one of her cronies. No way in hell am I letting you rummage around in my brain.”

“Potter, get back here! We’re not done!” she snarled, seizing him by his wrist and turning him around so she could grab his shoulders. He shoved her away, but her response was a backhand that sent him to the floor. She was amazingly strong for a woman.

She climbed on top of him, holding down his upper arm with her knees and grabbing his thrashing head with her hands, forcing him to face her. He kept his eyes pinched shut and struggled, but she was heavy and he was not very strong to begin with.

“Get off! I can’t breathe! Get off!”

“Just cooperate Potter and it will all be over shortly,” Lestrange crooned softly, contradicting the pain of her fingers trying to pry his eyelids open and knocking off his glasses.

“Sirius! Remus! Help me!”

“They can’t hear you in here. When that door is closed this office is completely sound proof. Now be a good little boy and open your eyes.”

He thrashed and struggled and screamed, but it had no affect on her, and when she finally became irritated and sat more heavily on his chest, he really couldn’t breathe. His wand was in his sleeve, but without full use of his arm he couldn’t cast properly. What could he do? Keep his eyes closed and hope she relented before he suffocated? He couldn’t let her into his mind. Too many secrets, too many lives she could ruin with them including his own. If she learned about his godfather’s plans to smuggle him out of the country their lives would be forfeit.

He couldn’t let that happen! He had to protect them!

He renewed his struggling, even as his lungs burned with the need for air and he was starting to loose all his strength. He felt a pulse of magic (his own? Lestrange’s? One of the artifacts?), and there was suddenly something cool and solid and familiar in his right hand. A rush of joy and he swung from his elbow, making a stabbing motion at his attacker. It missed, but she clambered off him. He took a swing at her as he rolled over onto his knees. He ended up striking one of her chairs instead, slicing it clean down the middle as if it were paper. His glasses quickly secured back in place, he jumped up and pointed his sword at the Headmistress who had retreated behind her desk and drawn her wand. She was furious, but also uncertain and perhaps even a little afraid. He had nearly killed her and they both knew it.

“How did you get that?” she snarled.

“How dareyou! How fucking dare you!”

“Potter put that thing down at once! You’re lucky I don’t-”

He swung his sword across her desk, destroying several trinkets and scattering papers every where. She lifted her wand, but his sword was up before she utter a single spell. If it had been a regular sword, she wouldn’t be the least bit intimidated, but this was Gryffindor’s sword with the ability to cut through or deflect any spell short of the Killing Curse. She would have been perfectly happy to use the spell, but even she would have a hard time explaining a dead student to the Dark Lord.

She was stuck. She’d underestimated him. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. He was just a little boy and she had overcome fully trained aurors with relative ease. Of course, she could use her wand in those instances. She didn’t want to use it on this little venture, in case someone grew suspicious and checked him for spells.

If it had all gone to plan, she would have had all his dirty little secrets and the clout to enforce his silence and his obedience regardless of the suffering she inflicted on him. She had been planning this all summer, patiently waiting for the right time and the right opportunity. The release of the newspaper articles made now the ideal time, when he was feeling insecure about his secrets and the world was clawing for his weaknesses. The incident with Barlow made his summons to her office unremarkable and even expected.

Now it was all shot to hell. He still had his secrets, and was now armed and dangerous not only with his sword but her illegal attempt to legilimens him. Her master wouldn’t have cared who she practiced such a thing on, unless it was people who held the Dark Lord’s secrets. And Harry had those secrets. She didn’t know what they entailed, but she knew they were there.

Her only hope now was that he was too naïve to think to use this against her.

“Open the door.”

“Potter-”

“Shut up, you psycho bitch! Open the bloody door!”

She hesitated, but he raised his sword threateningly, and she twisted a nob on the underside of her desk. The door opened, and immediately she found her office invaded by werewolves. Well, bugger, she had forgotten about them. Sirius took one look at Harry and the partially destroyed office, then turned a glare on her that threatened murder.

“You alright, Harry?” he growled, not taking his eyes off of her.

“Yeah, lets just get out of here.”

All three shuffled towards the exit, not taking their eyes off of her until they were safely out of sight. The staircase slammed shut behind them. Lestrange collapsed in her chair, wondering how badly she had fucked things up.

Larousse entered Bristol’s military headquarters just after sunset, striding purposefully to the uniformed sentry guarding the entryway to the inner offices. She pulled out her Sentinel Level three security card and handed it to her.

“I’m Vesper Larousse. I have an appointment with Lord Voldemort.”

She tried to say the name as easily as Harry was able to, but even she found it difficult to say with any sort of confidence. It was enough, however, for the sentry. The uniformed woman looked at her clipboard for confirmation, checked Larousse for any suspicious objects (she removed seven items, including a silver brooch and the silver engagement ring Severus had given her), sequestered her wand, and then ordered another uniformed wizard to escort her.

The pathway they took was obviously intended for civilians and unauthorized personnel. It skirted the edge of the building, leaving windows to the outside on the left and long stretches of solid walls to the right. There were no windows to the interior of the building, and the few doors they passed were heavily warded. The staircase to the fifth floor was narrow, and a security spell was needed to pass each level, until at last she was led through a door and into a lounge.

The lounge was corporate but for a few tapestries and plants scattered around the room and one man from Voldemort’s army of assistants stood behind a desk. He smiled politely, but she didn’t miss his discreet once over as she approached. She did not smile back. She hadn’t dressed up to impress him after all.

“Professor Larousse, welcome. The Dark Lord is just finishing up with a meeting and will be with you shortly,” he said officiously. She nodded and wandered over to study one of the tapestries while she waited. After about ten minutes there was a chirping sound, like a finch, and the assistant said she could go in.

Voldemort’s Bristol office wasn’t like his Hogwart’s one. For one, there was a lot more wall space, she assumed so he could put up charts and maps for better study. For another, there were a lot more security spells. She felt vaguely nervous passing the filing cabinets with their aura of malevolent magic surrounding it. The desk sat atop a complex matrix of runes and shapes, preventing anyone except the Dark Lord from touching anything on it. As always, she was very impressed with the dark wizard’s efforts.

“Welcome, Madam. Would you like some tea?” the man greeted. He was reclining comfortably on a sofa on the far wall, leafing through a manuscript. His informality unnerved her a bit, but she decided that was probably intentional. This was their first meeting alone and he was probably testing her.

“No thank you, my Lord. I wish to take up as little of your time as possible.”

“Mmm…”

He sat up, replacing his manuscript with a cup of tea from an end table, and pointed to the other end of the couch.

“Sit down. It’s annoying having to look up at you.”

Another wave of discomfort, but she did as instructed.

“So what did you wish to see me about? Your letter said it involved Harry.”

“Yes, my Lord. It’s the matter of his guardianship.”

“Snape is his guardian.”

“Practically speaking, yes, he is. Officially, however… he is still up for adoption.”

There was a very tense silence as Voldemort set aside his tea and looked straight at her. She could feel his attention like a palpable thing, hot and sticky and making her palms sweat and the air uncomfortable to breathe.

“I am aware of this,” he said cautiously. “He has received thirty-two offers of adoption. Twenty of which were made in the last week.”

She hadn’t known that. It filled her with uncertainty.

“Are… um… have you considered any of them seriously?”

“No. None of them were suitable, but I suspect I will have many more offers over the next year. He’s going to become quite popular. Why?”

She could tell he knew what she wanted, and wondered if Severus hadn’t forewarned him.

“I would like to place a bid for adopting Harry.”

He chuckled, a low and throaty purr and she could feel her face burn. Really, this was stupid. She was a full grown woman, not a timid little virgin anymore.

“And what makes you think I would allow you to take my darling protege? You’re not even married.”

“Severus and I are engaged. We’re going to marry this summer.”

He didn’t look surprised, but someone how she got the feeling he hadn’t known. Apparently, Severus hadn’t warned him after all.

“Is that so? He didn’t mention it to me. You are certain he wasn’t playing with you? His humor can be quite twisted.”

“I’m certain. I left my engagement ring with the sentry downstairs.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and gave her a not so discreet once over much like his assistant had.

“Are you barren?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“Is he?”

“I haven’t bothered asking, but I can’t imagine why he would be. There are potions for that if he is.”

“Then why would you feel the need to adopt if you can make progeny of your own? You do intend to bare him children, don’t you?”

“Yes, I want a large family and I would like Harry to be a part of it. He deserves that. He’s a very special young man.”

“Yes, he is, which is why I must be careful who I entrust his wellbeing with.”

“You already entrust Severus.”

“You’re not Severus though, and while you do appear to be a rather remarkable woman, you have a history of disobedience that he does not. I have no forgotten why you were thrown out of the Sentinels. I signed for your expulsion personally.”

“I have learned my lesson, my Lord.”

“Mmm… perhaps you have.”

He slid across the couch as smoothly as a serpent, and she leaned back in surprise so that he was on top of her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat. His hand was on her cheek and she was certain he was about to kiss her, but instead of the pressure of his lips she felt the pressure of his magic against her mind. She jerked in alarm, but his hand on her cheek kept her immobile as he gently sifted through her mind.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. He removed his hand and released her from his legilimens, but remained poised over her trembling body.

“You really do love him, don’t you? You silly thing,” he chuckled, and she could feel his breath on her face. “I suppose of all the offers I have thus far received, Severus and you would make the most appropriate pair to look after him. However, I do not give gifts. What is in it for me… personally?”

He leaned in closer, their noses just barely touching. Beneath him, his prey was struggling with herself, completely thrown by the onslaught of both his physical and mental presence. She tried to gather her wits, reminding herself why she was here, that Severus was waiting for her back at the school, and this was a test not an offer. Just a test, a test, a test. Oh, he has such a pretty mouth.

He closed the distance between them.

SEVERUS!

She brought up her hand, covering his mouth before it touched hers. She didn’t dare shove him off completely. She wasn’t that stupid. Even so, he looked rather irritated, so she had to think fast before he forced the issue and she was left with nothing.

“Moody.”

He pulled back a little, interest peaked.

“I’ll find and capture Moody. I’ll prove to you that I can protect Harry.”

Voldemort moved off of her, grinning now.

“Oh, really?”

Alright, there are a few things I’d like to say before you all start bemoaning the possibility of Larousse adopting Harry. One, the reasons she gave Snape for adopting Harry, are not HER reasons for adopting Harry. She might be crazy (might not necessarily is), but she really does want to be his mother. Also, yes, Snape and Larousse would make a poor choice of parents from a moral point of view. Pragmatically speaking, they would actually be good choices, being both strong and intelligent and politically savvy. From an author’s point of view, it’d make a fabulous story contribution. There is so much physical, emotional, and psychological conflict such an event would create that there would be no end to the trouble it causes and thus helps drive the story forward.

Additionally, everyone seems to think Voldemort would be too possessive. I think everyone’s looking at his motivations too simplistically. Voldemort doesn’t make important decisions based solely on his emotions (which are twisted and convoluted and not easily predicted to begin with). He would weigh many factors no one else would think of, like how would the adoption help or hinder Harry’s public appeal? Would they encourage or distract loyalty to the Dark Lord? Would parental conflict cause Harry to resent him or turn to him for guidance? What about the werewolves? Can they truly protect Harry or would they leave him more vulnerable? These are only a few of the many, many things Voldemort would be calculating before he even considered letting Harry be adopted.

And in the end he really might not allow it, but it wouldn’t be due simply to jealousy.

The Prince and his Honor II

Having been attacked twice in one day, Harry felt he deserved the rest of the day off. So after sending a note to Hermione, via a charmed paper plane, he retired to his godfathers’ chambers for some much needed comfort. Werewolves were very tactile, and while Harry normally wasn’t, he was happy to receive some for at least a little while. They curled up together on a large ratty couch, Harry’s head in Sirius’ lap as the alpha petted his hair and crooned how proud he was of him while Remus rubbed his bare feet. It was all very soothing and he envied this part of the werewolf lifestyle. All of his friends would have bulked at this much touch.

Well, Natalie might have found it charming, but she really wasn’t an option right now.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “Is everyone trying to kill me?”

“No, Prongslet, just the Slytherins,” Sirius assured him.

Harry groaned.

“Perhaps we should have killed her,” Remus pondered out loud. “We would have been justified and no one would mess with you again.”

“Killer at thirteen. That’s marvelous. What great heights will I have to aspire to after that? Serial killer? Terrorist? Oh, I know, I can stage a coup and take Voldemort’s job and march on Germany. It’ll be blast. You can be my generals.”

Remus poked him in the foot, forcing out a laugh.

“I meant us, not you. It’s expected of us.”

“Voldemort would have killed you.”

“We could just have said we thought she was trying to kill you.”

“He still would have killed you.” He wasn’t certain if that was true, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“Or worse. He could have given us her job,” Sirius chuckled. Harry smiled, despite himself.

“Lets not talk about it anymore for a while. All these attacks are depressing me. Lets talk about Christmas or something.”

“No Christmas for us,” the alpha said, “We don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s a Christian holy day. Doesn’t make much sense for werewolves. It’s not like we’ll go to heaven.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have human souls, Harry. We’re saturated with Earth magic. When we die, we’ll return to the Earth like any other animal or nature spirit. No heaven or hell for us. No salvation or damnation. Just reincarnation or disembodiment.”

“How do you know that?”

“Our shamans. They’ve been known to summon up dead alphas for guidance during times of trial. Can’t do that with human souls, at least not for ones that have faith in an afterlife. You get ghosts who don’t have enough faith to move on all the time. Hogwarts is full of them, but they usually crossover after a while.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that.”

“Metaphysics is an elective for seventh years,” Remus said. “I wished they’d offered it when I was at Hogwarts. They probably thought it wasn’t appropriate to teach things that contradicted or categorized popular religious dogma at the time.”

Harry didn’t know what metaphysics nor dogma, though he figured it had to do with ghosts and spirits and might be worth looking into. There were a lot of classes he should have been looking into. New club activities too, perhaps. Like fencing (if he was going to keep calling on Gryffindor’s sword he thought it prudent he learn how to actually use it) and riding (the flight on the hippogryph had proven he had a knack for it). So much had been happening though to distract him, and if he didn’t get his act back together he wasn’t going to pass his classes, let alone qualify for advanced ones.

Larousse popped into his head unexpectedly. She had warned him about thinking ahead and offered her aid. He suddenly wished badly that he could take up her offer, but he couldn’t now. They were on opposite sides now. He with the werewolves and she with… just about every other ignorant fool out there. Funny how he kind of missed her.

Sirius tugged at tuft of his hair gently, garnering his attention. “What is it, Prongslet? You’ve gone quiet.”

“Just thinking about the future and all. I don’t know what’s happening. Everything is changing so fast. My friendships are all in trouble. My school work. My life. I just need time for things to quiet down so I can sort through it all, but every time I turn around there’s an attack or a friend is angry at me or wants to be my girlfriend or turns out to be a mass murderer or I can’t play Quidditch but then I’m the vice captain of Dueling club or I become national news or the Headmistress tries to mind rape me.”

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“Merlin, I’m tired.”

His godfathers don’t say anything, but Harry suspects they’re sharing their patented ‘concerned glance’ he’ll forever associate with them. Still, Sirius and Remus’ hands on his hair and feet, rubbing softly, is very soothing and just airing his thoughts is cathartic. He thinks this is the safest he’s felt in years.

“We could always leave,” Sirius begins, “Right now. Go to Grimmuald for supplies and then take the tunnel into France. We could be out of the country within two hours, before anyone even knew you were missing.”

Harry rolled over to look up at his godfather and shook his head.

“It wouldn’t work. Dumbledore would kill me or Voldemort when he caught me… and I think he would. I’ve seen some of the things he can do. Besides, what would running away accomplish? I’d leave all my problems behind, but I’d leave almost everything important to me too. And what about you? You’ve got your pack and your home. There’s nothing like that in Europe. They might just kill you too.”

“I doubt Dumbledore would kill you if you ran away from the Dark Lord. He would probably protect you if you renounced him publicly,” Sirius pointed out, ignoring the other points. Harry didn’t look any more pleased about the notion.

“I wouldn’t give that bastard the satisfaction. He tried to kill me. He already killed a Sentinel and tried to kill all of my teachers. Voldemort’s no saint, but I don’t see how he’s any better.”

Sirius looked ready to argue, but then stopped himself and sighed. Harry thought he understood. Dumbledore had been his leader a long time ago. Perhaps the ghost of trust still lingered.

“Alright, no extended vacation. Which is really too bad. There’s a lot of good sight-seeing out there.”

The alpha’s gaze became somewhat glazed as he began thinking about something or other. Remus let out a warning growl.

“Pinch him, Harry, he’s wandering into pervert territory. Ski bunnies most likely.”

Harry just laughed.

Harry felt better than he had in a long time when he emerged from the wolf den. He was relaxed, reassured, and resolved to fix those aspects of his life he could. He would study harder, practice harder, and work harder in general. He would ignore the gossip as unimportant, fight when he needed to, laugh when he wanted to, and somehow fix his damaged friendships. If at all possible, he’d get his godfathers to lighten up a bit so he could convince everyone that they really weren’t that bad. He would even try to convince Larousse.

Extremely difficult considering he knew his godfathers wanted to kill her, but he really did want them to have a peaceful understanding. Because he didn’t want to hurt her. She had done awful things, but awful things had been done to her as well. There was so much about her to admire and appreciate, things he admired and appreciated in his godfathers. Strength, confidence, conviction.

He didn’t know if he could make her understand, but he thought if she could resolve some of the pain from her family’s death it was possible. For both their sakes, he hoped it was possible.

Lestrange… he wasn’t sure what to do about Lestrange. His first thought was to tell Snape, but Remus had pointed out that the potion’s master would use the incident to his advantage, not necessarily Harry’s. His second thought was to tell Larousse, but he dismissed it without giving it voice. He could just try to get in contact with Voldemort, which was the most logical choice, but…

He couldn’t help but wonder what he might get out of it.

It was a dangerous thought. Lestrange had a lot to loose and there was no telling what extremes she might go to to keep Harry silent. At the same time, what might she give him for the same silence? Gryffindor’s sword was currently in Sirius and Remus’ den, and he really disliked the idea of returning it to the headmistress’ office. This was the second time it had answered his call. It felt like it belonged to him.

Could he keep that sword and the assurance that she would never act against him again in exchange for him looking the other way? If he merely tattled and she survived she would be a potentially dangerous enemy for life.

Blackmail wasn’t his forte, but the concept intrigued him. He couldn’t ask Hermione. She wouldn’t have approved, and he couldn’t risk her going to her godfather. If she had been the one who was about to be mentally violated she might have understood his lingering resentment. That left Draco and Natalie. Also risky, but not nearly as much and perhaps he could work towards earning their forgiveness by sharing a secret with them. He sent them notes, hoping they got them before their free period ended. It was his free period as well, but there was only enough time left for him to get back to his common room and get his things for his final class of the day.

Everyone looked surprised when he rushed into Astrology, bare moments before class was to begin and took his seat by Hermione. Sirius and Remus strode in easily behind him and settled themselves into the dark corners at the back of the room.

“Oh, Mr. Potter. I see you’re feeling better,” Professor Sinistra said, blinking curiously at him.

Harry suddenly realized he hadn’t thought of an excuse for why he was absent so Hermione must have made up one for him.

“Um… yeah. I feel a lot better. It wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“That’s good. Alright class, today we’re going to be studying Leap Year Effects. Was anybody here born on a leap year? No, what about…”

While the professor was distracted, Harry quickly scribbled a note and passed it to Hermione.

‘What am I feeling better from?’

She scribbled in response: ‘migraine’. He could work with that. Of course, he might appear more believable if he didn’t look so damn chipper. He took notes, answered and asked questions, and generally made it a point not to think about anything more serious than what was for dinner. Even the odd looks and whispers he was getting weren’t enough to throw his mood.

After class, Hermione pulled him aside, looking worried.

“Are you alright, Harry? Headmistress Lestrange summoned you to her office and then you sent me that note. I was worried she’d punished you some how.”

“I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m fine. I even managed to get one up on her. I just needed the time to sort myself out. Things are pretty good really.”

She didn’t look particularly convinced.

“You didn’t eat or drink or touch anything in her office did you?”

He knew what she was really asking, and knew he hadn’t been bespelled so he lied.

“Of course not. Well, I sat in the chair, but that’s it. Sirius and Remus were with me through the entire thing. Don’t worry, nothing happened.”

Still skeptical, but she had nothing else to question him with.

“Okay,” she said, “Then lets go to the library. You can copy my runes notes. You missed a good lecture there. Professor Keigle just started on elemental rune combinations.”

“Sounds fascinating, but I want to finish my conversation with Draco. You go ahead and get started, and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done. Yeah?”

“Alright, but be careful. I’d hate for another Barlow to send you to the infirmary for real.”

“Secret passageways and notice-me-not charms it is. I’ll see you in bit.”

“Bye, Harry.”

Draco was in the same room they’d met in before lunch, but Natalie was no where in sight. He supposed he should have expected that. Ron was blessedly absent.

“Now whats happened?” the young Malfoy demanded when Harry walked in. “Are you suspended?”

“Of course not. That…woman can’t do anything without Voldemort’s okay first, but she tried something else and now I need your advice.”

Draco crossed his arms, trying to look annoyed but Harry could see he was curious. He could practically hear the gears grinding and ticking behind the Slytherin’s eyes.

“… And since you’ve left Hermione behind I’m assuming it’s the sort of advice only a Slytherin can provide? What’s in it for me?”

“Perhaps you can tell me.”

Harry told Draco about what had happened in the office, minus the part where he had stolen the Sword of Gryffindor, and then asked if he couldn’t get something out of it. By the end Draco was looking at him with a mixture of horror and awe and amusement.

“You nearly killed my Aunt Bella?”

Of his eclectic mix of feelings, humor was ironically the tone that stood out.

“You’re mad. She’s going to kill you. Merlin, she’s going to kill me if she finds out you told me. Why didn’t you tell Snape about this?”

“What good would that do me? He’d just tell the Dark Lord, and then Lestrange would blame me for whatever happens after that. I don’t think I can deal with another crazy person coming after me right now, Draco. I just want to keep her out of my hair for the rest of my stay here… and maybe have her look the other way if something questionable happens.”

Draco shook his head in exasperation, but took several minutes to think it over. At last, he seemed to have an idea.

“We should tell my father.”

“What? What’s that going to do?”

“No, no, listen. We’re both just kids. Yeah, we’re pretty tough compared to most of the other pixie-brains walking around here and you did alright for yourself in Lestrange’s office, but do you really think either of us stand a chance at outmaneuvering her for long do you? She’s very powerful and has a lot more experience. She’s even managed to outfox Snape occasionally. The only person I know who can play the game better than either of them is my father.”

“What would he care? I mean, she’s his sister-in-law. Wouldn’t he side with her?”

Draco made a rude noise.

“Of course not. Her name is Lestrange, not Malfoy, and as far as he is concerned she’s just another rival for the Dark Lord’s attention. He’ll be happy to have a little dirt on her.”

“I don’t know, Draco. How does this help protect me?”

“Simple, the secret only hold power if the Dark Lord doesn’t know about it. So in order to keep you from telling the Dark Lord yourself, he’ll have to protect you from Lestrange.”

“What’s to keep him from just telling Voldemort everything the moment we tell him?”

“Nothing to gain. Snape wants to be headmaster so he’s all for getting her sacked, but my father doesn’t get anything other than a pat on the head if he tattles. He outranks her already.”

Harry considered it. He wasn’t sure he felt comfortable trusting this secret to Draco’s rather sinister father, the same man who made Hermione miserable. But Draco was looking uncharacteristically eager, as if it were marvelous game he finally considered old enough to play. If nothing else, perhaps this would be his way of making amends with his friend.

“Alright, contact your father. You better be right about this.”

Draco actually laughed.

“Harry, I promise you won’t regret it!”

Of course, both boys knew Slytherin promises weren’t worth making.

Natalie caught Harry just outside of the library, and ignoring his bodyguards, immediately dragged him behind column. She had wanted to ignore him altogether after learning the note she’d received was for both her and Draco, but the young Gryffindor was a treasure trove of unexpected ideas and happenings and if she didn’t find out what he wanted her curiosity would be burning. Especially after learning about his supposed attack on Sasha and his summons to the headmistress’ office. She really wanted a clear understanding of what really happened there.

“So what did you want?” she said impatiently.

“Natalie, why didn’t you come before?” he said, disconcerted and checking the corridor for eavesdroppers (other than his godfathers).

“My life doesn’t revolve around your convenience, Harry. I had other things to do. Now what do you want?”

He shook his head. “Forget it, it’s already taken care of.”

That hurt. She didn’t know why, but him having gotten what he wanted from someone else hurt. Hiding her pain in a veneer of irritation she made to stalk off, but he took her hand and quickly pulled her back.

“Wait, wait. I don’t just want to talk to get something out of you. I do like just being with you, you know?” he said, pleadingly.

“Do you now? I wonder about that, Harry, I really do,” she snapped, and he had to pull her back again.

“Please don’t run off mad again. I tried to tell you last time, I’d love to be your boyfriend. I think you’re smart and funny and pretty and kind of scary, but in a good way.”

She smirked a little at that, but quickly hid it.

“But I don’t want you to get hurt. Okay? I mean first there’s Moody, which was bad enough, but now there’s that Dumbledore guy and half of Slytherin wants me dead or maimed. If any of them knew you were with me, what’s to keep them from hurting you instead? You don’t have bodyguards or a Dark Lord watching your back. Do you see? I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

It was possibly the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her, but she couldn’t just accept it without a little more resistance.

“Oh, yeah? What about your other friends? Draco? Clyde? Hell, what about Hermione? Half the school thinks you guys are an item.”

“Hermione’s got her family watching her back and it’s only the dumber half that thinks we’re a couple. And besides, do you really think I’d have any luck at convincing her to keep her distance? She’d just lecture me for week. Clyde’s always surrounded by other Gryffindors when he’s not hanging around with us. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Alright, but you’re my date for the Malfoy Christmas party.”

Harry looked startled and then panicked.

“What? I already told you, I don’t want-”

“Well, I don’t care what you want,” she interrupted, walking out from the darkened corner. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself. If you don’t want anyone to know, just act like it’s a popularity thing. You know, taking the prettiest girl in the school to the ball just to make everyone jealous. It’ll be fun.”

She did a dramatic hair flip and wink, and he nearly laughed but quickly got control of himself.

“Natalie…” he said, his pleading dissolving into something more authoritative, which she happily ignored as she strode between the two werewolves. They watched her intently but she ignored the feeling of vulnerability and kept her pace.

“And I want a corsage. I’m wearing white,” she called over her shoulder.

“Natalie!”

She looked back and grinned, putting a finger to her mouth and warned him to be quiet. When she was out of sight, she let out a thrilled little giggle. Okay, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. He was right about putting her in danger, but she was no damsel. She fully expected some nasty, but intriguing things to happen.

After all, what’s the fun in loving a prince who doesn’t have a few dragons to slay?

Wednesday morning had dawned with fresh snowfall in the South of Britain, covering most of England in a clean white blanket. The streets and sidewalks had been trodden into dirty slush along the busier shopping districts, but along the back alleys and side streets everything remained placid and scenic.

Larousse’s boots crunched softly as she walked, the only sound the snow didn’t seem to swallow as she made her way down Snigget Street. The row of narrow store fronts on either side of her were dark or boarded up, but for a handful of stubborn shops hanging lanterns and half-dead holly and evergreens from their awnings and on the dirty windows as testament to their continuation. Once upon a time the area had been a booming shopping district, but too many battles had run through there during the war and too many people had died there for the living to ever feel comfortable.

It was the perfect sort of place for conspirators to meet.

She finally came to a shop with chipped green paint and light streaming from the window. She brushed the snow from the sign.

Madam Longbottom’s Medicinal Teas and Cordials

Visitors Welcome

This was it. She stepped inside, a little bell announcing her presence as she entered. The shop was surprisingly warm and welcoming. The counter to her right had poinsettia and a rather glum looking toad in a Santa hat, and the smell of baking cookies rose above the scent of herbs and spices. Old laterns from the ceiling illuminated open boxes of dried plants, mosses, medicinal stones, racks of mortars and pestles, bottles of oil, antique tea sets, and instructional books. It looked very much like an apothecary without animal parts.

“Hello? Madam Longbottom? Is anybody here?”

There was a sound from the back, behind a curtain of beads, followed by a deep scratchy voice.

“Jus’ a moment, please.” A short pause, then. “Would you like a cookie?”

“That would be delightful,” she said sincerely, for the cookies really did smell wonderful. A few more shuffling sounds and a squat old woman ambled out with a tray of cookies and milk. Larousse took stock of her quickly, noting the keen look in her eye and strength in her large hands. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the store, and even if it wasn’t busy she thought Augusta Longbottom must be quite active to run it by herself.

“Ah, a new customer. I don’t get very many of those. How can I help you?” she said, looking intent. She wasn’t very smiley, but one bite of her almond fig offering made up for it, Larousse thought.

“Well, I have a friend who mentioned this shop to me a few days ago. Said you have a good reputation.”

The old woman nodded, but there was a bit of skepticism there.

“And would I know this friend?”

“Yes, though you probably don’t like him much. Head Sentinel Morgan,” she said, taking a sip of her milk to cover how intently she watching the old woman’s reaction. There was a definite stiffening of her shoulders and darkening of her expression, but nothing particularly suspicious.

“You’re a sentinel?”

Larousse laughed. “No, no. Of course not. I’m a professor. I teach up at Hogwarts.”

The old woman didn’t react at first, but then slowly seemed to relax.

“Oh? How does a professor meet the head of national security?” she said conversationally.

“The same way a tea shop lady might, I suppose. Lot of nasty business up there lately. Lot of nosy questions about ones political associations, if you know what I mean. Well, we’ve seen each other enough that we’ve managed to get along. I met with him a few days ago for a news conference, got to talking about holiday shopping of all things, and he mentioned this place.”

She snorted.

“I’m surprised he’d go recommended the shop of a traitor. He was quite adamant that he was going to shut me down for harboring a fugitive. I mean honestly. A little old thing like me holding a murderer in my attic? Ridiculous.”

“Yes, he felt pretty silly for suggesting it afterwards. Potter actually laughed when he overheard us. Cheeky little bugger.”

Longbottom looked very curious about that.

“You mean Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? The child the paper is making all this fuss about?”

“Oh, yes. Nice boy, first in my class, but something of a troublemaker. You meet all sorts working in Hogwarts.”

“I don’t doubt it, dearie. What do you teach?”

“History of Magic.”

They gossiped and chatted idly for almost an hour, and by the end of it Larousse felt the only thing she’d gotten out of the whole thing was a nice carrot flavored tea to help relieve Severus’ eye strain and a tummy ache from eating too many sweets. Morgan had been right. Whatever trouble Madam Longbottom might have gotten herself into during the war had obviously left her resigned to quieter pursuits. She owned her little shop with a small but loyal following of customers to keep it afloat, kept mostly to herself, baking cookies for grandnieces and nephews for the holidays. A few discreetly cast detection charms had revealed no hidden fugitives, secret rooms, illegal contraband, or weaponry.

She was just a tea shop owner, and Larousse was running out of leads. Scrounging after the sentinel’s leftover suspects was a long shot to begin with, but the chance of her succeeding in finding Moody before Morgan was a long shot to begin with. It was a stupid bargain to make with the Dark Lord, but what else did she have? She doubted her virtue held as much value as the wizard had implied, and if she had succumb there was no telling if he might not expose her indiscretion to Severus and then she’d really be lost or use it as leverage to do some other unsavory tasks. She was not rich or powerful. She had only her wits and her wand to get her what she wanted.

Now all she needed was lucky break.

Augusta Longbottom smiled easily as the pretty young woman left the shop, feeling quite proud of herself. She was afraid she came off as a little too interested at first, but had played it off as typical gossipy-ness of old women. She nibbled on her cookie and thought about what she should do next. This Vesper was definitely worth looking into, but she might also be bait. A sentinel is disguise. It wouldn’t be the first time they had tried that technique. Still, if they could do it…

She pulled out a piece of paper and started writing. If this woman was who she said she was, then she had a much better chance of getting a hold of Potter than Quick ever did. She needed confirmation first. The sentinels were much too alert for them to make any mistakes this far into the game. This needed to be perfect.

‘Dear Ladybug…’

The Huntress and Her Prey

McGunny was sitting in his office, torn between studying for his Transfiguration quiz and skimming through the latest batch of intel Weasley had managed to dig up on Barlow and Potter. It really wasn’t much of a contest. He could study during his free period tomorrow, but he had to hurry if he wanted to outrace the latest bit of gossip. As a part of the press, even a amateur press, he understood the responsibility of remaining objective, but this latest bit of scandal angered his sensibilities, especially the more he learned.

He knew for instance that Barlow had set a small mob on Potter, that she had lost a fair duel to him, and that she had been completely unharmed after. Weasley had confirmed this with several witnesses who had been there, even one very reluctant Slytherin, and despite being a utter slob he trusted the boy’s ability to separate gossip from gospel. Which is what made Barlow’s framing Potter, and attempting to use the press to do it, so very infuriating. The girl hadn’t checked herself into the infirmary for more than half an hour before sending him a note to request an interview.

He had gone himself, and what he had been made to listen to sickened him. Not only was she a poor actor, she was a bossy one too, demanding he print her story right away. He hadn’t, of course. He’d interviewed a rather disgruntled Madam Pomfrey first. The nurse was not permitted to talk about a patient’s condition, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dispel misinformation.

Two lies had thus been confirmed. Barlow hadn’t been cursed with cruciatus and she didn’t have any broken bones.

He had quickly rounded up some of his reporters to find out what had really happened and hoped to track down Potter himself, but learned from Weasley that he had already been summoned to the headmistress’ office. It made McGunny nervous.

Potter had shown up again later in the day, surprisingly high spirited for having been accused of assault and battery. Perhaps the headmistress had believed him. It’s not like she would have much choice as the girl was obviously lying.

It was with some uneasiness that he left his office in search of the subject of the scandal. He tracked him down to the library, and tried to mentally prepare himself for the meeting. They hadn’t spoken directly since the interview, and while he was hopeful that he would be well received he couldn’t be certain.

“Potter,” he said, and the boy turned from copying some notes to look at him.

“Oh, hey, McGunny,” he greeted, friendly but cautious, “What is it?”

Across from them, Granger looked up from her tome nervously. Relax, Granger, I won’t bite, he mentally admonished

“There have been some rumors floating around about a fight this morning involving you and a Slytherin girl. I was wondering if you’d mind giving an account of what happened? To clear up the rumors, of course.”

“Of course.” But he looked skeptical. He turned to Hermione but she just nods. Thank you, Granger. It’s about time you helped me out a little. “But lets keep this short, I’ve got a lot of studying to get done before practice.”

He must have meant dueling practice, which meant he hadn’t heard.

“Practice was canceled. Professor Larousse took her sick days for the rest of the week. There was an announcement at lunch.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t worry, Potter, I still won’t keep you long.”

They made their way to a private table, conscious of the stares they received and whispers until McGunny put up a privacy spell.

“First off,” McGunny began, “let me say that I know Sasha Barlow and her cronies are full of shit, and while I don’t know how much you’ve heard so far you should know she’s attempting a smear campaign against you.”

Potter impresses him by not so much as flinching, merely leaning back in his chair a bit to take stock. McGunny wondered what he saw.

“She’s tried to use my paper to spread her lies,” he continued when Potter offers nothing, “And I take that as a personal offense. Some of my reporters have already investigated, and I think I have a good idea of what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you. The testimonies I received seemed a bit… excitable.”

Potter nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I just want the truth.”

For an instant, he looked angry and McGunny thought he made a mistake, but then his expression smoothed out and he just got this look. Green, green eyes and they’re like a forest fire. Terrifying and mesmerizing at once. What did he see with eyes like that?

“Alright.”

Larousse was absent from DA&D the next day, just as McGunny had said she would be. His godfathers were quite happy about this, but Harry felt uneasy. She wasn’t sick, in fact, she wasn’t even in the castle anymore. What was she doing then? Everyone said she was holiday shopping, but that was ridiculous. The other teachers managed to get their shopping done without skipping classes, and they all had more family left than Larousse.

Could Lestrange have put her up to something? They did seem to get along fairly well.

Could he really afford to think about that right now?

There were more pressing matters, like end of semester exams, Christmas shopping (damn near impossible since he had no way to get out of the castle), McGunny’s upcoming article, the Hogwart’s Christmas Dance, and the Malfoy Christmas party in which he would be negotiating with Lucius for secrets and safety.

“Hermione, can I just skip the dance?” he asked hopefully from across the breakfast table.

She glowered at him.

“Harold James Potter don’t you dare leave me alone with that boy.”

“Draco will be there.”

“That’s not much comfort. I think he’s trying to hook me up with Ron. He can be so utterly ridiculous sometimes.”

Harry knew that wasn’t the case, but he could hardly tell her that her brother had sold her out over a lost chess match.

“It’s your fault you’re in this mess in the first place. You didn’t have to offer to go out with him.”

His friend turned pink, and he would have laughed at her but she was already irritated with him.

“It was good manners. Besides, what would you do if you didn’t go?”

“Not worry about it? I don’t have a date yet, you know. Then there’s the dressing up. It’s just a hassle.”

“Aw, come on, ’arry, id’ll be fun,” Clyde interrupted, not bothering to stop eating. “It’s not wike dose snooty Pwurebwood pardies. No fence ’mione. It’s a weal party. Jus ask Nadawie out. She’d do it in a ’artbeat.”

Beside Hermione, Ginny grimaced, and he thought he knew how she felt. Clyde really needed to take etiquette lessons if he was going to eat at the big kid table.

“No, I’m going to the Malfoy party with her. The Hogwarts party just makes it kind of redundant.”

After a few more protests, he manages to duck out of at least one concern. What should he work on now? The Malfoy party was on Satuday, exams started Monday, and he still didn’t know how he was going to get through his Christmas list.

“Merlin’s beard, they’re a plague,” Clyde growled, after he’d swallowed luckily. Harry looked up to see some six or seven GGs wandering into the Great Hall. They had been increasingly invasive over the last two weeks, wandering out from the mostly unused corridors and into the main halls and classrooms, quiet as can be but a definite distraction. There was talk of actually construction work sometime during break and the GGs were rushing to get their measurements and calculations done before then, at everyone else’s expense.

“I don’t know if I can put up with them for another four years,” Clyde lamented. “Before you know it they’ll start taking measurements of our dorm room while we’re trying to sleep. Just wait.”

Hermione said he was being silly. Harry wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but the GGs were popping up everywhere. Lately, he couldn’t turn a corner without finding one hanging from the ceiling or crawling on the floor. He’d actually tripped over one Monday.

“They’ve started damming the moat,” Ginny said softly, “I saw them doing it during Herbology. I talked to one of the engineers, and they said they’re adding a basement underneath it before they start building over it. They’ll have to completely re-dig the moat after this or it’ll be running through the middle of the castle instead of around it. Though, that might be kind of interesting.”

It had been weeks since Ginny and Harry had a decent conversation, and as part of his new ‘Make My Life Less Shitty’ plan, he wanted to fix things between them. Actually talking to one another seemed to be a good way to start.

“Really? Did they say when they’d start?”

“Tomorrow I think.”

“I wonder if the castle will shake?”

“Not if they’re doing their jobs, it shouldn’t,” Hermione said, frowning thoughtfully. “Otherwise you never know what will collapse. I guess that’s why they’re starting on an empty wing.”

It seemed a security risk to Harry, but there was no point in worrying about it. Either it was being taken care of or it wasn’t, and nothing he said could change that.

“I hope there isn’t a draft,” he said instead, earning a few giggles. And like a drop of blood attracts sharks, so too did that laugh attract the Weasley twins. They came out of no where (they had to nowadays else his godfathers toss them out a window again) and perched themselves on either side of Harry.

“Hey, Harry, you little minx. We haven’t seen you around-” George began.

“Unguarded,” Fred inserted.

“-lately. Thought we’d check in on you. Make sure you haven’t gotten boring on us.”

“Or that we haven’t gotten boring. It’s good to have an outside opinion on this.”

Harry raised a brow.

“You the ones who cursed the second corridor bathrooms to pour out slime instead of water?”

“Well, yeah,” George said.

“And transfigured the Dueling Club’s rapiers to turn to rubber?”

Fred chuckled, recalling the tasteless jokes that had resulted from that particular prank.

“Pretended to be George and kissed Angelina?”

George turned to Fred, scowling. “When did you do that?”

“Er…”

“You’re both fine. The only thing that happened to me was Barlow. Blah, what a spider,” he said, intentionally leaving out Lestrange. And Larousse. And Natalie. And- “Hey, perhaps you guys can help me with something.”

He excused himself from the table and led the twins outside the Great Hall. Sirius and Remus followed discreetly, and despite their displeasure at the mischievous duo kept a respectful distance. Students and GGs were moving in and out, so they moved to a less trafficked end of corridor.

“What can we do for you, My Lord?” Fred crooned, the perfect image of corrupted innocence.

“I need advice.”

Here the twins grinned wickedly at one another. Harry thought he better be more specific before they dragged him into something truly wicked.

“I earned quite a bit of money this summer and I want to buy some Christmas gifts, but I’m not allowed out of the castle. You all seem to smuggle the weirdest things in, perhaps you have some ideas?”

If possible the two Weasley’s expressions became even more wicked. Fred actually hugged him.

“You make us so happy, My Lord!” he laughed. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

George just nodded, but then looked cautiously over at his two loitering bodyguards, pacing a short distance away.

“Of course, it all depends on them. Think you could get them to leave you alone for a few hours?”

Harry merely shook his head, now wondering how wise it was to come to them for advice after all. Still, their enthusiasm was contagious. It had been such a long time since he’d just joked and planned silly things with his friends. Lately, it had all been homework and plotting and political maneuvering.

“Well, what are the chances of them letting you out of the castle?” George tried again, though he looked skeptical. That stirred Harry’s interest even more. Out of the castle? He hadn’t even stepped onto the grounds for anything other than Herbology since November!

“I think I might convince them, so long as they can come along. They’re protective, but they have a really good sense of adventure, you know. They had a lot of fun when they went to school here,” Harry said, then looked over at Sirius. “What do you think?”

“Sounds like fun,” Sirius called back.

The twins were startled. “They could hear us from there?”

“Of course.”

“Wicked,” they said, grinning. Fred continued with, “Alright, meet us Saturday in the owlry, seven A.M. sharp, and bring your money with you. We’re going to Hogsmeade!”

Friday morning, Larousse realized she was being followed. She wasn’t sure how long she had been followed, perhaps it had been happening since Tuesday or perhaps that morning was the first time, but she had this sudden feeling while eating a breakfast in her hotel’s cafe and when she looked up it was to see a man bolting behind a corner. At first, she thought perhaps Morgan had sent one of his men to keep track of her in case she found something or got into trouble, then realized she would have noticed such a person following her from the beginning. Sentinels were easy to spot if one knew how to look.

So she pretended not to notice, and reviewed her notes from the last couple of days. If she had to choose off the top of her head where she had picked up her stalker she would have chosen either the pub in Knockturn Alley from Tuesday or the bookstore in Nottigham from Wednesday. They had been the most suspicious or at least the easiest places to conceal someone. She had been dutifully spreading her tale of Hogwarts teacher on a shopping trip at every place she investigated, hoping Moody would some how hear and take the bait. After the attempt with Quick, she knew she made an almost irresistible temptation. She borrowed an owl from the hotel receptionist to send Morgan a note, then went hunting.

First there was the clothing store, then the gift shop, a bakery, and various other sorts of stores a person might obtain Christmas presents. She didn’t see her stalker again, but she knew he was there. Now that she was aware of him, she could sense him. After dropping off some of her packages at the hotel, and confirming that Morgan hadn’t sent a reply yet, she went out again.

This time, hands free, she headed towards Wisteria Wandering, a little Bohemian neighborhood with a lot of art studios and long stretches of empty buildings and dark alleys. She turned into one of these alleys, ducked into a doorway and waited. A moment later, the man from that morning appeared.

He was nondescript, modestly dressed in old but tidy cloak and bowler hat, clean shaven and dark haired. He hurried down the alley, but when he reached the end he hesitated. He must have realized he lost her trail. While he was distracted, she wordlessly cast a tracking spell on him and retreated further into the shadows.

Her stalker waited for another hour, likely hoping she’d reappear out of one of the studios, but eventually gave up and headed back the way he’d come. Once he was out of sight, Larousse followed him. With her tracking spell activated, she didn’t need to actually see him to follow, which was good because he used the floo twice. The first time was to a public floo in London, where he met up with another man, tall and lanky, and together they took the same floo to Edinburgh. They ate lunch in a pub, and while they were thus occupied, she sent and urgent missive to Morgan again, this time through the neighborhood Sentinel Station.

“If you tell us where they are, we can arrest them immediately,” the Head Sentinel had said.

“No, Chief Sentinel Morgan was very clear about my instructions,” she lied, “I am to follow them until they lead me to their Headquarters and only then should I contact him for specific instructions. This is a very delicate situation.”

“Of course, Sentinel Larousse, I understand completely. My men and I are at your disposal.”

They saluted each other, and she made a hasty retreat. The men weren’t at the pub any more when she arrived, but she tracked them down to an abandoned textile mill just on the edge of a muggle district. It made her nervous, but she couldn’t go back.

She was so close, she could feel it. Not only had she possibly found Moody, but his cohorts as well. If she could catch them by surprise, she could catch them all. Harry would be safe at last. Voldemort would grant her custody. Her and Severus would get married and adopt Harry, and they’d live together in Severus’ beautiful little house in the country and by this time next year she’d be pregnant again. They’d be a wonderful family, proud and handsome and accomplished. Harry would get over his godfathers soon enough when he saw the life she could give him, the full sort of life he’d had before his parents’ murder. A father to guide him, a mother to love him, and little brothers and sisters to look up to him.

It would all be so perfect.

But she had to catch Moody first.

Casting a few anti-detection charms on herself, she circled the warehouse, checking for exit and entry points. There were four doors, one on each side, and she laid down traps in case anyone tried to flee. She could do nothing about the windows. They were too large and too numerous to charm without detection. She risked a few quick peeks inside as she went. There were four people now, one of them a woman, but none that she recognized all crowded around a crate they were using as a table. It was too dark inside for her to get a good look from where she was.

Cautiously, she went to the back of the building and climbed a fire escape to the second story entry, casting several silencing charms as she went. She didn’t enter through the door, thinking it was probably charmed with some sort of alarm, but knocked out the glass from a window and climbed inside. It was all perfectly silent, and she hoped that no one noticed the increase of light from her position. Stealthily, she crept further into the warehouse.

It was dark on the second floor, the many windows layered with dirt or paint or boards, and it stank of animal piss and bird droppings. She kept to the spaces where the shadows weren’t as thick, skirting strange silhouettes of industrial machinery, until she exited through an open doorway and onto a walkway. More silencing spells, but the danger here was still great. The walkway was metal mesh, allowing her to look down to the level below, but also for anyone to look up and see her as well. She had to risk it.

Navigating past boards and old newspapers, she found a spot near the stairs where a tarp and some overturned planks provided her some cover for her to observe from. Her view wasn’t perfect, but she got a good idea of what was happening. The woman, younger than her, was arguing with the men, but they obviously weren’t listening.

“We shouldn’t be following this woman,” the lone female insisted, “She’s obviously a trap. What kind of teacher leaves the school a week and a half before holidays? I’m telling you it’s a set up.”

“Don’t be daft. We got confirmation. She’s a teacher just like she was saying. First time teaching so she’s a bit irresponsible. Nothing odd about that.”

“Oh, come on, does she look like a history teacher to you?”

“I wish my history teacher looked like her,” one of the men snickered.

“Shut up, Blue.”

“Look, Green, all she’s done is shop and shop and shop,” said the man Larousse recognized from the alley. “She puts my wife to shame. It’s too bad I lost track of her, but it isn’t strange. We’ll get confirmation that she’s legit in a few hours and then pick her up tonight at the hotel. If she keeps her pattern she’ll leave for dinner around seven-thirty.”

“I just don’t like this. We screwed up with the last subject, what makes you think it will work a second time around?”

“We didn’t have an insider the first time. This works a lot better. Stop worrying.”

The woman wasn’t satisfied, shaking her head and pacing back and forth. As Larousse’s eyes adjusted she could make out the shape of a chair with chains hanging from it and a bucket underneath it. It made her shiver, realizing this must have been where they kept Quick.

“I still don’t like it. If she is a teacher… Merlin, it’s not like the last time. He was a Death Eater. A monster. This isn’t right.”

“Oh, stop being a ninny. She’s one of Voldemort’s bloody people, as bad as any Death Eater. How many kids you think she’s convinced that Dumbledore is the Devil and Voldemort a saint? At least you could tell a Death Eater is a monster. She’s something worse in my opinion.”

He spat to emphasize his point. Larousse wrinkled her nose. Disgusting. As if this worm had any right to criticize her after trying to murder a child. Sick bastard.

“Whatever, Red, I still don’t like it.”

“Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” Red said.

“Dumbledore’s ass isn’t on the line here.”

Deciding she’d heard enough, Larousse made her move. Soundlessly, she cast a full body bind on the woman called Green. She stiffened like a board and fell over.

“Green, what is-”

“Get down stupid!” Red yelled, shoving Blue behind a stack of crates while he dived for another. The third man, the lanky fellow who’d been silent, ducked down, but he didn’t know where the threat was coming from and sought shelter on the wrong side. A disarming spell sent him flying into a stack of crates. Red and Blue located her a moment later, blasting hexes and revealing charms, but they bounced of her shields and only served to temporarily unbalance her as the floor lurched beneath her feet. Blue made a run for it, but the trap she’d laid in the door way came down on him like a lightening bolt, leaving him a smoldering mess of burnt hair and flopping limbs.

Three of the four incapacitated, she gave up her stealth for the benefit of position, leaping towards the edge of the platform and screaming out curse after curse.

“Dirumpor! Excido caput! Sangui ferventi!”

The last one must have caught him for there was an ear splitting shriek and sickening wet sound, and then all was silent. Larousse took a deep breath, feeling her heart racing and her hands shaking. She remained where she was for several moments, knowing none of the those still alive would be getting up any time soon, and tried to compose herself. It took longer than she expected. It had been too long since she was in the field.

At last, when her hands were still, she cautiously climbed down the stairs, her wand poised in case she had missed some one. There was no one else. She checked each of her prisoners, casting revealing charms on them, but aside from the woman no one was in disguise.

None of them was Moody.

Dammit.

Voldemort received news of Larousse’s misadventure twenty minutes after she had contacted Morgan. To say he was surprised was an understatement. After the woman had left his office last week, he hadn’t thought he’d hear from her again. He wasn’t entirely sure he was pleased to be proven wrong.

He had been impressed with her ambition, with her drive, when she had first sought audience with him. Her familial interests weren’t as attractive, but he could appreciate her vision. She had a dream, and she dreamed big, and that was always a thing to admire.

It didn’t necessarily mean he’d allow her dreams to come true.

She was crazy, after all.

“Clarence, get in here,” he commanded, and a moment later his secretary entered, carefully sidestepping the cursed filing cabinet. “I need to you to contact Commander Malfoy or his wife and tell them to extend an invitation to Vesper Larousse for their Christmas party. Make it clear this is not a suggestion.”

“Yes, sir,” his servant said dutifully, scribbling down his instructions on his note pad.

“Also, inform Headmistress Lestrange that I will be pulling Harry out of school for the Solistice. Three days at least. The werewolves will remain behind. You should probably inform my house staff as well.”

“This will be your Bristol estate, correct?”

“Yes, but I want my London suite open just in case.”

“Very good, sir. Anything else?”

“Press conference tomorrow morning, don’t bother with a specific time, but tell them it’s important. Morgan’s made a break in the Moody case.”

“Excellent news, sir.”

Voldemort’s only response was to gesture the man to leave. Alone again, he reviewed his schedule for the next couple of weeks, filling in new information and making a note to cancel some meetings and make room for others. The latest break in the Moody case was encouraging, but not necessarily the end of things. The conspirators probably didn’t have a clue about Moody, but they made delicious fodder for the press. It could prove troublesome if, despite the capture of his supposed allies, the real fugitive remained free for long.

It would embarrass the Sentinels. Of course, so would the knowledge that a civilian had succeeded where the Court had failed. He would need to speak with Larousse soon.

What a mess. If had known Larousse was this capable he wouldn’t have fired her all those years ago. Morgan had warned him. Ah, but what else could he do? Aside from let the werewolves kill her… come to think of it that was still an option. But no, that was no way to treat Severus’ fiancee. Crazy or not, she was perfect for him.

Not so much for Harry, he thought, but then who was?

If any woman were to influence his young protege, she was as likely as anyone. Severus and his new bride adopting Harry would relieve a lot of political tension resulting from Harry’s parentage. Loyal parents meant a loyal child in the public eye, and if they weren’t his real parents it was a minor detail. Harry’s new parents would be the one reaping the rewards of his position, after all.

He had to speak with Harry first, not so much to ask his opinion, but to gage his over all reaction. Snape had been reporting an increasing independence in Harry, and Voldemort was loath to cripple its development. Adoption could work in either direction, creating either reliance or rebellion.

Tomorrow’s Christmas party would be essential in determining his decisions on several matters. How would the other purebloods respond to Larousse’s re-emergence after years of social exile and her eventual marriage to Severus? How serious was his potion’s master about marrying her anyway? Did his plans truly align with her dreams? Would Larousse attempt to push her bid for adoption after her recent exploit? How would Harry respond to Voldemort’s mention of possible adoption? He wasn’t going to rush into these matters until he had a clearer view of the situation, and Harry’s adoption wouldn’t likely be resolved before the end of the year, but he wanted a definite idea of where things stood.

The Solstice was another matter entirely. It had been months since he’d been able to spend any time with Harry, and now was an important time for his protégé. The boy was emerging into his own, magically and politically, and Voldemort wanted to be there. The Solstice was the perfect opportunity for him to teach Harry some more of the arcane magics, to discuss the nuances of politics, and just generally reconnect away from everyone else.

He was surprised to find himself looking forward to it.

He supposed that meant he should go downstairs and torture his new prisoners. It wouldn’t do to being going soft now.

Royal Negotiations

Harry was up at an ungodly hour for a Saturday. It was a mortal sin for any students to be up earlier on weekend than they were on a weekday, but the young Gryffindor supposed that was the price of being a sneak. He went through his morning routine as quietly as possible. All around him his dorm mates snored and sniffled in their sleep, all warm and cozy, and it wouldn’t due to wake them. Clyde in particular would wonder what he was up to.

Showered and dressed, he gathered up both his Baluvian cloak and his regular black one and crept out of the tower. Sirius and Remus were waiting for him with breakfast, eggs and sausage wrapped in a pancake, and quickly escorted him into an empty corridor.

“Are you sure about this?” Remus asked quietly. “It’s risky.”

Sirius didn’t look nearly as worried. “Nah, it’ll be like old times. Remember when we used to sneak out? We had a blast! Besides, if I don’t get out of this castle soon the I’m going to be risky. I haven’t run since the full moon.”

“We weren’t targeted for assassination.”

“I don’t know about that, Filch had it in for us. Snape too. We’re lucky Dum… er, the headmaster liked us so much or we’d have been expelled for sure.”

“Oh that’s comforting,” Harry said, irony hardly lost on him. “Though, I’ve got something on the headmistress even if I did get caught I might be able to get away with it.”

Sirius chuckled. Remus did not.

“How much do you trust these Weasley boys?” the beta asked skeptically.

Harry considered.

“In what sense? They wouldn’t rat me out or intentionally get me in trouble. They’ve been good friends, even when the rest of Gryffindor wasn’t very happy with me.”

Remus sighed and gave up. He wasn’t going to convince Harry of abandoning this venture, and even he doubted there was much to worry about. The chances of Moody just waiting for Harry in Hogsmeade were slim.

“Don’t worry so much,” Harry said. “I promise to be very careful.”

After that, there really wasn’t any turning back. They met the Weasley twins just outside the owlry. They greeted Harry warmly, admired his Baluvian cloak for a bit, then got down to business. George pulled out what appeared to be a box of candy, and tossed it on the ground and flicked his wand at it.

“Revelo.”

Immediately, the box grew into a travel chest, covered in stickers promoting tours and exotic foods and strange sights. Fred explained.

“This used to be our uncle Benjamin. He got to travel a lot during the war, but he’s stuck in Ireland now so he gave it to us. We never could figure out how he afforded it, but we suspect he was doing some smuggling for some extra cash.”

The twins opened the box, which was filled with clothes. They ignored those, and started tapping on the sides of the trunk and on the strange symbols that were burned onto the bottom of it. The chest’s sides fell open and collections of strange objects fell out onto the inside of the trunk. Harry could only stare curiously. He didn’t recognize any of the items.

Sirius must have though, because he let out a barking laugh.

“It’s an Incognito Kit. Professional quality too. You’re uncle really was up to no good.”

The twins grinned.

“We could say the same of you, Mr. Blackbone, if you actually recognize what this is,” Fred pointed out. Sirius just smirked.

“What’s an Incognito Kit?” Harry asked.

Remus explained. “It’s just what it sounds like. If you want to go out in disguise then this is what you want to have. It contains all sorts of magical objects and potions and props. Some less reputable shops will sell them under the counter, but most people assemble them themselves.”

“Neat. So we’re going in disguise? Who am I going as? Why don’t we just use disguise charms?”

“Too easy to see through and they fade too quickly,” Fred said. “And you’re going as Ron.”

Harry made a face, and everyone laughed at him. “Ron is best. We know he’s staying at Hogwarts today, so you don’t have to worry about running into him and no one is going to question him wandering around,” George said.

“Especially Slytherins,” Fred added.

“We can’t just make up a person?”

“Too risky. There’s going to be students all over the place. Someone is bound to notice a strange kid hanging out with us. No one is going to question Ron holiday shopping with his brothers.”

Harry conceded, and they immediately went to work. The twins had ties and scarves and badges from all of the Houses, and quickly replaced Harry’s Gryffindor colors. Potions followed next. One that tasted like sour lemons turned his hair brilliant orangey-red (though it was as ridiculously unmanageable as ever) and a coppery one gave him freckles. They wanted to use a purple potion to temporarily fix his eyes, but Harry knew from experience how unreliable such concoctions were. Instead, he showed them all a trick or two by charming his glasses invisible and making his eyes appear brown at the same time, both spells he’d learned from Hermione’s book for charming glasses she had given him during first year. Bless her academic inclinations.

In the end, he looked very Weasley-ish, and as long as no one familiar with Ron got a close look it would work out just fine.

They turned their attention to the two werewolves, and Remus very reluctantly submitted himself to being dressed up like a GG. Sirius refused.

“I’ve got the perfect disguise already,” he said, then turning a warning glare at the twins, “If you tell anyone about this, you die.”

Within seconds Sirius’ barbaric countenance was replaced by a rather mangy looking dog. A big mean mangy looking dog. The twins just stood there and goggled. Harry laughed in delight, and ran his fingers through Sirius’ coat. It was rough and wiry, and underneath he could feel powerful muscles ripple with every movement. He was just the sort of dog that could run with a werewolf without fear.

“That’s incredible.”

Sirius gave him a doggy smile and preened. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Don’t inflate his ego anymore than it already is. Come on. We’ll want to get to Hogsmeade and back before the big crowds arrive. That should give us until eleven.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the twins agreed.

“How are we going to get out?” Harry asked. “We’ll look weird going through the front gate.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, “Plus it won’t open for another hour and then a teacher will be posted to check for permission slips, which you don’t have. We’re going to take an alternate route.”

“The moat?”

“Normally, we could just walk over it, but the Sentinels but up wards against that. Nope, it just so happens that the GGs left a nice little opening in the wall and across the moat. We tested them yesterday. There aren’t any wards up there. There isn’t any magic at all. I think the castle would start attacking them if it sensed its walls were being torn down.”

Remus looked horrified. “You mean they left the castle completely defenseless? Not even a sentry?”

“Well they warded both ends of the corridor, but they were careless. They didn’t know about the hidden passageway behind the tapestries.”

Remus shook his head. He suppose, if nothing else, this trip would reveal some of Hogwarts security risks. They traveled down a third floor corridor and from there took several secret passages he could easily remember from his youth, crossing into open areas only when necessary, until at last they exited through a tapestry of a chimera and into the construction area.

The air was cold, without protection from the outdoors, and bare but for a few tapestries left on the walls. A series of white cloth tarps had been hung to keep out snow and birds, and rippled from the wind. Harry wrapped his Baluvian cloak tighter around himself, unprepared for the nipping cold after spending so little time outside.

Sirius, in dog form, trotted ahead, sniffing the air for potential danger. He made various doggy gestures that Remus interpreted for them as ‘all clear’. They slipped through the openings and into the open air.

The sky was dark blue to the west and brilliant pink to the east with the rows of bright orange clouds, the tiniest speck of sun peeking over the horizon. Harry smiled, taking in the simple grandeur of it, until Fred urged him forward.

“Best be quick before someone spots us, yeah?”

There was only a bit of stone flooring left after exiting the flimsy barriers before the walls simply disappeared. There were no piles of rubble or broken pieces of stone, but a clean opening as if the castle had been built with it there already. Beyond that the floor fell out into what was once part of the moat, but now was little more than a rocky ditch, slick from ice. They made their way down carefully, and even more carefully climbed back out, their shoes and paws slipping dangerously as they went.

“Now what?” Harry asked, once they were safely on the other side.

“Now we take you some place special. You won’t believe it,” George said. Instead of heading towards the road like Harry thought they would, they went further afield to a cluster of bare trees near the lake. He was familiar with many of the trees. He’d had picnics underneath them with his friends several times, but they had all been green and thick with blooms. Only the Everbloom tree was in flower now, its large white flowers barely visible through the layers of snow.

And out of all those trees, Harry was alarmed to see they were heading straight for the Whomping Willow.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Remus said. “I know where we’re going now. The Whomping Willow hibernates this deep into winter.”

A bit uneasily, Harry followed the others. Sirius seemed to know exactly where to go, for he rushed for a spot at the base of the tree, and after a few moments of digging, disappeared.

“How did you-” the twins begin.

“This was our school long before it was yours,” Remus said, then climbed in. Harry followed cautiously, then the twins.

Harry was flabbergasted to learn that the most haunted place in Britain was anything but. The Shrieking Shack was quiet and spooky, but the only dead things lingering there were cobwebs. By now the twins were interrogating Remus about how much he knew about Hogwart’s many secrets and what adventures he’d had there, as both student and werewolf. It seemed Harry’s godliness somehow extended to his godfathers now, and Fred and George were starry eyed as they made their way into Hogsmeade.

Harry left his trademark fur cloak at the shack, assured that it would be perfectly safe there, and traded it for his now much cleaner and drier school cloak. Sirius and Remus went on ahead so as not to arouse suspicion, and the twins immediately dragged Harry to Zonko’s. The store wasn’t open yet, but the clerks were puttering around the store in preparation for the holiday rush. They all seemed to recognize the twins and unlocked the door to let them in.

“Welcome, welcome! You’ve brought one of your brothers! Which one is this, I don’t recognize him.” greeted a congenial man with coke-bottle glasses and a dark green mustache.

“This is Eric,” Fred said, “And he’s a cousin. He’s got the Weasley gift though.”

“Ah, very good. Then you’ll have to show him some of the new stuff. It’s in the Special Clients room,” the man said, and winked. The twins grinned and immediately took him towards the back. Harry looked around, amazed at the array of novelties and oddities that filed every shelf and display case and storage bin.

“There will be time for that later,” Fred assured him. “The best stuff is always in back.”

And the twins were right. All of the best stuff was in back, and they seemed to have access to the back room of every shop in Hogsmeade. They charmed, flattered, impressed, and conned their way into the hearts of the owners and clerks, and none seemed immune. Harry bought several one of a kind items and even some art supplies and supplies for creating or specializing some other gifts. He spent way more than he probably should have, but managed to hand over just a little bit more for treats at Madam Pudifoots to thank the twins.

It was a wonderful morning, and just what he needed. Blessed anonymity and time spent with friends, doing normal things without worrying about attacks or gossip. Sirius and Remus only made themselves known briefly, usually just long enough to glimpse each other, and it seemed Remus had managed some shopping as well because at one point Harry saw he had a long narrow box.

It was 11:20am when they finally returned to the castle, tired but relaxed and happy. The GGs had shown up for construction, so Harry and the twins had to sneak back into the castle from the front, slipping in when a large group was coming out, their scarves and hats pulled around their faces as if to fight off the cold. Vector was so busy checking permission slips going out, she didn’t even bother checking on those students coming back in.

Remus had wandered in through the construction site, no one paying any mind to him as they toiled like ants. Sirius stayed outside for another hour, running around the grounds on the pretext of checking for Moody or any other unusual smells, but Harry and Remus both knew he was enjoying his romp. He eventually reappeared back at their private room. There was bits of fur and blood on his face and clothes. Remus identified it as rabbit.

After removing his disguise and carefully stowing his things in his trunk, they all went down to lunch. Harry was quite convinced they had managed to pull things off without a hitch, until Hermione came up behind him in the Great Hall and slapped him upside the head.

“Harold James Potter,” she snarled, “Where have you been?! I looked all over the castle this morning!”

He rubbed his head, and awarded her an annoyed look.

“I was with Sirius and Remus, alright mother?”

“Where? I tried a Locating Spell and still couldn’t find you!”

“Calm down. I’ve got an anti-locating spell on me since the poisoning. So no one can stalk me… unless they have the counter-spell of course.”

She let out a frustrated sound and sat down.

“I don’t suppose you’ve read the paper, then?”

Harry felt his good mood plummet. He hated the line ‘have you read the paper?’ Nothing good seemed to come from it. Seeing that he hadn’t, she handed him her copy and continued.

“There’s been a break in the Moody case. There was a raid yesterday morning and three people were caught and another one killed. None were Moody, but it’s definitely progress.”

It was good news after all. The picture on the front showed three rather battered looking individuals being hauled away in a crowd of uniforms and camera flashes.

“That’s great. Where was this?”

“Edinburgh. That isn’t far from here. But that isn’t all.”

Okay, so the news might not be all good.

“What?”

Hermione leaned in, talking low.

“I think Professor Larousse helped catch them!”

“What?! I thought she took the week off because she was sick?”

“No, she took her sick days off, but you don’t need to be sick for those. Listen, she was gone since Tuesday, but just after these arrests Draco got an owl from Lucius with an invitation to our Christmas Party for her. I think she left to help catch the terrorists and what ever she did worked, and now she’s in good with the Dark Lord. I think he is the one that invited her.”

“I don’t know, Hermione, that’s kind of a stretch.”

“Not really. She is an ex-Sentinel and she’s been really worried about the attacks on you and the school, so I don’t think it would be weird of her to find some way to help.”

“Or Snape could have asked for her to be invited. You know, like as a date? They’re pretty chummy,” Harry pointed out.

She just shook her head. “He wouldn’t have asked last minute. I’ve got a feeling about this. Call it journalistic instinct.”

Harry wasn’t so sure.

“Then she’s back in the castle?”

“I don’t know. Draco had to drop off her invite with Uncle Severus.”

“Well, if she shows up tonight, you can always ask her. I think the paper would have mentioned it though, but I’d give you props if your theory turns out to be true.”

“You want to make a wager on it?” she challenged. He smirked at her.

“I learned my lesson from your mistake, thanks.”

“Harry!”

The remainder of the day was spent getting ready for that night. He wrapped a few of his Christmas gifts, and then set to work on looking presentable. This created an opportunity to reconnect with Clyde and Ginny. They dragged out some of the formal clothes from Harry’s closet, rifled through an issue of Wizarding Wardrobe that Draco had lent (thrown at) him, and got to work.

Ginny’s mother had taught her how to make clothes, not so much as a profession, but out of a need to conserve funds and she admitted most of her own wardrobe was handmade. Harry, remembering the twin’s smooth talking lines in Hogsmeade, tried a few of them on her, saying he desperately needed her talents and he didn’t trust anyone else to help him. She’d turned red and stuttered, but agreed.

Clyde worked as a counterweight to Ginny’s stylistic preferences. She enjoyed ornamentation and patterns. Clyde was quick to point out when she was turning Harry’s clothes into a dress with pants. They argued and teased each other, and laughed whenever Harry had to try on their creation that didn’t work. Most of them didn’t. At last, after several rounds of hysterical laughter at Harry’s expense, Ginny had managed to re-make the clothes Voldemort had given him. They were tighter, making Harry look taller with a white high collar that remained partially unbuttoned and over extended lapel for his black jacket embroidered with an even darker black thorns in velvet, that seemed to grow before the eyes. It gave him a roguish vampire look, sans the unattractive layer of grave dirt of course.

“You’re a genius, Ginny!” Harry said, and he meant it too. He looked good. Even Clyde was looking impressed.

“Not bad. I didn’t think someone as tom boyish as you would be able to pull it off!”

“Oh, shut up Clyde!”

He thanked her profusely for several more minutes, before he realized he was running out of time. He brushed his hair (useless), cleaned his teeth, trimmed his nails, polished his shoes, and charmed his glasses invisible (the twins had insisted he went ‘rimless’ for a night). While he was busy, Clyde opened his trunk to get his Baluvian cloak and made a rather startling discovery.

“Harry, why is your cloak all wet and dirty?”

“Er…”

Ginny looked horrified.

“You didn’t go outside did you?!”

“Um… just this once. And I had Sirius and Remus with me. Honest!”

“Harry!” both his friends exclaimed. He hushed them with his finger.

“Do you want the entire school to know?” he said, “I was careful, and it was only to get some shopping done, and all those people got caught yesterday in Edinburgh. I promise it was just this once.”

Ginny didn’t look at all convinced, but Clyde seemed to understand.

“I get it mate. You’re used to being outside and going where you want and then all this junk happens and it’s like you’re grounded for a fight someone else started,” he said, knowingly.

“But what if Moody found you? What if a teacher found out?” Ginny said. Harry shrugged.

“Moody could never have guessed I would sneak into Hogsmeade today, and I did keep my godfathers around for protection. Besides, what would a teacher do? Ground me again?”

“Harry…”

“Don’t worry guys, it really was just this once. I promise.”

They relented, and just in time too, because he just had long enough to spell his cloak clean before Hermione came rushing up the stairs to get him. He bid them goodnight and escorted Hermione down to the main floor. Everyone they passed stopped to stare, and few of the more daring even let out a cat call.

Their Slytherin companions and Larousse were already waiting for them. For a woman Hermione thought had been battling terrorists the day before, she looked very good in her shimmery black evening gown, little crystal butterflies woven into her short hair. Or perhaps she just looked good when she stood next to Snape, who looked as unpleasant as ever.

“You look like a hooligan,” the potion’s master muttered when he saw Harry. The Gryffindor just grinned at him cheekily.

“If it walks like a duck…”

They all looked at him funny, and he sighed.

“Muggle saying. Never mind. Hi, Natalie.”

He let Hermione go, and she headed towards Draco, while he made his way over to Natalie. She was dressed similarly to Larousse, only in white velvet and translucent silk wrapped around her arms and shoulders. Her smile told him she clearly didn’t agree with Snape’s assessment, or if she did she really liked hooligans. You could never tell with Natalie.

She held out her arm expectantly, and he grinned. It had taken him a couple of days, but he realized that her demand for a corsage hadn’t been simply to make his life difficult. It had been a challenge, a game, and he could admit to being very competitive.

From his pocket, he pulled out a box, and opened it. It was the corsage. The blooms were from an Everbloom tree, large white blossoms with a hint of pink in the center, and a sprig of holly berries both easily found amongst Hogwart’s many decorations, all attached to silky white ribbon She gave him a mock glare.

“Cheater,” she said, but let him tie it to her wrist anyway.

It took Harry exactly forty-six minutes to get into trouble. The ball had barely started, and Harry was taking advantage of the mostly empty dance floor to have Natalie teach him a few moves, while Draco and Hermione gave advice and critiques from the sidelines. They were all laughing, even Harry who was doing very badly at the fancier moves. It seemed he was better at dancing around a bonfire with werewolves than dancing around a ballroom surrounded by Purebloods. Funny, he thought the one would have prepared him for the other.

There was a great deal of staring and whispers at first, but Natalie was good at distracting him (i.e. demanding his attention be on her) and soon Harry didn’t notice at all and the crowds seemed to lose interest. The truly dangerous people weren’t around to provoke them yet, most being Death Eaters who headed straight for the parlor and the Dark Lord waiting for them there. Draco said as soon as they were done, he’d take him to see his father in private and avoid the worst of it.

Thank Merlin, Draco was his friend and not his enemy.

And then, out of nowhere, Lestrange appeared and cut in.

“Pardon me, Miss Cypher, but I’m going to borrow your date for a moment,” the Headmistress said, falsely pleasant as she practically snatched his hands out of Natalie’s. Harry stumbled a bit as he was dragged further away from his friends and into the maelstrom of twirling bodies. A waltz. At least he knew that one, but that was very small comfort as she grabbed his other hand and forced him into the proper position. He was still too short to dance with her properly, his eyes level with her bosom (and she was rather chesty), but he tried very hard not to simply let her drag him all over the dance floor. He managed not to misstep for the most part, but he was hardly the picture of elegant sophistication.

“What do you want?” he said after he was confident enough in his footing to risk split concentration. Her smile was hard.

“Can’t you guess?”

“Why bother when you can just dig yourself a deeper grave by threatening me?”

“Threaten you, Harry? Why would I have to threaten you?”

“Because Voldemort-”

She threw back her head and laughed, and he felt his cheeks burn as the witches and wizards turned their heads to look at them. They danced silently until everyone was ignoring them again.

“It was the Dark Lord’s idea,” she said.

“You’re lying.”

“Of course you’d say that. You think he’s really your friend, after all. Isn’t that so sweet? But the truth is the Dark Lord doesn’t have friends. He has pawns and he has minions. I’m a minion. You’re a pawn. Which of us do you think really knows what’s going on? Hm?”

“You’re just trying to get yourself out of trouble. You wouldn’t be here trying to bluff otherwise.”

“Oh, that’s good. We really should have stuck you in Slytherin. Normally, this would be true, but right now we’re both going to lose if you talk to him.”

Harry, tired of looking at her mouth, made a quick sweep of the room. His friends were on the sidelines, wondering what was going on, but he didn’t dare acknowledge them. She might think he had told them and he didn’t want to get them into any trouble. Draco frowned and stalked away.

“You have until the end of this waltz to convince me or I’m stepping on your foot and making a run for it,” he said sharply. He wanted to stop immediately, but she might follow him or keep him from escaping. If he had to pretend to be susceptible to her suggestion for him to get back to his friends, he’d play his part.

“Like I said, it was his idea. He wants to know your secrets, especially about Blackbone. You know they are political enemies? He wanted your secrets on him without your thinking he’d betrayed you. So he told me to do it, and then pretend it was for blackmail. You’d never have been able to tell anyone and he wouldn’t be expected to punish me. But you surprised me. I failed. Now if you tell him he’s going to punish me. I’ll probably lose my job.”

“Oh, boo hoo.”

“And then he’ll send someone else to Legilimens you. Probably, Snape.”

Harry tensed. Could that be true? No, of course not. She was just trying to save her skin. Voldemort wouldn’t… okay, he probably would, but… this was her idea. It had to be. She was desperate and clever and Slytherin, and he couldn’t look in her eyes to see if was lying or not.

“So what do you propose?”

“Tell me something about Blackbone.”

“No.”

“It doesn’t have to be true. Just something to feed to the Dark Lord so he thinks I succeeded. It could work out for the both us. We would make much better allies than enemies. What do you say?”

“I say the waltz is over.”

The music had indeed stopped, and he tried to pull away but her hand tightened around his fingers until were being crushed together. He winced and clenched his teeth, his eyes watering from the pain.

“Step on my foot and I’ll break your fingers, you little bas-”

“Bella! There you are. Excuse me, young man.”

Lucius Malfoy appeared like the second coming of Christ. Harry could have sworn he saw a halo surrounding the man as he cut in, but that was probably just the glare from his teary eyes. Quickly he made his escape off the dance floor and straight out the balcony doors. Blessedly quiet and empty, and he wiped the tears of pain from his eyes before anyone could notice. He wasn’t surprised when Natalie appeared by his side a second later.

“Are you alright?” she asked, placing her hand on his arm. He smiled weakly and nodded.

“I’m okay. I really don’t like that woman though.”

Hermione and Draco showed up a moment later. He turned to Draco.

“Was Lucius your doing?”

The Malfoy heir smirked.

“Thanks.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione demanded. “Did she do something to you? You looked like you were in pain.”

Harry shook his head. “She just wanted to get a little revenge for me slipping through punishment over Barlow. My fingers are a little crushed is all. Nothing broken.”

He wiggled is fingers to prove it, but some of them were starting to swell and bruise already. Natalie scooped up some snow from the balcony rail and took Harry’s hands into hers.

“That should help a little with the swelling. That dirty old hag. I hope Snape throws her from the tower.”

That made Harry laugh, then hiss as some of the snow melted and dripped down his sleeve.

“Well, she’s gone for now at least,” Hermione said, “Lucius must have taken her to the parlor.”

“How long do you think they’ll be?”

“At least an hour, probably more. Do you still want to hang around here or do you want a tour instead? Nothing interesting is going to happen until the old fogies are done getting drunk.”

“Draco!”

“Well, that’s what father says! That’s why they all meet in the parlor and not the conservatory. All that fine booze they filch from him.”

Harry and Natalie laughed while Hermione turned pink.

“The tour sounds like fun. Why didn’t we do this last time?” Harry said as he followed the siblings back inside, Natalie’s arm wrapped around his and her snow cold hands soothing in his.

“Had all those goons with me then. As if I wanted all those people knowing the layout of my house. I was convinced Weasley might show up to steal something if I did.”

“Draco, that’s awful. You’re both friends now.”

“Well, yes. Doesn’t mean I’d trust him alone with the silverware though.”

They left the ballroom, skirting a majority of the guests and the greetings and the snide remarks veiled as something else. The hallway was mostly empty but for the occasional house elf scurrying to get things done.

“Why didn’t you invite him anyway?” Harry asked, though he didn’t mind the boy’s absence.

“I did. He turned me down. Incorrigible brat. He said he had better things to do again.”

Even Harry couldn’t help but admire Ron’s cheek for that.

“She’s quite a remarkable woman,” Lucius said, offering Severus his preferred cognac. “Even if she is a little quirky.”

“Only you would consider ambition and pragmatism in a woman as ‘quirky’,” his friend replied, accepting the glass. From beside the bar they had a clear view of the entire room, including Vesper Larousse, dressed like a lady, talking like a soldier, and sending coy little smiles at her fiancee when half the menfolk were hovering around her.

“Are you really going to marry her?”

“I intend to. You’ve seen her ring?”

“Yes.”

“It was my mother’s.”

Lucius actually looked surprised.

“You really are serious about her. Is it love? Please don’t tell me she’s ruined you already.”

“If love can be convenient and enjoyable at the same time, then I suppose it is. She’s going to make a wonderful mother, if she doesn’t spoil the children rotten. I suppose my job will be to keep that from happening.”

“Children? You’re going to have more than one?”

Snape smirked. “Primo pater, Lucius. I have to make sure my line doesn’t die out before it’s even started. Besides, she wants at least five.”

Lucius laughed. His friend had gone mad. It had to be love. Or the woman was drugging his tea. He hadn’t heard Severus sound so enthusiastic about his future since they were both just school boys. Well, if this was what he truly wanted, Lucius wished him the best of luck. The world needed more Snapes anyway. They were good counter agents to the Weasley invasion.

“I’m going to duck out for a while,” Lucius said. “You can introduce me to your lady after the fireworks.”

Snape just nodded and went to rescue ‘his lady’ from her hoard of admirers. Lucius stepped up to his wife, chatting with some of the abandoned women, and kissed her cheek.

“Make sure your sister doesn’t leave before I get back?” he whispered in her ear. She giggled and slapped his shoulder as if he’d whispered a flirtation in her ear, but he wasn’t even out of the room yet before she managed to rope a rather distracted Bellatrix from the parlor window. Voldemort was in his customary position near the fireplace, looking almost as distracted as Bella, but Lucius doubted it was for the same reasons. The Dark Lord was facing difficult times, preparing for a war he believed inevitable and placating a public into believing they were safe at the same time. He did it with his usual grace, but Lucius suspected he would rather be somewhere else that night.

The Dark Lord noticed his retreat and nodded. He wasn’t going to question Lucius’ coming and goings in his own home, which he appreciated.

“Tikki,” he said once he was alone and a bony little house elf popped into existence. She shrank and quivered as he loomed over her, irritating him. “Where is my son and Potter?”

“Y-young M-master and Mis- Mister P-p-potter are w-with Young M-mistress a-and Miss- mis Cy-cypher in the mu-music room,” she barely managed to squeak out.

He kicked her out of the way as he stalked towards the southern end of the mansion. He hadn’t expected the children to leave the ballroom, but this worked out even better than tracking them down in the ballroom. It wouldn’t do for anyone to know that the commander of Wizarding Britain’s military was conspiring with juveniles.

He wondered what they were doing so far from the party anyway.

The sound of the piano was his first hint. It echoed softly through the hall and the men and women in the portraits gathered close together to listen. Not bothering to knock, he stepped inside. The Cypher girl was playing the grand piano, while Potter leaned against it watching as Draco lead Hermione in one of the more complicated dances. It was good to see the children hadn’t forgotten their lessons.

His clapping startled all of them. Cypher missed a note. Draco and Hermione missed a step. And interestingly, Potter’s wand was in his hand and raised for battle between one clap and the next.

“Bravo,” he began, his expression cool and superior, “Very well done, but if you wanted to dance you could have stayed at the party with the guests.”

There was a hint of chastisement, which left Draco and Hermione cowed but only seemed to rifle their guest’s feathers. Their postures were stiff, their green eyes sharp and cold.

“Forgive me,” Potter said, nothing pleading in his tone, “I asked them to show me around your rather remarkable home. I did not realize I was pulling them away from some sort of responsibility.”

Lucius didn’t say anything for a long moment. So this was Potter, now? He barely recognized him from the little runt of two years ago. That child had been anxious and unremarkable, but for his ability to show up where he shouldn’t. This boy was confident with a cautious edge, his green eyes looking sharper without his glasses. He thought he could work with this.

“Indeed, it is the responsibility of the host to remain with his guests to ensure everything runs smoothly, but I forgive you. I assume it’s ignorance and not lack of propriety.”

“Thank you,” was the sharp retort.

“But I would be remiss in my duties if I did not correct the mistake. Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind returning to the ballroom, I believe a lesson in party etiquette is in order.”

Hermione looked worried, but Draco reassured her with a smile and sent her on her way with Natalie. Lucius was vaguely amused when he saw the Cypher girl stick out her tongue behind his back in the reflection of a window. The closing of the door echoed loudly. Lucius’ smile became more congenial.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, lets get down to business, shall we?”

Potter looked startled by the quick shift in mood, but recovered quickly.

“Yes. How much has Draco told you?”

Draco looks surprised by the question, then annoyed. Lucius wonders how much they trusted each other.

“Only that you are privy to some very delicate information regarding Headmistress Lestrange, and if her little attack on the dance floor were any indication it is likely worth my interest.”

“And my terms?”

“Do you want a contract?”

“No, I don’t trust those. I’m already under one already.”

“What assurance do I have that you will not betray me?”

“We both have more to gain keeping this between us. At least until Lestrange tries something stupid.”

“And if she does, and you speak? Will I be held accountable for keeping this information from the Dark Lord?”

“I never need to mention you. If you tell him yourself, then Lestrange will know that and won’t come after me. I don’t want much.”

“That all depends on what you’re buying it with. That woman is very formidable and controls Hogwarts, not I.”

“Voldemort controls Hogwarts,” Harry corrected. “Which is why she’ll be in trouble if he finds out what she tried to do to me… or perhaps because she failed to do it.”

Lucius strode over to the piano, watching his reaction, trying to guess what she had done. Murder? Rape? Imperius? He didn’t flinch or back away at all, following him like a hawk, but when they were standing right before each other, Lucius noticed those eyes weren’t directed at his own. That was kind of strange. He had seen Potter look Voldemort directly in the eyes before without hesitation. Of course, that was two years ago, and he must have learned some things to fear since then.

“She tried to legilimens you, didn’t she?”

The boy’s shoulders stiffened, and he tried to cover it up with a shrug.

“That might be it. It might not be. You haven’t agreed to my terms yet.”

“And if I said Draco told me already it was legilimens?”

Potter turned sharply to the younger Malfoy who looked like a house elf caught in the laundry. They stared at each other, and then Potter sighed.

“I’d say you were a very clever liar, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I could take that as an insult,” Lucius warned.

“And then what? It doesn’t matter. Do you agree to my terms or not?”

“Why should I when I already know your secret now?”

“Because it’s a worthless secret if I tell Snape or Voldemort myself. They would never believe I told you willingly if I didn’t confirm it.”

Clever, clever boy. Was this the Dark Lord’s influence? Severus’? Draco’s? What sort of games did they play in that school of theirs?

“What makes you think the Dark Lord would even care?”

“It doesn’t matter if he does or not, if Lestrange believes he does.”

“True. Very well, you have my protection from Lestrange and I have your silence. Now tell me what happened precisely.”

The tale was thankfully brief, but interesting as far as teenage exploits went. He couldn’t boast ever trying to cut off Dumbledore’s head when he was in school. Well, he suppose that it was his duty as his Master’s servant to aid his protégé in any way he could, especially since the man was so busy lately. It would do Draco some good to observe the intricacies of blackmail without actively participating as well.

So he nodded, thanked Potter kindly for coming to him, and accompanied both boys back to the ballroom where the Dark Lord and his entourage finally joined the rest of the rabble. It was with an air of smugness that he found Lestrange, eying Harry suspiciously.

In her distraction she didn’t even notice Lucius coming up behind her, until he whispering in her ear.

“My dear, you’ve been a very, very naughty girl.”

“That’s an interesting look,” Voldemort said, tilting Harry’s head curiously from side to side. “Your eyes look less round without your glasses.”

The fireworks display had just ended and the crowds were returning inside where it was warmer, and Harry had sent his date off with his friends for a moment alone.

“They’re still there, just invisible,” he taking them off and setting them on a pile of snow on the rail, which collapse under their weight. Voldemort smiled at that.

“Very clever. How are you?”

“Okay, I think. Nothing too big has happened so things are starting to get back to normal. I heard there was a break in the Moody case.”

The Dark Lord nodded, but didn’t seem particularly interested in talking about that. That was fine with Harry. He’d heard enough about it the day before. With the Lestrange issue out of the way for the moment, he wanted to concentrate on nicer things.

“What about you? I haven’t really heard from you in a while.”

“Busy. The usual things. Greyback wants his werewolves back for the full moon, so you might have to do without your guardians for a few days.”

Harry nodded. A few days wasn’t so bad. He was starting to suspect his time with them was running out now that the conspirators had been caught, Moody probably wasn’t far behind.

“I’d like you stay with me while they are away.”

“Will we celebrate the Solstice too?”

Voldemort grinned at the eagerness in his protégé’s voice. He had been worried the incident with the Moon Goddess would have left him leery of trying another ritual any time soon.

“If you are willing then, yes, you many participate. I think you’re ready to learn a thing or two about the rites.”

“Like the arithmancy?”

“That, among other things.”

“… Will it hurt?”

Voldemort ruffled his hair affectionately. “Just a little.”

Ritual Sacrifice

After three days of final projects and end of the semester exams, Harry was exhausted, but alive. No one seemed to have enough time around the castle to go starting fights with him, and after Barlow was suspended for all her troubles no one was eager to test their luck. Hermione looked ready to keel over, and her stress level hadn’t dispelled even after the tests were done.

“Perhaps I should have gone in to more detail about Dorian’s Theory, I mean it did influence Lord Marcel’s Theory of Infinite Dimension. And why did Madam Sprout only ask for six examples of non-native magical trees? There’s like thirty of them on the grounds and that would have been easy credit right there. Do you think I should have-”

“Hermione,” Harry said, his eyes threatening painful death if she didn’t shut up about the bloody ridiculous tests. “It’s over.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Clyde mouthed a ‘thank you’ at Harry, and went back to enjoying his pudding. Dinner was being held an hour earlier than usual, so that everyone could get ready for the Christmas Dance by seven. Harry was glad he’d ducked out of it. He didn’t know how anyone else could summon the energy to dance after all those tests. He felt mentally and magically drained.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come tonight, Harry? It’s supposed to be a lot of fun,” Hermione insisted.

“I know, I went to the last two parties. And they were fun, but I’m tired, and I’ve got some last minute projects to work on.”

Clyde leaned in and whispered in Harry’s ear.

“You’re not going to sneak out again are you?”

“No, of course not. Not that kind of project. I’ve got to wrap some gifts and then I want to do a little research.”

That got Hermione’s attention. “Research?”

“Arithmancy, I think I’m going to have to take the re-test.”

Half true. It was arithmancy, but it was for the Solstice ritual, not what they were studying in class, which he thought he got at least an E in. They chatted about holiday plans and plans for next year and about what an odd semester it had been until it was time to go up to the common room to get ready. He helped Clyde look as presentable as he could in his new dark violet dress robes, thinking he looked kind of silly but not wanting to hurt his feelings, then hung out with the other guys down in the common room when Clyde left to pick up Cathy Wickett. Fred and George were dressed in ridiculously old fashioned robes in Christmas red and greens, and should have looked tacky but somehow managed to come off as merely eccentrically festive instead. He pitied their dates just the same.

And then along came Ginny. He hadn’t seen her at dinner, but a lot of girls had been absent, favoring primping over food, and apparently it had paid off for the youngest Weasley. She came down the stairs with Hermione, a pixie escorting a princess. Where Hermione’s was dressed in regal red velvet, Ginny was in ephemeral pinks, light silky fabric that moved like a breeze over her every curve. Hermione’s hair was down, a wavy cascade of auburn down her back. Ginny’s was up in a thousand tiny ringlets, held up by matching pink ribbons that should have made it look like a mess, but came off as pleasantly irregular, like a wild garden or a waterfall. Both were dressed down from what was expected at a Malfoy party, but then they wouldn’t simply be waltzing tonight either.

He blinked widely.

“Wow.”

Hermione smirked. Ginny turned incredible red, but it only made her look cuter.

“See what you’re missing?” Hermione teased, “You’ll just have to buy a picture from Colin.”

“Ron was right, red does suit you,” he teased right back. Soon she was just as red as Ginny. She quickly changed the subject.

“Where are Sirius and Remus? They were here this morning, but I didn’t see them at dinner.”

“Full moon tonight. They had to go home to celebrate with their pack. They’ll be gone for a few days.”

“Oh, is that why you’re going with Voldemort? Because they won’t be around to protect you?”

“That’s why I’m leaving tomorrow, but they’ll be back to guard the castle way before me. I think it’s more good press or whatever. I bet I’ll be running across a couple of reporters.”

“That’s too bad,” Ginny said, “You should have fun on your break. I think you deserve it more than anyone.

“Thanks, Ginny.”

They talked for a little longer before Colin showed up, and greeted them all with a face full of flash.

“Sorry, sorry! But it was a great shot!” he apologized, and escorted a rather put upon looking Ginny out of the tower. As they were leaving, Ron walked in and gave Colin an even look.

“Watch where you put your hands tonight, ya little bugger,” he warned.

“Mind your own business, Ron!” Ginny snapped. He ignored his sister and stepped in. He was dressed in tasteful black with little gold fixings. He had cut his hair too, cropped into something almost military and it looked almost dark blond that close to the scalp. He didn’t look a thing like his brothers dressed like that.

“That’s different,” Harry said, unsure if it was improvement or not. At the moment it just looked strange. Ron just smirked.

“Good evening, Hermione,” he said, perfectly gentlemanly, even bowed politely. “You look lovely.”

She turned even redder than when Harry had complimented her, and the Gryffindor felt a surge of irritation. He seriously hoped this poxy bastard wasn’t actually charming her. And bloody hell, since when did he get away with calling her ‘Hermione’?

They exchanged pleasantries until Harry felt his teeth had to be rotting out of his head listening to them. At last they left, Harry now almost completely alone in the tower. He went up to his room and worked on his gifts for a while, but soon grew bored and took his library book ‘Applications of Arithmancy in Common Magical Rituals’ down into the common room.

Natalie was there.

She was standing by the fire place, dressed in a cardigan and a black skirt. Clearly, not intending to go to the party. In fact, if her little picnic basket were any indication, she was intending to stay for a while. He smiled.

“Not in the dancing mood?”

She looked up at him and smiled back.

“Aren’t you? What’s wrong? Couldn’t find a date?”

“I’m all danced out for the year. Besides, I’ve got some studying to do.”

She made a face, and he laughed. He picked up some pillows from the couches and chairs and tossed them to her. She arranged them, and sat down and he joined her.

“I hope you don’t mind my interrupting. It just seemed kind of lame to spend the evening alone,” she said. He shook his head and peeked in her basket. There were cakes and candies and a couple of thermoses of no doubt highly sugared drinks like hot chocolate and eggnog. It smelled wonderful.

“I don’t mind at all. I could even use your help.”

“With studying? Eww… that’s more Hermione’s thing.”

“I think you’ll like this. It’s very old magic. Very powerful.”

That did seem to make her a little more interested, so he continued.

“I’m performing a ritual with Voldemort during the Solstice. I’ve done a little bit of it before, but I’m going to be more involved this year so I kinda want a better idea of what I’m doing.”

Now she looked really interested.

“You’re performing rituals with the Dark Lord?! I don’t know whether you’re mad or brilliant. What does the ritual do? Does it have a name?”

“I don’t know if it has a name. I haven’t found anything in the library about it, but it’s really really powerful so it might be in the Restricted Section. It connects you to the magic of the Earth.”

She didn’t seem to understand what he meant, so he explained as best he could about what he had experienced last year when he’d done it and again his experience during the summer festival. Like a little child listening to a particularly exciting bedtime story, Natalie hung off his every word and gesture, eyes wide with fascination and awe. When he was done, she had to literally shake herself.

“That’s incredible. You mean you could… I dunno, talk to gods or whatever?”

He nodded, though he doubted if he’d truly understand their reply. He’d been so overwhelmed the first time he didn’t think he’d have understood if someone had told him one plus one equals two. Regardless, she was very interested after that in helping him figure out what he had done. Harry drew a diagram of what he remembered, and together they looked up what the many components meant. Some of them were very simple, the pentagram, the runes of the elements, the power of the blood were easily understood to be amplifiers of power and sacrificial enticements to gain the Earth’s attention. The other symbols were more confusing. Why were there so many geometric shapes around the pentagon? Did they attract magic rather than repel it? Why were the symbols for drowning and burning included?

The more they learned, the more questions Harry had. What did something like this do to a person? The affects on himself had seemed temporary, but hadn’t his magical strength increased since then? He hadn’t really noticed before or perhaps he thought it was the natural development of his own abilities, but he didn’t tire as quickly when casting spells and he remembered them easier after learning and always seemed to know what he should cast during duel or fight. And then there was Gryffindor’s sword, which found him so easily and repetitiously. Was that the ritual’s influence? For magic to come more naturally as it did for the Dark Lord?

They finally gave up on understanding any more of it. It was clearly the work of someone with more advanced knowledge than they had. They ate their sweets and told stories, silly things from when they were young. Harry told Natalie about his parent’s studio and how they let him play with the raw clay and taught him how to draw and paint. Natalie told Harry about how her mothers spoiled her rotten with riding lessons and traveling every summer. It was almost ten before anyone came up to disturb them, and of all the people to showed up they hadn’t expected Draco.

He threw open the portrait door and ran right up to them, his pale face actually stuck in a look of disbelief. Harry immediately stood up, expecting something had happened to Hermione. Instead, what came out of Draco’s mouth was considerably more disturbing.

“Uncle Serverus is getting married…”

“What?!” they both squawked. “To who?”

“Vesper Larousse!”

Somehow, Harry thought he should have seen that coming.

Harry didn’t sleep well after Draco told them about his godfather’s announcement after the party. The excitement he was feeling over the upcoming ritual was overshadowed by anxiety. Snape and Larousse? A dangerous duo if he ever saw one. Each trying to stick their noses into his business at any given moment. He had tried to convince himself that it wasn’t that bad. That they could end up distracting each other and leaving him alone, but his sleep was filled with prophetic dreams of summers spent in their company, of chores involving nasty potion ingredients, picnics by the lake, and trips into the woods to hunt his godfathers with guns and harpoons.

The morning dawned gray and cold, a new layer of snow blanketing the old. He gathered with the rest of the students in the Great Hall, then regretted it when he saw the objects of his anxiety at the teacher’s table. Snape looked unusually smug, and Larousse was practically glowing. He wanted to be happy for them, but it was harder than it should have been.

The carriage ride to the station was noisy, Draco and Hermione unable to discuss anything other then their godfather’s surprise and Natalie throwing in her usual quips. Draco thought Snape was nuts. Hermione thought it wonderful. Natalie thought the entire thing hilarious. He wanted to join in Natalie’s amusement, but couldn’t bring himself to do more than crack a smile or two.

They exchanged Christmas presents quickly, hiding them away before they left the carriage, and promised (and likely lied) that they wouldn’t open them early. He saw them all off from the platform, his trunk and Elsbeth sitting patiently in her cage beside him. This year he wouldn’t be able to travel to London with them as his security status still hadn’t dropped enough for him to take public transportation. It was with more than a little longing that he watched as the train pulled away and faded into the distance. When the Hogwarts Express was little more than puffs of smoke on the horizon he turned back towards the platform to see Snape and Larousse waiting for him.

In Larousse’s arms was Inana’s basket.

Inana slept inside his shirt on the ride to Bristol. Despite the warmth of her green house, Britain’s gray winter skies had left her lethargic and she mustered only enough energy for a quick chastisement for leaving her unattended for so long before dozing off. He wished he could join her, but he was feeling even more anxious about Snape and Larousse than before.

Something about that last image of them on the platform, standing side by side, Larousse’s holding out his serpent made him uneasy. It was the sort of image that reminded him of his parents, standing near the bus stop, handing him his lunch pail. Silly really, but there had been a possessiveness in the gesture he didn’t like coming from them. Even Snape’s usual apathy felt artificial, like he was gaging Harry’s reaction.

Madam Hardwick was back in all her prudish glory to greet him by the road, shiny black car and all. She sat across from him in the car to make sure he hadn’t reverted back to slouching or drooling all over himself. He’d bluffed his way through the proper courtesies then ignored her altogether. It was snowing heavily in the south, and Harry wondered if it was snowing where his godfathers were and if it bothered them at all. Would Luna be with them? A girl or a goddess now? He blushed and quickly tried to think of other people. Snape and Larousse came up quickly, but the thought of them together sent his mind scurrying in yet another direction.

What was Voldemort doing right now?

Would he be in Bristol still or had he relocated to London since last year? Or was he somewhere else altogether? He might already be at the lodge, working from his study or preparing for tomorrow’s ritual. No, he said he wanted to teach it to Harry, so he wouldn’t start without him there. Maybe he went to see Greyback and the werewolves, as part of obligations as a shaman? Were he and his godfathers annoying each other this very moment?

It turned out speculating on Voldemort’s activities was very entertaining, for he managed to distract himself until they reached the estate. Which was good, because having driven from Hogsmeade rather than London meant the ride was almost two hours longer than it had been last year. He really didn’t understand how his travels arrangements were made, because efficiency really didn’t seem to be a factor.

The Sianach Lodge was exactly how he remembered it. The forest was gray and mysterious, the road long and narrow, the mansion itself majestic and sprawling. Mr. Whitby and Victoria were there to greet them upon arrival, bundled up in their matching winter coats.

“Welcome back, Young Master,” Mr. Whitby said as he opened the door for him.

“Thank you, it’s good to be back,” he said, sincerely.

Victoria looked like she wanted to run over and hug him, but didn’t dare with all the stuffy people around. He smiled at her and she smiled back, before they both pretended to be proper for everyone else’s benefit.

“Master is still abroad, but should arrive later this evening,” Mr. Whitby said, leading them inside where the familiar row of servants were gathered, bowing respectfully as he entered. “Would you prefer something to eat or to settle into your room, Young Master?”

“I think I’ll settle in first. Will our Lord be back by dinner?”

“That is unclear.”

“Would you have a light snack sent up then? If he isn’t back before seven I’ll take my meal in my room,” he said, heading towards the stairs, Victoria following dutifully after him.

“Very good, sir.”

“Thank you for escorting me, Madam Hardwick,” he managed, rather reluctantly, “I hope you have a nice evening.”

She didn’t seem very interested, but she acknowledged his attempt at politeness with a nod. As soon as they were out of sight, Victoria really did hug him.

“Oh, Harry, it’s so good to see you again!” she squealed, turning him around to good a better look at him. “You’ve grown! I swear you had to have grown a foot since I last saw you!”

He grinned, though he knew she was full of it. He was still shorter than most of the boys in his dorm.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

She slapped him on the shoulder.

“I’d have you know I am quite changed. I’ve got a boyfriend now.”

“Really? Me too. I mean, girlfriend, girlfriend. She’s definitely a girl.”

Victoria laughed. They arrived at his room, exactly as he remembered it, lots of wood and amber with a magnificent view through the southern and western windows. Through the thickly falling snow he could barely see the outline of the forest beyond the gardens.

“You’ve definitely had a busy couple of months,” his maid said lightly, but there was a sort of caution in it. “It seems every time I turn around the paper’s printed how something or other happened to you. I nearly keeled over and died myself when I heard about the explosion at the school. Awful business that.”

He looked to her, and found her sort of fidgeting, staring at her toes. She made a little sniffling sound, and he realized she was fighting tears.

“Vicki?”

“I’ve just been real worried about you, Harry. All those attacks at a place that’s suppose to be the safest in all of Britain. It’s just too awful. You being so young and kind and all. It’d break my heart if something happened to you.”

She sniffled again. Harry just stood there, unsure what to do. He’d never comforted an adult before, except for once when one of Hagrid’s beasts had died despite treatment and really Hagrid wasn’t that different from a big kid. It seemed he didn’t have to do anything, for between two blinks of an eye she had composed herself and managed a big grin.

“So don’t be running off into the woods at night like last time or I will be quite cross with you! Well, I better go get that snack and see what’s taking Danny so long with your luggage.”

And with that she disappeared out the door, leaving Harry to wonder what had just happened.

Voldemort didn’t arrive at the Sianach Lodge until almost nine. He had been busy all day and most of the evening, wrapping up some loose ends before he disappeared for the next few days. His errands had taken him all over Britain, including a brief inspection of Hogwart’s construction and a meeting with Lord Thurles, regional steward of Ireland, in Dublin. The weather hadn’t been accommodating, having snowed or was snowing everywhere he went and even apparating didn’t alleviate the annoyance of wet and cold.

He wasn’t tired in the same way men where, being not entirely human, and sleep hadn’t been necessary since the seventies, but he did want to rest. He wanted somewhere warm and quiet and dark, with only a book and a hibernating Nagini for company. Yet there were still a few important matters to attend. Whitby and all the servants, except for Harry’s personal maid, were there to greet him at the door despite the hour, but he ignored all of them except for Whitby and the stable hand.

“You have it then?” he asked, stalking right past them and towards the back of the house. Both men scurried to keep up, and the stable hand didn’t dare stop to grab his coat when they were led straight out the back door and towards the stables.

“Yes, my Lord,” Whitby said, “Female, virgin, a very attractive creature.”

“Mean too,” the stable hand muttered, grimacing as he looked at his hand, blood spotting through the bandages.

Voldemort nodded, but didn’t look back. He had to make certain she was what he needed else the ritual wouldn’t work as it was suppose to. Last year, less exact requirements had been needed of the sacrifice, but then it had only been for himself and Harry’s participation had merely been a happy accident. If it was going to work a second time for the both of them, he couldn’t be stingy. This one had to be perfect.

The stable was charmed to be a pleasant temperature all year around, and the lights were kept on but dim at night. Aside from that, there was very little magic used there. There were sixteen stalls, two holding his six Irish wolfhounds, two milking cows, a team of four black horses for carriages, a white charger, three well-trained field hunters, and the last four were usually kept empty. It smelled of hay, manure, and dog food.

“Stay here,” Voldemort instructed, leaving them by the entrance while he strode to the very back of the stable. The animals watched him warily as he passed.

She appeared to be waiting for him when he reached her. She was tied to prong in the middle of the stall so that she didn’t hurt herself smashing into the walls in her attempts to escape, but she wasn’t struggling now. Her large dark eyes watched him cautiously, her slender legs trembling with the desire to flee. Whitby was right. She was an attractive creature.

She would do perfectly.

Harry did not get to see Voldemort until the next morning. Victoria had informed him that the Dark Lord was ‘in a right snit’ on arrival and was dragging Mr. Whitby and his staff around by their nose hairs before he let them leave. He’d even snapped at her that he wanted Harry in bed early, as he was going to be up by dawn.

So to bed he went and at dawn he woke, his room filled with the irritating trill of a Wake-up Spell.

“Uugh… kill it, Princeling. Kill it, what ever foul creature it is,” Inana hissed sleepily from around his neck.

He dismissed the spell after some difficulty, still groggy from sleep, and put set Inana in her basket. His morning routine went by in a gradually receding daze, until at last he was coherent enough to face Voldemort. The house was empty for the day, leaving him no choice but to search out the man himself. He eventually found him in the study, pouring over a stack of documents.

“Good morning, my Lord.”

“Good morning, Harry. I’m glad to see you’re up. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Come then,” he said, walking out of the study and leading him towards the dining room. “We don’t have much time to prepare. Everything must be ready by the time the sun is exactly midway in the sky. Do you know why?”

“… um… wait, I think…”

He pondered over the purpose of specific times at first, but there were too many symbolic meanings associated with that, so he considered how the sun would affect such a ritual and then possible disruption of night. He mentally sifted through the many runes involved for clues.

“… the sun determines the range of the spell?”

The Dark Lord grinned. They entered the dinning room. Harry was a bit disappointed to find they’d only been left hot porridge. Is that what they’d eaten the day of the ritual? No, Harry thought he’d had something else, but then Voldemort hadn’t eaten with him that day so perhaps this too was significant. Like a mild form of fasting.

“Very good. Do you know how?”

“The sun powers the earth, and somehow it powers the spell as well. It powers the connection between us and the earth. That’s what the runes for flowers are for, right?”

“Among other things yes.”

“So when the sun moves too far west the angle changes and the connection looses power?”

“Yes. Very, very good. You have been studying this?”

“Yeah, a little. But if the angle of the sun is so important, why not perform the ritual in summer instead of winter?”

“For one, the connection would become too powerful and your soul would be torn from your body.”

That was a very good reason, Harry decided.

“For another, life is much too chaotic in spring. Animals and plants are living, dying, growing, breeding, birthing, and just constantly shifting. The earth and water itself is also shifting under the heat of the sun and activities of the living. Winter is a time of stillness. Nothing births except for bears and few other odd animals, plants do not grow, water freezes. If you were to try to connect to Her during the summer, even if you were not disembodied, you’d be driven very quickly insane. Now eat your porridge.”

They were finished eating within minutes. Voldemort quizzed him on his understanding of the spell, and though he got almost as many answers wrong as he did right and three times as many he couldn’t even begin to guess at, the man seemed pleased. Harry was very glad he had at least attempted to figure the ritual out the night before. When at last Voldemort felt he had found the limits of Harry’s understanding, he took him back to the study and handed him a wooden box.

It was about the size of a box of chocolates, dark red wood with a crest carved onto the top. There was something familiar about the crest, something alluring though he couldn’t recall where he might have seen it before.

“This is for you. For your first born son. For his first son. And so on and so forth. With every generation its power will grow.”

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine, the man’s words felt like a spell, sending magic into motion to some unknown end. He ran his fingers over the lid, and they tingled.

“Is this the Potter crest?” His throat felt thick and uncooperative.

“Yes. Twenty generations of Potters wore that crest for over a thousand years, though the name has changed almost a dozen times itself, the bloodline remains true. Only the blood of your direct descent will open that box.”

“Blood?”

“There is a catch on the box. When you press it down you will feel a sharp pinch. It’s nothing more than a needle prick.”

“What’s inside?”

“Open it and see for yourself.”

Hesitantly, he found the golden catch on the side of the box with his thumb. It was round and smooth like a button, but when he pressed it there was sharp sting that made him flinch. There was the sound of tiny gears, like that of a watch or a music box, winding down, then a click, and the lid popped open a fraction. He sucked the droplet of blood from his finger, then opened the box completely.

Inside was a knife resting on a velvet cushion. He set the box down on Voldemort’s desk and took out the knife. The sheath was undecorated wood with smooth gold fittings that matched the handle. It took a moment for Harry to realize the sheath was the made of holly, the same as his wand. Carefully, pulled the blade free.

It was perfect.

It wasn’t sure how he could tell, as he was no black smith or swordsmith or weapons expert, but one look at its uncorrupted mirror sheen and he knew. It was very slender with an unserrated edge. Elegant. Sharp. What was it for? Clearly not for fighting, but it had a definite purpose.

He re-sheathed it.

When he looked up, he found Voldemort’s eyes half-lidded, his mouth curved upwards ever so slightly, like a well pleased cat. The thank you that was on the tip of his tongue died. Unease was quickly drowning his gratitude.

“Do you like it?” the man asked, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry admitted, “But… it’s not a gift, is it? You don’t give gifts.”

That cat smile sharpened with pleasure.

“That’s true. Very true. It is not a gift. It’s a tool. A very important tool, that I, as your teacher, am providing for you.”

He suddenly remembered where he had seen a knife like this before. Voldemort had one just like last year, when he’d cut his hand to offer his blood. This was a sacrificial knife. The Dark Lord stepped towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Also, as your teacher, I am going to show you how to use it properly. Gather your cloak, we’re going outside for a while.”

It was snowing lightly as Harry trudge towards the stable, following after Voldemort. The snow was practically to his knees, so he followed in the other man’s footprints as he waded through it with his usual uncanny grace. He wrapped one of his plain black cloaks instead of his Baluvian, suspecting that what came next might stain.

The stable was warm and smelled of animals. The sound of horses shuffling and the whining of dogs dominated. Voldemort secured the door behind them.

“We must be very careful in our preparations. Carelessness is a sign of disrespect, and you don’t want to disrespect Her. She has very clever and horrible ways of making you regret it. Britain is full of legends about the ways she makes the irreverent suffer. Does that frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“I’m afraid of God too.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Half of everything he ended up saying to the Dark Lord seemed to be as surprising to himself as the other man. It came to him the same ways spells in a duel came. Instantaneous and somehow perfect, even if the result was unexpected. Hermione said it was his subconscious becoming more dominant when the stress of a situation caused his adrenaline levels to increase and inhibit his conscious thought process. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he wondered if talking to Voldemort was close enough to dueling for the same principles to apply.

“Really? Then I suppose He still has some hold over your soul. I’m not afraid of him at all. What can He do to me? His domain is that of the soul, and He cannot touch mine. I suppose we each face different risks in whom we entrust with our soul, but I like a Master less pretentious.”

“Won’t She punish me? Knowing I still fear Him? Knowing I still belong to Him?”

“Only if you’re dishonest about it. I think She likes you. Your gift in magic suggests She does. I believe She’d rather seduce you.”

He felt his cheeks burn at the suggestion. Merlin, he’d already faced a enamored goddess-possessed Luna with disastrous results, he didn’t think he could take on the affections of an entire planet. Voldemort laughed, as if reading his thoughts. The animals shifted nervously in their stalls.

“Not that kind of seduction, child! Now come, we’ve not much time.”

Harry felt another jolt of unease, but the only thing (and the very odd thing) Voldemort did was take him into one of the cows’ stalls, and demonstrated how to milk her, and then went to milk the other one.

“Milk is a traditional offering, cow or goat or really any kind. It ranks between an offering of blood and an offering of grain. It’s an offering of both food and body. In ancient times, farmers would pour milk onto their fields to entice the Earth to yield a good harvest. We will use it to bring forth the more beneficent nature of the Earth, rather than the vengeful. Blood will summon her power.”

Well, that was interesting and disturbing, but the cows didn’t seem to care either way so Harry filed it away for later examination.

When they were done, they poured Harry’s milk in with Voldemort’s and set it aside. Harry hoped that was it, but then the Dark Lord lead him all the way to the back of the stable. What he saw there made him freeze.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Voldemort said. “Her blood is particularly powerful, which we will need to maintain the integrity of the ritual diagrams.”

Harry could only stare, seeing his own reflection in her wide black eyes.

“We… we’re going to…”

“Yes. We need a lot of blood. A dove or goat won’t be nearly enough.”

“But…”

“It’s called sacrifice for a reason.”

For a long moment, he couldn’t do anything but stare and wonder if he were even capable of what Voldemort were asking. He’d killed before. Fish. Rabbits. Probably a hundred rats for Inana and Elsbeth and the other snakes and animals at the medical bestiary. Even a deer with his godfather’s help. Why was this any different?

Because it wasn’t fair. She was tied up. She couldn’t run or defend herself. There was no hope for her beyond the clemency he granted. It was completely unfair.

“…W-will it h-hurt?”

“No. Your knife is designed to make it quick and painless. I will show you how.”

Voldemort’s hand on his shoulder moved him further into the stall. The sacrifice started to struggle, kicking out at them.

“Careful,” the Dark Lord warned, “She might look like a helpless little deer, but she’s a sianach. Her kin have been hunting men for thousands of years, and she has the canines to prove it.”

He had never seen a sianach, but he would never forget one now. They were white, or was that a seasonal color? At least, this one was. There were small gray flecks on her back, reminding him of fawns, but she was much too big. Big as a normal adult female deer, but was that as large as an adult sianach? How big were they really? If they were big enough to hunt men it was probably bigger than the average deer. She snarled like a dog, fangs bared and snapping at him.

Voldemort moved in fast, seizing her head in both his hands. She bucked and kicked, but she could neither see nor reach him. He leaned in close and whispered something and she suddenly stopped. He pulled back and moved to the other side of her, gently pushing at her hind and front quarters to reposition her. She didn’t resist, her body as docile as a well trained pony. She shook her head, flicked her tail, and seemed utterly oblivious to them.

“What did you do?” Harry asked.

“An apathy spell. You could set fire to her and she wouldn’t care at this point.”

Harry really hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

“What do I do?”

“Get the pale and set it here.”

Harry did as instructed, setting the pale in front of the sianach. He was very close to her, and he couldn’t help reaching out to touch her. Her fur was both course and fluffy under his fingers, waterproof and warm he realized. She didn’t react to his touch at all. From over her shoulder he watched Voldemort mimic him, admiring the creature they were about to slaughter.

“What now?”

“You have your knife?”

Harry nodded.

“Take it out.”

He had attached it to his belt, and the blade came free easily. He could see his reflection in it, wide green eyes in pale, pale skin. Voldemort’s hand was at the underside of the sianach’s neck, feeling his way up and down. He stopped a short distance from where the neck reached the shoulder.

“Here,” he said, “This is the carotid artery. The main artery that takes blood from the heart to the head. There are other places in the back legs and pelvis that bleed profusely, but this is the safest and easiest place to cut. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “How do I…?”

“Give me your hand.”

He surrendered it to him, allowing the Dark Lord to readjust his hold on the knife and reposition his hand, the blade pointing directly at the carotid artery. With his hand still on Harry, he demonstrated the stabbing and cutting motion.

“Stab deep, it won’t take a lot of physical strength, but you mustn’t hesitate. As soon as it’s in at least half way, tug sharply towards yourself and pull it out. Are you ready?”

No, he wasn’t ready, but there was no stopping at this point. She was going to die, one way or another, and he had committed himself already. He had wanted to learn and to understand magic, and perhaps that was going to be painful and ugly and scary like it was in this moment, but it was also true. Nothing to hide the rawness of it, to sugar coat or spin it into something more acceptable. If he was to truly become a pagan, to even understand what that meant, he had to do this.

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

He hesitated.

“GO!”

The knife sunk in quick and easy, almost to the hilt and he nearly fell over when he tugged it sharply towards him and out of her. A splatter of blood caught him in the face as he removed it, running from his forehead, over his right lens of his glasses, and down his cheek. A torrent of blood followed, downwards, straight into the bucket. The sianach fidgeted, but Voldemort held her gently in place, keeping her head elevated to increase the blood flow.

It was over in less than a minute. All he had to was stand there and watch as she quickly bled out, gradually loosing strength, first leaning against the Dark Lord, then falling to her knees, then her side, and then gone.

They were was more blood in the bucket than there had been milk.

He ran out of the stable as fast as he could, stumbled in the snow, and vomited up breakfast. His right hand still held his knife, the flesh and metal both covered in blood. He touched his face with his left hand and found blood there too. He stumbled another few feet to a clean patch and used the snow to scrub himself clean, knife and hands and face, then dried them with his cloak. He blamed his shaking on the cold, and walked back inside before the Dark Lord decided he’d chickened out and run away.

Voldemort was concerned when Harry run. Surely a little blood letting hadn’t scared him away? He’d killed giant snakes for Merlin’s sake. But no, the boy returned a minute later, a little green but otherwise fine. His hands and face were flushed but clean of blood.

It was a natural reaction he supposed. The sort of thing farmer’s children learned to overcome when slaughtering their livestock. He’d never had a problem with killing animals himself, but then he’d never had a problem with killing people either. Harry’s natural revulsion might actually serve to make the sacrificial blood more meaningful. He doubted it would bother the Earth one way or another.

Ruffling Harry’s hair affectionately, he dismissed the show of weakness and led him back to the house. He had wanted to explain the significance of using a young doe, how sacrificing her was like sacrificing not only the deer herself but all the offspring she would ever have had and how it so easily overshadowed the offering of a mature buck. He didn’t think Harry would appreciate being told he’d simultaneously killed a potential mommy and all her potential babies.

Non-Slytherins were funny like that.

Instead, he took Harry to the kitchen, where there were many pots and bowls and herbs and instruments laid out. He lectured Harry on the purpose of each of them, had him help pour the milk and blood into their specific containers, mixed the herbs, theorized the importance of each step, and then corrected him when he was wrong or praised him when he was right. The activity seemed to calm Harry. Gradually, he became less pale and his hands stopped shaking.

At last, the materials were all prepared.

“I think we’re ready to begin.”

The Siege I

“It seems such a waste,” Lestrange lamented, staring over her coffee cup at her associate, “After everything you’ve done, you’re primed for reinstatement into the Court. Sentinel or Guardian or Judge or whatever you like. You could have any of it, and you’re… settling?”

Larousse shook her head.

“‘Settling down’ is not the same thing as ‘settling’, Headmistress. I see my ambition as expanded into the familial aspect of my life, rather than diminishing in my professional one. I’ve got so many plans…”

Lestrange looked anything but convinced. It was quite beyond her why a woman of Larousse’ skill and drive would leave a prominent position at Hogwarts, ignore an even more prominent position at Court, and marry Snape of all people, let alone bare his spawn. If it had been up to her she never would have married Rudolfus, who proved useless in everything including siring children. She considered telling Larousse this but was afraid she’d take it the wrong way.

“Have you settled on a date, then?”

“Sometime in late June. It’ll give us the summer to get our affairs in order, change my last name, combine our accounts, revise wills, and things like that. Do you think you’ll be able to come? I really hope you do. I never would have met Severus if it weren’t for you.”

Lestrange merely shrugged. “Of course, I will. It would-”

The screech a siren’s alarm started both women, causing Lestrange to drop her hot coffee on her lap.

“Ouch! Dammit,” she cursed, producing a wand to clean up the mess and then silence the wards.

“What was that? Has the castle been breached?”

“Calm down, Professor, let me check.”

The headmistress open her desk and pulled out a large piece of parchment. Flicking over its contents, she sighed and put it away again.

“Just the mongrels. They’re back earlier than I expected.”

“You mean the werewolves? They’re back in the castle?”

“Yes, though I don’t know why they bother. Potter won’t be back for another couple of days. Maybe they want to steal something else.”

“Steal? What did they steal?”

Lestrange pointed at the empty display case where the Sword of Gryffindor had been. She still hadn’t figured out how to get the sword back before the Dark Lord noticed its absence. Fighting over it was useless, since she couldn’t touch the damn thing any way and threatening Potter or her mangy cousin might actually result in them threatening her right back. Perhaps she could use Larousse’ natural animosity towards the werewolves and Harry’s convenient absence to solve at least one of her problems.

“The Sword of Gryffindor. Potter found it last year, and I think they have a misguided notion that it belongs to him rather than the school. The boy even gave it up after the Dark Lord explained it’s connection to the Founders, but they’re such base creatures I don’t think they comprehend the matter as more complicated than ‘finders, keepers’.”

Larousse scowled, obviously irritated by their supposed misdeed.

“Haven’t you told the Dark Lord?”

Lestrange shrugged.

“It’s a minor matter. I will simply have Potter return it. They’re his dogs after all He’ll have to take responsibility.”

“That’s hardly fair. He’s only a child and they’re full grown… men.”

“If you want to get it for me, that’s fine too. I’m afraid I have more important things to deal with today.”

“Of course, Headmistress. Severus and I will take care of it.”

Lestrange hid her smirk behind her cup.

It had taken them almost three hours to prepare their materials, and it was starting to resemble a potion’s detention with all the cutting and measuring and mixing. Luckily, Voldemort was no Snape, and rather than terrorize or ignore Harry, he just kept talking and explaining and quizzing. Harry thought he had learned more about magic in those three hours than he had all semester at school.

It was still snowing when Harry and Voldemort went out into the maze. The shrines to the gods and goddesses were barely visible, their offerings indistinguishable mounds of white.

“Who are they all?” Harry asked.

“Are you asking for specific names? They vary from region to region.”

“Why do you honor some but not the others?”

“I honor each their due. Some are best worshiped in winter others summer and so on and so forth, and still some require attention all year around. Of course, these are only the ones I bother with. There are thousands of gods and goddesses with various levels of power and influence scattered across the world.”

“Then what are they? I mean, what is a god or goddess? They’re not really like… Her, but they sort of are. Luna had one inside her, how does that work?”

“Gods and goddesses are spirits granted some sort of authority by the Earth. They can be the spirits of those once living, human or animal or plant, or even created out of magical or emotional energy collected in an object or place, like a poltergeist. Luna’s goddess is parasitic, it is too weak to hold her place without being absorbed by the Earth again so it inhabits a suitable human body. There are many spirits who do this with animals. True familiars are merely spirit possessed animals.”

“So if you died you might end up a god?”

“Yes. Or several gods. Or a demon spirit. Perhaps I’ll be reborn into another physical body or have to possess it. There’s really no telling what she intends for me after I shed this mortal coil. I have a millennium to wonder.”

Harry was going to ask what he meant by that, but they had reached the center of the maze. Voldemort cast a spell to harden the snow so they wouldn’t make it uneven by walking on it. From his cloak, the Dark Lord pulled out a piece of paper and on it was drawn the diagram for the ritual. He blew on it, setting it alight and tossed the smoldering paper onto the ground. It ‘exploded’, the diagram bursting out of the paper with all the passion of a firecracker and all the grace of a blooming flower to spread across the ground. What was left was a glowing blue outline in the snow, as large as he had remembered it though it hadn’t been blue then.

“This is what arithmatists call a ‘mini-mega’. It’s used to carry around complicated diagrams for lectures and demonstrations on small pieces of paper. I’ve modified this one a bit,” Voldemort explained. “Hand me the urn with the tree on it.”

That was the urn with the blood. They had transferred the milk and the blood to their own urns after mixing in the different herbs and metals. Harry was carrying both, one under each arm, while the Dark Lord carried everything else. He handed the urn over to him.

With perfect control, Voldemort removed the urn’s lid and tipped out its contents onto one of the glowing blue lines. The blood didn’t pool like Harry expected, but flowed along the lines of the mini-mega, recreating the diagram in blood. Slowly, the blood replaced the blue, flowing all the way around the diagram and into the interior, even into those runes and symbols that weren’t touching the main lines, until at last it was complete.

A rush of magic made Harry shiver. Voldemort grinned.

“Now the other one.”

He handed him the milk urn. This was less carefully dispersed. The Dark Lord merely poured it out as he walked around the symbol. It did nothing to disrupt or mix with the blood, and in the snow it was all but invisible. There was a shift in the magic, but Harry could still feel its power.

“Excellent. Now take off your shoes and your cloak, and join me in the middle.”

The world had become a dark place in his absence. Or rather the darkness had spread. Spread out from Askaban like a plague carried on the wind, infecting, tainting everyone it touched from babe to elder. After twelve years in a living hell, he had thought the world outside would be as good as heaven, but it wasn’t so.

Everyone he had ever cared for or respected was dead or run away or imprisoned or a beast or as wretched as the very men and women they’d fought to keep Britain safe from. No one spoke of those brave souls who had died. Their graves were unmarked. Their families denied they ever existed. Their children pretended they didn’t even exist, kept like obedient pets to their Pureblood masters.

The Monster’s name remained unspeakable and feared, but the crowds followed him like sheep. Worshiped the dark lord like some sort of king, and spat at the name of Dumbledore. Ah, well, Moody spat at the name too. The coward. The hypocrite. Left everyone in the fix while he went to play hero all the way from Europe, leaving everyone else to rot. Leaving him to rot in prison.

He’d get back at them though. He’d finish what he and his had started a lifetime ago and see Voldemort and his spawn in the grave, and Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to take credit for it. Not a chance. They’d tried and failed miserably that one time with Potter… though he didn’t have much luck either. He hadn’t tried hard enough, planned big enough.

But he was still free. Free and in Hogwarts, and no one the wiser. The Dark Lord so eager to tear apart and rearrange every reminder of the past, had left gaps in the security and now he was in. Potter and Voldemort weren’t here, but eventually they would return and he’d be ready for them. Ready for them and all their miserable horde of dark wizard spawn. Ready to tear it all down around them once and for all.

God, his leg hurt.

It was cold. The power resonating around him did nothing to alleviate that particular discomfort. His feet ached, his limbs trembled, his teeth chattered.

Voldemort appeared amused by his discomfort, his own bare feet and chest not bothering him in the least.

“Is it really that cold?”

“C-c-can’t y-you t-t-tell?”

“Not really, but I’m not entirely human either. Quickly, kneel there, in the rune for ‘water’, just like last time. You still have your knife? Good, take it out.”

Harry did as instructed, trying to ignore the cold, and the pain that was starting to seep into him and focus on the magic surrounding him. There was no awareness yet, but they hadn’t made their entreaty, only created an appropriate alter. Right now there was only unharnessed energy in its raw form, tingling and caressing, the Earth purring like a cat against his magical senses. It was with some curiosity that Harry noted the snow had stopped falling on them, but he could still see it falling over the forest in the distance.

“She listening, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. She knows we’re here.”

Voldemort closed his eyes then, and started to speak. In wasn’t in any language Harry knew, but the dialect was Irish, so he assumed it was Gaelic. It sounded like neither a plea nor a command, but a lullaby, gentle and affectionate with a perfect rhythm found only in verse. Was this truly a spell? It was magic for sure, the strongest he had ever known or heard of, but there was no discipline in it and the form suddenly seemed fluid and unpredictable. Like hunting, they could do everything right and there was still no guarantee of success or that they would receive exactly what they sought.

The realization that the last time was a gift coincided with a surge of magic, welling up and into him. He let out a startled scream, even as the magic receded and returned more gently, twining up his body like a vine, finding his every fissure and digging in deep. Awareness came to him, flowing into him through the vine-like magic, teaching him to sense things as never before. Where before he had felt and seen and heard, he now felt and tasted and smelled.

His new magic sense reached out timidly at first, encountering Voldemort’s own magically charged body, smelled the thousand different chemicals that composed him, the flux and tumble of their million reactions a second, tasted his elation like a perfectly ripened fruit, sweet and vaguely salty. He felt their magic’s touch and mix, flow back to one another in some new recipe.

Their magic expanded, reaching out to touch the world beyond themselves, lapping first at the blood of the diagram itself. Harry was aware of the blood, how the sianach lived in it still, transforming in that very moment into something else, a small spirit that slept in the Earth until spring where it would rise again as a white ash tree. And that tree would grow quickly and flower sooner than all the other trees, and then die within the year to become a wand, and that wand would belong to the grandson of Eric Joseph Jacobee who was currently two hours and fourteen minutes old and two hundred and fourteen miles away from where he knelt.

He had forgotten how beautiful She could be. How loving even in her cruelty. How ironic in her affections. Was this her gift to him? To ease his guilt? To seduce his love? To educate?

There was a pull in the magic, a gentle but firm tug on his… on their awareness, pulling their senses far from the maze and Bristol and beyond into Scotland, past Edinburgh and at last surrounded by an old and familiar magic. Hogwarts stood a beacon on a hill, surrounded by a vast magical landscape of forests and lakes and ancient townships and villages. Witches and wizards and sentient beings and beasts flashed across his palate in like an entire box of Bernie Bott’s Every Flavored beans all at once, there and gone before any particular taste could be identified until at last there was only one flavor.

It tasted of ashes and spoiled milk, and he gagged but the taste wouldn’t vanish.

“Ugh… Merlin, what is that?” he choked, unable to communicate mentally with the Dark Lord while that ‘flavor’ polluted his senses. Voldemort said nothing for a moment, lingering over this latest discovery even as Harry tried to flee it. At last, he let out a small gasp.

“It’s him. It’s Moody.”

If there was one word to describe McGunny, it would have to be ‘pragmatic’. Sure, he had his moments of ambition, of sentimentality, and occasionally even daring, but never beyond what was reasonable for the situation. Which was why he was in his office leaning over submitted articles and proposals, foregoing the usual holiday traditions with his familial relations in favor of organizing the student paper while everyone else was away, because truth be told he missed his family. He missed how Anna and Peter fought over the dumbest things and how his mother was always trying to fix his clothes and his dad’s muttered obscenities at the newspaper. He missed the fields and the woods and stonewall his forefathers had built during the occupation by the Romans. He missed his dog and his horse and even that damned rooster that couldn’t tell noon from sunrise.

But he was pragmatic. Missing something didn’t excuse his responsibilities to the Hogwart’s Herald, and as editor it was his duty to make sure everything was taken care of, including the New Year’s Edition the student body would be expecting upon their return. The paper was doing so well, and combined with his grades he was certain he could get into any university of his choosing. His parents would understand. His siblings would get over it. Summer was less than six months away.

He sighed and pushed his papers aside. The office was too quiet with the rest of the paper crew gone, and it was far too depressing to spend his entire day there. He gathered up his materials and headed for the Great Hall. There weren’t a lot of people in Hogwarts during the holidays, but the Great Hall was supposed to be the unofficial common room for everyone left behind. Most of the tables had already been removed, and the empty space filled with Christmas trees and decorations to give the chamber a more intimate feel. Perhaps he could find some company there.

He wasn’t half way there when he came across two very unexpected figures. Sirius Blackbone, looking decidedly droopy-eyed, and Remus Slivermoon, with a very conspicuous set of claw marks across his nose, were loping in his direction. McGunny couldn’t fathom why they would be there, since they’d left two days ago and Potter wasn’t even in the castle anymore. He thought about asking them. Then thought better of it. Then decided it was the only practical things to do.

“Good day, gentlemen,” he greeted.

They paused to consider him, but didn’t return the greeting. He swallowed.

“I hope nothing is amiss that would draw back to Hogwarts so… unexpectedly.”

Blackbone gave him a particularly bored look and just walked pass him. Slivermoon lingered a bit though.

“We came to make sure the school remained safe until the rest of the students return. Moody is still a threat after all, and the construction work leaves the school particularly vulnerable. We’ll be out and about making rounds later tonight.”

McGunny thought he might have seen a tired smile, but it was hard to see beneath the scratches and the facial hair, and the werewolf had turned to lope after his alpha too quickly to confirm. McGunny wondered if their reasons were honest. He doubted they were going to raid the school for victims after the full moon, but they had never shown much interest in the students aside from Potter. Perhaps Potter had asked them?

Where was Potter anyway? Was he spending the holidays with some friends or was he spending it the Dark Lord once again? Whatever he was up to, McGunny thought it had to be something interesting.

They apparated to Hogsmeade, barefoot and cloakless, and found themselves in the middle of a very surprised crowd of holiday shoppers. Voldemort ignored them, grabbing Harry’s arm and lead them over to a row of horses tied outside the pub. No one attempted to stop them or even object as they untethered and mounted the animals and turned them towards the castle.

“Shouldn’t we tell the Sentinels?” Harry called out, as they rode out of the village. There was still a temporary Sentinel post in the village after all.

“This situation is delicate. If Moody is doing what I think he is, he could destroy the entire castle. I will have to deal with him quickly and quietly. The Sentinels will just be in the way.”

They hit the country road, open and traffic free, urging the horses faster. Harry had never ridden a horse, let alone a horse at full speed, but he found it came to him naturally as if… Beside him the Dark Lord rode like a professional, moving his body smoothly with his mount’s every stride. Harry realized he wasn’t feeling the cold either,. Was this magic? Could he do this because he was magically connected to Voldemort in this moment? Or was it Her will that he had these abilities?

“Why did she show us Moody? Did you ask for that?” he asked.

“No, this is entirely Her idea. I never even thought about using the ceremony to find Moody. Hogwarts is one of the most magically saturated locations in Britain, She doesn’t want to see it destroyed. She wants us to stop him.”

Harry was amazed to see the Dark Lord was actually grinning. He could taste blood and steel and ozone on his tongue, the taste of battle and magic. He said nothing more until they reached Hogwarts and dismounted at the castle keep.

“Moody should still be at the north end of the castle. I want you to find the teachers and tell them to evacuate the students and themselves to Hogsmeade. I’ll try to refrain from fighting until then, but you must be quick.”

“Okay,” Harry said dutifully and ran off to do as he was told.

“Harry!”

He stopped and turned back. Voldemort regarded him seriously.

“Be careful.”

Harry managed a weak smile. “And you, my Lord.”

McGonagall was enjoying a cup of tea in the Great Hall with Professor Flitwick when Potter arrived. And by ‘arrived’ she meant stormed in like a hurricane. The main doors flew open as if by a great wind, but what came through them was boy in only a shirt and trousers and soaking from ice and snow. The ten odd students scattered around the Hall all dropped what they were doing to stare dumbfounded as he stalked past them and right up to the teacher’s table.

Up close McGonagal felt the tingle of magic wafting off of him like body heat. In his belt she could see a sacrificial dagger. What had he been doing with that?

“Professors,” he whispered urgently. “You have to evacuate the school. Moody is in the castle, and we think he means to tear it down.”

“What? What are you talking about? Heavens you must be freezing!” Flitwick said, looking him over from head to toe, but the boy wasn’t even shivering.

“Professor!” Potter snapped, both of their tea cups shattering. “Get. Everyone. Out. Of. The. Castle. NOW.”

McGonagal wasn’t one to be ordered around by her students. In fact those foolish enough to try never tried again, but she thought she might just have met her match this once. And if Potter was telling the truth, and she had no reason to think he’d lie about something this serious, it was probably for the best that they did as he said.

“Filius, take everyone here down to Hogsmeade. I’ll get everyone else lingering in their dorms and warn Severus and Larousse. We’ll sort this all out once we’re certain everyone is safe.”

“I’ll take care of Professor Snape and check the Slytherin dorms. It will save time,” Potter said.

“No you won’t, young man, you’re going with Professor Flit-”

He ignored her and rushed out of the room. She nearly raised her wand to stop him, but thought better of it. Filius gave an indignant grunt.

“How rude!”

“We can lecture him on proper respect for his professors later. Right now we’d best do as he says.”

“But-”

“Later, Filius,” she said and hurried off towards the Hufflepuff common room where she believed a few girls were staying. As she was leaving she heard the charms professor mutter, “I see where he gets it from.”

The dungeons tasted of wet stone and bitter herbs, and stank of sulfur. Harry staggered on the stairs, barely catching himself from a rather undignified decent into the bowels of the castle. Spitting and covering his nose and mouth did nothing block it. Perhaps he should have let McGonagal handle the dungeons, but it was too late now. He sprinted down the dark corridors, senses beyond sight guiding him around obstacles and to the potion master’s rooms. The moment he arrived he knew Snape was in his rooms and he wasn’t alone.

There was a portrait over the entrance and he didn’t know the password.

“Professor! Professor!” he shouted.

There was a moment’s hesitation, then the painting swung open. Snape looked ready to bite his head off, but took one look at him and apparently changed his mind.

“What the devil, Potter?”

“Harry?” Larousse appeared from behind Snape, and gasped. “Merlin, what happened to you? You’re soaking wet.”

She touched his face and hands, looking terribly worried, but he snatched them back.

“I’m fine! We have to get out of the castle right now!”

Snape didn’t look convinced, “Potter have you ingested something?”

“Moody is in the castle!”

That seemed to catch both of their attentions, and Harry started backing away, luring them away into the hall and back towards the exit. Snape grabbed him by the arm to stop his retreat but immediately let go, as if he’d been bitten.

“Where is Moody?” Larousse asked, oblivious to Snape’s reaction to Harry’s magic. “If he’s here we can catch him and put an end to this. Tell us where he is.”

Harry shook his head.

“No, no! You can’t. Voldemort has gone to get him, but he can’t start until we’re all out of the castle. Is there anyone else down here?”

“No, all the Slytherins are in the Great Hall,” Snape said, “But what do you mean by the Dark Lord ‘can’t start’?”

“Moody has been planting explosive spells all over the castle and he can set them off at any time. Voldemort is going to stop him, but if Moody knows something is happening he’ll blow the place to bits. So we’ve got to get out of here before he’ll risk it. Can we just go?!”

“Yes,” Snape said and grabbed his and Larousse’s cloaks from beside the door.

“What about Harry?” she asked, even as they made their way out of the dungeons.

“He’s saturated with magic. He could probably jump into the lake without it affecting him.”

“He can hear you just fine, you know.”

“How-”

“It was a very bloody affair,” Harry snapped impatiently, “We can get into the gory details later.”

By the time they managed to get out of Hogwarts, so had the rest of the castle. Fifteen students, six professors, the headmistress, the Sleuws, and some thirty bewildered GGs were trudging through the snow towards Hogsmeade. They caught up to the group quickly, and the adults were quick to demand answers. Harry told them Voldemort had been teaching him ancient magic, and that during a location spell they had found Moody and soon figured out what he was doing. They had both come to stop Moody and get everyone to safety. Questions about why he seemed to have turned into a magical battery he deemed irrelevant and were summarily ignored.

After that, the adult turned to each other to figure out what they were going to do with sixteen children with only the clothes on their back and the Dark Lord and a lunatic running around the castle. Harry left them to it, satisfied that he had done his part and certain Voldemort could handle himself. Everything was working itself out for once, and he was going to be looking forward to an assassin free New Year.

“Potter.”

McGunny came up beside him. Well, bother. He had hoped he would be able to avoid the press until Voldemort and he could corroborate their stories, but it seemed he had used up his luck for the day.

“Hey, McGunny. Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it?”

The Ravenclaw looked around at the gray sky and ever deepening snow and then at Harry in his bare feet and without so much as a jumper on.

“Yeah… who needs summer? Um… are you alright?”

“Mmhm.”

“… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with why your bodyguards showed up this morning, would it?”

“Puddifoot’s would be best for the day,” Lestrange said, as the village came into view. “We’ll inform the Sentinels in the village that we’ll need emergency shelter for the night just in case.”

“We’re going to be getting a lot of owls when the papers learn the school has been evacuated,” Snape said idly. Truthfully, he was distracted, wondering what exactly was happening up at the castle. Larousse and he had just been preparing to go start a fight with the werewolves one moment and then Potter showed up like freak lightening and shocked hell out of everyone.

“We’ll worry about that when the Dark Lord gets back. I’m not sure how he’s going to want to spin this…” the Headmistress said dismissively, then laid out a plan to keep the children safely away from the press.

Where was Potter anyway, Snape wondered, scanning the crowd. It should have been easy to spot a half naked boy running around in the snow, but he couldn’t…

“Bloody heart attack…” he muttered, and turned back towards the castle.

Voldemort knew immediately when Harry left the castle. The vibrations he had been feeling, like music heard through his fingertips, altered just so as that particular harmony moved away, changing the tune of the castle from C to B flat. The other tunes were harder to hear over the orchestra of noise that was Hogwarts, but they too were gradually disappearing until there was only the discordant G sharp mingling badly in the background.

He pressed his hands to the stones and followed the disharmony to the north end of the castle. He started from the wing under construction, felt were the wards had been tampered with and found the secret entrance behind the tapestry, and followed it. His hand brushed something paper-like and flinched away from it as the sound of nails on a chalkboard stabbed at his skin.

It was a Distemperance Spell, used to suck out the magic of a item before using that same magic to explode. A nasty spell and well chosen. The castle would not attack a spell using magic it recognized as its own. They were easily diffused luckily. He concentrated on the spell’s special vibrations, and just sort of ‘tweaked’ it. The vibrations gave a violent shutter and disappeared.

Traversing the length of the castle he found and disarmed six more. There was definitely others, put up days before in other parts of the castle, but the newest ones were the easiest to find and following them lead him ever closer to his prey.

The Siege II

The Malfoy Estate was created for the amusement of its household, both young and old. There were many rooms dedicated to many different interests and hobbies and the grounds were similarly designed with these purposes in mind. The artificial river that ran through the western end of the estate accommodated fishing, boating, and various magical sports like Kimshi[1] and water chess[2] during the summer. When the water finally froze in late November, there were many other possible activities but Draco and Hermione liked ice skating the best.

Which was why when Hermione was feeling particularly stifled in the place that she had never really thought of as her home, she often found herself there despite the chill. Draco, hating to be alone, usually followed her.

“What do you think we should get Uncle Severus as a wedding present? I mean, I don’t think a set of bath towels is going to cut it,” she mused, gliding passed Draco who was skating backwards in the opposite direction.

“Don’t even worry about it. Father will take care of it. He knows him way better than either of us.”

“Mmm… I don’t know, I think we’re both old enough to get them gifts of our own choosing.”

“You didn’t get him a Christmas gift,” Draco pointed out.

“He hates Christmas. I used to think he was a pagan, but really he’s just anti-holiday, I think,” Hermione chuckled.

“How can someone hate Christmas? You get all those presents and good food and stuff.”

“Maybe he didn’t when he was little. You know there are kids who really resent Christmas when they see all the neat stuff they can’t afford to have. I bet that’s it.”

“I suppose so… but Harry’s poor and he likes Christmas. At least I think he does. He might be pagan now, but he always gives you presents so I don’t know,” he wondered, lazily skating a figure eight. Hermione circled around him, arms spread like bird in flight.

“He got you a present too.”

“This is the first time though.

“This is the first time you got him one too. And you like the puzzle box… even if you haven’t figured it out yet,” she said. He quickly grabbed her arm as she passed him, and spun her around in a circle as she squeaked in surprise. “Draco!”

“When I do figure it out I’m shrinking your book and hiding it in there. See how long it take you to figure it out!”

“That sounds like a perfect hiding place! You know ‘Witches Over Wizards’ was black listed three times in the last century? Wouldn’t want Lucius to find it and have it burned. It’s hard enough finding a third edition, let alone a second one,” she said, slipping free of his grip when he pretended to fall asleep. She made a snow ball and chucked it at him. He fell over, landing in a snow bank, but quickly got up to retaliate, chasing her down with a snow ball of his own. He missed, but still managed to tackle her into another snow bank.

They chucked snow at each until they were both freezing cold and wet and tired. He stood and helped her climb to her feet, the both of them breathless with exertion and laughter.

“I wish our friends could be here. Especially, Harry. He’s probably feeling pretty lonely about now without any family,” she panted, even as Draco was charming their skates back into boots.

“Yeah, it must be pretty dull. I mean, the Dark Lord is an adult and a pagan. What kind of holiday fun can you have with that?”

While Draco was wrong to assume things were pretty dull in the Dark Lord’s company, he was right in his assumption that Harry wasn’t having much fun. Aside from the wonderful tingly sensation he was getting from his magical boost, he did not enjoy running around in circles with the threat of death literally looming above him. At any moment, Moody might realize he’d been found out and bring the castle down on his and his godfather’s heads. He wasn’t as worried about Voldemort, who seemed like he could walk out of any situation completely unscathed.

He didn’t have the enchanted gold band he would normally use with his watch to find his godfathers, so he had to take an educated guess and headed towards their private room. It was uncomfortably close to the southern end of the castle, but the increased likelihood of them running into Moody made finding them quickly even more important. Luckily, his magical senses extended far ahead of himself, and he managed to taste his way to his godfathers with just the vaguest flavor of ash reaching him.

“Padfoot! Moony!” he called softly, hoping their senses weren’t too dulled after the full moon. The hall was empty, but he could taste them near by, clay and blood and something else he associated with the moon. He was almost to their door when he was grabbed from behind.

He was startled, his magic lashed out, knocking Sirius a good twelve feet.

“Sirius!”

Remus appeared from behind a column, looking more annoyed than alarmed at his mate sprawled across the floor.

“I told you sneaking up on him was a bad idea,” he muttered, and helped the stunned werewolf to his feet.

“B-bloody hell, what was that?” Sirius stuttered, his hair fizzled like he had just been struck by lightening. He blinked at Harry. “What happened to you?”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll tell you later. Right now we have to get out of the castle.”

“What are you talking-”

“LATER!” he snapped, and Sirius snarled back instinctively. Harry ignored it, and started down back down the hall, hoping they would follow him. They did.

“Prongslet, what is going on? What are you even doing here? You look like you ran here in the snow,” Remus asked, jogging along beside him. Sirius, alpha by nature, was already moving ahead of them.

“I did, sort of. Listen, we haven’t got much time. Moody is in the castle-”

That brought Sirius up short, causing Harry to run into him, but he was grabbed by his arms before he could fall.

“Where? Where is Moody?”

“It doesn’t matter! If we don’t get out of here now we could be crushed! He’s planted explosives all over the school!”

Sirius paled and looked to Remus. They nodded to each other. They were tired and weaker than normal so soon after the full moon, but they weren’t going to let that stop them from protecting Harry. Sirius scooped up his godson and set him over his shoulder, ignoring the indignant protests, and started running for the nearest exit.

They had almost made it to the stairs that would lead them to the ground floor and hundred of windows they could climb out of, when the first explosion rocked the ground beneath them. It was so close, both werewolves were knocked off balance, forcing them to fall to their knees. Harry grunted as Sirius’ shoulder dug into his stomach. They remained on the floor for a second, stunned.

“Is that it?” Harry wondered out loud.

In response to his questions, another explosion directly in front of them took out the stairs. Despite the shaking ground, both werewolves were on their feet and running in the opposite direction. Harry watched behind them as yet another explosion collapsed a section of corridor, an avalanche of stone, mortar, and debris flowing into their space and then below as the floor gave out.

“Oh, God.”

A third explosion had the roof falling down directly on top of them. Harry closed his eyes, clutched Sirius’ leather shirt in his fist and prayed.

“Faster. Please, faster.”

Magic poured through his hand and into Sirius, and there was a sudden jolt of speed and a moment of weightlessness. He opened his eyes to watch the floor falling away beneath him, and he thought for certain they were falling, but Sirius’ feet landed heavily on solid ground, digging a shoulder into his already bruised stomach with his landing.

He had jumped to safety.

“Where’s Remus?” he cried, terrified that they might have left him behind.

“I’m here, pup,” came a call from ahead. It seemed he was faster than even a magically enhanced Sirius when he wasn’t carrying ninety pounds extra weight. “But we’re running out of hallway!”

Another explosion, and they managed to outrun it more easily this time, but Remus was right. They were out of the space to run. The end of the corridor led to a spiral of narrow steps leading up to a turret and down to the first floor. A cloud of dust coming up from below meant the first floor was as collapsed as the second, and left them with only the possibility of going up. Sirius took the stairs in three-step leaps, but still wasn’t fast enough to reach even the third floor.

A final explosion rocked the tower, shaking free parts of the walls and stairs, convincing them that they were all going to die. Sirius pulled Harry underneath him and pulled Remus close, huddling them all together tightly as the world came apart around them in a deafening roar. Crushed between them, Harry closed his eyes tight and whispered over and over again, “Protect us, protect us, protect us…”

It felt like eternity, but could only have lasted a few seconds, and as the world stopped shaking and thundering around them they were still alive. Cautiously, Harry opened his eyes. The air was thick with dust, but beneath him, he could see their section of the stairs was still intact. He looked over Remus’ shoulder to see the stairs going upward were gone, as was the top of the turret, revealing a gray sky above them. He looked over Sirius’ shoulder to see the stairs beneath them were likewise gone, and the entire corridor had collapsed. He looked around to see that the rest of the school looked completely intact except for a section of wall in the most southern corner of the castle. They had managed to climb half way up to the third level of turret, which left them looking down on most of the castle’s roofs and much too high to jump or climb down themselves.

Well, at least they were alive.

“Sirius? Remus?”

“We’re alive,” Remus whispered, shifting as he looked around. “How?”

Sirius loosened his death grip on them, and looked around himself. He tested the edge of their narrow perch with his foot, making sure it wouldn’t collapse. As both men moved away, Harry felt the bitter cold of the air and shivered. His magic! It was gone! In his moment of desperation he must have used all the extra magic the Earth had granted him and then some protecting them all. It was the only explanation for why the stairs and wall that supported them hadn’t collapsed and the falling debris hadn’t crushed them.

Unfortunately, that left Harry wet, barefoot, and exposed to the elements with no way to reach shelter. His shivers became more violent.

“Harry?”

“C-c-cold.”

“Shit,” Sirius cursed, wrapping him up in his arms again to conserve heat. “Remus, do you have your wand?”

“Yes, I have it. Just a moment.”

They had very little room on their ledge, but he managed to lean back enough to cast a warming spell on Harry and then sent up a signal flare so that someone might come and get them. Remus didn’t trust himself to levitate them down after that. He was just as physically and emotionally exhausted as Harry, and he didn’t dare use up what little remained of his magical reserves before they were certain of their safety.

“I-is it-t o-over?” Harry stuttered out through chattering teeth. The warming spell had taken away most of the chill, but it didn’t work as well on someone who was wet, and he was relying heavily on his godfathers’ body heat to keep him warm. Sirius’ large hand ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, it’s-” There was a moment’s hesitation, and Harry could feel both werewolves’ bodies tense. “Remus…”

“I see him.”

Harry peeked out from the shelter of their limbs to look in the same direction as them. There was movement, a mere displacement of rubble at first, and then someone appeared, climbing over it all stiffly. Even covered in dust, Harry could make out the bright green of a GG helmet.

“Oh, no…”

He had done it! By the grace of God he’d killed the Devil.

It had been close though. He hadn’t expected the Dark Lord himself to appear out of nowhere, nor that the dog would have expected the traps he had laid. The wards he had set up were torn down like they were nothing more than cobwebs with a mere wave of the hand. Only one of the Distemperance curses he’d set that morning had gone off, and it had been closer to killing him than the Dark Lord. The creature had the audacity to laugh.

He hadn’t laughed when he set off the rest of the Distemperance spells though. The bastard must not have expected it. Must not have realized that Moody had been coming and going through the school for months, so heavily disguised in polyjuice and stolen limbs and class one Senseless spells, that all the reveling charms in the world plus a werewolf’s nose wouldn’t be able to pick him out from the man he had killed and dismembered to gain authorized access to the school.

Yes, he managed to surprise the thrice-damned snake with that moved. Distracted him just long enough to hit him with the Killing Curse. The result wasn’t what he was used to. Most men just fell over dead, without an ounce of fuss. The Dark Lord had just staggered though, startled, then collapsed to his knees slowly. In the final throws of death the body had begun to melt. There was the distinct feel of magic being released, then he’d fallen apart, forming into a bloody puddle, seeping into the surrounding stones, and then disappearing. It gave him the shivers, but it was over now.

The Dark Lord was as dead as dead could be.

Now all he needed to do was kill his spawn and the curse that had fallen over Britain and corrupted its people would be lifted. It shouldn’t be hard. With the Dark Lord dead, who would bother rising up to defend the wicked child?

He had to get out of the castle quick though so he could apparate away to hunt the little devil down later. The explosions he’d set off would make a convenient point of exit, so he headed in that direction. And surely, it was serendipity that his very route of escape should lead him straight to his next target.

“I’m afraid so, Prongslet,” Remus said, “Don’t worry. I can shield us until help arrives.”

Harry shook his head. He knew that wasn’t true. He could taste both of their exhaustion from the full moon before the explosion, and they had lost even more in their escape and then the warming and signal spells. Harry didn’t have his wand on him either, and even if he did he was magically exhausted. He probably didn’t even have enough to summon Gryffindor’s Sword.

If Moody decided to cast the Killing Curse, it wouldn’t matter any way.

They could only watch as Moody stumbled over the debris, disappearing and reappearing amidst the clouds of dust. They stayed perfectly still, hoping he would pass with out seeing them. It seemed as if it would work for a moment, the man was so preoccupied with keeping his footing, but then he stopped a moment to look around.

“He’s spotted us,” Sirius said.

Harry closed his eyes tight, and continued his prayer, hoping that they had survived the first attack for some purpose that would carry them through a second time.

“Protego!”

The force of the attack striking Remus’ shield charm made Harry grit his teeth and shudder. He could feel Remus trembling from his efforts to protect them, yet not sooner was it over than he was forced to raise a second shield.

“Protego!”

“Why doesn’t he just use the Killing Curse?” Harry whispered, careful not to distract Remus. Sirius shook his head.

“He doesn’t have enough magic left himself. Even if he cast it, there’s no way to guarantee he’d hit who he intended and that curse can’t be repeated in quick succession. Come on, Moony, you can do it. He can’t be in much better shape than us.”

“Protego!” he bit out, blocking yet another curse, his whole body trembling. “I’m almost done for. I can cast one more and then that’s it. I haven’t got anything left.”

Below them Moody was shaking too, but he didn’t look anywhere near ready to give up. In fact, he only looked more and more excited, licking his lips and shifting about. Harry buried his face into Sirius’ shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You shouldn’t have to die here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hush, Prongslet,” Sirius said. “We’ve no regrets.”

“Gracious, Harry,” Remus joined, “We’re not dead yet. We’ve still- Protego!”

Harry and Sirius barely managed to catch and hold onto him as his final spell stole the remainder of his strength, causing him tip backwards off their perch. They pulled him back until he was collapsed on top of Harry. Even as they regained their balance, Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Moody lifted his wand for yet another blow.

Yet before he could cast anything, he leaped behind a pile of rubble.

“Sectumsempra!”

Harry’s heart swelled with new hope at the familiar voice.

“It’s Professor Snape!”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered unhappily. “Oh, look. He’s brought his wench too.”

Sure enough, there was Professor Larousse, flying straight for them on a broomstick. Behind them, Snape was keeping Moody pinned downed, casting curse after curse with every intent to kill. Larousse came to hover beside them and held out her hand.

“Give Harry to me,” she commanded. “I’ll fly him to safety.”

“What about them?” Harry asked, afraid she would abandon his godfathers, but the werewolves were already pushing him towards her, even Remus who barely had strength enough to keep from falling. “No! Wait! What about you?! I’m not leaving you here!”

“It’s you he wants dead, pup,” Sirius said, forcing Harry the rest of the way onto the broom. Larousse’s arm came around his middle, and he found himself instinctively gripping the broomstick and adjusting his weight to maintain their balance. Sirius shoved the broom away to keep Harry from trying to get back to them, and let out one last snarl at the woman. “Keep him safe or I’ll kill you myself!”

“Sirius! Remus! No, don’t!”

“Sshhh, Harry, they’ll be fine,” Larousse said, tightening her hold on him. “I’ll send the broom back for them. I promise, but I have to get you out of here first.”

He nodded, rearranging himself for easier flight. They were rising higher, awkwardly, the school broom too small for both of them. “Okay, just hurry.”

“Alright, hang-”

There was a cracking sound, and the broom lurched, tipping straight down. On his own, Harry would have been able to hold on, but Larousse was wrapped around him, and their combined weight tore them both free from the broom and sent them falling.

Harry crashed onto the slanted roof of the castle, the snow cushioning his fall. Larousse landed beside him with a cry of pain. For a moment, all they could do was stare stunned at one another, amazed that they’d fallen and even more amazed that they were still alive. Then Larousse cringed, and carefully reached behind to touch her back. Her hand came away bloody.

“Are you al-” he started and then realized it was a pretty stupid thing to ask. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve survived worse. Are you alright?”

Harry took inventory of himself. “Nothing broken. Just kind of cold. What happened?”

“I think one of Severus’ curses got deflected right at us. It took out the end of our broom and rather ruined my cloak,” she said, smiling shakily. He smiled back, just as shakily. He looked around, and was surprised to see his godfathers were now above him, the tower looking directly down at them. Could they perhaps jump to safety without him weighing them down? Remus was probably too weak, but Sirius… No, he wouldn’t abandon Remus, and they didn’t seem too concerned that Moody would start firing on them.

He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was alright, then looked for some means off the roof. At the far end the roof connected to the wall of a even larger section of the castle were two large windows staring out at them.

“Do you think you can crawl over there?”

There was no response.

“Professor?”

She was unconscious, her eyes closed and her breath shallow. Harry cursed. She was dying and without his magic there wasn’t much he could do for here or himself. By himself, the quiet of winter came over him, and in the distance he could hear more spells being cast beneath them and knew Snape wasn’t going to be able to help either. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then started crawling over to Larousse. He grabbed the collar of her robes and started dragging her towards the window.

It was ridiculously slow. She was heavy, the snow that had cushioned their fall also made moving difficult, the warming charm was starting to wear off, and the roof was too slanted to stand on. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what he was walking on, be it wood, copper, or very fragile glass, and whether it might suddenly shatter beneath them. Yet slowly, inch by inch, he made his way towards the window.

He made it about half way before another explosion rocked the castle. There was no time to wonder reason or origin, as the snow and the thick sheet of ice beneath that was shaken loose and they both began to slide down the roof with it. Harry scrambled for a hold with his free hand, but found only smooth, slick metal. They were speeding towards the edge, and Harry thought the only hope they had was Snape noticing in time to cast a levitation spell on them, but even that seemed ridiculously optimistic.

Movement out of the corner of his eye, and he could see a Padfoot, speeding towards him on four legs, his clawed feet finding traction where Harry’s blunt fingernails couldn’t, and so very, very fast. He closed the distance between them in a flash, and at the last leap he was once again a man, snatching up Harry’s arm in one hand. With his free hand, he smashed his clawed fingers into the copper panels, puncturing them into four perfect grips. Their descent was brought to a abrupt stop, but Larousse was already half way over the edge.

Harry cried out as he felt his arm nearly pulled out of his socket. He just barely keep his hold on Larousse.

“Harry!”

“Padfoot,” he whimpered. “Help me. She’s too heavy.”

“I can’t pull you both up! You have to let go of her!”

“No! She’ll fall!”

There was a silent pause.

“Prongslet… she’s already gone.”

Harry looked down at her. She was very still, but that was because she was unconscious, right? He tried shaking her a bit, but she didn’t respond. He shook her again.

“Harry!”

“She isn’t dead, she’s just… hurt. She’s unconscious!”

“No… she’s not. Let her go.”

“Please…”

A second explosion shook the castle, and in his surprise, he lose his grip. Larousse slid over the edge, and as she fell Harry could see her face for just an instant.

She looked peaceful.

Voldemort emerged from the wreckage of Hogwarts one severely pissed off dark wizard. While it was pretty neat to learn that he had, in fact, survived a direct hit by the Killing Curse, it was not at all pleasant to spend the next twenty minutes completely rearranging his physical matter back into a usable form. Nor was it particularly fun learning that most of the magic he’d gained through the Solstice ritual had been used up in the process.

At least he still had enough of his own magical reserves to cause a little havoc of his own. Finding Moody had been easy. All he had to do was follow the shouting.

Exploding a wall that happened to be in his way probably wasn’t necessary, but he was feeling extravagantly violent at the moment and considering all the damage already inflicted on the castle it hardly made a difference. He stepped out onto the destruction the mad man had wrought, and waded through the cloud of dust until he found himself standing directly behind him. Through the haze he could make out Severus taking cover behind a tree. They locked gazes for an instant, but there was no time to communicate via legilimency before another curse by Moody forced the potion’s master to duck behind his cover.

Voldemort slapped Moody upside the head for interrupting them. The escaped prisoner spun around, and then just gaped. Voldemort slapped him again for being rude. Up close, the man’s disturbed mind became readily more apparent. With all the skill of a watch maker, he disassembled the man’s appearance, tools, and magic to determine his composition. Certainly, Moody didn’t look like he had. He had two legs for one, and two eyes as well. Both of them belonged to another wizard, likely the same one he was pretending to be. There was a definite madness there, but it looked almost funny coming out of a skinny little man he was pretending to be, his hair nearly all fallen out and eyebrows too bushy. The flask in his engineer’s robe had to contain polyjuice and the amulet around his neck held the charms to avoid suspicion and were also clever tools in his arsenal, and no doubt there were half a dozen more. In his prime and in his insanity, Moody could never be accused of being anything less than thorough.

“How-”

The Dark Lord wasn’t in the mood to gloat. His wand still safely back at the lodge, he performed his last bit of wandless magic for the day. He smashed his hands together in a parody of a clap, and the stones beneath them rose and crushed the impostor. Even over the sound of smashing rocks, he could hear the crunch of bone and the squish of organs.

Voldemort smirked. He hoped the castle got as much enjoyment out of it as he did. It had certainly relieved the worst of his bad mood.

Then the body of Severus’ fiancée nearly landing on top of him sort of ruined it all over again.

Natalie thought being the only daughter of two witches was the best sort of life any girl could hope for. There were no huffy father droning on about how a girl ought to behave (as if any adult man really knew anything about little girls) or stinking up the house with cigars or calling her silly for caring more about the latest album by the Wicked Sisters than the latest Quidditch championship (unless it was school quidditch and Harry won, that is).

No, having two mothers was way better than having a mother and a father. Especially when they were very different. Constantina and Lenora were as different as the sun and the moon, but you would never find a more loving pair in Britain. Constantina was a driven, ambitious woman who was always planning something and never tolerating even the smallest slight. Lenora on the other hand was as flighty as a butterfly, always curious to try new things and just as quickly to abandon them, with nary a thought to other people’s opinions of her.

Sometimes the only thing Natalie thought they had in common was how much they loved to spoil her.

“How does this taste?” Lenora asked, handing her a cookie shaped like a stocking. Her mothers and she were gathered around the kitchen table, Constantina perusing the paper for advertisements on auctions and rummage sales and foreclosures (she was an antique dealer and very good at snatching up the most peculiar and hard to find items), dressed head to toe in black except for the fuzzy white and red slippers Natalie had gotten her when she was eight. Lenora, golden hair tied up in a bandanna and her face powdered with flour, was experimenting with cookie recipes in hopes of really surprising the other witches in her book club.

Natalie dutifully nibbled the offered experiment and chuckled.

“Like pumpkin.”

“Damn! It’s suppose to taste like coffee!”

“Coffee-flavored cookies?” Constantina asked skeptically, looking up from her newspaper. “Blah. The pumpkin flavored cookies sound better.”

“But they’re completely inappropriate for the season!” she lamented. “Whose going to buy these at the bake sale?”

“Zonko’s Joke Shop,” the other witched offered, then turned back to her newspaper.

“I’ll take them! I bet Harry would like them,” Natalie said, thinking of all the times she seen him trying to sneak extra pieces of pumpkin pie during the fall. It didn’t take her long to realize her mistake, for both her mothers were now sharing amused looks. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Lenora, her smile not shrinking a millimeter. “Just wondering what else this Harry boy must like. You’ve been very secretive about him lately. It used to be you’d send us letters all about how ‘Harry talks to snakes’ or ‘Harry won the Quidditch cup’ or ‘Harry cured Blue Pox’-”

“Harry had Blue Pox, not cured it. That’s just silly.”

“Yes, of course. But lately, I haven’t heard a peep. You’re obviously still friends. Might you be a little bit… more now?”

Natalie took great pride in not blushing.

“Maybe.”

“Well, since you’re not sure, do you mind if I take a crack at him? I’ve seen his picture in the papers. Very cute!”

“Mom!

“Don’t tease, Lenora. I might get jealous.”

“Mother!”

“Well, I can’t risk Constantina’s wrath. At least not until after Christmas. It seems you’ll have no competition from me.”

“Hmph! You’re not his type, anyway!” Natalie sniffed. “He’s much too sophisticated.”

Lenora feigned a heart broken look, and started on a new mixture of cookie doe, this time with avocado. “So what is your maybe-more-than-friend doing for the holiday?”

“Communing with the planet. He’s a pagan, you know. And not one of those ‘don’t eat meat or use potions because they’re made with kitten livers’ pagans either. I mean a real pagan. Run around naked in the moonlight and talk to trees and summon up elementals sort of pagan. You-Know-Who is giving him personal instruction. I’ve seen the spell their going to try during the Solstice. It’s wicked powerful.”

Constantina chuckled. “A sophisticated naturalist? Sounds like fun, but if he offers you mushrooms or homemade droughts, I expect you to say ‘no’ am I understood?”

Natalie rolled her eyes. She knew her mothers didn’t believe half of what she told them about Harry, even though he had shown up in the papers and everything. It was probably for the best anyway. They’d flip their lids if they really knew what was going on.

“It may be too late,” Lenora butted in. “I saw your Christmas present on your dresser when I was taking care of your laundry. You’ll have to show us what he got you when you open it.”

“Hmph. Then you’ll be waiting a long time. I’m going to open it with Harry or not at all.”

“Well, aren’t you a romantic?” Constantina said, knowing it was rather ironic. Natalie was to romantic what hawks were to bunnies. The Slytherin smirked.

“I just don’t like the idea of him going off and having fun without me.”

Vesper Larousse was cremated two days before Christmas. Harry, who had never been to an actual wizarding funeral, was not in any state to appreciate the grandeur of it. It was performed ‘old style’, at the very top of a hill where a large circular platform of stone had been laid out for everyone to stand on and at the center a pyre. Larousse’s body was wrapped in white linen with her face exposed, the injuries of her death unseen, and her expression peaceful as it had been the moment she’d died. Those gathered, and for a woman with no family there were great many mourners, laid bundles of dried flowers over her body until she was completely buried beneath them. Snape was the one to set it all alight.

Harry watched him from the other end of the platform, searching for some sort of clue about what he was feeling and if he believed Harry had killed his fiancée. She had died trying to save him from a situation he had gotten himself into, after all. He was under no illusions that she would have lived if he hadn’t gone back to the castle. Whether he still would have done so, knowing that if he didn’t his godfathers would both have died, was something he had yet to resolve with himself. Yet Snape did not look at him nor had he acknowledged him in any way since Larousse’s death. There was no anger and no tears. Whatever the man felt about his loss or Harry’s role in it, he buried deep under layers of solemn responsibility.

Harry rather thought he must look exactly the same.

His tears had come and gone, leaving him feeling hollow. Hermione was standing beside him, gripping his hand comfortingly, but he couldn’t muster the energy to squeeze it back. She had tried so hard to get him to talk to her, but what could he say? The woman she had admired was dead because of him. The only ones who knew the truth were the ones who had been there, and of them the two he thought might understand how he felt had been sent back to the werewolf territories.

With the death of Moody and the subsequent execution of his co-conspirators the next day, the terrorist threat was over and the werewolves called back by their Head Alpha. Harry hadn’t even been allowed a proper goodbye, for no sooner than Sirius pulled Harry off the roof and to safety, Sentinels had shown up and dragged him off to St. Mungo’s. They were safe at least. Voldemort had spared just enough time to inform him of that before disappearing to play his political games. Victoria had been the one to take him back to the Sianach Lodge, and she was the only person he could stand to see for the two days it took for the funeral to be organized.

The wake was an elaborate affair, with a lot of pomp and circumstance and speeches about heroism by men and women in uniforms. Harry could only grit his teeth through it all. He hadn’t known the woman long, but what he did know was that she hadn’t wanted to be a heroine. She had wanted to be a wife and mother. She had been denied twice, first by the death of her family and then by her own.

Would she see her loved ones in heaven?

For the part he had played in her demise and his dalliance into ancient magics, would he ever be able to see his own?

The pyre’s blaze grew in power and violence, lashing out with burning hands at the cold wind whipping against it. In the smoke and shimmering haze, Harry lost sight of Snape and everyone else on the other side of the platform. He dimly heard the recitation of the priest, recognizing snatches of Latin and bowed his head with everyone else when the prayer was said.

He hadn’t realized when it was over, his thoughts lost at some point in the drone of the priest’s voice and the roar of the fire. A hand on his shoulder drew his attention upwards, Victoria looking down at him with a kind, sad smile.

“It’s time to go now, Harry.”

He nodded, and turned to Hermione who was still holding his hand. She was looking at him worriedly, and behind her Draco was wearing the Slytherin equivalent (which looked rather similar to his ‘I wonder if it will explode if I touch it’ expression). Hermione pulled him into a fierce hug, and he felt something rise up in him.

It could have been her. If she had been at the castle, she would have gone after me. She could have died.

He pulled back sharply, suddenly unable to breath.

“Harry-”

“Stop,” he gasped. “I can’t… You can’t… just leave me alone… for now.”

Hermione expression was pained and painful to look at, but Draco quickly dragged her away.

“Leave him be. He’s not ready for an inquisition right now,” he said sternly, then turned to Harry. “Just fire call or send an owl or whatever if you want to talk or just hang out. We’ll be there when you’re ready.”

He just nodded without looking at them, feeling rather than watching as they walked away. Victoria’s hand squeezed his shoulder lightly.

“It’s cold out, Young Master. Lets get you inside.”

The platform was almost empty as she escorted him down the steps on to the gravel path that would take them the church and behind that their car. Around them the landscape stretched out before them like black and white photograph; vast white hills, gray skies, black skeleton trees. The mourner is their white cloaks and robes were barely visible. He paused for just a moment to look back, and just out of reach of the crumbling remains of the pyre he could see the Dark Lord speaking softly to Snape.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Voldemort said. Snape shook his head, smiling bitterly.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Of everyone there, you are probably the only one who didn’t contribute to her death.”

“Severus…”

“I’m not going to take it out on Potter, if that’s what you’re worried about. Why bother? He’s doing a fine job of it himself. This is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.”

The pyre finally collapsed, sending up sparks and ash to be carried away by the wind and the remains little more than frail blackened sticks.

“Severus, I’m more concerned about you. I can’t read you. Normally, I would have you take that as a compliment, but under the circumstances it’s worrisome. Do you believe yourself responsible?”

Snape chuckled darkly, not looking the least bit amused.

“Beyond the fact that it was my deflected spell that killed her? That I, as her fiancée, utterly failed to protect her? No, of course not.”

“You know matters were more complicated than that. She was a very willful woman. And you were not in any position to order her to safety.”

“I tried, I’ll admit. She ignored me. It’s more her fault than anyone’s except perhaps Moody’s that she’s dead now. Rushing after Potter like she did, leaving her back exposed. I know that. I also know if either of us had told Harry that we knew his godfathers where still in the castle before we left it, none of this would have happened.”

Another chuckle escaped him, a touch hysterical, but he reigned it in fast. Voldemort admired it. The potion’s master was a strong willed man, mysterious in his motivations and emotions, and even now he was exerting impressive self-control and rationality.

“You know,” he continued. “when she died, I thought I was in shock. I barely felt anything other than surprised disbelief. She was so beautiful and so very alive, and then she was just beautiful. It should have worn off by now though. I should… feel something. At least, I should feel something like what Potter is. Sad, I suppose. But I don’t. I feel regret that the plains we made won’t come to fruition, and I miss her company, but I don’t… I’m not sad.”

Voldemort didn’t really understand. He had never felt sad for a person before, not even himself, yet he knew it was customary for someone who wasn’t a complete sociopath to feel some sort of grief over someone they loved passing away. Unless…

“You did not love her?” he tried, and Snape stiffened. “I’m actually surprised. She seemed to make you happy.”

“She did make me happy.”

He stepped away from Voldmort, moving to another side of the pyre. He with drew his wand and started shifting through the ashes and debris.

“I think there must be something missing,” he said, “I think I fell in love with her dreams, with her ability to still dream. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could have the sort of happiness she described. The kind of happiness that can be shared with others, instead of coveted, that grows the more it is given away. Those dreams should have died with her, but… they haven’t. The dream isn’t dead. She gave me the dream… but I don’t need her to carry it out.”

Voldemort just tilted his head curiously, wondering if his servant intended to run off with one of his fiancées bones. Human bones, even burn ones, were powerful ingredients for potions after all. After a few minutes of quietly sifting through the ash, Snape seemed to find what he was looking for and caught it at the end of his wand.

It was a ring, glowing red from the heat of the fire.

“It’s ironic,” Snape mused, staring down at the ring with something akin to affection. “She died trying to destroy that same sort of happiness Potter was searching for with his godfathers, and Potter still probably feels more grief over her than I do. He didn’t even know she wanted to give him the real thing.”

He cast a cooling charm on the ring, placed it in his pocket, and stood up. The two wizards stared at one another for a long moment, and still Voldemort couldn’t quite read the other. He wondered if this was true rationality or if the man hadn’t gone a bit insane.

“What will you do now?” Voldemort asked, hoping for some clue into his state of mind.

“I’ll try again. I doubt there is another Vesper out there for me, but I’m sure I can find a suitable wife and bearer of my children. I’ll wait a year before I start courting anyone. That should be a reasonable amount of time for ‘grieving’. No point in insulting the dead.”

Voldemort nodded in agreement.

“When you are ready, I’ll be more than happy to assist if you require it. Despite the previous failures, I am usually quite adept at selecting compatible pairs.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

1. Kimshi is an magical sport from the orient, rather like polo only you ride some sort of magical animal in the water instead of a horse on land and it’s only played between two people.↩

2. Water chess is a team sport with positions, and is played on top of water and is rather too complicated to explain here, but if you’re not careful you can drown playing it.↩

The Prince and his Sorrow

Victoria made a considerably more pleasant companion than Madam Hardwick. The benefits of her presence were easily recognized. She was friendly, considerate, and kind. Harry wished he could work up the energy to give her the smile he could tell she so desperately wanted, but he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to find one again.

Hermione’s hug was the instigator of a cycle of thoughts that he seemed incapable of breaking away from. His parents were dead. Larousse was dead. Hermione had nearly died. Sirius and Remus had nearly died. So too had Snape. All of his friends had put their lives at risk just associating with him. Even Tom, and he cursed himself for not being a true friend and sending that letter to check on him, had gotten sick again after they’d made up. Now, it wasn’t all his fault. Some of it probably wasn’t his fault at all, but how much of it was? Who else was going to get hurt or die just by being around him?

“What are you thinking, Young Master, that’s got you looking so blue? Best stop now. It doesn’t do anyone a wit of good making yourself heartsick,” Victoria said, setting a bowl of hot soup in front of him. “Eat up. Mum always used to say chicken noodle soup was good for body and the soul.”

“Thanks, Vicki.”

He wasn’t the least bit hungry, but if he couldn’t smile for her, he could at least eat for her. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do. They were stuck in a London hotel for the night, pending an inquiry at the Iron House the next morning. They held adjoining rooms, but she hadn’t left his side for more than ten minutes at a time, stepping out only to get food, tea, and a letter of instruction from the hotel front desk. The hotel wasn’t particularly fancy, but it was nice enough for someone who was about be interrogated. Victoria said they just wanted to take his statement. Harry wondered why they even bothered since Voldemort had been there to tell his version of events and that was the only version that mattered.

“What’s going to happen after the holidays are over?” he asked, trying to distract himself from his gloomy thoughts.

“Oh, they’ve started repairs to the school already. It helps that the school will fix itself once the proper wards are activated or de-activated as the case might be. There wasn’t a lot of activity on that side of the school anyway, so classes should begin as usual.”

“And the Dark Arts and Defense class?”

“… a substitute will take over.”

“Mm.”

There was an awkward silence as they struggled to find things to say. Victoria changed subjects.

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go while we’re in London? Diagon Alley is really something during the holidays. And of course there are plays and the Snow Market and such. Lots to do before you have to go back to the castle.”

“I’m not going back to the lodge?” he asked, unduly surprised by that. He didn’t think the castle would be ready for residents so soon, but more importantly he didn’t think he was ready to return. Too much had happened, and as hard as it was to be alone, it would be even harder to return to the rough and tumble existence that defined his education.

“No, I’m afraid Master is staying in London and will be very busy. He thought you’d prefer staying at Hogwarts than alone at the lodge. You’re security status has been lowered so you have all the liberties of the other students. You can go outside and play quidditch and visit Hogsmeade like everyone else. Do you think you might want to go out before then?”

He shook his head and ate another spoonful of soup. She sighed, and let him be for the rest of the evening. As empty as he felt during the day, his head was too full at night, and he barely slept, haunted by images of THAT day and those that followed all the way up until the funeral. In the brief snatches of sleep he obtained, those memories were overlaid with even more horrible images. Sirius and Remus buried beneath the collapsing castle. Hermione falling from the roof. The funeral pyre replaced with a stake, himself tied to it and the mourners all round watching as Snape set it ablaze.

He woke violently, covered in sweat and freezing cold, yet it wasn’t the dreams that had woken him. It was a steady knock on the door. He sat up and blearily put on his glasses. Through his window he could see dark gray skies and a heavy rain.

“Enter.”

Victoria came in carrying a breakfast tray. She hesitated when she saw him, then quickly set down the tray on the writing desk so she could check his temperature.

“Are you alright? You’re freezing. Did you just leap in through the window?”

Amazingly, the suggestion sparked a faint smile, but it died quickly.

“No, just didn’t sleep well. Is that for me?” he asked, gesturing towards the tray. She nodded.

“Yep, a nice big breakfast… well, I suppose it’s lunch now. You have that appointment at the Iron House at one and then we’ll be traveling most of the day and the weather is lousy, so you’ll need your strength. Why don’t you go take a hot shower first? Housekeeping spelled the food to stay warm.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like anything else?”

“Coffee?”

She grinned. “An excellent idea. I’ll call them- oh, forget it, it’s faster to get it myself. Take your shower, and I be back by the time you’re done.”

“Okay.”

Alone again, he went through his travel case for a change of clothes, intent on taking them into the bathroom with him so Victoria wouldn’t end up walking in on him while he was wrapped up in only a towel. As he headed towards the bathroom, a rolled up newspaper squeezed between his plate of macaroni and his glass of milk caught his attention. He felt a tug of curiosity, wondering what had been written about the attack at Hogwarts.

He unrolled it, and to his surprise the front page featured a picture of Larousse’s funeral. The image was grainy and out of focused, likely taken from a distance. Another picture of Snape, Larousse, and himself talking together on the field of the destroyed quidditch pitch featured beside it.

The head line advertised ‘Family-To-Be Mourns Heroine’s Passing’.

Harry swallowed thickly and started to read.

When Victoria returned to the hotel room, she knew instantly that something was wrong. Her wards were still intact, which meant no one had gotten inside in her absence, but there was definitely an aura of ‘wrongness’. Her wand remained tucked up her sleeve, but she kept her wrist loose so a simple flick of the wrist would put it in her hands.

She went to Harry’s room and put her ear to the door. She heard nothing, not even the distant sound of his shower running. She knocked.

“Harry, you there?”

Nothing. She flung open the door, peeked inside, jumped back in case anyone was waiting for her, then entered. She repeated this with the bathroom door. A quick check of the room found Harry’s cloak and shoes missing and a newspaper scattered across the floor.

Harry was gone.

After a month of consistent and heavy snow, Harry found it unpleasantly ironic that the weather would choose Christmas Eve to rain. At least it gave him an excuse to keep his hood up and his head down. The streets were full of holiday traffic, despite the freezing downpour, and he had this irrational fear that at any moment someone was going to grab hold of him and say ‘I know you!’.

But no one grabbed him except an old beggar on the street, and there was nothing akin to recognition in those milky eyes.

He wandered around for over three hours, not knowing what to do with himself, ducking into shops for brief snatches of time to warm himself up and cast a few more charms to dry out his clothes. He eventually found himself in a large square a few blocks from the Wizengamot and the Iron House, a giant fountain covered in beasts, magical and magic-related, set in the middle and spitting out snow instead of water from its founts. The square appeared to be a junction between several places of interest, and it conveniently provided an information kiosk with a map and directory of the entirety of wizarding London and even those few muggle places it overlapped.

It took him fifteen minutes to find Grimmuald Place on the map.

It took another hour to actually get there.

Another seven minutes of walking back and forth between house twelve and fourteen before he could actually see it. Half a second to get through the door and out of the rain.

“Who are YOU?!”

Harry let out a squawk of surprise and nearly ran right back outside. He found himself looking up at the portrait of a rather unpleasant woman, who stared down at him like he were some sort of bug. He pulled back his hood. Her eyes widened, and she looked even less pleased to see him.

“James Potter! What do you want? Isn’t it bad enough you got my Sirius thrown into Askaban? Come to steal the silverware, as well? Kreicher! Kreicher come out at once!”

He blinked at her stupidly. There was a loud pop and an elderly house elf appeared beside him. He looked as unhappy as the woman at his appearance. He actually hissed at him.

Then the elf blinked, squinted, frowned.

“Tisn’t Potter, my Lady. Too young.”

The woman squinted as well. “He looks just like him though… same stupid hair. Who are you boy? Talk quick or I’ll have you locked in the basement.”

Good grief, was he in the right place? Surely, Sirius would have thought to warn him about a crazy portrait and her nasty little helper.

“Um… Harry, I mean… Harold, Harold Rook of the Rook Family,” he said, and bowed politely.

“Rook, you say? I think I’ve heard of them… Scottish stock?”

“I… yes.”

“Bah. Are you one of my sons’ friends? They never did have any taste.”

He felt a rush of annoyance. The look he gave her seemed to make her hesitate, but she just sneered.

“What do you want then? No one is here, but if you think to steal something-”

“Madam, I assure you, you own nothing I want,” he said stiffly. Beside him, Kreicher hissed. He was very tempted to hiss right back. “I was left something in the kitchen freezer. Once I have it, I’ll leave your…” he ran his eyes over the decaying structure, “… home and be on my way.”

She seemed to consider. Apparently, nastiness was like politeness to her, because her smile turned strangely congenial.

“Kreicher, take this young gentleman to the kitchen.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, bobbing his head. He glared at Harry. “Come on, then…” he said, and then started muttering. The house was… nasty. There were cobwebs everywhere, an inch of dust covering everything, and disturbing surprises around every turn. The row of elf head wall mounts was just plain disgusting.

“Here you are, sir,” the elf said, gesturing about what was either a kitchen or potion’s laboratory. Some searching and a few cleaning charms revealed an ancient refrigerator, and when he opened the freezer, was startled to find it still ran cold. There was a shoe box inside. Well, a shoes box and a couple of frozen mice. He took out the box and set it on the table, opening it. There wasn’t much inside. Two thousand pounds in muggle money, half that amount in sickles, a map of muggle London, a little blue note book filled with names and information about them, and a matching red book with a series of instructions and tips on escaping to Europe and what to do when he go there.

He sat at the table (after clearing it of cobwebs and spiders, and skimmed through the contents of the books. Halfway through, the red book proved useless. The blue book was completely useless from the start. It was outdated advice and instructions, made before he’d been targeted for assassination. Getting out of Britain would be fairly easy… getting around Europe wouldn’t. Everyone Sirius had listed as people who might help or look after Harry were linked to Dumbledore. He’d be dead almost as soon as he stepped onto the continent.

“Shit,” he muttered, and shrunk it all down and put it in his pocket. He’d known he couldn’t leave before, what did he think had changed? Aside from the fact that he seemed destined to destroy anything resembling a family?

Merlin, Larousse…

She wanted to be his mother. She was going to adopt him with Snape. And as scary as that sounded, the fact that one was now dead and the other probably despised him was far worse. All she had wanted to do was be his mother, and he… she died because she thought of him as her son.

A sob threatened to choke the life out of him, so he swallowed it repeatedly until it settled in his stomach like a rock. He couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t fall apart and let the rest of the world handle it again, because he knew now the world was unsympathetic. The Dursley’s had made his life miserable, torn apart any hope of belonging. He’d started patching things together again after WYRA, but the stitches weren’t strong enough and were all coming undone. The friendships and lives and family were all so vulnerable now.

Sirius and Remus were gone, and he might not see them again until after graduation (or never if something happened). Snape would never forgive him, and what would that mean for Draco and Hermione? Would they be forced to stay away from him? Was that for the best considering the violence that seemed to surround him? Voldemort was rarely around, and how would he react when Harry voiced his reluctance to continue his education in paganism? And Natalie…

He wasn’t in love with her, he realized. He liked her. He thought she was pretty and smart and daring, but he had barely thought about her at all since they’d parted ways at the train station. He had just thought about leaving the country and hadn’t thought of her once. He really was a selfish bastard. He was letting her risk her life and reputation for him, and he didn’t have anything to offer her except his friendship.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t leave the country. He wasn’t suicidal and at the same time he had fallen in love with Britain and the wizarding world.

Perhaps he could leave Hogwarts?

Yes, that’s it. He could withdraw and go somewhere else, careful not to let anyone else get too close. Maybe he could even home school… assuming he could find a home. He wouldn’t have to face Snape’s hatred and his friends would be safely out of his vicinity. If he could just convince the Dark Lord… or do something to get himself expelled, he could find a way to make it work. He’d miss the school and everyone there, but they’d be safe.

The weight in his stomach eased and his head felt clear. Now that he had a plan, something he could actually take charge of and do, things didn’t seem so hopeless. He was going to do the responsible thing by protecting his loved ones, still remain loyal to his country, and complete his education.

Now he just had to find his way back to Victoria and explain why he ran off in the first place.

Ugh. He was going to be in so much trouble when Voldemortnd out about this. Worse, Victoria might be in trouble too. Just another example of how his selfishness got his friends in trouble.

He shrunk down his shoe box and placed it in his pocket, then made his way out of the house. Kreicher followed him out, eyes glued to his every move. He bowed to the woman in the portrait on his way out.

“Thank you. I bid you a pleasant evening,” he said, though he wouldn’t have cared if she spontaneously caught fire. She sneered at him.

“Oh, yes. Looking at the door every second of every day is what I love most-”

He shut the door before hearing the end of her rant. He was instantly soaked. With a heavy sigh, he made his way back in the direction he’d come from.

And immediately realized he was lost. Bother.

He tried casting a locating charm on Victoria, but he didn’t know her last name, and it failed. Voldemort, likewise, couldn’t be located, but Harry assumed that was because of anti-detection spells. He didn’t know the necessary incantation for actual places (sort of silly that he’d know one type and not the other, now that he thought about it), and he didn’t think he knew anyone else in London. He couldn’t keep wandering the streets though. It was growing dark and the air was growing cold enough to turn the rain to sleet, and if he was out and about after the shops closed he’d be in real trouble.

He thought long and hard on it, first trying to remember how to get back to the square with the kiosk, but only got more lost. He wandered past a couple of banks and law firms, and it suddenly came to him.

Robert Reicher. The lawyer he’d met at his first adoption party, along with his partner Kyle. He still had their card, and it showed they worked out of London, somewhere on Taperty Street. He hoped that street was nearby. He cast a location spell for ‘Robert Reicher’ and let out a sigh of relief when his wand let out a strand of light, pointing him in the right direction.

He actually passed Taperty Street after two blocks, but it was Christmas Eve so he was likely at home. Another four blocks and the shops gave way to townhouses and apartments, and Harry found himself in front of a three story brick house, squashed between two similar houses and a tiny yard with a rather lopsided snowman waving his stick hand at passersby.

The light on the porch was lit.

He felt suddenly shy. What exactly was he interrupting? It was Christmas Eve after all, so they were probably celebrating. They might even have family over. And here he comes just barging in and mucking up their plans. He should just go and see if he can find someone on the street to-

The door opened in front of him.

“Hello, can I help you?” Robert Reicher asked, looking a bit dubious from the doorway.

“Ah…” Well, he might as well just ask him for directions and then leave him be. “I… I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost. You wouldn’t happen to know where Walburton Square is?”

Robert blinked, then nodded. “Yes, I know where that is. Come inside, it’s freezing out there.”

“Oh, thank you.”

The inside of the house was much larger than the outside and blessedly warm. There was a staircase leading upstairs in front of him, and a hallway leading towards the kitchen beside that. To his left was a dining room, and to his right a family room with a large Christmas tree and a fire. Kyle Reicher came out of the kitchen, a little girl with curly blond hair on his hip and another slightly older one following behind.

“Who is it Robert?” he said, a bit cautiously. “You don’t have to go to the office, do you?”

“Nothing like that. Just a lost traveler.”

Work avoided, Kyle looked considerably more pleased to have company.
“Welcome to our home then. I’m Kyle, that’s my husband Robert, and these are our daughters Alyssa and Morgana.”

Harry bowed to the little girls. “My Ladies.”

Morgana, the one actually walking, giggled.

“Come to the kitchen and have some tea with us while Robert draws you a map,” Kyle offered.

“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robert said, wandering off towards the family room. “It’s Christmas. Good will to all men. Even those really mysterious young men, who hide under their hoods.”

“Oh… sorry about that.”

With a bit of unease, he pulled back his hood. Robert was already out of the room by the time he did it, but Kyle took one look at him and recognized him immediately. In fact, so did little Morgana. They both gapped at him, eyes wide. Morgana recovered first and let out a squeal of delight.

“You’re the prince! Daddy, it’s Prince Harold! He’s really here!”

Despite the lingering chill, Harry felt his cheeks burn. Kyle, likewise, looked embarrassed. Robert returned to the hall in an instant. Thankfully, he didn’t gape.

“Harold?”

Harry smiled weakly. “Merry Christmas?”

“Papa, you really do know a real prince? You didn’t just make it up?” Morgana asked, tugging on Robert’s hand to gain his attention. Robert hesitated, looking uncertainly at his guest. Harry decided a little goodwill on his part would be appropriate. He knelt down on one knee so he was closer to her eye level, hoping he looked princely enough.

“Of course, Lady Morgana. I met your fathers when I was not much older than you. They kindly offered their aid to me if I should ever require it,” he said. She grinned.

“Does that mean my daddies are knights?”

The males present all gave each other a questioning glance.

“Yes, they are my knights,” Harry said, “But they are ‘secret’ knights, so you must never tell anyone or my enemies would try to come after them. Can you keep their secret, my Lady?”

She nodded vehemently.

“I will, I promise! Lyssa does too! Won’t you, Lyssa?”

The little girl nodded with remarkable solemnity for a five year old.

“I thank you both. I am quite in your debt.”

He climbed to his feet again, looking to the adults to make sure he hadn’t bungled anything, but they seemed more amused than anything. They all went to the kitchen for coffee and cocoa. When they were done, Kyle took the girls upstairs so that they could have a ‘secret knightly meeting’. Harry felt decidedly awkward. He hadn’t wanted to drag them into his problem, and thinking back on their last meeting and his rude behavior, he had no right to expect it. It didn’t help that Robert was just studying him, not saying a word.

“They’re very cute,” Harry said, staring down at his mug. “I thought you were looking for boys though?”

Robert’s intent stare softened a bit.

“I was. Kyle didn’t care whether it was a boy or girl though… He had it right. It was six months after we met you that we found them. They were standing together, just holding hands as tightly as they could and not talking to anyone, as if they expected someone to just snatch them away from each other. It broke my heart, because I knew that’s exactly what would happen. Nobody adopts two girls together. They’ll take two boys or a boy and a girl, but never two girls, even if they’re sisters. I think that was the first time I really felt for any of the children I met. You were right to say I wasn’t suited to adopt anyone. I’d been thinking about it all wrong until that moment. I was just thinking of how a child could benefit me, socially and in business, but then it became all about how I could help them. So we adopted them both. Put us in debt for the next five years, but it was worth it. They are worth it. They’ve changed everything.”

Harry smiled a bit, though it brought a swelling of sadness in his heart, thinking of his own family and the family that almost was.

“But enough about me. What about you? How on earth did you end up at our front door? Aren’t you suppose to be surrounded by a squad of Guardians at all times?”

He shook his head. “No, not now anyway. Moody and the other terrorists are dead, so I’m safe for the time being. I was at a funeral yesterday, and I was suppose to go back to Hogwarts today, but I went out for a walk and got lost.”

“And you got here purely by chance?”

“You’re the only name I know in London. I don’t know how to locate places, just people.”

“Ah, that explains it. I’m surprised you even remember us.”

“Kyle gave me your business card…”

An irritated look crossed Robert’s face. “I bet he did. He hands them out like candy.”

Kyle chose that moment to wander in. “It’s called networking, Robby. That’s what a marketer does. The girls are in the bath, so we have about fifteen minutes. So what brings you to our neck of the woods, Harold?”

He repeated the explanation he’d given Robert.

“Oh, yes, I read about the funeral in the paper. I’m sorry. It must have been awful to lose … her.” Harry could hear ‘your mother again’ in the awkward pause. He shook his head.

“I didn’t even know she was going to adopt me until this morning. It was bad enough before I knew. She always tried to be kind to me, but I still ended up having fights with her.”

Kyle put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I think we’d better let someone know where you are. I’m sure your guardians are worried by now,” Robert said, standing up from his chair. “I’ll fire call WYRA. They should be able to sort this all out and send someone to get you back where you need to be.”

He left Harry alone with Kyle, far more the sympathetic type despite how two little girls may have softened him. There was an awkward moment of silence, as Harry tried to grope for something to say that didn’t involve his latest catastrophe.

“So… Knight Kyle…”

The man grinned.

“Do you know it so much easier to get little girls to read when it’s interesting for them? And it’s interesting to read about princes, especially when you might actually meet them. Morgana is the only child in her school who actually reads the newspaper.”

Harry sighed. “Is that a good thing? I have to say I’ve never been impressed with it.”

“It seems to be impressed with you. You’ve been popping up in it fairly often. I was right, by the way. Robert really did regret not snatching you up.”

“I think you both made out well with your daughters. I’d only have brought you stress… and assassins… and werewolves… and the Dark Lord, which isn’t nearly fun as it sounds.”

“You seem to have done well with yourself, though. Hogwarts is a very prestigious school.”

“… I’m going to transfer.”

“Why? Did something… oh, your… teacher died there.”

“That’s not why I’m leaving. Well, not the only reason. There’s a lot of people I care about who are there. Some of them were nearly killed because I was there. I’ve become a target, and a lot of the people coming after me don’t have very good aim. I’m not going to let anyone get hurt just because they’re near me when the next attack or accident or political plot comes along. I’ve been selfishly risking their lives for too long already.”

Kyle stared at him, seemingly startled by what was being said. He’d never seen or heard a boy Harry’s age talk like this. In fact, he’s never seen anyone talk like this except in books and plays and radio dramas. It was difficult for him to come up with a response to that.

“That’s really… conceited.”

Harry looked startled. “What? How is that conceited?!”

Slowly, Kyle’s thoughts came together into something he hoped proved both true and helpful. “I get where you’re coming from. You don’t want other people caught up in your battles. I can understand that. Deciding what battles are yours, that’s up to you, but deciding other people’s battles for them is most definitely not. You talk about not wanting others to get hurt, but what about you? There are others who don’t want you to get hurt. They don’t want you fighting your battles alone. Do you have any right to tell them what they can and cannot risk? If you think you’re a danger to your friends, then tell them so. Let them know the risks so they can decide for themselves what to do.”

Harry’s expression tightened. “Even if it kills them? Like it did… her.”

“… As hard as this might for you to hear… yes. They have a right to decide if your battle is their battle as well and you’re not doing anyone any favors by pushing them away. I can’t help but think a lot of people would be sad if you left them behind.”

A lot of people? No, not… well.

Hermione would. His godfathers too, but they might be separated already. Ginny. Clyde might, but he had lots of friends to fall back on. The twins, perhaps. Natalie, definitely. Draco. Yeah. Colin Creevey would be destitute without his favorite subject. Ron would hunt him down for leaving him to take care of the rookies. Tom might already be missing him, if he hadn’t forgotten about him already. There were a couple of other people, not real friends but friendly acquaintances, who he thought might want him to stay for various reasons.

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Kyle said, smiling a bit. “So before you go do anything drastic, talk to them.”

Harry nodded, not entirely convinced. Was he being conceited? He just wanted to protect his friends. Protect his school. But perhaps Kyle was right about letting them make their own decisions. He should at least give them the opportunity to walk away on their own. No hard feelings.

He didn’t have long to think about it, because two little girls in matching bathrobes and unicorn slippers came scuttling through the door, followed by Robert.

“They’re sending over someone now,” Robert said. “It should only take a half an hour or so.”

“Will you tell us a story, please?” Morgana asked, eagerly. “A true story?”

“A true story?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, an adventure story. Something that you did. Princes have lots of adventures, don’t they?”

Harry thought for a moment, and found a several adventure stories he could use… with a little tweaking.

“Yes, that’s very true. Princes have many adventures. Alright, I think I know a story you might like.”

“Lets go into the family room, then,” Robert said, “The chairs are much more comfortable.”

So they all moved into the family room. The sky was dark and dreary outside, but the family room was filled with warm light from the fire and the Christmas tree. Harry took a seat in the middle of the couch, the girls taking point on either side of him, while Robert and Kyle settled themselves into their own chairs.

“Hhhmm, how shall I begin? ’Once upon a time, which was really just a over a year ago, there stood… still stands… a great castle. The largest and most beautiful castle in all the land, and all the people who saw it, noble and peasant alike, wished to go and live there, but only a very few were allowed.”

“Is it Hogwarts?” Morgana asked.

“Yes, it is. I’ve gone there for two and half years and still haven’t seen all there is to it. But there was a dangerous secret. Deep beneath the castle, below the dungeons, below the moat, below the very lake, there slept a dragon…”

“… and with the aide of the Black Knight, they returned the fair maiden to her family and peace settled over the castle once again. The End.”

The little girls were both looking at him as if he’d sprouted another head.

“What? It really did happen,” Harry insisted.

“No way!” Alyssa exclaimed, the only thing she’d said all evening. “Did you really?!”

“I did, really… more or less.”

“That is so cool! Do you still have the magic sword?”

“Yes, but it’s back at the castle.” And now that he thought about it, under a lot of rubble. Would the GGs find it? Wonder how Lestrange was going to explain that.

“What about the maiden? Are you going to marry her?”

“Nope, we’re just good friends.”

“Is the Black Knight your ‘secret’ knight too?”

“Well, technically he’s the King’s ‘secret’ knight… which means you can’t tell anyone about him, just like your fathers. Promise?”

“Promise!” they said in unison. Morgana turned to her two very amused fathers. “And you have to promise too!”

“Of course, we promise,” Robert said, Kyle nodding in agreement. There was a knock at the door, and Robert stood to answer it.

“It must be Wyra. You girls better say your goodbyes.” There was a collective whine, but it was easily ignored.

“Will you come back again? Please, please, please!” Morgana begged, tightening her hold on his arm, as if threatening not to let go if he didn’t answer correctly.

“Yeah!” Alyssa agreed, “Please, please, please?!”Harry thought he’d like to agree, but couldn’t see it happening any time soon. He tried to placate them anyway.

“Of course. How could I turn away from my brave knights and beautiful ladies?”

The girls wrapped their soft little arms around him, squeezing as tightly as they could. He hugged them back, a painful pressure building inside him again.

‘I could have had this,’ he thought. ‘If Larousse had lived and had children, I could have had a brother or sister like this.’ And as if the universe was playing a cosmic joke on him, Snape walked into the family room behind Robert. Harry could only stare, the potion’s master standing like the grim specter of Christmas future.

“Potter,” he greeted without inflection.

“…Professor,”Harry greeted dubiously back. One look at Snape, and the girls had quickly run over to Kyle, as if sensing their prince might not be enough against this new threat. Harry stood, and bowed to the Reichers. “Thank you for your hospitality. You’ve been very kind.”

“We were all glad to have you. You have a Merry Christmas,” Kyle said. “And good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Snape stalked out of the house, and Harry hurried to keep up, scurrying to put on his cloak as Robert handed it to him at the door. Dread fell over him like the heavy rain, weighing him down and stealing his strength. He couldn’t face Snape yet. He was almost as afraid of what the man would do as what he would say. The moment they stepped out of the Reicher’s front yard and onto the walk, Snape tossed something at him and he caught it on instinct. There was a violent sucking sensation, but almost as soon as it had started it reversed itself, and Harry found himself pitched into a pile of slush.

Snape checked the street for observers, then touched the empty can he had converted into a portkey. An unpleasant sensation later and he landed a bit awkwardly on the road outside Hogsmeade. In the distance he could see Hogwart’s lights shining up the road. Potter had fallen and was still trying to orient himself, so the he jerked the boy up onto his feet.

“It’s too cold for you to be playing in the snow, Potter,” he muttered, dragging him towards a Hogwarts’ carriage and pushed him inside. The boy clawed his way inside and into a seat. He pressed himself against the far corner as if he was expecting some sort of attack. Instead, Snape the carriage door shut and knocked on the roof. The carriage lurched forward. “Would you care to explain yourself before I decide on a suitable punishment?”

The boy’s wide eyes quickly found the floor. “I got lost.”

“… Don’t play stupid, Potter, however naturally it may come to you. You didn’t get lost from your hotel room. You ran away. You’ve ruined several people’s day off trying to look for you, including my own. What were you hoping this stunt would accomplish?”

The Gryffindor was curling in on himself with every irritated barb, and rather than satisfy Snape it only served to irritate him. He had a very bad day, wandering London in search of Harry, who still happened to be under the effects of an anti-locater charm, in the rain and sleet with far too many last-minute shoppers congesting the streets. The truly sad part was that he was grateful. His alternative was to listen to all of Vesper’s friends and colleagues get all weepy and tell the same overly sentimental stories at his hotel. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to let the inconsiderate little brat have it.

“Nothing to say? Well, I hope you’re satisfied with the attention you’ve earned, because when we get back to the castle you’ll be spending it in my potion’s lab cleaning cauldrons. Merlin, I have half a mind to give you your thirty strokes. The extra ten for running back to the castle and then another ten for running around London unsupervised and missing your appointment at the Iron House.”

At this point, Potter was practically curled up into a ball.

“Bloody hell,” Snape muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He really didn’t want to deal with this. He wanted to find a pub somewhere and get drunk. Or go to his room and get drunk, which had less risk of his falling unconscious in a ditch.

The carriage pulled up to the castle, and he dragged Potter inside and down into the dungeons. With the arm in his hand, he could feel the series of fine tremors running through the boy’s body. Was it cold or fear? Either would be suitable given the situation.

They entered his private rooms, and he shoved his charge into the bathroom. “Shower,” he snapped, then shut the door. Potter’s belongings were gathered at the entry way of his rooms, per his instructions, and he shuffled through his trunk shamelessly, until he found a suitable change of clothes. Setting them by the door, he could hear the shower running. “Your clothes are by the door.”

He went to his kitchen, rummaged through the cupboards and found some bread and sausage. That, at least, he could make edible. He took two plates and cut pieces of bread and meat for himself and Potter, then made some tea. By the time he was done with that, Potter had emerged from his shower and stood just outside the kitchen with his dirty clothes under his arm and waiting for instructions.

“Leave it all in the bathroom. The house elves will get it. Then come eat.”

Potter did so, then sat across from him. Tentatively, he started to eat, peeking at him often as if he expected him to take it away. Snape ignored him in favor of finishing his own meal. It wasn’t impressive and certainly the house elves would have gladly given him something more satisfying, but he didn’t want to deal with their mothering him or Potter, which they would if they saw either of them in their current state. When they were finished, he ordered Potter to wash the dishes and put them away, which he did with the same annoying compliance. Merlin, a cowed Gryffindor was a fine thing, but the Dark Lord’s protégé should have a little more spine.

Perhaps he really thought he was going to give him thirty strikes? Technically, he’d earned them. He’d gone off and risked himself twice in the last week and he wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities as a disciplinarian, but…

He’d seen Potter cry already, heavy, quiet tears as the medi-wizards carried Vesper’s body away. He didn’t think he could stand seeing them again so soon, not even if the pain was only physical. Besides, he didn’t want to deal with a sulky Gryffindor for another week. He still needed to know why he’d run away though.

“You’re staying down here for the rest of the holidays,” he said. The boy paused, the plate in his hand dripping into the sink. Then he just nodded, and mumbled ‘yes, sir’. Ugh. He wasn’t going to deal with a sulky Gryffindor. Whatever had him acting like a thoroughly beaten puppy, Snape was quite determined he get over it very quickly. Even if he had to go to drastic measures to achieve that.

He went to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of brandy, and then to another cupboard and took two glasses. His guest watched him cautiously.

“Sit down, Potter.”

He poured them both a drink, and took the first sip himself. His underage friend didn’t look as eager to begin.

“Try it.”

Reluctantly, the boy did and, predictably, grimaced. Snape didn’t hide his smirk.

“You get used to it. Sip it slowly. Hopefully, it will get you relaxed enough that you might avoid shrinking into nonexistence when I ask you again why you ran away.”

“I-”

“Finish your drink first, and consider yourself lucky I don’t just use verisaterum.”

Snape simply watched intently as Potter took another sip, avoiding eye contact. By the third sip he had stopped grimacing. He had almost drank it all when he finally had enough to break the silence.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just give me a calming drought…” the boy finally said. Snape smirked.

“A calming drought would make you calm. It would also make it easier for you to lie with a clear head. Brandy has the benefit of keeping you calm, and hopefully too stupid to lie. Judging by your sudden ability criticize, I’d say it was working. One more glass, I think.”

He took Potter’s almost empty glass and refilled it half way. It was received with little enthusiasm, but he took another mouthful. Snape wasn’t the least bit surprised when the already partially drunk child started talking some more.

“Is it true?”

Snape lifted a brow. “Yes, you really do dress like a hooligan. Unless you’re referring to some other completely random subject?”

Potter actually had enough liquid courage to scowl at him, which was actually pretty damn funny. If only McGonagal could see her little golden boy now.

“Was she going to adopt me?”

Oh-ho. So he’d seen that article in the paper. Who ever had leaked it was likely roasting over a spit somewhere… or receiving a rather hefty sum from the Dark Lord’s ‘Dubious Activities Fund’ which was made up of fifteen percent of Britain’s tax revenue. It didn’t include the ‘Take Over the World Fund’ which constituted twenty-five percent of the publicly extorted national wealth all on its own.

… And he should probably hold off the second glass himself or he’d end up rambling about random subjects in his head, prompted by Potter’s completely ambiguous statements.

“She was going to try. The Dark Lord didn’t tell you that she’d asked?”

“No… would she have succeeded?”

“Would you have let her?”

That earned him another funny scowl. Or was it a grimace?

“Would you?”

Touché. Answering that question would lead to other questions he wasn’t going to answer without at least another two glasses.

“So you ran away because you learned she was going to adopt you? So what? It’s not like she could do it now.”

Potter looked at him then, looking perplexed, which wasn’t quite as funny as the glare but still pretty close.

“I got your wife killed. Aren’t you mad at me?”

Snape let out a rather annoyed snort. Was that what all this was about? He supposed he could be flattered that his opinion meant so much to someone that they ran away rather than face his verbal persecution. Or maybe physical persecution since he did still have that cane. Either way, it was an appropriately juvenile response. I’m scared, so I’ll run away.

If only the other Gryffindors were half as smart.

“No. It doesn’t really matter. It was a battle. She was a casualty. Victim of friendly fire. Died in the line of a duty she had accepted without enlistment. If I felt the need to take revenge for every mistake on the battlefield, I’d have had to kill half the Death Eaters I know, including my godchildren’s father.”

Now that he thought about it, Lucius still owed him twenty galleons for that time he’d knocked him off his broom in the middle of a fight with some aurors and sent him to St. Mungo’s.

“This is the price of war. And we are at war, you know?”

“We are?”

So naive.

“Yes. This sort of thing happens all the time. The war never really ended. It just got quieter. Now rather than open warfare we get these random attacks by disgruntled soldiers and widows and orphans. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just the times we live in.”

There was a long silence, both lost in thought of his revelation. Snape hadn’t really thought about it before, but what he said was true. All these attacks were carried over from a war that was supposedly over more than ten years ago. Hardly a month went by without the newspaper listing some conspirator trying to kill a former Death Eater, handing out anti-government propaganda, blowing up some building, or instigating a riot. Even the Death Eaters and Purebloods caused their own political strife, acting like spoiled children when the Dark Lord didn’t hand over the country like some shiny toy they’d whined for. It would probably continue to be that way until everyone who remembered Voldemort’s rise to power was dead and buried.

“Will it ever stop?” Potter asked, his green eyes shiny with liquor. Or were those tears? Don’t you dare cry. If you cry I won’t have any reason not to beat you.

“Maybe you’ll live to see the end of it. I doubt I ever will.”

“… Do you think I’m dangerous?”

Snape couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter at that. Technically, Harry had proven to be quite dangerous when pushed, but right now he was just a boozy thirteen-year-old with bad eye-sight. The scowl he got just made him laugh harder.

“I don’t mean me!” the boy protested. “I mean because Dumbledore wants to kill me… and maybe the headmistress. Is everyone I know gonna end up a casualty, like Professor Larousse?”

Alright, that was a bit more sobering. Especially given his godchildren were close to him, and his concern was legitimate. Hell, in terms of physical proximity he was close to him.

“You’re safe from Dumbledore. The Dark Lord is right. He won’t try to kill you again any time soon. And if you’re worried about the headmistress you’re more than welcome to join my plot to overthrow her. Anyone else who shows up will be dealt with. Don’t concern yourself with things you can’t control.”

“I can leave.”

“No you can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Bad press.”

“Shit.”

Snape smirked at that. “Liar. You don’t want to leave. You like it here.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

“Maybe you’ll luck out from now on. Of course, you’ll have to quit Dueling Club with that particular philosophy. It’s counter productive in that sort of sport.”

The conversation was about as productive as it was going to get, so Snape decided to end it before they started repeating themselves or getting pointlessly sentimental. He set the small glasses in the sink and got Harry a tall glass of water.

“Drink this or you’ll get a hangover, and I’d rather you didn’t vomit in the cauldrons you will be cleaning this evening. Or did you think your teen angst got you out of trouble?”

For someone who was about to be punished in the most tedious of manners, Potter looked surprisingly grateful as he accepted the water. Snape dismissed it as thankfulness that he had gotten off easy, and made a mental list of chores he’d have the foolish boy complete to thoroughly erase the notion from his empty head.

The Prince’s Penance

Harry still managed to get a hangover, but in the scheme of things it was a small price to pay for Snape’s forgiveness. He didn’t think he could survive, regardless of what Kyle had told him, if Snape suddenly developed a vendetta against him. The potion master had unknowingly offered the absolution Harry desperately needed in order to cope with what had happened to Larousse. So, despite the positively abysmal week of scrubbing, polishing, dusting, organizing, inventorying, moving, writing, reviewing, and correcting in the darkest, chilliest, most depressing part of the castle and sleeping on the couch of a man who went to bed late and got up ridiculously early, Harry felt considerably better going out then he had going in.

Those few students he’d encountered on his trek back up to his dorm room were stunned to realize he had actually been in the castle the entire time. When some of them had offered their condolences over Larousse, he felt the urge to run back and spend another week down the dungeons alone. He didn’t have time for that though. The rest of the students would be arriving back at Hogwarts that evening, and even though he had finished his homework, Snape hadn’t spared him enough free time to do anything else except eat, sleep, and perform basic hygiene.

Unpacking was at the bottom of his things to do. The first thing he wanted was to write letters. Taking several pieces of parchment and some quills he found himself a quiet, sunny place in the library, and started to write. The first was a short thank you letter to the Reichers with a few extra lines hoping they had a good holiday and a happy New Year. The second one was to Victoria, apologizing for running away and leaving her in a fix. The third to Voldemort, requesting an explanation of what the hell happened with the ritual, because last year hadn’t been anything like that. They hadn’t even made their personal blood offerings and yet they still came out saturated with magic (albeit not enough to sink the country else the Dark Lord could have popped Moody like a pimple without having to move), but had quickly used it all up. The fourth was to his godfathers telling them he was well, and hoping to hear how things were going with them soon. The fifth took considerably more thought.

Harry didn’t like apologizing on paper. He would much rather apologize in person, as he felt too awkward putting it in writing. To make it even more awkward, not only was he apologizing, he was also inquiring on Tom’s health and life outside Hogwarts and wishing him the best of luck in his recovery. He ended up writing three different versions and then rewriting the last one into something barely recognizable to the original, and still wasn’t satisfied. It was the best he could probably do without Hermione’s help, and frankly it felt too personal for outside revision.

Then he realized he was going to have to send all the letters via Snape except the one to the Reicher’s and that just brought a whole new level of embarrassment to what he was doing. Oh well, it was the right thing to do. He’d been extremely selfish lately and impinged on the kindness of others while neglecting a friend who needed support. It was time that he stopped acting like a martyr and took responsibility for himself.

McGunny ran into Potter on the way back from the owlry. He had been sending off thank you notes for gifts he’d received, needing a distraction from the moral conundrum he was facing in regards to what had happened over the last few weeks. Part of the school had been blown up and a professor and her killer were both dead. Somehow, Potter had known about the attack and attempted to get everyone to safety. Then McGunny had to go and fuck things up by mentioning the werewolves being left behind. He didn’t doubt for a second that what he had told Potter had sent him running back to the castle and Professors Snape and Larousse running after him, which in turn resulted in the confrontation with Moody.

He wasn’t sure how he should feel about his involvement. It had been Potter’s decision to go back, but it was based on what he had told him. Did that mean he was somehow responsible for Larousse’s death?

It didn’t really feel like it. He had liked her as a teacher and certainly she hadn’t deserved to die, but he couldn’t bring himself to see what had happen as his fault. Or even Potter’s fault. Potter had been trying to save his family, however socially outcast that family might be. Then everything got complicated when the professor died and then it was learned she was going to adopt Potter. Which led to his moral conundrum.

What should he tell the school?

It was his obligation to explain things as thoroughly and objectively as he could, both the good and the bad, but he couldn’t see the fact that Potter had risked a very popular teacher’s life for a couple of werewolves going over well with the student body. And despite his own sense of objectivity, he sympathized with Potter. Life had been difficult for him lately and no one seemed to be making any effort to ease the strain. Something like this could have him relegated back to the ‘Black Cat of Gryffindor’ status from his first year. Potter was strong and he’d survive it, but McGunny didn’t want to be the one responsible for it. He had until the rest of the newspaper staff showed up that evening to figure out what he was going to do.

So it was a rather remarkable coincidence that the subject of his uncertainty should meet him half way up the stairs. They blinked at each other, mutually surprised by the other’s appearance. The young Gryffindor was paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, that made him look sickly and skeletal. His smile was tired and cautious.

“Oh, hey, McGunny,” Potter greeted.

“Hello, Potter,” he replied, then realized he had a rare opportunity to talk to the other boy alone. “Did you just get back? I didn’t think the train was suppose to arrive until four.”

“Oh, no, I’ve been back all week. Just…” he trailed off. McGunny nodded.

“Didn’t want to deal with anyone else yet?”

“Ah, yeah. I know they mean well but I can only stand to hear ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ so many times.”

“I’ll try to refrain, then… I don’t suppose I could get an interview while we’re standing here?”

“Um… no?”

With that his chance was lost, because Potter bolted up the stairs like he expected to be chased. Despite the rudeness of the departure, McGunny was rather amused. Let it never be said that Potter was a glory hound. In fact, he seemed positively terrified of media attention. Or perhaps he was beating himself up over what happened. He sighed.

Could he really print a story, of which he had very little information himself, knowing it only served to stir up ill feelings against the boy and disrupt the tentative trust that had developed between them?

He could.

But he wouldn’t.

That would be impractical as well as morally questionable. If he was very careful, and a little bit clever, he wouldn’t even have to lie. Merely twist the words into a different perspective.

Heroism and villainy was all about perspective anyway.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’d have sent us an owl if he wasn’t,” Draco insisted for the hundredth time as Hermione chewed her fingernails. Beside her, Natalie looked out the carriage window at the setting sun and said nothing. She had been strangely reserved since they met up at the train station, her usual mockery absent. Draco wanted to prod her for answers, but he had his hands full with his sister.

“No, he wouldn’t. He’s got too much pride. He thinks he has to face all his problems on his own. I really don’t understand his reasoning sometimes.”

“He’s fine. It’s not like he’s really alone. Uncle Severus is there and Professor McGonagal and some other random people not important enough to remember.”

“Uncle Severus isn’t in any state to look after anyone,” she insisted, convinced that the man was steeped in quiet grief. Draco was more skeptical, finding very little in his recent behavior to suggest Snape was anything but in complete control of himself. He’d even remembered to send them their Christmas gifts.

“We’ll know when we see them,” Natalie said off-handedly as the carriage came to a halt. She climbed out first, and looked around. The castle keep was crowded with students hurrying to get out of the cold. She gave up her search when she realized it was unreasonable to expect Harry to block an entry way just to wait for them.

She stalked towards the Great Hall, her pace quick with intent, and forced Draco and Hermione to rush to keep up. She outpaced Ginny and Clyde, who were walking together, and went right pass Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, who were snickering to each other at her approach. She’d deal with the last two later, but she had someone more important that she wanted to see. She stepped into the main chamber, bright and warm, but looking sad and plain after a month of beautiful decorations, and turned towards the Gryffindor table.

Harry was in his usual spot, and he seemed to be waiting for her… or rather them. He raised his hand in greeting, but didn’t come over to meet her. She didn’t really blame him. He looked as if someone had been keeping him prisoner in their dungeon for ten years, and wasn’t in any state to battle through a crowd. The smile he gave her was tired and sad, but from what she had heard from Hermione it was better than the nothing he’d given her at the funeral.

“He looks better,” Hermione said, sounding relieved. Natalie raised an eyebrow. The Gryffindor princess gave an ironic smile. “His eyes are clearer. I think he’s stopped wallowing, at least.”

“Should we all go talk to him?” Draco asked, “Or wait till after dinner?”

“Lets wait till after dinner. He won’t want to talk with the entire school listening in,” Natalie said, though all she wanted to do was go over and hug him and kiss him and make him smile for real. “We’ll meet in the dueling hall, say in an hour?”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed and went to join her friend. Natalie was severely irritated when she went ahead and sat next to Harry and gave him a hug right in front of everyone. Didn’t she realize that was the girlfriend’s job?

Harry felt awkward being hugged. That was odd because he’d liked getting hugs from his godfathers, but ‘girl hugs’ left him shy and embarrassed, particularly when being done in front of the entire school. At least, he had an excuse. Everyone knew about Larousse, everyone knew she was supposedly going to adopt him, and thus everyone was walking on eggshells around him. There had been no accusations or even accusatory looks yet, but then the paper hadn’t mention his involvement in Moody’s destruction or Larousse’s death beyond helping to evacuate the school. He wondered how long it would be before those few students who had actually been there leaked out that Harry had lead the teachers right back into danger or if they ever would. Did they even realize what he had done? Surely, McGunny did. He’d seen Harry run off himself, and he was the Hogwarts’ Herald’s editor and chief. Of course, McGunny hadn’t questioned him, and he always seemed to be the sort not to make assumptions when it came to a story. There was no real telling what the next issue of the paper would tell or what reaction it would bring.

“Welcome back,” he said. “I hope your Christmas wasn’t completely ruined.”

“No worries. Lucius was absent through most of it, so it was actually one of my happier holidays,” she said lightly, but her smile faded quickly. “I’ve been worried about you. You look tired.”

“I’ve been in detention for a week. I’m very tired.”

“Detention? What for?”

Killing my teacher.

“I skipped my appointment at the Iron House and got completely lost in London. Took nearly six hours before anyone found me. Snape wasn’t happy with me at all. Nor was the sentinel who had to travel all the way from London on Christmas morning to take my statement. Bother what a mess.”

“How on earth did all that happen?”

He shrugged.

“Can it wait? I have a feeling everyone else will want to know too. Plus, I have something important to discuss with you all.”

She nodded. “Alright. We’re suppose to meet up with Draco and Natalie in the dueling hall. Did you want to bring anyone else?”

“Ginny, the twins, Clyde, and… I guess, Ron. Yeah, I suppose I’ll need to talk to him too.”

That clearly surprised her. That Harry would have a meeting with his friends was one thing, but Ron hardly qualified as more than a barely tolerated acquaintance. What could they possibly have to say to one another?

Harry didn’t feel it a worthy subject to get into for the moment, and turned his attention to eating his dinner. He spared just enough courtesy to greet Clyde, Ginny, Fred, George, and various other individuals who came and went in his line of sight, but otherwise seemed to ignore his surroundings.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said, finishing his meal before anyone else was even half way done, and left the table. He could feel many eyes on his back as he left the hall, but pretended not to notice. He hadn’t even reached the dueling hall when Natalie caught up with him. She spun him around and wrapped him in her arms, holding onto him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

His first instinct was to hold her back, like he did Hermione, but then he remembered he wasn’t in love with her and he’d led her on for long enough. So instead he gently pushed her away.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

She didn’t seem to realize something was wrong yet, and continued. “I’m sorry you were here alone. I tried to convince my mums to let me come back, but they wouldn’t let me.”

He hesitated, his mouth going dry with the realization he was about to say something that would hurt her. “They were right. You should spend your holidays with the people who love you.”

She looked as if he had just slapped her, surprise gradually giving way to disbelief and then horror.

“Why did you say that? Why did you say it like that? I’m not expecting a ‘death to us part’ vow, but come on.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked like she was going to hit him, which he was expecting, but instead she clenched her fists and forced herself to remain calm. “Is it Hermione? Ginny?”

His look of perplexity must have been answer enough for she asked a different question.

“Do you like another girl?”

He smiled just a little at that. “If I were to like any girl it would definitely be you, but I don’t think I can. Either I’m too young or too weird or too something… or not enough of something. I don’t know, but I can’t love you like you want. I can’t love anyone like that. I thought liking you as a friend who held my hand and occasionally kissed was enough, but it’s not, is it? Not for you? It’s not really fair, especially since…”

He felt a headache building as he fought to keep back tears and grief and hurt and a dozen other things from twisting his expression. He massaged his temples as an excuse to cover his face for a moment.

“Larousse died for me, Natalie. She died because she loved me like a son or at least thought she did, but I didn’t love her. I pitied her. Sometimes I even admired her. But I never loved her, and now I have to live with knowing she died for something that wasn’t worth dying for. A casual affection that wouldn’t lead to anything. I can’t do that again. I can’t stand the idea of something happening to you because you thought we were something we’re not. We’re just kids, and your my friend. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” she repeated, disbelieving.

“That’s it. I’m sorry. It’s for real now. I can’t be your boyfriend.”

They didn’t say anything for a minute, didn’t even move. He was more resolved than he had been before, and she seemed to realize it the longer she stared into his tired eyes. Finally, she nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re okay with this? Just being friends?”

“Fuck no,” she snapped, fire returning to her eyes. Her temper could easily match his own when provoked, and he knew he’d been whacking it with a stick since he’d told her staying home was the right thing. “I’m not okay with just being your friend. I was your friend, then I was your girlfriend, then I was your friend, and then I was your girlfriend again, and now I’m suppose to be your friend again? Screw you, Harry. I’m not a damn yo-yo. I’m not playing this game every time you get a savior complex and then get over it the next week. We’re over, Harry. Completely. We’re not dating, were not talking, and hopefully we won’t even be thinking about each other pretty soon. Happy fucking New Year!”

And with that she stormed away and he just watched her. He felt sick watching her leave, knowing it was the end of a special friendship that could have been more someday. But someday wasn’t soon enough. It hurt, more than he thought it would, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. That honesty was something to be upheld in the making of friendships and even in the ending of them, and he failed at that more often than not. He would have to do right by the others too, and if he were completely alone afterwards… that was a fear he’d have to face.

He went ahead to the dueling hall to wait for the others. The torches lit upon his entry, revealing rows of mannequins standing at attention, like soldiers ready for battle. They were all identical to one another in design, but Harry found his ‘Rolfe’ easily by the unique scars in the woods. He ran his fingers over the grooves and roughened sections of wood filled in with special polymer and resins to keep it’s shape. He was inexplicably reminded of Moody, a monster if he’d ever seen one, tearing apart the body of another man to add to his own, a mockery of wholeness. Thought of himself, wondered if he weren’t exactly the same, and then realized that was disgustingly melodramatic and didn’t make much sense.

He really needed to get out of this funk or he was going to turn into one of those gloomy types who waxed on and on about pain and suffering and death until they turned a taboo subject into a tedious one.

The arrival of his friends effectively distracted him.

“Our Great Lord of Chaos!” the twins called as they stormed the hall, fighting each other to get through a door that should have been able to easily fit four of them. Fred squeeze through first, shoving his brother into Clyde, and rushed forward to throw his arms around Harry. “You kept your promise! And then some! Even we never thought you’d blow up the school!”

Okay, really that wasn’t in anyway tactful considering he’d watched his teacher die that day, but it did surprise him enough that he didn’t immediately plummet into depression again. “I didn’t actually blow up the school,” he pointed out, “Moody blew it up. I just happened to be nearby.”

“So modest!” Fred said, ruffling the smaller boy’s hair.

“That isn’t funny!” Hermione scolded as she entered the room. “Someone we all know died! Show a little respect.”

George rolled his eyes at his brother (wisely facing away from Hermione when he did so).

“It’s too bad that,” Fred said. “She was a great teacher, but not all there in the head. For Merlin’s sake, she wanted to marry Snape. She was chewing mushrooms for sure.”

“George!” she shrieked in outrage, while Harry could only gape.

“Fred, actually. And she didn’t perform three miracles before she died, so stop treating her like a saint. It’s sucks what happened, but it happens all the time all over the place.”

Harry supposed that was true, but didn’t necessarily think they should be glib about it.

“They have a point,” Draco said. “However crass they state it. If it bothers you so much, just remember that their heathens and don’t know any better.”

The twins smiled at him, causing the Malfoy heir to gulp.

“Anyway,” Clyde interrupted, “Hey, Harry.”

“Hey, Clyde,” he said, smiling slightly, “Welcome back. Where’s Ginny?”

“Trying to convince Ron to come,” Draco said, looking put upon, “The idiot is being stubborn. Thinks you’re trying to turn us all into your minions to ordered around on a whim.”

“Ooh, sounds potentially kinky,” George chirped, earning a slap upside the head from Hermione. And another slap from Ginny as she walked through the door with a sulky brother on her heels.

“Alright, tell me what you want so I can leave,” the dueling captain said, crossing his arms impatiently. Suddenly, Harry wished he’d talked to Ron separately. Or not at all. If the boy got killed for being in his vicinity, would that be so bad?

Well, too late now.

“I have something to tell you, and then I need you all to make some important decisions.”

“Think he’s going to ask one of us to marry him?” Fred asked George, who looked thoughtful. “Maybe. Might explain why Cypher was so pissed off.”

Harry glared at them. “This is a matter of life and death. Possibly your own. So could you be serious for ten bloody minutes?”

It sobered up everyone’s demeanor except the twins (and Ron’s, who looked as constipated as ever). He took a deep breath and began to explain to them what really happened that day at the castle, keeping the matter of the ritual that led him back to the castle a vague prequel and detailing the events that followed meticulously. He’d practiced this speech in the bathroom mirror half a dozen times, until he could tell it without feeling the need to vomit.

“… and then the medi-wizards took her body away.”

Everyone was silent, even the twins, for a long moment. Ron coughed into his hand, and fidgeted uncomfortably, breaking the silence.

“Well that’s… a really bloody fucked up story and all mate. Does it have a point?”

Everyone scowled at him, but he ignored them. Harry nodded.

“The point is… someone or something has tried to kill me every year since I’ve gotten here. I’ve had so many brushes with death… it’s like knowing I’ll get the flu every winter. It’s sucks, but I know its going to happen. I just… it can be contagious. Larousse died saving me. Other people have gotten hurt just being near me. I need all of you to decide if it’s worth it. If our friendships is worth risking your life for. And in Ron’s case whether he still wants me around the other duelists knowing they might get blown up off the platform rather than on it.”

Ron snorted. “Whatever. They’re just rookies.” He stalked out, muttering about stupid Gryffindor nobility or noble Griffindor stupidity or something to that effect.

“Our father’s a Death Eater, Potter,” Draco said, shrugging, “So it’s not like you’re any safer hanging out with Hermione and me. We’ve had people try to kidnap or hurt us and done just fine without the flowery speeches. I’d rather have you guarding our backs and us guarding yours than go at it alone. It’s common sense.”

Harry turned to Hermione whose face was pinched in determination.

“Not quite how I’d put it, but Draco’s right. It’s better if we stick together. We’ll be happier and safer that way.”

Ginny just nodded, mirroring Hermione’s stance. Harry turned to the twins just in time to see them grinning at each other, and then at Harry. Suddenly, they both held out their arms and charged towards him.

“Group hug!”

Harry’s survival instinct kicked in and he bolted around them.

“Thanks guys!” he shouted back to the others quickly, “I really appreciate-”

Clyde interjected, “We know, Harry! Tell us later. Just run or they’ll catch you!”

“Traitor! You just want to get Harry alone for some private luv’ins!”[1] Fred accused, causing his nephew to turn beet red. Luckily, this was just enough of a distraction for Harry to slip under his outstretched arms and through the door. From there he managed to escape into the castle, feeling laughter bubbling up from inside him for the first time since Larousse’s death.

He wasn’t alone! He had lost Natalie, but everyone else had stayed. They knew and understood the risks, and he would try so hard to truly earn that loyalty they had so willingly given. He would find some way to make himself worthy of it.

Somehow.

The New Year began on a dark note for the Order of the Phoenix. Three of their spies were dead and the families they’d left behind were either imprisoned or under surveillance. Their end was even harder to bare when they later learned that their comrades were mere hours away from learning that Larousse was a trap from ‘Ladybug’, their inside source at one of the wizarding newspapers. Moody was lost to them long before he’d died, but the ignominy of his actions and subsequent defeat sat ill with those who had known him personally. Augusta Longbottom had only escaped captured through her strict adherence to anonymity, but even she had come dangerously close to discovery.

So with heavy hearts and steely resolve the Order gathered at their newest hideout, an abandoned muggle farm house some twenty miles outside of Hamburg, to decide their next course of action.

“My friends,” Dumbledore began solemnly. “We’ve suffered a grave loss this last year. Our brave agents in Britain have paid for their beliefs with their lives and the reputations of their families, and worse yet, their sacrifice was used to benefit the Dark Lord and escalated tension in Britain and Europe.”

As Tonk’s listened, her hair began turning an ever darkening shade of gray, like a storm was building around her head and at any moment lighting bolts might shoot out of it. Beside her, Viktor’s expression told a similar story. They were the youngest members of the Order, and they still took every defeat personally. Johan, Gilfred, Timmons, Fredric, and Phoebe took it all in stride, their true feelings on the matter buried under layers of jaded acceptance.

“However, some good did come of this,” he continued. “The German Minister of Magic has agreed that the situation in Britain is a direct threat to the country and can no longer be ignored. There is a project in the making to uncover and make public the Dark Lord’s plans to send his growing army into the continent. It is an extremely delicate situation, but one that promises to bring about the decisive actions we have been driving towards since the Dark Lord took power.”

From the window he was guarding, Johan made a derisive sound. “Another scheme? What will you use now? Cripples and vampires? Animangi and centaurs?”

“School children, actually,” Dumbledore said. “Among others, but mostly school children.”

Everyone looked suitably horrified except for Krum, who, being a school child himself and actively participating in an underground war, didn’t see the problem.

High above the English countryside, where the the Earth became little more than a patchwork quilt of fields and trees and rivers, Turnis mentally cursed wizards. One moment, he had been sitting warm and snug in his roost with the rest of the Hogwart’s owls, ignoring the few students who came and sent off some of his neighbors to deliver their letters, and the next, he had been rather rudely manhandled and tossed out a window into the cold, gusty winter with a letter flopping around awkwardly from his leg.

He was very tempted to tear the blasted thing off and leave it in a snow bank, go back home, find the vulture of a man who’d ousted him, and poop on him for good measure. He wouldn’t of course. He wasn’t stupid. A free roost and free food for the occasional delivery was a sweet deal, and he wouldn’t break his contract over something as petty as a few ruffled feathers.

So he flew on, as fast as he could, south towards England with a tailwind to make the trip that much faster. The sooner he got rid of the letter, the sooner he could get home to snuggle with Leila, the pretty barn owl with the mischievous glint in her sloe-eyed gaze. The address on his letter was wrong, as was the name, but Turnis had been doing this for seventeen years and knew not to rely on a wizard’s sense of geography or spelling unless he wanted to find Atlantis before he found the correct address. The magical signature was strong though, and easily traceable to a cottage deep in a young forest.

He circled once to look for potential predators, found nothing more threatening than a couple of hungry foxes, and landed on a windowsill. It looked directly into a kitchen, where he saw the biggest rat in his life nibbling on a sandwich. He had to blink and shake himself twice before he realized it was actually a human, and he was still a bit skeptical. This wasn’t who he was looking for. The one he was looking for was upstairs, but this one might let him inside. He pecked at the window.

The rat-man jumped, dropping his sandwich. Turnis laughed, a screeching sound to human ears. The rat-man glowered at him, but shuffled over to open the window.

“What does he want now? He could have easily kept all of this junk at one of his-”

Turnis ignored him and flew past, dodging his madly groping little paws and went straight for the stairs just beyond the kitchen. The entire place was quite small, especially for a wizarding home, and it took him only a moment to find the magical signature he was looking for. The upstairs was just an open space with magical artifacts secured behind magicked display cases. The entire place radiated magical energy, but the one he was looking for stood out easily from the rest.

He landed on the case, ruffling his feathers and wondering what to do now. Normally, his intended recipient actually had hands. Of course, normally, his intended recipient had a body. Beneath his claws and glass, a golden coin pulsed with dark intent like the heart of some sleeping monster just waiting to be awoke. Turnis tapped on the glass with his beak.

“What are you doing over there?! Shoo shoo!” the rat-man shouted, running up the stairs with a broom in hand. Turnis screeched at him in annoyance.

“Shoo! Get out of here this instant or I’ll cook you over a spit!”

An empty threat he’d heard many times before and wasn’t impressed by. He wasn’t going anywhere until he delivered his letter. He tapped on the glass a bit harder this time. The pulse of magic started to quicken. At last, he was getting somewhere.

Rat-man’s broom came up to push him away from the case, but he hissed at it and flapped his wings angrily, refusing to budge. The magic beneath him beat so fast now it sounded like the hum of a bee, and was steadily increasing in power. It seemed Turnis had succeeded in waking it up. Which was good, because he really didn’t want to stay here long enough for his attacker to get brave with his broom. Or remember that he actually had a wand.

“That’s it, you’re barbecue!” The nasty little wizard was fumbling inside his robe, and Turnis was ready to bolt, delivery or no, but then the world went white.

Tom stretched his wings and gave an experimental flap. Everything moved easily and painlessly. Good, he hadn’t damaged his new body. He reoriented himself just in time to dodge a curse from Pettigrew andflew straight for him, slashing at the man’s face with his talons as he passed. Pettigrew screamed and curled himself up on the floor, covering his bloody face with his hands. With nothing to fear at his back, he flew down the stairs, out the open window, and into the forest. He kept going until the little cottage was miles away and flew into barn. In the comfort of darkness, he took stock of himself.

Possession of an animal wasn’t particularly difficult, especially when you had little connection to the original body (or in his case, object) housing your soul, but he had so little power left after his brother had killed him. Certainly not enough to take possession of Pettigrew, not that he would have forced himself into that body even as a last resort. So he’d slept, soaking up what little power he could, until at last an opportunity presented himself.

Turnis wasn’t physically impressive, being a mere tawny owl and heavy with years, but his magical intuition was impressive. He’d found his way to him despite the measures the Dark Lord had erected against such an action. Perhaps his elder counterpart hadn’t factored in owls when setting up his little hiding spot, but that would have been unforgivably foolish on his part. Voldemort was many things, but foolish was not one of them.

It didn’t matter now, though. He was free and no one the wiser.

A dragging sensation on is leg drew his attention. There was a letter. Hardly unusual. The fact that it was addressed to him, or rather Thomas Rook, was. He pulled it off his leg, and very carefully broke the seal with his beak. In the scant moonlight, his enormous eyes scoured the page.

Dear Tom

I hope this letter finds you well. I have been meaning to send it since I learned you weren’t coming back to school this year, but there have been so many distractions. I am truly sorry…

Harry. Tom let out a shrieking laugh. His dear Harry had re-birthed him a second time! His timing was perfect. Despite his apology, three months ago he wouldn’t have had the strength to possess even an owl, and would have ruined his chance at escape. This was destiny. The will of something. God or the Earth, he didn’t care.

He beat his wings and took to the sky. There was somewhere he was supposed to be and since fate had proven kind so far, who was he to defy it?

1. Before anyone suggests it, no Clyde does not have a crush on Harry. The twins don’t either, even though they have fun pretending they do. They aren’t actually gay.↩