Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 4

Mizuni-sama

Prince of the Dark Kingdom: Book 4

1. Credits

2. Foreign Affairs

3. Political Skirmishes

4. Royal Negotiations Continued…

5. Treaties

6. Travelers From Near and Far

7. The Peaceful Invasion

8. The Foreign Occupation

9. The Knighted I

10. The Knighted II

11. The Knights and their Honor

12. Advisors

13. The Forbidden Land

14. The Forbidden Land II

15. The Forbidden Land III

16. The Forbidden Land IV

17. Treason I

18. Treason II

19. Treason III

20. Voyage

21. Distant Lands

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

Foreign Affairs

“Allbright, you’re after Ginny,” Ron said, stepping off the platform as his sister made her way up. The entire Hogwarts’ Dueling Club was at their fifth dueling tournament in Edinburgh, competing against Westwidgen, the local wizarding school. Three platforms had been set up in the great hall to accommodate three different skill levels; beginner, intermediate, and semi-professional, and each had their own selection of four judges. Spectators were placed safely behind a ward, protecting them from the odd renegade spell and protecting the duelists from overzealous fans and angry parents. The ward muffled some of the noise from the crowd, but you could still hear the cheering and shouting and cursing, and even if you were deaf you could tell who was rooting for who by the color of robes they wore and the many signs and flags they were waving.

The locals were decked out mostly in blue and black and made up the majority of the crowd, but Hogwarts’ supporters were every color under the sun and were by far the most enthusiastic. There were also a lot more student supporters, who had considerably less shame than their adult neighbors.

As Ron walked by one crowd of girls he smirked at them and they broke out into squeals of delight. With a considerably less friendly look towards Allbright, he said. “Don’t screw up.”

The young Hufflepuff grimaced, but nodded. Harry placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled.

“Don’t mind him. He says the same thing to everyone. You’re going to do fine. I’ve seen the other guy, he’s got poor endurance. Just keep up your defense and he’ll tire himself out. Got it?”

“Yeah, thanks Captain.”

Technically, Harry was still just vice captain, but since Ron tended to ignore the ‘Rookies’, they had, unofficially, given him that honor. It annoyed the hell out of Ron, but not enough for him to actually take charge of them. Harry just grinned and went to talk to the arrogant bastard who was standing next to Snape and watching Fred duel… or rather toy with the Westwidgen team captain on the semi-professional platform. There were only a handful of duelist in either school qualified to be semi-professional, and all of them sixth or seventh years. Both Jr. Division duelists looked on with a sort of longing as the two boys battled it out in what appeared to be a fight to the death. Harry shook himself out of it to talk to Ron.

“If you don’t want to bother with the rookies, that’s fine with me. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot down their morale just before they’re about to fight.”

The red head tore his eyes away from Fred to glare at Harry in annoyance.

“We’re sitting in third position because you can’t teach them to do more than put up shields. We’d be going to the championship if it wasn’t for losers like Allbright.”

Harry came very close to setting fire to Ron with his eyes alone at that moment. Instead, he grabbed his arm and hissed in his ear.

“Don’t put your fucked-up leadership skills on my shoulders, Weasley. My rookies have been performing on par or better with every other school’s beginner level duelists, despite the fact that you’ve neglected to give them their fair share of duels during practice and despite the fact you’ve gone out of your way to make them feel like shit. If they were performing poorly, which they’re not, it’d be your damned fault as their captain. The only reason we’re in third position is because the Sr. Division sucks at swordsmanship. No, offense professor.”

Snape shrugged. It wasn’t his fault after all. Most Sr. Division duelists were supposed to have started practicing swordsmanship while in Jr. Division, but since the club was so new, most had only a year of practice. It wasn’t a big deal. Sword fighting only came in to play when both duelists spent too much of their magic to fight with their wands. It had happened only twice since they started to compete, but one of those times had cost them the competition. Snape had decided to put more emphasis on it when they began practicing for next season. Otherwise, their team was doing incredibly well. They’d even featured in some of the national papers.

Ron jerked his arm free and shoved him away, looking ready to draw his wand.

“Boys,” Snape warned evenly, his expression neutral, “Save it for the platform.”

They broke it off, and Harry stalked back to the other end of the platform to watch Ginny finish her duel and lend his support to Allbright. The youngest Weasley walked off the platform, shaking out her hand and grimacing.

“Damn, I should have seen that one coming. The Disarming spell is so obvious.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, nothing hurt but my pride. And I think my wand rolled underneath the other team’s bench.”

“Want me to get it for you?”

“Would you? I’m not afraid, but boys can be such perverts. Did you notice they don’t have a single girl on their team?”

She found this strangely offensive, even though the Dueling Club had a mere six girls (it had been nine but two girls had graduated and Natalie had quit) out of almost forty duelists.

“Yeah, I noticed. I thought that one guy was going burst a vein when Owens knocked him off the platform,” he chuckled. He saw the rookie head for the platform. “Good luck, Allbright! Alright, wait here while I get your wand.”

He circled around the room to avoid getting in the way of the judges and headed towards Westwidgen’s bench, a long row of blue and black uniforms and buzz cuts. They all watched him approach suspiciously. The crowd on this side was mostly Westmidgen parents, and they hissed and booed as he passed them. He stopped in front of the bench.

“Excuse, my friend believes her wand rolled over here. Have any of you seen it?”

“Who wants to know?” a first year grumbled. He was the boy Owens had beaten, and still sour over the matter. Everyone was sour over the matter, in fact, especially since their team was losing.

“Me, obviously,” Harry said, knowing they knew damn well who he was. Most people did nowadays.

“Well, we don’t have it,” said another boy.

“I never said you did. I said it may have rolled under your bench. Would you mind moving for a moment so I can look?”

“Maybe we would.”

Typical. Harry wished he could just take out his wand and summon Ginny’s, but all someone would have to do is accuse him of casting a spell on an opposing team, and their entire school would be disqualified. So Harry sighed and held out his hand and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing, weirdo.”

“Magic, you neophyte… come.”

Ginny’s wand leaped into is hand. There was a gasp and several boys jumped up and away from him. He just turned and walked back to his team. Hermione was there, her arms crossed.

“Must you provoke them?”

“Don’t be silly. That was me avoiding provoking them. Well, except for the ‘neophyte’ comment, but they started that one.”

“Do you even know what ‘neophyte’ means?”

“Isn’t that Ron on a good day?”

She slapped his shoulder, but he just grinned and went to find Ginny. She was talking to Owens, and they both grinned at him. Clearly, they had seen what he had done.

“Show off,” Owens said.

“You shouldn’t waste your magic going wandless during a competition,” Ginny pointed out. Harry shrugged.

“I’ve won all my matches already, and it’s not like my job requires a lot of magic. I’ll be fine.”

Plus he’d been practicing since school had let out, and couldn’t help wanting to ‘show off’ as Owens put it. His decision on whether he still wished to sacrifice his chance at heaven and seeing his family after he died for the different sort of immortality that paganism had to offer was still up in the air at the moment, but the subtle gifts in magic he had been granted since the ritual hadn’t dissipated and he saw no reason (and also no way) to avoid using them. Wandless magic came easier to him now, though it was still draining, and his ability to sense magic as a smell or a change in temperature (which had always been there but never really noticeable until now) was becoming more and more pronounced. Aside from a few ‘parlor trick’ wandless summonings, like with Ginny’s wand, he hadn’t told or shown anyone, but he thought Snape and Hermione might both be suspicious.

Allbright won his match, just barely, but was ecstatically happy when Harry told him he’d done a good job. Allbright was the weakest duelist on the team, and he knew it, but he was so determined to get better that Harry couldn’t help but admire him and want to help him reach his goal. If he could one day get the Hufflepuff skilled enough to fight as a semi-professional, he thought all the stress and annoyance Ron caused him would be well worth it.

The last match was between Cedric Diggory and the Westwidgen Vice Captain (Fred had already defeated the Captain), which Cedric won with a spectacular Arching Arrow spell, a stun spell that flew over the target and then turned around to hit them from behind, bypassing any shield that didn’t encompass the back as well as the front. Hogwarts won 58 matches to 22.

And just in time too. He was running late.

“Professor, I’ve got to go!” he said, running past him. “I’ll see you at home!”

Snape glowered at his undignified escape, but waved him off. He still had an entire team of students to re-unite with their guardians. Potter was the least of his concerns at the moment.

The Gryffindor hurried through the crowds, careful to avoid the group of girls with the ‘Potter’s #1’ sign, and out the school’s auditorium doors. A long flight of stairs rolled down the hill where carriages and horses and stalls of valets keeping broomsticks and portkeys safe waited to transport their owners home. A single car stood out amongst the throng, surrounded by curious onlookers wondering who amongst the crowd was ostentatious enough to bring such a contraption to a humble school sporting event. Victoria stood at the passenger door in a chauffeur’s uniform, keeping the crowd from touching or attempting to peek inside. Harry waved to her as reached the bottom of the stairs, and she smiled and opened the door for him.

“I left your change of clothes inside, Young Master,” she said.

“Thanks, Vicki,” he said, and hopped into the back seat. Once inside, he knew he was invisible to everyone outside, but he still waited until Victoria drove them away from the crowds and into the city to start changing. Black dress slacks, a pressed white shirt, gray vest and red tie replaced his dueling leathers, and a light black robe with the symbol for the Court of Foreign Affairs (a crown of laurels and sword set in the center and ‘Honor to our Brothers in War and Peace’ spelled out in Latin encircling it) stitched across the left breast to make it all official looking. His watch was found amongst the pile and he slipped it into his pocket. While waiting to arrive in London, he attended to the care of his dueling uniform, casting the routine cleaning spells and strengthening spells and repair spells.

“How did the Oxford Ogres do today, Vicki?” he asked by way of conversation.

“Still duking it out last I checked. I think the Irish Selkies are going to win though. The Ogres’ Seeker was acting a blind fool after he got hit with a bludger.”

Harry sighed, “They never should have replaced Jameson.”

“Amen to that.”

Traffic was flowing smoothly on Saturday, and they made it in good time to the Forum, a series of buildings set about in a circle, each designated to supervise Britain’s relationship with different parts of the world. Below ground all these buildings were connected, but only a handful of individuals had the security clearance to walk those conjoined halls. Harry had been through them once with the Dark Lord and the Judge[1] of the Department of Germanic States, Isaac Drumm, on the first day he had been assigned to work there. He had never been below again, but he could recall his unease walking those quiet, empty halls and the sense that bad things happened behind the series of locked doors that bore no names or numbers.

They pulled up to the Department of Germanic States (sadly termed the DOGS House), a majestic building with Baroque architecture and an abundance of paintings involving the Black Forest, largely considered the most magical forest in the world even by British wizards. He didn’t wait for Victoria to open the door for him, but called out a quick ‘thanks, I’ll see you later’ and sprinted for the entrance. His watch was already starting to grow warm, so it was with some sense of urgency that he approached the security check point manned by a young Brass Cult[2] lieutenant. He was checked head to toe for spy paraphernalia, handed a security badge, and then waved through. An elevator took him to the third floor.

The moment he stepped off the elevator he was welcomed with a rather nasty scowl from his supervisor, Simeon Schultz, who had the misfortune to resemble his namesake. He didn’t like Harry, and had made that fact known from day one. The Gryffindor didn’t know his reasoning, but he thought it might be professional jealousy. Judge Drumm actually knew him, a mere mail room clerk, by name and would talk to him when he delivered the man’s mail, where it took Herr Schultz three years to reach mail room supervisor and another two months for his boss to actually remember his name.

“You’re cutting it close, Herr Potter,” Schultz groused, crossing his unusually long arms.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Richter Drumm und Ambassadeur Swartzmann. They asked to see you when you finally decided to show up.”

“Ambassadeur? As in, a German ambassador?”

“That’s right, the first one we’ve seen in person for seven years so don’t keep him waiting.”

“Yes, sir. Is there any mail for the Judge?”

A pile of envelopes and scrolls were shoved into his hands, and he hurried on his way. Men and women sitting in cubicles and offices, poked out their heads as he passed asking for reports and deliveries to and from Düsseldorf and Mainz and Erfurt. He apologized as he went, promising to get it all taken care of as soon as he got back. Mail room clerk was by far the most hectic of Harry’s summer jobs, but he thought it might also be his most fun. There was a contagious excitement in the air. Everyone was busy with important things that he got to help with, and despite it all being centered around another country, it made him feel strangely patriotic for his own. It was as if his job was to show Germany what a fine country Great Britain really was, and that they would be good friends if given a chance.

The Judge’s office was concealed behind an ornate wooden door, on which was carved a dragon that would blow fire at you if you tried to open the door by force. Wisely, Harry knocked first.

“Kommen Sie bitte herein.”

Inside, the office was laid out like a study, filled with books and instruments and comfortable furniture for studying or working in repose. The Judge, a slender man in his sixties with a grandfatherly demeanor and a lawyer’s shrewdness, sat in an over stuffed chair across from an unfamiliar gentleman who could only have been Ambassadeur Swartzmann. He was in his late forties, with a handsome Scandinavian face, a thick mustache, and despite being a little heavy in the middle a picture of physical strength. They both smiled at Harry as he entered.

“Guten Tag, junger Mann. Wie lief dein Wettkampf?” the Judge asked.

“Ganz gut, dankeschön. Hogwarts hat sich in diesem Wettkampf sehr gut gemacht.”

“Excellent news. Do you think you’ll make it to nationals this year?”

“I’m afraid we only placed third. Next year we’ll definitely go.”

“Herr Potter here is part of Hogwart’s new dueling club. They’ve done very well for themselves,” the judge explained to the ambassador. Swartzmann grinned and nodded.

“A fine sport.”

“Ah! Forgive me, where are my manners? I haven’t introduced you both. Harold, this is Ambassador Franz Swartzmann from the German Ministry of Magic. Ambassadeur Swartzmann, this is Herr Harold Potter, temporarily on loan to us from Hogwarts.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, shaking his hand politely. The man’s grip was firm, but Harry thought if he’d applied full pressure he could easily ground the bones in his hand to dust.

“Likewise. And I would just like to say, that I hope, despite the rumors going around, you know the Ministry of Magic and the witches and wizards of Germany wish you no ill will.”

Harry blinked. He’d almost forgotten about Moody’s support from Dumbledore, who in turn was supposedly supported by Germany and various other European nations. He had been working very hard to forget about the Moody fiasco and its deadly conclusion in its entirety, and had succeeded but for the occasional nightmares and Natalie’s conspicuous absence. He forced a smile.

“That is good to know. I hope to visit again someday without worrying about assassins and angry mobs… and that came out really badly, didn’t it?”

Swartzmann just laughed, a booming sound like a fog horn.

“Ah! Young man, I hope you introduce yourself to Krum. He could use some of that British humor.”

“Krum?”

“One of Durmstang’s students and a professional Seeker for Bulgaria’s national quidditch team. He’s the most likely to be the schools champion during the Triwizard tournament. Real intense guy. Driven, I guess you could say. How about Hogwarts? Can you think of any likely champions? Think you might try yourself, perhaps?”

Harry just blinked at him, not understanding a thing he was talking about. Judge Drumm chuckled.

“I’m sorry, Ambassador, I forgot to mention I hadn’t told him yet. It’s suppose to be a secret until the start of the school term, after all. But I suppose I’ve been a bit too strict. Herr Potter has proven himself quite capable of discretion,” he said, then turned to Harry to explain.

“It’s really quite exciting. Germany and France have both agreed to participate in an international school competition called the Triwizard Cup. A sort of magical decathlon. Traditionally, Hogwarts used to host this competition every forty years or so, but the war disrupted things. It seems diplomacy is finally starting to pay off. Hogwarts will be receiving some forty or fifty exchange students for the year, and if everything goes smoothly, we hope to expand our friendly relations into other sectors such as trade and tourism once again.”

Swartzmann nodded. “There’s an election coming up, so the Minister is under a lot of pressure to ease international tension. This is an excellent opportunity for both our countries.”

That did indeed sound very exciting and important, which resulted in a definite unease settling over Harry. A school competition didn’t seem that bad on the surface, but having been nearly fed to werewolves by sore losers in quidditch and nearly throttled by Ron on several occasions in dueling club, the threat of juvenile intrigue was very real. British wizards were bad enough, who knew what level foreign wizards played at?

“So what do you think?” Swartzmann said, “Interested in trying your hand? We’ve heard rumors all the way in Berlin about some of your exploits. Killed an acramantula, didn’t you? Befriended werewolves? Fly like the devil. Ah, I bet Krum would love a chance to fly against you What do you say? It could be a lot of fun!”

Harry shook his head.

“My hands are quite full without knocking heads with professional quidditch players, thank you.”

The ambassador sighed, but didn’t look too disappointed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’d only be what? Fourth? Fifth year?”

“Fourth.”

“So young. The competitions are pretty dangerous so only sixth and seventh year students are permitted to compete. Oh, well.”

The unease evaporated. It seemed that just this once, someone else was going to be in more danger than him, and no one could say he was shirking some weird responsibility to school and country by avoiding the matter. Rules were rules after all.

A full year of nothing more hazardous than Ronald Weasley in a mood (or possibly Snape in more of a mood than usual), sounded wonderful. His grades hadn’t been bad last year, but they were not what they could have been. This year he wanted to focus on his studies, quidditch (would there be a house cup with two other schools taking up residence for the year?), dueling club, and any other skills that would decrease the chances of him dying before graduation.

He shook himself out of his distraction.

“Sounds great,” he said, seeing they were still looking at him. “I’ll try my best to help them feel welcome. Oh, and I forgot, you’ve got mail, sir.”

Judge Drumm nodded. “Thank you, Harold, just put it on my desk, and I’ll let you get back to work. It was good to chat with you.”

“Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure, Ambassador.”

“Likewise, Herr Potter. You have a nice day.”

Harry bowed slightly to them both and left. What an interesting turn of events. Should he tell any of his friends? How secret was ‘secret’ in this case? National news worthy certainly, but national secret worthy?

He wasn’t given much time to think about it. No sooner than he stepped out onto the floor than people started demanding their reports and mail and forms and a variety of materials deemed too sensitive to left flying through the air like it did at the Court registration offices or the Court education department. What exactly had been Voldemort’s intention when setting him up with a job here? One that was technically meant for someone with German language skills higher than that of an eight year old? True, his German vocabulary had not only returned but was greatly increased since he’d started working almost a month ago and the pay was impressive for a part-time minor, but he wondered who he had cheated out of a job with the Dark Lord’s meddling.

The sudden idea that Voldemort was setting him up to rule Germany popped into his head, almost making him laugh.

Until he remembered, you could never tell with that man.

Harry arrived home at a quarter after five, with Inana waiting on the porch for him like a loyal puppy and Snape expecting him to cook dinner like an overbearing husband.

“You’re late,” the potions master informed him.

“No, I’m not,” he said, dismissively, heading for the kitchen. “If I were late my watch would have gotten hot. I can make yesterday’s leftover stew into a pot pie or I can roast the chicken. The pie would be faster, but it’s up to you.”

“I ate the stew for lunch. And you’re fifteen minutes late.”

“I’m fifteen minutes later than usual, but I’m not late. Would you mind washing and rinsing the vegetables?” He wandered around the kitchen, picking up pots and bowls and herbs and measuring spoons as he went. The kitchen had become his domain, just as the potion lab was Snape’s, and though his professor liked to tease him with names like ‘fishwife’ and ‘Miss Potter’, even he knew better than to challenge his authority there.

“I’ve been working in the potion’s lab today.”

Didn’t necessarily mean the man didn’t try to get around it occasionally.

Harry gave him a look, that threatened to become nagging if Snape didn’t do as he was… well, requested. Snape rolled up his sleeves and went to the cupboard. “Don’t blame me if mushrooms start growing out of your ears. Did you stop somewhere?”

“No, I was just running behind. There was a visitor today, and I ended up talking to him. Do you know Ambassador Swartzmann?” While Snape prepared the vegetables, Harry made a glaze with herbs and chicken broth. This was a routine that had been established the year before, and as bizarre as it seemed once the young Gryffindor returned to Hogwarts, it was natural and even comfortable in their house.

Yes, it felt like their house now. Last year, he had only been a guest. These days it felt more like a home. A home with an older, bossy, nosy, and perpetually hungry man as a roommate, but home nonetheless. He couldn’t say why or how exactly things were different. It had to have been Snape’s doing, though he wasn’t any nicer or less snarky than before. There were days when he thought it was because Snape was going to adopt him at one time, which meant he had to have felt something other than professional responsibility towards him. Those days were few because it didn’t take him long to remember it had all been Larousse’s idea and Snape hadn’t seen him as anything more than indulgence to his fiancée. He took out the chicken from the ‘chilling cupboard’ and started to glaze it.

“Not personally,” the man said, flicking his wand about so that he wouldn’t actually have touch his food. “But the Dark Lord has made him known to me. What do you know of his intentions here?”

“Triwizard tournament.”

“Ah, yes. Do you understand its significance?”

“Probably not. I know it’s the first time in over a decade Germany’s allowed civilians to visit. I know… I heard the German minister is under a lot of pressure to ease the tension between our countries. I know I don’t have to worry about it since I’m not old enough to compete.”

Snape snorted, the potato dropping out of the levitation charm as a result.

“This tournament is a competition, plain and simple, just on a larger scale than previously. It’s a matter of national pride. Depending how each champion performs, generalized statements about the character and educational quality of their school and country can be made. Superiority- is this still edible?”

“Just wash it off again.”

“Superiority can be inferred. It is each champion’s intention to be considered the most powerful, skilled, and intelligent and pass on their glory to their nation.”

“Does this mean we’re really just fighting a miniature war?”

“Essentially. Now what do you want with these?”

“Put them in the pot.”

“Of course, it’s a war of pride. The Dark Lord believes this sort of thing is necessary in order for Europe to recognize his sovereignty over Britain. If the youth of the nation are as strong or stronger than they were during the reign of the Ministry, what right does anyone have to say that his cause was not justified?”

“And if we lose badly?”

“… Europe will feel justified in denouncing him… continuing to denounce him and then things will get messy. I’m not worried. I’ve visited both schools. They have some subjects they excel in, but their education is mediocre overall in comparison to Hogwarts. Now what?”

Harry cast a spell into the pot, slicing the vegetables into large chunks. He poured the rest of his herb broth over them, set the chicken on top, and put the whole thing in the oven.

“Forty-five minutes and it should be done.”

“Mm… you have a letter. I left it on your bed.”

Harry was half way up the stairs before he remembered to call back a ‘thank you!’ He entered his room, and found it the same organized chaos he’d left in the morning. Elsbeth’s perch and Inana’s basket both rested empty on their own stands by the open window, charmed to open whenever either creature approached (Inana found she could come and go by climbing the gutter and rain spout). In the corner of the room that received the most light, he had set down a large white sheet now splattered with paint, an easel, and art supplies carefully stored in totes and bins and tin cans. His latest piece featured Elsbeth on her perch hallowed in moonlight in oil pastels, her large yellow eyes peeking open as he entered before closing again in sleep. His growing collection of books rested on a bookshelf, along with his collection of magical artifacts, a box of letters, and photographs, but soon he’d need another shelf it was getting so crowded. His desk was likewise cluttered with Hogwarts’ memorabilia; summer homework assignments, old text books, parchment and quills, and his student manual. Only his cold weather clothes and most secret of possessions remained in his school trunk; his wooden box, Sirius’ fang necklace, the runaway box, and the Marauder’s Map (once again in his possession, because the twins were broke for Christmas) were carefully hidden away in the folds of his Baluvian cloak and beneath an ever growing number of security spells.

The letter rested on his bed. He read the return address.

‘Die Reicher Familie’. He smiled. He had been keeping up a fairly steady correspondence with the Reichers since they’d given him shelter on Christmas Eve, or more precisely he was keeping correspondence with Morgana, her crayon drawings the only clue to as to what the ghastly squiggles that passed for her handwriting stood for. Their letters brought a bitter sweet sensation to Harry, who felt both blessed to have her affection and lonely when he realized she would eventually grow out of it. Her attention was due to childish infatuation, not kinship after all.

He opened the letter and found himself looking at a drawing of the Reichers standing on the beach, blocky beige bodies with red smiles, except for Robert who was very pink and frowning. Harry burst out laughing, easily imagining the poor man’s sunburned vacation. He read Morgana’s unique calligraphy and managed to make out ‘Jersey’ and ‘swimming’ and ‘Papa looks like a lobster’.

He spent his time before dinner writing a reply, involving a tale about Sir Weasley the Boorish, a vagrant night and villain whom Prince Harold was intent on turning into a real boar, complete with a little cartoon Ron being transfigured into a pig.

While Harry amused himself upstairs, Snape went to his study to attend to his own mail. Among the usual bills and requests for his expertise on some project or another, was a letter from the Court. More specifically, Voldemort, though he had refrained from signing the letter himself. It contained orders for a report on Harry’s current status and instructions for the boy’s upcoming stay at the werewolf colony. As far as Snape could tell, Harry was as obnoxiously happy as he had been last year except for the unexplained happening that had driven the Cypher girl away from him and clean out of dueling club.

Sending the boy to play with a bunch of moon-madden savages in the forest didn’t seem conducive to keeping him well, but that really wasn’t any of his business. Potter was involved in a form of magic Snape had only a vague understanding of, and whatever it was it required the instruction of a pagan, not a potions master or professional duelist.

It was with an uneasy fascination that Snape was waiting to see what precisely Potter was going to become. Another dark lord? It seemed unlikely, given Voldemort’s intolerance for challengers. What then? Theorizing would bring no definite answers, so he moved on to the other item contained in the missive.

A list.

More specifically, a list of healthy, single, Pureblood women. A list of potential wives. He snorted. It was five months until he had deemed it an appropriate time to start searching for a ‘Mrs. Snape’, but it seemed the Dark Lord was getting impatient. Did he perhaps want him to start a family so he could officially adopt Potter as Larousse had wanted? His fiancé’s death had done wonders for the Gryffindor’s public image, not only repairing whatever damage his parents’ rebellious history had brought down on the boy but instilling a sort of paternal instinct in the public. Potter had gone from ‘young upstart’ to ‘Britain’s lost son’ in the span of a week. The Court was still filtering out sympathy mail from those few letters by people Potter was actually permitted to correspond with.

If that was the Dark Lord’s game… there wasn’t really anything Snape could do about it except be grateful that he’d only have to put up with it for two or three years. It wasn’t like Potter’s company was intolerable. Some days, the boy proved to be quite interesting.

Alcohol was usually required at the end of such days.

The summer solstice announced itself with a storm. It blew in shortly after midnight, awakening Harry with the sound of thunder. He stayed up for almost an hour watching the lightening illuminate the countryside, and feeling the magic against his skin like an electric charge.

And then he was hit with a powerful compulsion, like an Imperius Curse. He stripped out of his nightclothes, left his glasses on the nightstand, and walked out of the house. He was completely blinded. Blinded by the dark, blinded by the absence of his glasses, blinded by the rain in his eyes, but his feet found their footing true.

The rain was heavy with magic, Earth magic tasting heavily of Voldemort’s unique flavor. Harry knew it for what it was. The result of a ritual, a summoning of gods and spirits, a joyous dance between Mother and child. He looked up to the sky and opened his mouth, swallowing down the water and magic, making it a part of himself.

Lightening flashed directly overhead, and he laughed at the electric tickle that ran through his body. His feet were soon doing more than walking, they were running and leaping and twirling, rushing him far away from the house and into the meadow. The mud squished beneath his toes, but didn’t swallow him. The rocks rolled under his feet but did not trip him. He danced his way through the tall grass and brambles without fear or self-consciousness, feeling only power and joy.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained dancing out in the rain, for he knew no fatigue and his focus was on nothing more than the happiness reveling in his compulsion brought him. He didn’t even know when the storm had ended and he’d collapsed.

What he did know was that he had fallen asleep outside, and that he must have slept late, because he woke up very naked in the middle of the meadow with the Dark Lord and Snape staring down at him.

And suddenly, he felt all his self-consciousness return with a vengeance.

“Did you have fun last night?” Voldemort queried, handing him a cloak. “I know I did.”

Harry wrapped the cloak around himself and risked a peek at both men. Snape seemed stuck somewhere between intense curiosity and blatant disapproval, but not the least bit embarrassed about staring down at a naked person. Voldemort was dressed in his shaman robes, and grinning like a fox. Harry could feel his magic, the same magic he had felt last night, tingling against his skin like electricity.

“What did you do?” he groaned.

“Just a little summoning ritual. A Welsh storm god to be more precise. It seems you got caught up in though. I forgot that your element is water. How do you feel?”

Harry climbed to his feet and tried to take stock, but we was feeling disoriented and his definite lack of clothes wasn’t helping him.

“Wet. And muddy… and I’ve got to pee.”

Snape snorted. Voldemort chuckled.

“You did drink a lot of water. Come on, you can clean up back at the house. It wouldn’t do to greet the Head Alpha as you are now.”

While Harry showered, Voldemort and Snape waited with cups of tea in the study. Snape was brimming with questions over what had just happened. He hadn’t even been aware Harry wasn’t in the house until the Dark Lord showed up at his door three hours before he was expected and told him to follow him. The meadow was unpleasantly wet and muddy, but he didn’t dare voice his complaints, and soon forgot them altogether when they came upon Potter lying naked in a circle of crushed grass. Even more startling was the abundance of clovers that seemed to have grown up directly beneath the child, fluffy white blooms smelling sweetly of nectar.

It was one of those ‘interesting’ moments Snape was coming to dread, and the intense wave of curiosity that followed was unlikely to be satisfied. The Dark Lord seemed content to ignore it.

“Should I expect this sort of thing routinely?” he asked.

Voldemort looked at him over his tea cup, incongruous in his barbarian garb and perfect manners. He smirked.

“I shall make him a ward. It wouldn’t do if someone found out they could summon Harry like a mere nature spirit. Although, I may have invited him to join in the ritual myself by accident.”

“I thought you would be performing a solstice ritual during the full moon?”

“The full moon isn’t close enough to the solstice to be worth it. Besides, I can’t really entrust my apprentice’s wellbeing to the moon. She has proven… unreliable.”

Imagine that, Snape mused.

“But you are still going to celebrate with the werewolves?”

“My participation in werewolf festivities is primarily for diplomatic reasons, but I intend to make use of my time there to teach Harry more of the pagan arts. He has seen so little of it, but it has a strong hold over him already.”

Snape nodded, believing this was very much the case. He had noticed the unusually quick progression of the boy’s magic, particularly his wandless magic, and the odd moments when the child seemed to just know things he shouldn’t. Like when the weather would change or what herbs and vegetables were at their best or what sort of spell a duelist was going to cast. Little things no one would think much of unless they saw how frequently accurate these predictions were. It made Potter’s reticence ironic.

“I believe he is having doubts, my Lord.”

Voldemort gave him a curious look. “Doubts?”

“About becoming a pagan. Vesper’s death shook up some questions in him about the afterlife. He’s been questioning his godfathers about it in his letters.”

“What have they said?”

“Nothing. They wish to see him in person before they discuss it. I thought you should know before you let them run off with him.”

Voldemort nodded, but didn’t look too concerned.

“Thank you, Severus. I’m glad you told me, but I’m not worried. At this point, Harry can no more claim himself a child of God than his godfathers can. The Earth has a firm hold over all their spirits. It would require an extremely potent spiritual conversion for Harry’s soul to reject what has been offered to him, and more sacrifice than I imagine he is willing to give. I will be careful with him, however. He may or may not be able to become a Christian, but his dedication to paganism can still be greatly influenced by his experiences and his belief in choice.”

Snape considered that, and wondered at its meaning. He wasn’t a Christian really nor a pagan, as both religions seemed to him bizarre and pointless and more than a little bit scary. There were forces out there beyond the scope of human understanding, he accepted that, but why anyone would want to or have to tie their soul to some deity with questionable intent was beyond him. Why would such beings even want to tie spirits to them? Did they taste yummy?

“You received my list, I trust?” Voldemort asked, interrupting his internal musings.

“Of eligible women? Yes, I narrowed down my selection to four, but I haven’t done much more than that. It’s still several months before I can start placing formal inquiries.”

“I know you want to be respectful to your fiancé’s memory, but if you delay too long you will certainly lose opportunities. These are women of quality. They will have many offers before you even try your hand.”

Snape tilted his head in concession, but didn’t seemed particularly bothered. Voldemort sighed. The potions master could be such a child when it came to some things. Before a lecture could be given, or really an order, Harry entered the study, squeaky clean from his shower. He was dressed in leathers, with Inana resting around his neck, and a light black cloak folded in his arm.

“How do you feel now that you are dry, clean, and don’t have to pee?” Voldemort asked, amused when the boy blushed and looked at his toes.

“… Tingly… kind of lightheaded.”

“Good. Just relax and let the magic settle.”

Harry just nodded. Aside from a few brief encounters and setting him up with the job at the Court, they had seen very little of each other in the past couple of months. The Dark Lord had been busy with a series of new projects, and Harry hadn’t had much time on his hands once the spring semester had started. He was feeling shy, and being discovered naked in a field had done nothing to relieve that.

The Dark Lord set down his tea and stood.

“Thank you for the tea, Severus. I think we will be going now. See you in six days.”

“A pleasant journey, my Lord,” the potions master said, escorting them too the door. To Harry he gave a warning look. “Behave.”

Harry crossed his arms and muttered, “Kind of hard not to misbehave in a werewolf colony.”

Fenrir watched Blackbone from inside his house as the younger alpha paced in the shade of an oak tree nearby. Every so often, the man would stop, look towards the path leading into the commune, then resume pacing. The Head Alpha found Blackbone’s behavior vaguely amusing coming from someone normally as aloof as rebellious male.

“What do you see, Father? A snorkleburk?” came a curious voice, and a moment later, Luna was beside him, peeking out the window with him. “It’s Blackbone. He’s moving around like he sat on an ant hill.”

Fenrir chuckled, and patted Luna on the head. The goddess that had previously been inhabiting her body was now gone, but though she now lacked that omniscience that defined her divinity she wasn’t left entirely untouched. The strangest things still came out of her mouth, but now they amused Fenrir more than guided him.

“You’re friend is coming today. Twilight Seeker. Do you remember him?”

Luna thought for a moment. “Harry?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

She smiled, and wandered off. Fenrir watched her go and wondered what she was up to. Nowadays she was even more mysterious that she had been before. She was no sooner gone than movement drew his attention back towards Blackbone. A young beta came running down the path, and the alpha grabbed his arm before he let him pass, snarling something. The beta cowered, said something, and the alpha released him. Blackbone stalked out of the commune and into the forest.

There was a knock on his door.

“Greyback!”

“Enter,” he commanded, and the beta from the path opened the door and stepped inside.

“God Eater is here.”

Greyback stalked towards the door, and glared at the young beta, who cringed and cowered, staring resolutely at his toes.

“I don’t suppose you told Blackbone this fact before you told your alpha?”

“Ah! I- I’m sorry! He w-wouldn’t l-let me p-pass!”

Fenrir knocked him to the floor a powerful backhand, snarling. “Decide now whether you fear your alpha or Blackbone more!”

He walked away from beta, still curled up on the floor. It was becoming an increasing problem, his packs not knowing when to bow to Blackbone’s natural dominance and when to uphold their Head Alpha’s desires. The black werewolf’s status had been diminished after his months away at Hogwarts, but he had returned more aggressive and defiant than before. The fights between them had become increasingly violent. The packs were becoming uneasy.

One of them was going to kill the other before the next summer solstice, of that Greyback was certain. He wasn’t worried about himself, as far as alphas went he had been the most successful in history in terms of increasing the werewolf population and improving their quality of life, and he would go to his grave satisfied with that. Blackbone was a strong man, a strong leader, and despite his sometimes juvenile sense of humor, he wasn’t afraid to get serious. Greyback’s only true fear was that Blackbone, out of some misguided attachment to the wizarding world and his grudge against the Snake Lord, would foolishly undo everything that he had built in war that could only hurt them.

It was a matter he desperately needed to discuss with Voldemort.

And with Harry Potter.

1. ‘Judge’ in Voldemort’s Court isn’t the same thing as a ‘judge’ in a muggle court. ‘Judge’ is a high ranking Court official, in this case rather like an ambassador. German translation is Richter.↩

2. For those who forgot, the Brass Cult is Voldemort’s new army. British Assembly for Cultural Preservation and Defense - BrAss Cult. Also named because their uniform buttons and insignia are made of brass, at least for the typical foot soldier. The higher the rank, the more expensive their uniform fixtures.↩

Political Skirmishes

The forest was still wet from the early morning storm, and a lingering chill had Harry wrapping his cloak tightly around him and Inana laying docile beneath it. He was muddy again already, and with each soggy step his condition was only getting worse. Harry didn’t mind in the least. Voldemort had told him that his element was water, and surely he was right, for the young Gryffindor’s skin tingled pleasantly at every stray drop that landed on his exposed skin. In the ozone ladened air, he could smell out that which he couldn’t see. Plants and animals and decomposing earth.

Voldemort watched him with equal parts amusement and fascination.

“You seem quite happy. Has the rain always made you feel this way?”

Harry thought about it and shook his head.

“I always liked water, but I never really liked rain. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to play in the rain when I was younger. They always said I’d get sick. What about you? Do you like the rain?”

“Not particularly, but water isn’t my element.”

“Fire?” he guessed. Voldemort smirked.

“Yes. Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah… You’re a conqueror, after all. Fire seems the most likely element for conquerors.”

“Water can do considerably more damage than fire,” Voldemort pointed out.

“I’ve never heard of conquerors drowning countries. Although, if we’re talking about witch and wizard conquerors, I’m sure there were a few who managed it.”

“Bulgief the Wet. More of a Viking pirate than a conqueror really. Used to created huge tidal waves that he’d use to wash his boats straight into coastal towns and cities, and then pillage in the chaos.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Was drowned by angry selkies before he got far. They didn’t appreciate all that human trash getting washed into their underwater villages.”

Harry smiled, and shook his head. They said nothing for a while, simply enjoyed the forest, and ignored the werewolves that watched them from their hiding places. Voldemort was the first to break the silence.

“Harry, are you afraid of dying?”

The boy looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“I’m told you’ve been having doubts about continuing to learn the old magicks. Are you afraid of what will happen to you after you die? Are you afraid of hell?”

“Hell? I hadn’t thought about hell. You said if the Earth took my spirit, I’d simply be reborn.”

“And do you not want to be reborn?”

Harry was quiet for a long moment.

“I don’t know. I want to see my family again. They were Christian. They’d definitely be in Heaven.”

“Are you sure? The requirements for Heaven are difficult to meet from what I hear. Are you certain they are in Heaven?”

“Definitely. They are definitely there,” he said, his voice sharp with conviction.

“And what if they are and you do indeed see them again one day? Then what? Will that make you happy for eternity? Will that satisfy you?”

Harry looked at him, confused.

“I have never understood the appeal of Heaven. Where is the challenge once you reach it? An eternity of bliss? How dull. All the people you love in life? Don’t you think there are more interesting people to be met? Other people to share your love and your hatred with?”

“But to live forever in different bodies?” Harry interrupted. “To die forever? To lose and forget about everyone and everything that had meaning in your life over and over again? I don’t see the appeal in that either.”

“To experience the length and breadth of existence, of course. To know all the joys and sorrows and wonders the world has to offer. It is such a magnificent world.”

“My mother… my father…”

“You will have other mothers and other fathers.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. If he were reborn, he would indeed, have new parents. A new family to start over with. Brothers? Sisters? Grandparents? He had never had anything more than his parents before. The Dursley’s didn’t count.

“What if I’m not born human?”

“You are highly sentient. You will not rebirth into a mere dumb animal or a tree. If you’re not born human, you will be born to some other sentient race, which tend to raise their young.”

“…”

“Just think about what I have said. You were made for this world. You will achieve great things here.”

“… Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Du solltest nicht gehen.”

Viktor looked up, turning away from the horse he had been harnessing to a cart, to see his father standing behind him. The cart was laden with the finest quality wood, soon to be carved into broom handles and other magically rich devices, but only if he managed to get it all into town before the next rain hit.

“Mach dir keine Sorgen, papa,[1] I have at least an hour before the rain hits. Mr. Abalone will put me up for the night if it’s too heavy to return home,” he replied, pretending the use his father’s native German was perfectly ordinary, rather than an indicator that the family patriarch was angry.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you shouldn’t go to Britain. It’s not safe for you there. You’ve said that to your mother and me for years now.”

Viktor sighed, looking up at the sky to track the progression of the gray clouds rolling in from the east.

“And you wait till now to believe me? Or did you believe me, and just not care?” he asked, returning to finish hitching up the cart. His father had the decency to looked uncomfortable, quite a feat for a man who boasted being the descendant of Viking chieftains, and looked the part.

“Whatever the case, it doesn’t make it any safer for you,” the man said, crossing his arms and looking firm. It was the sort of look that intimidated most of the townsfolk into awe and submission, but Viktor, who had the same stubborn blood running through him even without his father’s Scandanavian features, plus his Bulgarian mother’s stoic indifference to bravado.

“Shall I wait until the danger comes pounding on our door? I will go to see for myself what threat, if any, the Dark Lord poses to Bulgaria and to our village,” he said.

“Absolutely, not!” Krum Sr. shouted, “That isn’t your responsibility.”

Viktor turned a dark glare over to his father.

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about Germany’s future, I wouldn’t have to take responsibility!”

“Viktor!”

“I have to go,” he interrupted before they really go into it. He really did need to go if he wanted to get to the village before the wood was ruined. “We’ll talk later.”

His father let him go. They both knew they would only end up fighting and nothing would get resolved. Viktor had a will and a know how about him that frustrated his father to no end, and Viktor wasn’t going to change anytime soon, regardless or perhaps because he loved his father.

Or perhaps because he loved his grandmother and the grandfather he never got to meet. It had been Grandma Freida’s tales by the fire side that motivated him to fight now, tales of how the tyrant Grindlewald and his followers had deceived and lain waste to most of wizarding Europe, and how it was the cowardice of the people that had allowed it to happen. His own grandfather, Fredrick Yule, had died trying to stand up for what was right, defending a family of squibs from Grindlewald supporters. His grandfather had died, and the Yule family had fled east like hundreds of other families until they settled in the Bulgarian mountain village of Anastas. Four years later, Frieda had married a broom maker, Iordan Krum, who in turn had adopted his father, Xiomar and given him his name and trade. Xiomar honored the Krum name by upholding the family trade, but he held an even greater pride for his blood history and a love for the country of his birth that he had passed on to his only son. He had made sure that Viktor knew German and gone to great length to ensure his son was admitted to the Durmstrang Institute. It was why Viktor couldn’t turn a blind eye to the danger he sensed, a danger that threatened to destroy all he loved and taken pride in, and perhaps why his own father refused to acknowledge it.

Regardless of his father’s wishes, he was going to go. He was going to find out the truth for himself, about Voldemort, his Death Eaters, his Court, and his child protégé.

And if he did not like what he found there… he had Viking in his blood. He was not afraid to die in battle.

Greyback greeted his guests just outside the commune, cautiously searching the surrounding forest for Blackbone and Slivermoon, but they remained out of sight. Voldemort seemed to sense his distraction, but graciously ignored it. The Potter child seemed to be searching for the two errant werewolves, as well, but Greyback knew his vision was ridiculously bad. Aside from that, the boy looked significantly grown. He was not the brawny muscled creature that his own adolescent pups were, but there was a definite musculature to him, not unlike the Dark Lord’s, and there were a few battle scars. His posture was straight, his gaze direct, but his constantly roaming eyes detracted from the overall dominant demeanor.

He smelled different than Greyback remembered. Better. More natural, at least. Caution, decomposing leaves, and snakes.

The alpha hoped these changes were something he could work with. The year before the pup had been too innocent, too curious, and too self-absorbed for anything more than learning and appreciating the world around him. Greyback needed someone who was strong enough to actively change it.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Voldemort asked, as they walked together through the commune. Harry trailed behind, following close, but not paying much attention to them. “You do not look well.”

This was likely true. The left side of his face was purple, his right arm was bandaged forearm to wrist, and he was limping just a bit. Minor wounds, but it was rare for anyone to see him in anything less than top form. He grinned.

“Blackbone’s been real interesting lately.”

That caught the boy’s interest. Intense green eyes were suddenly locked on him. Greyback sent him a nasty leer. The boy glared back. Yes, he could work with that.

“He’s challenged you?” Voldemort asked, concerned for a completely different reason than his protégé.

“Not directly, but he wants to.”

“Can he win?”

“Sure. So can I. If I could trust him to do what needs to be done, I’d let him.”

The crowds parted for them as they passed, easing their way to Voldemort’s private tent. The tent itself had been modified a bit per the Snake Lord’s instructions. A few items had been added, an extra pallet, an empty cistern, and box with parchment and ink stored safely inside. Greyback wasn’t entirely certain what it all meant, but thought Harry’s apprenticeship might have advanced a level. Despite his poor vision, the young wizard noticed the changes as well, and looked to his mentor curiously, but wisely didn’t interrupt them.

“How bad is it?” the Dark Lord asked. “Is he unstable?”

“No. Not yet, but the full moon is only three days away. If we get through that, I think he’ll be manageable until the winter solstice.”

Voldemort frowned, but didn’t say anything. He would leave the matter to Greyback. If he didn’t like the result then he’d interfere, but not before.

“I’ll leave you to settle. Boy, come with me.”

Both wizards turned to him, surprised. The younger looked away reluctantly, the elder suspicious. Greyback snorted.

“Can’t have you wandering around blind as a bat. Diana will fix you up.”

“I can do it,” Voldemort said.

“I’m not going to eat him,” Greyback muttered. The dark wizard raised a brow, and the alpha rolled his eyes. “That was only once, and I was drunk.”

A long sigh.

“Alright, but I expect him back in one piece.”

The werewolf grinned, and before his charge could protest, grabbed him by his cloak and dragged him out of the tent. He wasn’t halfway to Diana’s little plot of earth when the boy worked up the nerve to speak.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to test something,” he said, and paused, looking around. He found what he was looking for quickly enough. Blackbone was standing amidst a group of men, gambling over something or other, but his eyes weren’t on the dice. He had eyes only for the alpha and the pup in his less than gentle hands. A smirk slowly slid across the elder werewolf’s face, and he could practically see the hackles rise. “Yeah, this will work.”

“What will work?”

“Hn. When Blackbone arrives, he’s going to start a fight.”

He started moving again, jerking Harry roughly along behind him. The irritated sound that vaguely resembled a growl, amused him greatly.

“When that fight starts, I want you to break it up.”

“What?! Are you mad?”

“By wizarding standards or werewolf?”

“I’m not getting between two alpha werewolves! That’s crazy by both our species’ standards.”

Very true, but he needed answers.

“If you don’t break up the fight… if you can’t break up the fight, then I’ll kill Blackbone. I’ll kill him right in front of you, and no one will stop me. It’s in my right.”

The pup’s posture lost all its nerve, slouching into an arch of submission. Pathetic, but strangely endearing to his canine brain.

“No! Please, no. Why are doing this?”

“If you want to succeed in stopping the fight, you’re going to have to straighten up. He won’t listen to you if you’re all curled up like that. It’ll just make him protective.”

And sure enough, Blackbone came in fangs bared, seemingly out of no where, snatching his godson away and putting his body between them. Up close, the younger alpha looked as bad as Greyback, a gash across his face and chest, but it only made him look more savage. Greyback grinned, crouching in preparation for the attack, the knife in his belt in easy reach.

“Don’t you touch him!” Blackbone snarled.

The other werewolves quickly made room, knowing if they started fighting they wouldn’t care who got in the middle of it. The women took the youngest children towards the relative safety of the trees, while the menfolk and more daring youth made a loose circle. They said nothing, waiting anxiously for the outcome of a long awaited fight. There were not shouts of encouragements or taunts. This wasn’t a mere scuffle or a display of dominance. To them this was a matter of life and death, not only for the fighters themselves but for everyone who would live under the leadership of the victor.

“Touch?” Greyback sneered. “I didn’t want to touch him. I just wanted to smack him around a little. He’s pretty damn uppety for a goggle-eyed pipsqueak. He needs to learn his place.”

Blackbone snarled and made to lung, and he reached for his knife, but Blackbone was brought up short by a pair of slender arms. Potter had grabbed the charging werewolf around the middle and was holding tight.

“Stop! Sirius, just stop it! He didn’t do anything and he wasn’t going to!”

“The hell he wasn’t!”

For all the anger in that pronouncement, Greyback noted that he hadn’t tossed the child off, which would have been easy. Harry’s slender arms tightened around the alpha’s waist.

“No, he wasn’t. We’re just going to get my paints. Okay? You know I can’t see without my glasses. He’s just taking me to get my paints, so I can see. Please calm down. Please?”

Blackbone looked hesitant, his attention now torn between leaping at his enemy and turning to comfort the child. His seemed stuck in indecision, so Greyback prodded him, letting loose a menacing chuckle. Blackbone’s eyes hardened, and he tensed for another attempt at attack.

“Sirius, no! I don’t want to see it!” Harry shouted, demanding his attention again. “I don’t want to see anyone killed in front of me again. Don’t make me watch it! I swear to God I won’t forgive you, if you do that to me…”

There was a moment of absolute stillness. No one moved, no one spoke, no one so much as breathed. Blackbone looked as if he’d been hit with a paralysis spell, his expression frozen in a sort of horrified shock. At last, Greyback broke out into a barking laugh.

“Ha ha! You should see your face.”

He moved forward, and the other man tensed but wasn’t really able to moved around with Harry still latched onto him. Rather then give him a well deserved smack to the head, he gave him one to the back instead, chuckling.

“So damn high strung lately. I was just mess’n with ya.”

The tension eased amongst the werewolves like an audible sigh, and the crowd broke up again to do whatever they were doing before. Blackbone just sort of blinked at him, not really trusting him, but not really distrusting him either. When it came to disputes and challenges, Greyback was always straight forward. He never made you guess his intentions.

“Come on, boy. Best not to keep a goddess waiting.”

He pulled Harry off the alpha easily enough, but no sooner had he pulled the child up than he jerked himself free. His green eyes were as savage as any alpha he’d known, and for just that instant Greyback thought the boy must see him perfectly from the inside out. It only lasted half a second, and the boy was putting himself between the alpha’s again, distracting Sirius.

“I’m fine, Sirius. He’s no threat to me. Just relax, okay? Once I’m done getting painted, let’s get something eat. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Where’s Remus?”

Reluctantly, Blackbone tore his gaze away from his enemy. “I don’t know. He must still be out fishing. We weren’t expecting you until later.”

“You should go find him. He would be hurt if we started anything without him.”

“But-”

They both looked at Greyback unhappily, and he leered back. Harry sighed.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just messing around with us. He’ll leave when he’s bored.”

A very astute observation, and perfectly true, but now that Harry had passed his test with flying colors, Greyback needed to speak with him in private. He gave Blackbone a dismissive gesture.

“Go fetch your meeker half. The pup and I have a matter to settle.”

Sirius hesitated, but after looking between the Head Alpha and his godson for a long moment, gave up and walked away. Alone again, Greyback took Harry’s arm more gently and lead him behind some stalls to where the goddess was waiting. Harry was more than a little surprised when the girl there wasn’t Luna, but a freckle faced child of no more than nine. She regarded him with the same steady and omniscient gaze he remembered though, and the same undefinable luminosity. Then he recalled that Sirius had told him that the goddess was leaving Luna’s body to possess someone else. This was obviously the new girl, but what had happened to Luna? What was she like now without a spirit inhabiting her body?

“Welcome back, Twilight Seeker,” the girl said, staring straight passed him. Her head inclined towards Greyback, “Greyback.”

“Diana,” he greeted, inclining his head to her respectfully. Harry remembered himself and bowed, but she was already turning away.

“Sit, child.”

Harry removed his cloak and uncurled Inana from his neck, placing them on a bench to keep dry before sitting on the stool in front of the girl. She took his chin in her soft, little hands and tilted it up, painting a red stripe over his eyes. He kept his eyes closed and relaxed under her ministrations, basking in the cool pulsing magic that her presence brought.

“That was impressive,” Greyback said, drawing Harry’s reluctant attention. “What you did back there, I mean. Wrapped Blackbone right around your little finger.”

The teen scowled.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There aren’t a lot of people who could stop an alpha like him in their tracks. That’s a rare sort of power.”

“Power doesn’t have anything to do with it. He cares about me, and did what I asked because of it.”

Diana smacked him on the nose with her paint brush. “Do not speak until I’m done painting your face.”

Greyback barked out a laugh.

“You’ve got it wrong, pup. I love my children just as much as he must love you, but do you think their begging could ever make me restrain my nature? It isn’t compassion that stays our hands. It’s respect. He respects you. He respects the fact that when you say you will hate him, that you mean it. That when you say you can take care of yourself, you can. Last year, do you think if I had tested you like this that you would have been able to stop him?”

Harry couldn’t reply, but his forced silence left him with forced thoughts. Would he have been able to stop Sirius then? Looking back on it, he didn’t think he would have even tried. Sirius was the adult, the alpha, the person who looked after him, informed him of what was happening around him, and the man wasn’t to be questioned anymore than he would have questioned his parents or teachers. Yet, last December he had been the one to look after his godfathers, he had been the one to tell them what was happening, and they had been forced to rely on him as much as he had relied on them. Werewolves defined themselves in terms of their dominance and submission to others, how had his attempted rescue of them altered his position in their family? They had been forced to leave too soon for Harry to even realize that there might even be a change.

“Pup, when the time comes for Blackbone to take my place, you are going to be to him, what Voldemort is to me.”

Diana’s brush left his face, and he turned to glare at the man. “I seriously doubt that.”

Greyback smirked, but after a moment it slid off his face. Harry watched the physical change from playfully antagonistic to dead serious, the smoothing of his facial features, the straightening of his back, the rising tension in his shoulders and hands.

“I am not playing. I am mean what I say. Your position… your role amongst my packs has changed the moment your will overcame Blackbone’s. You have the power to maintain the peace between our two peoples. The peace that Blackbone would throw away to destroy a single enemy among potential thousands.”

Harry looked away, turning to Diana to see what she was painting. She was fully focused on creating an eye on the back of his right hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You can’t ignore this. Now that I’ve told you, you have a responsibility. When your godfather finally succeeds in killing me, you must convince him not to go to war against Voldemort. If you do not stop him, the werewolves will all be destroyed, including him.”

“Stop it. What is it that you think I can do? Why do you even think Sirius would start a war with the Dark Lord, anyway? He cares about the werewolves. He wouldn’t do something he knows would hurt them. He’s not an idiot and doesn’t need me holding his leash.”

“Like he was just five minutes ago? Rushing in, knowing we could kill each other, and over what? Instinct. The instinct to protect. The instinct to destroy threats. That instinct is what makes an alpha. It’s an instinct that defies logic and even self preservation for the security of others. It is what allowed me to establish my packs and keep them safe, and it is that same instinct that Blackbone will use to tear it apart. He doesn’t trust Voldemort or me, and the prisoners of war I brought into my fold have only made things worse. That’s why I need you. I need you to curb that instinct, to appeal to the… wizard in him. The part of himself that will see beyond the emotions of the moment, to the long term good.”

“Remus-”

“Feh. A beta, no an omega. He won’t contradict Sirius. Even if he did it wouldn’t make a difference. It has to be you.”

“I’m just a kid.”

“Excuses. Do it or don’t.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to wrestle him into submission.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sitting under the awning of a little café in the shadow of Notre Dame, Fleur thought she should be quite comfortable even in the summer heat, but Clotaire’s restless fidgeting was making it very hard to relax. Honestly, they might have been in a muggle café, but he didn’t have to act like such a tourist. True, their clothes made her feel like she was on her way to a costume party, but that was half the fun of roaming these parts of the city. The thrill of being discovered, the participation in strange customs, the novelty of a completely foreign way of life.

“Veux- tu bien te calmer?”[2] she said to her companion, lifting her glass of sparkling grape juice for a sip. “No one is going to jump up and cut off your head.”

He frowned and took a drink from his own cherry soda, and grimaced.

“I don’t know why you like to come to these places.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t tell me you’re going to university already complacent?”

“That isn’t fair. Especially coming from someone with no sense of self preservation.”

She smiled at him, condescendingly.

“Clotaire, why can’t you just let that go? Someone has to go to Britain, and I think we both know I’m the most suited. Madam Maxime said so.”

“That woman has the brain of a giant, just like the rest of her.”

Slamming down her glass, she reached across the table and grabbed the boy by the lapel of his shirt and practically dragged him across the table. She glared down at him, her pretty face drawn back into the true horror of her veela heritage.

“Madam Maxime is a great woman, who’s gone through a lot of hell because of insensitive assholes like you. N’ose pas te moquer d’elle!”

Clotaire floundered, terrified by her birdish face and embarrassed by the people who were now staring at them like they were mad.

“D’accord! Je ta demande pardon! I know she’s a great woman, I just don’t understand why she’s going through with this silly idea! It’s not your school’s responsibility to start public relations with a country still in the middle of a civil war.”

She let him go, and he quickly straightened up and smoothed out every possible wrinkle he could find on himself. She sighed as she watched him. Really, what had she been thinking when she agreed to go steady with this peacock? Sure he had an invite to every wizarding house party and club in Paris, but ask him to do anything truly daring and he became a narrow-minded coward.

“They’re not in the middle of a civil war. That’s just rumor-mongering. Truth of the matter is, we don’t have a very good idea of what’s going on over there.”

“Even better. They could be sacrificing virgins to dragons for all you know, and you’re just going to skip right in.”

“Well, I’m lucky I’m not a virgin, then, aren’t I? Besides, it can’t be that bad. I’ll be spending most of my time at the school anyways. How bad could a school be?”

He looked at her as if she were crazy. “It’s Hogwarts, Fleur. Even we get news about that place. Plus all the Death Eaters send their kids there and even Voldemort’s heir is supposed to go. I’m telling you if you leave, you’ll be raped or dead or both within the week.”

“Then why don’t you come and protect me?”

“Why don’t you just stay here?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just afraid you’ll get raped.”

“Dammit, why do you have to make light of this? You’re going to be gone for a whole year to some god forsaken country and when you get back, if you get back, you’ll be going straight to university. This could be our last summer together and you act as if you don’t care.”

“It had to end sometime.”

“Why? Why does it have to end? You could stay in France, we could get in the same university together, and… and…”

“And what? Get married?” she said, looking unimpressed. “You’re dreaming. I’m going to The Luxemburg Institute after getting back from Britain. Do you think you could get in?”

He fidgeted in his seat, looking around to see if anyone was watching her make a fool out of him. She wasn’t normally this antagonistic, and up until someone had put this stupid idea of going overseas in her head, she had been nothing but sweetness and fun.

“You don’t need to go to Luxembourg and you sure as hell don’t need to go to Britain. Why don’t you just stay here in Paris? The university is great here, and all of our friends and family are here too. You could do a lot worse.”

“But I want a lot better. I didn’t have tutors since I was in diapers, lessons in music and magic and manners for ten years, or get into the finest magic school in the world just so I could settle for being your arm candy.”

“Is that what you think? That I’d just drag you down? I want what is best for you. I want you to be happy. Why don’t you think I could make you happy?”

She looked at him, looking somewhere between amused and frustrated. Delicate fingers came up to run through her hair, and he could only watch transfixed. Fleur was easily the most beautiful being he had ever met, and on most days he could hardly believe that she was his. Now he could hardly believe that she wasn’t.

“Do you love me, Clotaire?”

He blinked stupidly.

“I… Of course, I love you. Why would you think I didn’t?”

“You’ve never said it, you know?”

“I haven’t? Yes, I have! I say it all the time.”

“You say the words, but when you say them it’s the same as when you say ‘you’re beautiful’ or ‘kiss me’. A complete stranger could say it the same way you do. Not that it matters, because I don’t love you. I never have, and I never lied and said I did.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“Yes. We’re both almost adults. I think we should both stop playing childish games.”

He stared at her, disbelieving. She stared back in cool amusement, then took a sip of her drink.

“You… you bitch! You cold-hearted little slut. You used me to get popular and now you’re just dumping me?”

“Don’t embarrass yourself by making accusations, Clo,” she said, her expression darkening to match his own. “You used me to get popular, not the other way around. I suggest you remember that before you go off to rant to our friends about how I supposedly wronged you. We went out, we had fun, and now it’s over. And just for that ‘bitch’ comment, I’ll leave the bill to you. Waiter, check please.”

She stood up, and when he looked as if he was going to get up as well, snapped her fingers. He was suddenly forced back into his seat with a heavy ‘umph’. He tried to get up again, but couldn’t budge.

“Goodbye, darling. I hope you find someone who can actually love you back someday.”

She walked out of the cafe, pretending to be oblivious to all the boys who turned their heads to watch her go, and turned the corner into a narrow alley between the café and an antique store. Gabrielle leaned against the wall, wand in hand and expression disapproving.

“You could have handled that better,” the girl said. “You didn’t need to be mean.”

“Oh, Gabi, you’ll understand when you start dating. It’s better not to leave them with even a little hope that you’ll change your mind. They’ll just keep waiting for you to come back if you do. Now give me back my wand.”

Reluctantly, Gabrielle handed it over. It had been fun tricking Clotaire into thinking Fleur had done some wandless magic, and even more fun to actually do some magic of her own for once. Her big sister was always casting spells left and right, but she still had to wait another two years before she was allowed to get a wand of her own and that wasn’t fair at all. Fleur would be far away in Luxembourg by the time she got her wand, and then she’d never get to show off how good at magic she really was. Fleur was always so far ahead of her.

“Sister, is it true that Britain is dangerous?”

The older Delacour looked down at her suspiciously. “Did you cast a hearing charm on yourself?”

“Umm…”

“Gabi, what did I tell you? You can only use the sticking charm or the mute charm, and not anything else, especially on yourself. You could have ruptured your eardrum with that spell.”

“I’m not an idiot! And don’t change the subject. Is Britain really dangerous?”

Fleur shook her head. “Of course not. Not really. I mean, there are dangerous people there like You-know-who, but they’re not going to attack me or the other students. They’re trying to make friends. Like that big stray dog your friend Nicodème found. It could have been very dangerous, but it only wanted to play. Right?”

“Oh… are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure.”

“Then why was Clotaire so scared?”

“Because Clotaire is afraid of dogs. Even friendly ones. He is a coward.”

“Then can I come? I want to see the tournament too. I bet you’ll get picked to compete and I want to watch you. So can I? I’m not scared like Clotaire.”

Fleur smiled, and put her arm around her sister’s shoulder, pulling her close.

“I know, you are like me. And if I could take you, I would. I would take you and mama and papa, but I can’t. I couldn’t even take Clotaire. I just offered because I knew he would refuse. One day, we will all go. I want to see Ireland. They’ve got the most darling accents there!”

“When can we go? All together, I mean.”

“Who knows? If I do a good job, maybe we can all go next summer.”

“Really?”

“Maybe.”

Gabrielle tilted her head so it rested against her sister’s side as they made their way home, trying to be content with what she had been given. Truth was, she wanted what Clotaire wanted. She wanted her sister to stay in Paris. She wanted her to be safe and close, even if she was at Beauxbaton most of the year. She couldn’t say that though. Fleur might not like her anymore if she did, just like she didn’t like her boyfriend. She had to practice pretending everything was fine, because when she finally saw her sister off, she had to be able to smile instead of cry.

“It’s so unfair,” Draco whined, moving his blue stone across the board until it landed on a picture of a flower. The stone turned into three green stones. Natalie frowned, staring at her two remaining red stones and wondered if she should be more aggressive or evasive now that she was out numbered.

They were out in the gardens, under the shade of the gazebo and surrounded by the scent of roses and lilacs. Between them sat a strategy game and two glasses of chilled lemonade.

“Yes, I know Draco. It’s awful. And to think, you could have been Ronald’s stooge instead.”

“Ch’. Youngest quidditch captain ever and I don’t even get to play until next year. How lame is that?”

“Very lame. Extremely lame. The lamest thing I’ve ever heard of… except for the fact that your father bullied your aunt in order for you to get that position in the first place. It sort of steals my sympathy for you,” she said smugly, moving one of her red pieces to jump Draco’s green. The green stone turned red. She had him three to two now.

“I didn’t even get an explanation on why there won’t be quidditch this year,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “I swear she just canceled it because she doesn’t want me to succeed at something. She’s always been horrid wench.”

“Mmm…”

He gave her an irritated look and destroyed one of her red stones, turning both stones blue.

“It’s not like I expect you to understand. You’ve never tried to accomplish anything, only applying the minimum effort to anything you do. You quit on Potter and then you quit Dueling Club.”

She jumped his blue stone and found herself with two yellow stones, and cursed herself. She’d hadn’t thought that move through.

“What do you know? He quit me. He kept on quitting on me. Was I just suppose to pine after him until he took pity? Besides, Dueling Club is for brutes. I’m joining the Riding Club this year.”

“Geh. Since when were you interested in something so… girlish?”

“There are boys in that club, you know. Diggory is in that club.”

“The Hufflepuff? Isn’t he a little old for you?”

“Isn’t quidditch captaincy a little much for you?”

“Touché. I’ve got you in Yield Position, by the way.”

“Damn… give me a second.” She chewed her lip for a moment, then moved her stone to a corner. Not an ideal situation, but it gave her a few more moves safe from Draco’s only remaining green stone. He smirked at her, knowing he had her on the retreat.

“You could always come back. We’d all be happy to have you. Even Harry misses you.”

She snorted.

“No doubt he’d change his mind about that as soon as I showed up. Forget it, Draco. I’m through with him and I’m through with the Dueling Club. You’re going to have to guard your sister’s virtue from Harry all by yourself.”

Harry waited with the new goddess for his godfathers to reappear. She didn’t seem to mind, but then she didn’t seem to care about much of anything as she stared out sightlessly into space. He thought to talk to her, to ask her things about the year before, but the girl was so unlike Luna he felt as if he’d be asking Snape about his Transfiguration homework.

Inana had slithered off his cloak and gone in search of breakfast, leaving him no one to talk to.

So he waited quietly and wondered what he might say to Sirius. His first thought was to say nothing, and let Sirius handle things as he saw fit as any adult should be able. His second thought was that if he had let Sirius handle things earlier, someone would have gotten killed. Well, bother.

“Harry.”

He turned around to see Sirius and Remus standing behind him. Remus had new scars on his arm, but otherwise looked just as he remembered. He was carrying two large fish and a barbed spear over his shoulder.

“Hey, Prongslet, you up for breakfast?” the beta greeted. Harry smiled and nodded.

“Greyback left?” Sirius asked, scanning their surroundings.

“Yeah. It’s like I said, once there was no one to aggravate, he lost interest.”

“Huh.” The alpha looked curiously at him. “Did he say anything to you?”

Well, there was as good of an opening as he was going to get and there was no point in putting it off. He couldn’t imagine the subject getting any easier to talk about. He nodded.

“Um… about that. Do you think we could go somewhere private? With the fish?”

“Sure, we’ll go to that hollow hill we took you to last year. Remember? Where we taught you how to string a bow?”

“Perfect.”

They moved deeper into the forest, the number of werewolves gradually decreasing the farther they got from the commune until at last they came to the hollow hill. It was half a hill eroded away, provided them with a natural amphitheater and a small waterfall to hide them from both sight and sound. They gathered up dry tinder as they went, and once they arrive, built a small fire to cook the fish. Remus placed some flat stones in the fire, and once they were hot, cut off sections of fish to cook on top of them.

“So what did he say?” Sirius prodded after they had run out of things to distract themselves with. “Did he threaten you?”

Harry looked at his feet, then forced himself to look up. Body language was everything with werewolves, and he wouldn’t be taken seriously if he couldn’t look his godfather in the eye. This was harder than it seemed, because Sirius’ eyes were so blunt. He never bothered hiding or reeling in any of his emotions or thoughts, and projected them so forcefully it was almost a physical thing sometimes. Right now, there was uneasy suspicion and Harry felt awful that his suspicions might be well founded. He needed to be honest.

“No, he didn’t threaten me. He wanted me to talk to you about something.”

“Talk to me? If he wants to say something to me, he can do it himself. It’s not like he doesn’t know where I am.”

Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Sirius, but knew looking down would be bad, so instead he looked up, seeing trees and a gray sky with dabs of brilliant blue. He reminded himself that he was doing something important, and his godfather would understand.

“Well… maybe ‘convince’ you of something is more precise.”

Remus chuckled. “Ah, that makes sense. Prongslet could definitely convince you of something better than Greyback could.”

“Are you calling me stubborn or accusing me of spoiling our godson? I can’t tell.”

The beta just smirked, taking a piece of cooked fish, placing it on a large oak leaf and handed it to Harry. The teen accepted it happily, even as he burned his fingertips, and watched his godfathers stare each other down. Remus was no alpha, but to say he was subservient to Sirius, was not only inaccurate but dangerous. It would be like saying Harry was subservient to Snape. Sure he obeyed him, most of the time, but the potions master had to pick his battles carefully. Eventually Sirius just rolled his eyes, and made a tactical retreat back into his conversation with Harry.

“Convince me of what then?”

Harry shoved his fish, still too hot, into his mouth and used it as an excuse to stall long enough to figure out his wording. This backfired, for not only did he burn his mouth, he couldn’t think of anything coherent in the mean time, and just blurted it all out.

“Don’t fight Voldemort.”

Sirius just blinked, then raised a brow. “Well… okay. I can’t say I haven’t thought of punching him in the face a couple times, but I guess I can control myself…”

“I mean, when you become Head Alpha. When you have hundreds of werewolves willing to do whatever you say. Don’t start a fight with him, just because you can.”

Sirius’ perplexed expression faded into irritation.

“That really isn’t something you need to concern yourself with. It has nothing to do with you.”

That brought a sting of hurt to Harry’s heart, and then a wave a anger.

“How can you say that? Because I’m not a werewolf? Aren’t I your godson? Aren’t you the only family I have left? If you start a fight with the Dark Lord… it’d be war. You could be killed. You could get others killed. You could kill people yourself. And for what? Because you were enemies in the last war? That battle is over, so why prolong it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do!” Sirius shouted.

“How is that the right thing?” he shouted back. “Why do more people have to be hurt?”

“He’s evil, Harry! You were too young to remember it, but he did horrible things. Unspeakable things for stupidest, most bigoted reasons.”

“So you’re going to make sure I see it all for myself?”

“Would you close your eyes to everything he’s done? All because he pats you on the head like a good dog from time to time!”

“You don’t understand! He’s… he’s…”

“Like a father to you? You stupid brat, he’s not your father! He would have killed your father if he’d ever been in the same room with him. He would have killed you and your mother along with him!”

“SIRIUS!”

It hadn’t been Harry who demanded his attention. Harry was too busy being too shocked to so much as blink. There was so much hate in those gray eyes, and he was looking right at him. Remus’ sharp call drew the alpha’s attention, freeing Harry from his Medusa’s gaze long enough to process exactly what Sirius had said. What he had implied.

Did he think of Voldemort as his father? No. Never. He had never trusted him that much, never loved him like that. He knew, perhaps better than Sirius, exactly what the Dark Lord was and why. He had seen the very composition of his fractured soul, and as horrifying as it had been there was a beauty in it. The same sort of beauty that is found in a force of nature, regardless of how destructive it was.

Would Voldemort have killed his family? Even him?

Harry didn’t doubt it for an instant. But that was during a war. A war he didn’t want to see reenacted.

“Do you think… I’m saying this because… it’s what Voldemort wants? Do you think I’m doing this for him?”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Such blunt, accusing eyes didn’t require words. Harry stood up. He looked towards Remus standing by the fire, finding anger there as well, but directed at his mate’s turned back. “I’m sorry, Moony, I don’t feel much like eating anymore. I’m going to head back. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Prongslet…”

He looked away before he could see Remus’ expression, kept his eyes down so he wouldn’t have to see Sirius, regardless of how weak it made him look. At that moment, he felt as frail as glass, pieces of himself chipping off with every step he took away from the hill. The last thing he heard before leaving was the sound of a fist hitting flesh.

“Sirius, you’re such an asshole!”

It didn’t make him feel the least bit better.

Jackal slunk from his hiding place above the hollow hilled, using the distraction of Slivermoon pummeling his alpha to slip away unnoticed. He made a b line towards the commune, careful to stay out of sight of the wizard child. It wasn’t hard. The boy wasn’t moving fast nor looking around. In fact, he was moving with all the vigor of a zombie.

Which was sort of funny, considering the boy’s master was a necromancer. Perhaps he really was a zombie and the Dark Lord was screwing with everyone’s head.

Hey, mushrooms!

No, he reminded himself, his alpha had sent him on a mission and now it was time to report back. He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Focus, focus, focus!

What was he suppose to be focusing on again?

He stopped and tried to remember exactly what he had been doing. This was probably why he wasn’t even in the running for taking over as Head Alpha, he thought. He really didn’t have the attention span for it.

Oh! That’s right, he was spying on Blackbone and the Dark Lord’s apprentice to see how their ‘talk’ went. Not very good, it seemed. Jackal hadn’t been able to hear most of the conversation, but it was pretty obvious the kid hadn’t been successful in whatever he was doing.

He grinned to himself, thinking what Greyback’s reaction would be. He would most certainly kill Blackbone now. What choice did he have? He couldn’t leave the packs’ wellbeing to a warmonger. It was only a question of how he’d go about the younger alpha’s demise. Would he have the packs tear him apart? Would he kill the man himself? With his knife or barehanded or in wolf form?

Maybe if he were lucky he’d get to help. No doubt it would be quite a spectacle one way or the other.

Hey, mushrooms!

1. German translation: Krum’s father: “You shouldn’t go.” Krum: “Don’t worry, papa,…”↩

2. French Translation: “Would you relax?”, “Don’t you dare make fun of her!”, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” (Okay, the las part not so much, but basically the same thing)↩

Royal Negotiations Continued…

By the time Harry made it back to the settlement, the shock had worn off. He was left instead with a confusing mix of emotions and thoughts. Depression over Sirius’ harshness and the honesty in which it had been delivered, confusion about what he should do now and what it might mean for his impromptu family, and a sharp fear that his failure to convince the alpha would result in tragedy. Most of all, however, he felt frustrated. What did Sirius know about what Harry had gone through? Who was he to judge? Sirius hadn’t been in his positions, hadn’t had to face the same things with only his own admittedly limited judgment.

And Harry didn’t regret. How could he? What could he have done differently that wouldn’t have gotten him or others killed or imprisoned or hurt? Although there had been those who hadn’t escaped that fate because he… But he couldn’t have predicted that.

Voldemort himself could not be defined by convention and couldn’t be held to the same standards as other wizards. He wasn’t like other wizards and never would be. Harry doubted he could even be considered human, but he was a being Harry could find both nobility and devotion in. Voldemort was a creature whose nature he could forgive because the whole of his nature was greater than the sum of his cruelty and ambition.

Harry couldn’t hate the man, despite all he had done. Not that he could or would trust him either.

At the same time, there was no way Sirius could understand this. It wasn’t even fair to try and make him understand it. So what was he suppose to to do? Accept this animosity? Had their bonds truly been so weak to shatter so readily?

There were no answers to his questions. At least none that he could find in himself, and there weren’t exactly many people he could ask advice of. His thoughts immediately shifted to Kyle Reicher and his sage advice on Christmas Eve, but perhaps this was a little beyond even his scope of understanding. Sna…eh… no.

The only person he could think to ask advice of was the other half of his problem. Of course, that might give Harry just the sort of perspective he needed to figure out is thoughts, feelings, and what he was going to do about it.

He moved carefully through the crowds, conscious of his lack of protection amongst the throng of notoriously violent men and women (and children if you ever caught yourself playing football with them), but everyone let him through with a casual sort of respect he’d seen for Greyback’s children and mate. Arriving at Voldemort’s tent, he found the man sitting on the floor and smoking a strange pipe. It was very long and thin, and made of a reddish wood and decorated with a golden serpent or dragon.

Harry paused, watching as the Dark Lord inhaled from the pipe deeply, then slowly exhaled a reddish smoke. The smoke undulated in an amorphous cloud for a moment, then took on the shake of… something. It wasn’t any creature Harry recognized. When it held still it look rather like the root system of a flower, veiny red threads spreading out into ever smaller threads, yet when it moved he got the distinct impression of legs and arms and fingers not unlike a human’s, though he could identify nothing resembling a head. It was the size of a toddler, but watching it move purposefully around the Dark Lord’s head it seemed like a somewhat older and more curious child.

“What is it?” Harry asked, coming to sit across from his mentor

“A tree spirit,” he was informed. “A holly tree spirit to be more precise. I pulled her out of a woodpile three years ago. Some stupid muggle had cut down her tree for fire wood, poor dear.”

It was strange to hear the man take pity on anything, but Harry felt a bit of pity of his own. The spirit moved towards him, undulating like a jellyfish. He wasn’t afraid of her, but he was a little startled when she reached out to touch his face. Not expecting it, he sneezed and she dissolved into formless wisps, only to regather herself again and hover a little higher. He noted that with her this close the air smelled of holly flowers rather than the burnt wood smell he had been expecting.

“And what are you doing with her?”

Voldemort watched the spirit with some amusement. “Waiting for her to grow up. She’s much too young for anything significant, right now.”

“And when she is grown?”

“I wonder. Perhaps I will offer her as a bride to one of my gods. Or I might give her a body of her own so that I might speak to her and learn the ways of trees. I have one hundred years to think of something.”

Harry blinked. “A hundred years? You’re going to wait a hundred years just to decide with to do with her?”

“I imagine I’ll have plenty to do while I wait. There’s no point in hurrying. I have much longer than a hundred years to find things to fill my time with.”

Harry knew this. From what he had seen and experienced during the Solstice Ritual the Dark Lord could theoretically live as long as the earth itself, but he suspected it wasn’t going to be quite that long.

“How long?”

Voldemort looked away from the spirit and down at Harry, seeming to contemplate his inquiry or more specifically why it had been asked. Finding nothing more than childish curiosity, he answered.

“I was promised a millennium about fifteen years ago. So… nine-hundred and eighty five years to go.”

Harry gaped. The life span of the earth seemed like a long time, but having a definite number of years made it sound even more impossible.

“Who promised you?”

“Who? I wonder. It was prophesied by a woman from a long line of reliable prophets, but I don’t suppose they know where their knowledge comes from any more than I do. The Earth probably, but they are just as often attributed to God. Maybe it’s both of them. Maybe it’s something else altogether. It is quite the mystery.”

The spirit had moved while they were talking, drifting down to Harry’s thigh where his right hand was resting. The gentle touch of her thread-like appendages drew his attention, and he held out his hand for her and watched as she wrapped herself around all his fingers individually, caressing them lovingly. Harry wasn’t sure if he should feel amused or violated.

The Dark Lord chuckled, but that wasn’t a real indicator since he’d probably laugh at either scenario.

“What is she doing?”

“You’re wand is made of holly, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“She’s flirting with the spirit in your wand. Or perhaps it’s more like she’s leaving her scent on you for it to find. The little minx.”

Harry felt an embarrassed blush bloom across his entire face. He gave his hand a vigorous shake, freeing himself from her flirtation-by-proxy. The man laughed harder, and the Gryffindor decided it was a good time to talk about what he’d really come here for.

“Anyway,” Harry said, interrupting the laughter. “I wanted to ask your advice about something.”

That stopped Voldemort’s amusement quick. He actually looked surprised. Harry had come to him before, but it was very rare and usually due to a lack of alternatives. As far as he knew, there were at least two others he could turn to before himself.

“And you felt you couldn’t discuss it with your godfathers?” he asked, somewhat suspiciously.

“Actually… it’s sort of about them. Well, Sirius, at least.”

“Ah, I see. And what seems to be the problem?”

Harry told him about Greyback’s test, about the task he’d given Harry, his subsequent failure, and Sirius’ hurtful, honest accusations. The Dark Lord said nothing through the entire tale and indeed for several minutes afterwards. He sat silent and thoughtful, smoking from his pipe which was now giving off gray smoke but still smelled of holly and watching the spirit swim through the smoky haze. At last, he spoke.

“It is only two days from the full moon nearest the summer solstice. Your godfather is no doubt feeling emotionally volatile like everyone else. He meant some of what he said, I’m sure, but most of it was probably said out of frustration and as a natural reaction to you confronting him as an alpha. I believe it would be best to leave him be, let him spend his aggression during the full moon, and then speak with him again. I’m sure he’ll be considerably more amiable then.”

Harry felt a swell of hope in his heart. Could it really all just be a reaction to coming full moon? He had never been at the receiving end of Sirius’ temper around the full moon, but then he had never challenged Sirius’ then either.

“Do you think so? What about Greyback?”

“I will speak with Greyback and suggest he avoid making any hasty decisions until after the full moon, as well. If Blackbone continues to be stubborn, however, I cannot promise his safety.”

“Thank you,” Harry choked out, the relief he felt manifesting itself in an embarrassing display of tears. He tried again, forcing his voice to sound less shaky. “Thank you. How do I repay you for this?”

The Dark Lord smiled, somewhat condescending, but he felt too grateful to him to care. “I will simply accept your gratitude for this. After all, it’s in my best interest that you succeed in your task. I have no desire to arbitrate the political chaos the death of your godfather would create among the lycanthropes. He will make a fine leader for his people so long as he can learn to be… adaptable. Just like you.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that. Frankly, he didn’t care right now. All he cared about was that he had been given another chance to save his godfathers and possibly many others from death.

He promised himself that this time, he would succeed.

About the time Harry was finding his hope, Sirius was finding himself in a Grade A sulk. He had said some unforgivably stupid things and now his godson probably felt like crap and Remus had given him a well deserved slug to the face and stormed off. And whatever preconceived notions people might have about his beta’s strength, that man could throw a punch like a mule could kick. This left him not only feeling sorry for what he’d said, but also sorry for himself.

Even worse, he only had himself to blame. Well, himself and Voldemort. Mostly Voldemort, though, because this certainly never would have happened if overgrown snake hadn’t slithered out of whatever viper pit he’d come from.

As if things weren’t bad enough, he didn’t have anyone or anything to take it out on. Voldemort and Greyback would have made lovely targets, if not for the fact that his godson was absolutely right about the dangers involved with that, to himself and the other werewolves. He wasn’t stupid. He had known the problems he was causing and could potentially cause would result in death, his own and others. It was just…

“Are you ill?”

He looked up from the tree stump he was sitting on to see Luna balancing herself perfectly on the top of a boulder. Strange, beautiful Luna, who came and went as mysteriously as the moon she was named for, a profound presence even in her silence. He could only stare at her for a moment, perplexed by her sudden appearance. She rarely approached people of her own accord aside from Athena and Greyback.

“You look like you’re having stomach pains,” she continued, when he didn’t answer. “Do you need a laxative? I think we’ve got someone at home. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Sirius snorted. That was the other thing about Luna. After five years as a goddess she had missed several essential lessons in social graces.

“No, I don’t have a stomach problem. I just feel bad about something I said.”

“Something bad you said to Harry?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about with her. There was no telling what would come out of her mouth.

“And how did you figure that out?”

“Jackal came by the house to talk to Father. He said Harry failed to convince you not to make war. Father said he would have to kill you now. He was really sad about that. Harry must be really sad too.”

Sirius grimaced. It wasn’t that he cared if Greyback would try to kill him now. He wasn’t afraid of fighting the other alpha or even of being killed by him, but he sure as hell didn’t want anyone to feel sad about it. And he really didn’t want Jackal of all people to be privy to the things he’d said to Harry. He stared at his bare feet and the mud squeezing up through his toes, and wondered if there was any way to fix things.

While futilely trying to think of what Remus would do in his shoes, he failed to notice that Luna had moved until her nose was practically poking out his eyes. He jumped back, slipped, and fell off the stump and onto his back.

“Luna, don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” she said, coming to sit beside him and leaned in almost as close as she had before. “You should apologize to Harry before you die.”

He smirked, and lifted a brow. “What makes you think I won’t kill Greyback first?”

“I never said you should apologize before Father kills you,” she said pragmatically.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. There really was no winning against Luna.

“It wasn’t suppose to be happen like this,” he said.

“Like what?”

“James wasn’t suppose to runaway in the middle of the fight. Dumbledore wasn’t suppose to abandon his people. The Snake King wasn’t suppose to become the Wise King. Harry was never suppose to be his prince.”

Luna tilted her head curiously, pondering his words. He watched as her expression shifted, knowing she was tearing apart his words like a child tears apart a particularly complicated toy.

“Is Harry a prince because Voldemort made him one or his Harry a prince because Harry made himself one?”

Sirius blinked up at her stupidly. “Huh?”

“Did Voldemort make Harry a prince or did he make himself one?”

“What? I don’t know what you mean by that.”

She made a frustrated expression. “It isn’t a trick question. Would Harry still be a prince without Voldemort being a king?”

“I… I don’t know… I mean… Well, yeah. Harry is Harry. The big snake didn’t have anything to do with him being brave or kind. That’s purely James and Lily’s doing.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Harry being brave and kind is Harry’s doing. His parents aren’t here to help or hinder him from being good or bad. It isn’t their decision. It isn’t your decision. It isn’t Voldemort’s. It isn’t Father’s. Harry is the way he is because that’s how he decided to be. He loves you because he chooses to love you. He asked you not to make war with with Voldemort because that is what he believes is right, not because it’s what Father or Voldemort told him to do. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Sirius said nothing. There wasn’t really a point. She had him pegged, and her vaguely amused smile proved that she knew it too.

“And you know he’s right, don’t you? You know his way is the best way for everyone, because he made his decision out of love for everyone.”

The alpha looked away.

“You better decide what you’re going to do soon,” she said, finally standing and moving away. “Father has run out of patience.”

He sat up, but of course she was already gone as if she’d never been there. What to do now? He needed to speak with Harry and apologize, but that was easier said then done now that the Head Alpha was out for his blood. His best chance was to find Remus first, who could bring Harry to him without causing too much of a fuss, and they could start their conversation over again, preferably without without anyone suffering any physical or emotional damage.

Of course, finding Remus might not be any easier than finding Harry.

Tom looked down imperiously at the masses crowding through the square, the summer heat wafting up in a humid haze, bringing with it the stink of the city. After a long, cold winter of hiding and building his strength, he thought the magic and warmth of spring and summer would be a welcome change, but all he had found was intolerable amount of sunlight and heat. The city only made it worse, for he thought he might be reasonably comfortable living in a hollow tree or the rafters of a barn, but his own purposes forced him into the squalor of the streets, at the busiest intersection in all of wizarding London. There was too much stone and not enough shade, too many people and not enough trees, but this was his medicine and he had already accepted that it would taste bitter.

And really he couldn’t complain about his accommodations. Barnabas was a considerate landlord, if not particularly bright. He politely ignored him taking residence in his newspaper stand, and graciously renewed the cooling charm in his shadowy niche in the stand’s awning every so often. In return, Tom refrained from crapping on him while he was working and leaving pellets[1] on the floor.

There was far too much noise during the day, but that was part of the reason why Tom had chosen this particular spot. The hundreds of witches and wizards that passed beneath him provided him with two essentials. Magic and information. They were just down the street from half a dozen Court Offices, including the Forum, and the officials and soldiers and sentinels all came to this stand to and from work, leaving behind traces of their magic and gossip which he devoured ravenously.

Already he felt strong enough to take the body of a human, and there were so many to choose from, but he had to be cautious. His plans involved more than living out the life of some government sheep, and he needed to find the perfect individual in which to pursue his latest quest.

Information was abundant, yet frustratingly incomplete. Those who came and went were in the center of political life, but their individual views did not see the shape of their own government as a whole. Tom thought, having listened to tantalizing bits and pieces from many perspectives, had a better view than most but even he couldn’t say he understood current events completely.

He knew there had been a recent push to renew relations with Europe and he knew of the Triwizard Cup, but he did not know Voldemort’s intentions in sponsoring it nor Germany or France’s when they accepted the invitations. He knew about the recent death of the professor who was to adopt Harry and the national sympathy that had earned the orphaned boy when she had been killed, but not how Harry himself was taking the tragedy. He knew war was in the air, but not from which direction it would blow.

Britain was calm now, but only as a sleeping dragon that at any moment would awaken to set the world on fire. He needed to be ready. Ready to destroy his enemies and save his poor Harry from his brother’s machinations. Ready to seize power when the chaos finally broke out.

He needed to return to Hogwarts.

Harry sat outside Voldemort’s tent, performing his first official task as the Dark Lord’s unofficial pagan apprentice. As was expected, it was little more than grunt work. He was making incense or more precisely, the extract that would compose the incense, grinding up nutmeg, clove, camphor, and opononex[2] with a crude wooden pestle and mortar. His teacher said it was for a summoning lesson, though he hadn’t specified for what exactly. He’d gone off to talk with Greyback, and Harry wasn’t about to delay him with questions that could wait for later.

“Mmm… smells nice. Are you trying to lure something?”

Harry looked up to see Luna nearly standing on top of him, but not the Luna he remembered. She was mostly the same shape, except for being slightly taller and with the beginnings of a feminine curve to her chest, and the same ivory skin, but the divine, disinterested ethereal glow had disappeared. Her hair, which had seemed yellow as corn silk, was now dirty blond and her slender body now came off as rather bony. Her aloof omniscience was replaced with wide-eyed curiosity and a complete lack of respect for personal space. If she had stepped any closer, he would be looking up her loincloth.

And there was another difference. Instead of the shimmery robes and layers of beads, she had dressed down to match her pack mates in a leather two piece with a poncho made of roughly woven hemp draped over her. All remnants of her former divinity were gone.

This didn’t keep his last memories of her in human form (her very naked human form pressed up against him) from inserting themselves into his awareness, and a massive blush bloomed across his face. He quickly looked for something to say to keep his thoughts from straying into pervert territory.

“Er… yeah. Spirits. For later… um… He’s teaching me summoning,” he said bashfully, then tried smiling up at her. “Hi, Luna.”

She smiled back down at him.

“Hi, Harry.” He scrambled for something else to say in his awkwardness, but she beat him to it. “Can I help?”

“Oh. Sure. Grab that bowl of nutmeg and start peeling the shells off the seeds.”

A silence fell, and though Harry couldn’t order his thoughts enough to create a conversation, Luna looked perfectly at ease as she set about the task he had given her. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of what to say. She had once known him with the omniscience only a deity could possess, and he hadn’t known her at all except in the physical sense, which did nothing to ease his discomfiture.

“So…” he tried, not really knowing what was going to come out of his mouth. “How have you been?”

She paused in her peeling and considered. “I don’t know. Father says I’m perfect, but Mother says I’m lonely. I’m not sure I believe either of them.”

“You don’t know how you are? What you’re feeling? About anything?”

She shrugged.

“Well, I used to, but after the goddess took me, I just sort of forgot. But I’m learning. I know the important feelings. Anger. Fear. Love. But the subtler emotions like jealousy or pride… I don’t know. I finally figured out ‘worry’ though. I kept getting it mixed up with anticipation and fear.”

“I can see why that might confuse you. They’re all pretty similar,” Harry said sympathetically, though inwardly he was baffled by her naivety. “What are you worried about?”

“I’m worried Blackbone is going to kill Father.”

Well, fuck. He looked away.

“I’m trying to talk to Sirius, but it hasn’t gone well. If they can hold off killing each other until after the full moon, Voldemort thinks I might have more success.”

She shook her head.

“No, one will have to kill the other eventually. It’s in their nature.”

Harry tried to wrap his mind around the idea that two people would be drawn to kill each other, not out of personal grievance or ambition or even of preference, but as a biological drive. Then came the horrible conclusion that one way or the other, Sirius was going to have to fight Greyback and he could be killed. Then came the other horrible realization that even if Sirius won, he was going to kill someone. Someone who happened to be the man Luna considered her father.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to think of anything else. She looked at him intently for a moment, perhaps to gage his honesty.

“I’m sorry too. I said I was worried Blackbone would kill Father, but the truth is I think the reverse is going to happen. Father won’t allow Blackbone to kill him as things are now. Blackbone will-”

“Luna,” he snapped. “Shut up.”

Her already wide-eyes grew just a fraction, and she tilted her head curiously. “Did I say something wrong?”

He sighed. There wasn’t a point to snapping at her. She didn’t know any better, but he really didn’t want to talk to her any more. Not if she was going to keep on this particular subject.

“No, Luna, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m trying to fix the things I can, but I don’t see the point in talking about the things I can’t. Especially when those things haven’t even happened yet. We don’t even know that they will happen.”

There was a silence, this time mutually awkward and tense. Harry’s eyes remained fixated on his hands, but he could feel her gaze on him. Nothing was said for a long time, and then she spoke again.

“Do you…” she started hesitantly, “Do you think you could fix this? Do you think you could stop them from killing each other?”

He turned to her, and to his surprise he found she was crying. Large tears poured soundlessly down her cheeks, her silvery gray eyes sparkling like shiny new silver Sickles. She didn’t try to wipe them away or hide them or announce them with noisy sobs or sniffles like he had seen other girls do. In fact, she didn’t seem aware of them at all. Her expression was exactly the same as it always was, a strange mix of curiosity and dreaminess, always making you wonder where her thoughts lay. She just looked… wetter.

He set down his pestle and mortar, and crawled the short distance towards her. She didn’t pull away or hesitate when he pulled her towards him, and hugged her tightly. She merely rested her head on his shoulder and let him hold her, and thought how very much like Father he was in that aspect. Harry just held her for a long time, ignoring the wetness on his shoulder and numbness that was spreading through his legs.

“I’m going to try Luna. I’m going to try so hard to save them both. You’ve got to try too, okay?If we both try, maybe we can do it, and even if we can’t, we will have tried, right? Will you help me?”

“… okay…”

“Maybe I can convince Voldemort to ask the moon goddess for advice… Or maybe you can convince Greyback to send Sirius away for awhile. I bet it wouldn’t be hard to have him assigned as my personal guard again this year. We’re suppose to be having an international event at school and could use the extra security, I’m sure. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out something.”

She nodded against his shoulder, but didn’t say anything, moving just a bit closer so they fit more comfortably. Harry mused it was much different than hugging Hermione. Hugging his friend always felt awkward, and he was never sure where to put his hands or how tightly he should squeeze her back or for how long. The science of hugging a witch was a mystery to him.

Hugging a werewolf, even a female one, held about as much decorum and intimacy as a pat on the back. Everyone did it. Men, women, children, friends, lovers, relative strangers. No one was going to question it, make lewd accusations, or scold them for doing it public. They didn’t question it, and neither did Harry.

When Luna finally pulled away, it wasn’t because of embarrassment, but because something had caught her attention. She turned towards the center of the commune where the majority of the werewolves were gathered for the festivities. Harry followed suit and realized something was going on. The people were excited, but not the sort of excited that preceded a hunt or one of their savage sporting matches. This was an anxious excitement, strung through with voices of disbelief and outrage.

Harry had a very bad feeling.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

It didn’t take long to find out. From the crowd ran a boy of no more than seven that Harry recognized as one of Greyback’s sons. He looked proud and triumphant, but when he saw the person his sister was with that expression quickly disappeared.

“Luna…” he started, then stopped again, looking nervously at Harry.

“What is it, Specter?” she prompted.

“It’s Father,” he said, cautiously glancing back at Harry. “He’s killed Blackbone.”

It wasn’t hard to find the battle grounds. A steady stream of spectators moving towards them, deeper and deeper into the forest. Harry didn’t pay much attention to who he was following, making his choices based on who was moving the fastest at the time and then selecting another after he had passed them. The forest was crowded and he bumped into several werewolves much older and stronger than him, but though a few turned to snarl at him, none were fast enough or brave enough to retaliate as he rushed pass them.

Heart beating like a humming bird, and feet near as quick, he raced his fear into the forest and felt its clammy breath whispering into his ear ‘he’s dead, he’s dead’ as he went. At last the migration of people ended at a small clearing, where a thick wall of bodies marked its boundaries. He was forced to slow down, and when he did his fear slammed into him with all the speed he had been using to avoid it. ‘He’s dead’, a mere statement, became a fully illustrated vision in his mind’s eye, with a body and blood and these hundreds of gawking faces.

But there were still noises coming from the clearing and the crowd here was deathly quiet as they had been when Greyback and Sirius had faced each other earlier that day. Merlin, had it really just been a few hours ago?

Fearfully, he touched the arm of the person nearest him to obtain some answers. It was a older man, stone faced and cold as he turned to him. There was a flash of recognition, perhaps even a second of pity, but it became just as quickly unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here for this,” the man said. Despair threatened to drown the fear, but he swallowed it down so that he could speak.

“Is my godfather dead?”

The man studied him for a moment, but Harry was too impatient for him to sort his thoughts.

“Tell me!”

A grunt and a sigh, and finally an answer. “May as well be… he’s down and out. Jackal is trying to finish him off but Slivermoon keeps- Hey!”

Harry didn’t wait for him to finish, diving into the wall of people, and shoving his way through forcefully. It was hard, most of the people there were stronger than him and not a few of them landed him a hardy smack or elbow before they realized who he was, but he kept shoving and clawing and squeezing his way through until he finally broke out the other side.

It was how he had imagined it. There was blood everywhere, and Sirius lay unmoving, curled around the worst of his wounds. Everyone stood tensely, but for Greyback, looking more resigned than anything as he stared down at the man he had seemingly killed.

He made to rush to his godfather’s side, but someone quickly drew him back and just in time too, because two large bodies landed where he had been running. There were snarls and vicious kicks and punches and biting, and in general what he imagined Sirius and Greyback’s fight must have looked like.

But it wasn’t those two alphas going at it, it was…

“Remus…” he breath. It was Remus, but not a side of Remus he had never seen before. The beta who followed quietly, who reasoned before he acted, and shied from his werewolf nature was beating the bloody shit out of an alpha. Harry watched disbelieving as the man grabbed hold of Jackal’s head and smashed it into the ground, once, twice, three times. It would have killed a normal man, but the skinny alpha had enough moxie left in him to make a clawing swipe at his attacker, knocking the other man off him in a spray of blood. Jackal scrambled to his feet and made for Sirius’ prone body, but Remus caught him by the ankle and dragged him back.

Not wanting to watch anymore, Harry waited till the two fighters were out of the way before sprinting towards Sirius. He came to a stop and knelt, looking for some place he could touch to feel for a pulse what wasn’t sliced opened. In his search for undamaged flesh and with the noise of the fight distracting him, he nearly missed the Sirius opening one of his eyes, and would have if the rest of him weren’t so very still.

“Sirius…” he whispered. “You damn fool…”

“Sor… nn.. sor…nnn…”

“Shhh… don’t speak. Don’t try to move. I’ll fix this. Just stay still.”

And even as he said it, he realized he couldn’t fix any of it. He wasn’t a healer, and even if he were he didn’t even have his wand on him. Tears were falling fast and heavy now, and he couldn’t see and couldn’t think, only panic and mourn and pray for an answer.

And an answer came.

It came with the tears and the memory of a past prayer, and the awareness that tears were more than salt and water for those who worship the Earth. He stopped panicking and the tears were coming faster and heavier than ever, but that was what he needed.

“Where are you hurt the worst?” he asked, leaning in very close to him, letting his tears fall onto the man’s face and flow into his open mouth. Sirius didn’t answer at first or even move, but his tongue peeked out for just a second to lap up wetness at corner of his mouth. After a long, painful swallow, he spoke weakly.

“Sto… mach…”

Harry went to examine it, and nearly vomited. Even without removing Sirius’ hand from the wound, he could see inside of it, all the way to the visceral organs nearly falling out. Another wave of panic and the thought it was too much for him to fix made him hesitate. His eyes found Sirius’, to convey that there was nothing he could do, but those gray eyes were now wet with tears and he thought of Luna’s tears and the promise he had made. He might not be able to do anything, but he had to try.

“I have to roll you over. I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt.”

Sirius’ body didn’t want to uncurl, but as close to death as he was, Harry’s strength was enough to get him on his back and after that everything just sort of fell flat. It hurt. It hurt incredibly, and he didn’t want to do it. There wasn’t anything more for him to do at this point, but close his eyes. He was dying and he knew it, and more than anything he didn’t want Remus or Harry to be there to see it.

But Remus was fighting and now Harry was fighting too, and they were both so brave he felt for all the world like a coward because he didn’t think he could keep himself alive for them. His battle had gone along like it normally did with Greyback, blows landed by each of them, seemingly equal, until the Head Alpha had pulled out his knife. It wasn’t something the elder man had ever bothered with before. Sirius knew from that point on there was no turning back, and had pulled out his own knife as well.

And lost. Again, his own damn fault, like everything else that day. He’d hesitated too much, mind distracting him with thoughts of Harry and everything he had said, the pleas he had made. What did that hesitation get him? His godson’s hands in his guts and his tears in his mouth, and by the Goddess, Remus was going to kill someone and all to a save a life that couldn’t be.

On his back, he couldn’t see Harry. His head was tilted too much, and irony of ironies, his gaze landed directly on Greyback. What a strange look on his face. He didn’t think he’d seen the likes of it before. The blood thirst, the arrogance, the possessiveness he had always associated with the man was absent. The triumph he was expecting wasn’t there either. Funny how he’d never noticed the man’s eyes were blue or-

“AAAAHHHHhhhhhh…” A slash of pain, so alike to the one Greyback had inflicted overcame him. He thrashed, finding strength in the throes of pains. Harry little body was knocked away, but returned a moment later, weighing down his legs, and bringing back the pain with his fingers burning his insides like acid.

“REMUS! HELP ME!”

His beta climbed on top of him as well, holding down his shoulders with his legs and his arms with his hands All Sirius could do was scream, the pain increasing exponentially, trying to knock them off. His love for them turning to hate in the midst of his suffering, and he gladly would have dragged them into death with him if he only had the strength.

And finally, blessedly, he passed out.

“Merlin, Harry, what are you doing?”

He wished he had an answer to that, but right now he was working on instinct and instinct required a lack of rationality to work.

“Trust me. This is the only way.”

And it was working. Unbelievably, it was working. Like a potion, everywhere his tears fell the wounds sizzled and then healed, clean and unscarred. It was too slow, though. Too much blood was lost already, and the tears repaired so little at a time. His own magic was burning away too quickly. It poured out with his tears, a strange form of wandless magic and likewise completely inefficient.

His only hope was the he could heal Sirius enough that the pack healers could take care of the rest. So far, none of them had dared approach to offer their assistance. The reason for their reluctance finally stepped forward, moving towards them with slow but obvious intent. Remus stiffened, and slowly looked over his shoulder at the approaching alpha. Greyback paused briefly to stare down at Jackal, unconscious and breathing raggedly on the ground, before stepping over him.

“Harry,” Remus said, trying to draw the boy’s attention to the latest threat.

“I see him,” he said, clinging to his calm desperately when all his mind wanted to do was fly to pieces. “You can step away.”

“Harry…”

“It’s alright, Remus. You better step away now. I don’t think I can patch up the both of you at the same time.”

“…”

“Trust me. Please.”

Reluctantly, the beta crawled off his alpha and slunk a short distance away, although close enough jump in if the Head Alpha attempted anything. When Greyback finally came to a stop a mere foot fall from crushing Sirius’ head, Harry turned away from the wound to look up at him. He couldn’t imagine that he looked at all intimidating or impressive crouched on the ground with tears streaming down his face, but the man stopped anyway. They regarded each other quietly for a long moment.

“It would be kinder to let him die at this point. You’re only prolonging his suffering.”

“He’s not going to die,” Harry insisted.

“I can’t let him live. I’ve already explained to you why. Move aside. I promise to make it quick.”

“No.”

“Boy, you’re asking for a world of hurt. Even if you managed to close the wound, he’s too messed up to survive the full moon.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“These isn’t a way.

“At least let him try,” a lite, feminine voice said. They both turned to see Luna, and behind her stood the Dark Lord, surveying the damage. His eyes settled on Harry crouching protectively over his godfather.

“I leave you alone for half an hour…” A heavy sigh, and he turned to Greyback. “You acted sooner than I had thought.”

“I’m not one to beat around the bush,” he said, smirking at his disgruntled look. “You gonna interfere now? You have more reasons to let me kill him than anyone.”

“Which is why you should listen to me when I offer an alternative.”

Alone in Voldemort’s tent, the Dark Lord and Head Alpha relaxed a little in the absence of the packs and their own young charges. Luna, ever one to surprise, had been the one to find the Dark Lord and request his assistance, and had since followed the wizard child to look after Blackbone while the pack healers tended to them. Greyback wasn’t sure how he should take her odd behavior. He didn’t doubt she loved him as her father, but recent actions seemed to suggest that her affections might have taken on a new dimension with someone else entirely. He wasn’t entirely sure what he should think of her choice of ‘someone’ either.

Certainly, Potter was a remarkable boy, admirable in many ways, but by the Goddess what kind of relationship could his little girl have with a wizard? A willful, pain in the ass, wizard no less?

“So what are you proposing? The boy already failed to convince the fool of the proper state of things. I didn’t do this all on a whim.”

The Dark Lord smiled and shook his head. “I’m not going to reprimand you, Greyback. Your actions were perfectly reasonable. In fact, I was going to propose you do almost the exact same thing you did. Just… after the full moon.”

Sensing a plot, which was always did wonders to amuse him, Greyback took the bait.

“And how exactly would that improve anything? How does maiming Blackbone at all improve anything other than my mood?”

“It’s simple really. You have heard of an Unbreakable Vow, correct? I believe werewolves have a form of it themselves.”

Greyback started. Oh wow. That was so supremely simple of a solution. An Unbreakable Vow between Blackbone and Voldemort would prevent Blackbone from ever defying the Dark Lord and leading the packs into trouble. True, it also left the packs vulnerable to Voldemort’s whims, but there were ways around that.

“What difference does the full moon make? Can’t you use your magic or nasty potions to heal him before the full moon?”

Voldemort snorted. “As you should be well aware, wounds inflicted by werewolves are ‘cursed’[3]. They are much more difficult to heal than normal injuries. Even my best medi-wizards and witches wouldn’t be able to heal him in time for the transformation not to kill him.”

“Why not? Your apprentice did some of it. I saw him closing the wound all by himself, and I don’t think he had half an idea of what he was doing. You telling me, a true shaman, a full Druid priest[4], couldn’t do it?”

The Dark Lord scowled.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. My apprentice did something I could not possible do. It is a form of the ‘Old Magics’, a form that I cannot reproduce. It is based in love, a love strong enough to bend the laws of physics and the laws of magic. Blackbone is quite lucky that Harry seems to possess not only enough love to perform this magic, but the blessing of the Goddess to harness that magic to achieve a specific purpose. If Harry hadn’t the intuition to use that magic, he might just as easily have killed them both. Or perhaps just you. That sort of magic tends to get vengeful when interrupted.”[5]

“Can the boy fix him?” he asked, not bothered by his potential near-death. The Dark Lord smirked.

“I think he might, but not with his own magic. He’s lost too much of it already just stabilizing Blackbone. There may be another way, however. It’s tricky, but I think the benefits will be worth it for the both of us.”

This all sounded very intriguing, although considerably more complicated than the Dark Lord’s original plan. It might be worth all the fuss just to see what happened.

“Alright, I’ll go along with it. What will you need on my end?”

The Dark Lord grinned.

Snape was just settling in to a nice, quiet vacation from having a nagging fishwife of a teenager underfoot, when a letter arrived and ruined it. He had finished catching up on his unread issues of Potion’s Weekly(he was so far behind he’d completely forgotten that he’d actually written some of the articles), opened a bottle of fine whiskey (a birthday gift from Lucius), and was half way through his fourth year lesson plans (which were much funner with a slight buzz) when he received a rather unpleasant visit from a raven.

It all started with a loud tapping at his kitchen window, which he studiously ignored for ten straight minutes. When ignoring it didn’t work, he sighed and went to find out what it was. The annoying creature sat perched on his windowsill with a tiny scroll attached to its leg, and when it spotted Snape, it made another round of impatient taps on the glass. And, of course, chipped it.

Scowling, he opened the window to let it inside. It flew straight at him, and he barely had time to duck. Unlike owls, ravens made poor deliverymen, and this particular raven was a nasty piece of work. It refused to hold still long enough to be relieved of its letter, and when he finally managed to get a hold of it, the little savage drew blood with its sharp beak.

Snape promptly let go of it, drew his wand, and exploded the little beast… then regretted it when he realized Potter wasn’t there to pick up the feathers and guts splattered across his formerly clean kitchen.

Well, bother.

He fished the little scroll out of a gooey mass by the stove, checked it for curses, and opened it. It was from the Dark Lord, who was requesting some vials of Blood-replenishing potion, some pain potions, a particularly potent batch of Wolfsbane potion, and some ‘Indestructible Parchment’.

What the bloody hell had Potter gotten himself into now?

1. For those who don’t know what owl pellets are, they are essentially owl fur balls. Any bones, fur, feathers, or whatever that an owl can’t digest, they upchuck. Science classes often use these ‘pellets’ to be dissected in class and the skeletons inside reassembled to identify what was eaten. We are a strange, strange society.↩

2. Camphor and opoponex are real ingredients used in some incense and are types of tree resin, though not native to Britain. I just love their names.↩

3. I’m not just bullshitting here. Rowling really does state that wounds inflicted by werewolves are cursed and don’t heal properly, even with magic. (Book 6, ch.27)↩

4. Shaman and Druid Priest are titles, not indicators of Voldemort’s religion. He qualifies to be both, but isn’t sole one or the other. Just like a doctor can also be a pilot and an investor at the same time. He’s a pagan without a denomination, plucking out ideas and rituals that he likes and using them to suit his needs and philosophies.↩

5. If this situation is starting to sound familiar, well it should. Harry’s essentially replicated the same sort of magic that would have saved Harry’s life at the expense of Lily’s, if the Potters had stayed in Britain. This ‘Old Magic’ is pagan magic at its purest and most powerful form, and Harry is better able to use it than his mother would have because of the bonds he has formed with the Earth. Voldemort can also use Old Magics better than most people, but ‘Love Magic’ [insert snickers here] escapes him because of course, he doesn’t love at all.↩

Treaties

“You understand, of course, that if you do this, there is no turning back,” Voldemort said solemnly. “You may look the same and think the same and feel the same, but your soul will be different. The Christian God will never accept you. Your fate will be tied to the whims of the Earth.”

Harry nodded. As much mental anguish as his spiritual debate had caused, he could see no way for him to turn back. With the opportunity to save a life, one he could never reunite with on the other side, the decision to pursue paganism was made that much simpler. Beside him, Sirius remained unconscious, gray skinned and cold to the touch, but stubbornly taking one wheezy breath after another. On the other side of Sirius, Remus held his hand, and sat so perfectly still he seemed as much a part of the Healer’s House as the rows of pallets and shelves of herbs.

For them, Harry would officiate his decision and accept the consequences that would follow. Sirius, who was surely suffering far more than he would just holding his tenuous grasp to life, deserved no less.

“Very well,” the Dark Lord said, the hint of a smile, of pride, sneaking into his tone. “I will make preparations. Stay here and listen to the Healers. Eat when they tell you to, rest when they tell you to. You will need your strength.”

The Dark Lord left, so only Harry and his godfathers remained. The rest of the healer’s patients had been moved, none being as seriously injured as Blackbone, not even Jackal with his cracked ribs and broken jaw. Remus sported injuries of his own, a gash across the face that had nearly taken his left eye being the worst of it, but came out of the fight relatively well considering. The healers cleaned and bandaged his wounds at the same time they had tended to Blackbone, the beta refusing to be separated from his alpha.[1]

Harry had watched it all nervously from across the room. Luna had come with him, sitting him down on an empty pallet, and tended to the cuts and bruises he hadn’t even realized he’d acquired in his haste to find Sirius. His feet were cut up pretty badly, and she had sat on the floor with a basin to washed them. He didn’t recall much of what she had actually done while watching the elder women and the odd omega male stitching Sirius back together, but he did remember at one point that she had painted honey onto his feet.[2] She’d explained what it was for, but he’d been distracted by a keening sound from across the room before she was half way through it.

She and the healers had all left with the Dark Lord’s arrival. He had performed a few healing rites of his own, ignoring Remus’ suspicious glare, and by the end of it Sirius lay more peacefully, if not any better. Now Harry was alone with them, and not at all sure what to say. Remus seemed to need his attention the most at the moment.

“It’s going to be okay, Moony. This will work.”

His godfather looked up at him, his expression pained.

“I’m so sorry, Prongslet.”

“Remus?”

“I’m so, so sorry. I know it’s horribly selfish and unfair of me to expect this of you. That I should tell you that you don’t have to do this. It’s not your responsibility. Sirius made his decisions and I, as his mate, failed to protect him. This is all our own fault, but I can’t… I can’t ask you not to do this. I don’t think I could forgive myself if you didn’t and he died.”

The beta looked away, covering his eyes with his free hand, the other not leaving Sirius’ for even a moment. Harry reached across Sirius, and placed his hand over both his godfathers’.

“Oh, Moony, please don’t start crying. No one can seem to hold it in today, and I’m so tired of the tears. You don’t have to feel bad about this. You have no idea how happy I am to be able to protect you for once.”

“I’m still so sorry. Especially after what Sirius said… you know he didn’t mean it, don’t you? We both love you like a son.”

Harry smiled weakly, even though Remus was still turned away.

“I know, and when we get through this I expect a full apology… and a pair of leather boots. A really nice pair of leather boots.”

The beta choke out a laugh, rubbing away the tears before looking back up at him. He looked awful, battered and exhausted, but the hopeful look in his eyes was all Harry needed or wanted. It was his turn to finally make things right for once.

“You’ll have the nicest damn boots in Britain, Prongslet, I promise.”

A night and day passed, and Sirius’ condition did not improve. Harry’s magic had prevented an infection in the stomach wound, but there were plenty of other wounds that hadn’t been treated quickly enough, and now the man was feverish and refused to awaken. Voldemort had come and gone only twice since obtaining Harry’s approval for Sirius’ unconventional treatment, and the most he was willing to do for the injured man was cast a calming spell to ease his sleep. The fever he deemed necessary to fight off the infection, and potions would only complicate an already delicate situation.

Harry tried to take comfort in the Dark Lord’s confidence that his godfather would survive, but it was hard to remain optimistic with the pall of death lingering over the entire hut.

“You must eat, Seeker,” one of the Healers instructed, handing him a bowl of fruit. He ate because that was what Voldemort had instructed him to do, but the smell in the confined space and constant buzzing of flies had robbed him of his appetite long ago. The Healer, a formidable alpha female, eyed him critically. “Then you must go take a walk and get some fresh air. At least two laps around the field, and then you can come back.”

Now, Harry hesitated, looking to Sirius and Remus, who remained dutifully by his side. The beta looked back at him, and smiled a little. “It’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on him. Go stretch your legs.”

Reluctantly, he left the hut with his fruit and started towards the field where the performances were held. Even from a distance he could see the platform had been torn apart and burned sometime the night before. Outside the air was hot and smelled of food and flowers and people, and though it was a great improvement from the stale, musky scent of the healer’s hut, Harry felt ill at ease.

He was distinctly aware that people were watching him, and not just the casual observation he was used to, but people actively moving around and following his movements. When he turned to see exactly who was staring at him, no one even tried to pretend they weren’t. Their expressions were strange, not entirely aggressive, but definitely tense.

He stood staring back at them for over a minute, waiting for someone to do or say something, but no one approached him and eventually he walked away.

“Dammit, what is everybody’s problem?” he muttered, not caring if anyone heard. The walk to the field was uneventful, but he received a bit of a surprise when he arrived. Voldemort was there, instructing several werewolves as they began the assembly of two large cages. Harry suspected they were for the ritual, but since he hadn’t asked for specifics (he really didn’t want to know exactly how much this was going to hurt since he’d already decided to do it regardless) he had no clue exactly what (or possibly who) they were for.

There was a very obvious pause in the work when Harry approached Voldemort, but an annoyed snap of the Dark Lord’s fingers reminded them who they were working for and they returned to their task. The man sighed and smiled indulgently. Harry felt his annoyance rise. He wasn’t expecting him to care about his godfather, but he really wished he didn’t have to act so ecstatic about how all of this was turning out.

“What’s got you so chipper?”

If Voldemort noticed his irritation, he ignored it completely and grinned even more mischievously.

“Why shouldn’t I be happy? We’re making history tonight. This is a thing of legends.”

“If it works,” Harry pointed out.

“It will work.”

“How do you know if this is the first time it’s ever been tried?”

The Dark Lord smirked, and pointed towards a holly grove where the goddess possessed Diana stood watch. “I consulted her first.”

Harry supposed that was something, but he didn’t feel wholly reassured. Diana’s goddess had been in possession of Luna during the last solstice, and he still didn’t know how much of the attack that night was Luna’s doing or the goddess’. What happened tonight might leave him a werewolf or at least with Lycanthrosis or perhaps with something completely new, and that might be her intention. If this was a trick and Sirius died, he thought he might be capable of murder… divinity or not.

He changed the subject before his thoughts grew too dark.

“What’s with everyone acting so weird? I’ve never seen them this interested in anyone but Greyback.”

“They may be barbarians, but they are aware that you’re doing something very special. Something to protect one of their own, even though as a wizard, you are an ancestral enemy. You are an enigma to them.”

“You’re not their enemy.”

“No, but I serve only myself, and they know that.”

“Well, I wish they would stop.”

Voldemort ruffled his hair. “Eat and then go take a nap. We’ll perform a ritual cleansing a few hours before sunset and make our final preparations.”

“Yes, Teacher,” Harry said offhandedly, wandering off. He failed to noticed Voldemort’s surprised and then pleased expression. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that this was the first time he’d used the honorary title on the man.

When Harry stripped off his clothes for his ‘ritual cleansing’, which truthfully wasn’t anything more than a shower under a waterfall to wash off his paints, he assumed he was actually going to get them back.

“Is it really necessary that I not have any clothes?” he asked, pointedly not looking at Diana as she painted him yet again, this time with a mixture of blood and oils, or Voldemort as he took detailed notes. The delivery of parchment and potions that afternoon via Elsbeth had led to a flurry of activity that left Harry reeling after a day and a half of nothing but waiting. This resulted in Harry being rushed from the Healer’s hut to Voldemort’s tent to ingest a variety of nasty herbal concoctions, the sacrifice of a dove (which was unpleasant but not nearly as psychologically jarring as killing the sianach had been), his shower in the great outdoors, and now standing around naked not far the field while the goddess-possessed child had her wicked, artistic way with him. Spirals and stars and the moon in all Her phases painted with his godfather’s blood covering every inch of his body.

Every inch.

“I mean, is a pair of shorts too much to ask for?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re starting to whine, you realize that I hope?” the Dark Lord said, not looking up from his notes.

“I’m not whining. I’m… learning. Isn’t that what apprentices are suppose to do? I just want to learn why I have to spend the night in the buff.”

The shaman sighed. “You said you didn’t want to know the details.”

Harry didn’t speak for several minutes after that, although anyone could hear him squirming and yelping when Diana ’s brush descended below his naval. The Gryffindor nearly screamed like a girl and ran away right there. After a minute of the most violating experience of his young life, she moved on to his legs and he could actually breath again.

“I’m not going to get raped, am I?” he blurted out.

“A little late for bringing up that particular concern, don’t you think?” Voldemort asked sardonically.

“It just now came to mind.”

“You should be happy to know, that no, you will not be rape or involved in a sexual act of any sort once the ritual has begun. In fact, I would highly recommend avoiding touch of any kind. Hence, the lack of clothes.”

“Mm… How much longer? It’s starting to get dark.”

And probably chilly too, but he was burning with too much embarrassment to notice something like that.

“A half hour until sunset. A little under an hour until moon rise. How do you feel?”

“Naked? And kind of itchy.”

“Don’t scratch or you’ll get the blood under your fingernails. You’ll end up giving yourself lycanthropy if you draw blood with your fingernails. It’s bad enough that you have so many cuts on your legs and feet.”

Harry started to ask how the Dark Lord had gotten so much blood out of a nearly dead man to begin with and why he would scratch himself bloody, but then thought better of it. He’d ask for an in depth explanation after everyone got through the night. Anything before that would probably just make him more nervous, and he was already anxious enough as it was.

So he had to stand there, embarrassed, itchy, and pointedly not thinking about what was going to happen while the blood dried and the Dark Lord took pages and pages of notes. It didn’t help matters that he was nearly blind again after washing off his paints.

A rustling sound, distinctly not the sound of Voldemort’s parchment, drew his attention and as blind as he was, he still caught the movement of a large form. Feeling even more embarrassed than before, Harry pointedly turned his body away.

“We’re ready for you,” came Greyback’s guttural voice. “We’ve already moved Blackbone into position.”

“The Healers gave him the potions?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Yeah, though how you can call that swamp muck anything other than poison is beyond me.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but I couldn’t very well take anymore blood without replenishing what little was left. Slivermoon has taken the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“He’s ready, just like everyone else,” the alpha growled impatiently. There was a tense silence, and Harry could feel the man’s gaze fall on him. “You ready, boy?”

As embarrassed as he was, Harry still bristled at the challenge in the werewolf’s tone.

“Yeah. What the hell took you so long?” he snipped.

Greyback just snorted, and walked away. Voldemort stood, folding up his papers and quills and placing them in the folds of his robe. He took Harry by the arm and lead him in the direction Greyback had gone.

“Since you seem so eager, we should head over now. I still have an incantation to perform and than we must secure ourselves before the moon rises.”

The walk to the field was incredibly awkward for Harry, who could feel people staring at him again, and though most of them were as naked as he was, they could actually see him. Their attention only made him itchier, and his hands shook to scrape away the drying blood and oil from his skin. The closer they came to their destination the more werewolves appeared, crowding in around them though never so close as to touch, and the simple stares were supplemented now with sniffing and low keening sounds.

They broke through the trees, and the masses parted before them to create a path leading to the area Voldemort had cleared earlier. As Harry drew closer he could make out the bars of the cages. There were two of them and they stood side by side with about a yard between them. One of them was completely empty, but the other was carpeted in deer hides and instruments and…

“Sirius?”

“It’s all right, Harry.”

“Remus?”

His godfather moved from Sirius’ side to his, and reached out to touch him but hesitated when he saw there was no place he hadn’t been painted in blood.

“I’m here. I’ll be here through the whole thing. I promise.”

The Dark Lord ignored Remus and lead Harry into the cage.

“We haven’t much time. Kneel here. I am going to be speaking in Gaelic, so when I ask you a question you will agree by saying ‘aontaìm’ and when I remove the wolf spirit from Blackbones’ body, hold out your arms and say, ‘tagaimid’. Do you understand?”

“Aontaìm. Tagaimid,” Harry repeated, tasting the words and nodded. He knelt on one side of Sirius and Voldemort stood on the other. Luna appeared out of the periphery of his vision, bearing the staff the Dark Lord had foregone up till then. If Harry weren’t embarrassed before he certainly was now. He had only glanced at here briefly, and she was quite blurry, but not so blurry that he didn’t realize she was also naked.

Voldemort struck his staff on the ground the werewolves around them quieted. Another strike to the ground, and they stilled completely. Another strike and then another and another. And then earth shook, not with magic, but the with the force of hundreds and hundreds of feet stomping down, picking up the rhythm where the shaman’s staff had left off. Voldemort took the staff in both hands and lifted it above his head, the werewolves continuing the drumming beat around them.

“Deathair, mac tìre,” the Dark Lord began, continuing on, chanting to the rhythm in words Harry didn’t understand, but felt against his senses like the summer breeze, laden with strange scents and the promise of storms. “… beocht fuil?[3]”

The Dark Lord look down at him expectantly, and the beat pulled from him the word with perfect synchrony.

“Aontaìm.”

The itching against his skin intensified, prickling like a numbed limb. And the Dark Lord repeated his incantation, the rhythm beginning to increase.

“Aontaìm.”

A shiver run up his spine, then another, sending waves of prickles up and down his body.

The chant switched to different lyrics, faster and faster, the urgency of the summoning carried in the Earth, beating like a heart beneath him. A black haze slithered out of Sirius’ mouth, expelled in a series of choking gasps. Harry couldn’t see what it was perfectly, but he was close enough to get an impression of the spirit. It wasn’t like the delicate holly spirit, drifting about like an aerial jellyfish, but shimmied about purposefully, like a sidewinder, on the ground but barely touching, sliding in and out and over and under Sirius’ body, nervously seeking shelter.

Harry held out his arms to it.

“Tagaimid.”

“Harry!”

Ginny sprung up in her bed, her terrified cry echoing in her little bedroom. Through her open window she caught sight of the moon hanging fat and yellow, staring down at her like the bestial eyes from her dream. She recoiled, her hand slipping off the side the bed, and tumbled on to the floor awkwardly. Her foot caught the nightstand and knocked it to the floor with a resounding crash.

She had not even righted herself when the door to her room burst open. To her mortification, it was Abraham who caught her with her knickers in the air.

“Gin! What’s the ma- Eep!” he quickly turned his eight year old self around and back the way he had come. A moment latter, her mom and aunt stumbled in, curlers in their hair and wands drawn. Thankfully, she’d managed to get her knees under her and righted her nightgown.

“Ginny, what happened?!” her mom exclaimed, flipping on the light.

In her little bedroom, surrounded by her books and photographs and hand-me-down bricabrak she felt all kinds the fool, the yellow eyed moon now nothing more than a celestial bauble, far removed from anything relevant to her. She looked up at her mom and aunt’s worried faces, and blushed with embarrassment and shame.

“N-nothing,” she said, “I had a bad dream and fell out of bed. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Her Aunt Suzanne sighed in relief, and luckily didn’t seem to be overly bothered by the impromptu wakeup call. You could never be too sure with Suzanne. She had inherited the same temper as her sister as well as her red hair, and you never could be too sure when her maternal patience would snap.

“I’ll leave it to you, Molly,” the woman said and walked out. Through the door, Ginny could hear her talking to her own son. “She’s fine Abe. Go back to bed.”

Ginny groaned. Abraham might have been too startled right now to make much of a fuss, but she could just imagine the ridiculous songs he would be singing in the morning to commemorate her less the elegant fall. She used to think having older brothers was a real pain, but having a younger brother was ten times worse. Even if he was just her cousin, they had lived together since he’d been nothing more than bulge in his widowed mother’s tummy, and the familiarity bred familial contempt.

Her mom helped her to her feet, and even though she really didn’t need it, Ginny let her tuck her back in. She could tolerate a little babying after waking everyone up in the middle of the night. Of course, her mom wouldn’t let it go at that.

“It sounds like a pretty bad dream. Do you want to talk about it?” She said it very casually as she righted the night stand, and returned the nick-nacs to their proper place, but Ginny blushed and looked away.

“It was just a stupid dream. A monsters under the bed kind of dream.”

“Monsters under ‘Harry’s’ bed?” she asked knowingly.

As if she couldn’t get anymore embarrassed. “… I’m just worried about him. He said he was going to visit his godfathers at the werewolf colony. I’m sure he isn’t visiting during the full moon and his godfathers will protect him and everything, but… It’s just a stupid dream.”

Her mom smiled comfortingly, walking towards the window to look at the moon outside.

“It’s a evil sort of moon. I’m not surprised you’re having bad dreams.”

She closed the curtains, blocking it from view.

“All better. If you’re worried about your friend, you should write him in the morning. You’ll definitely feel better.”

Ginny thought about it, hating how childish she felt being worried over nothing and having her mom coddle her. But… she had been feeling strangely anxious all week, since she’d last seen Harry at one of their dueling tournaments. He had been so excited to be seeing his godfathers, seeming to forget completely that he’d be surrounded by werewolves. Even though he had told her he wouldn’t be visiting until after the full moon when they’d be at their most mild, she couldn’t help but feel his expression had been strangely stiff when he’d said it.

“…okay. Just don’t tell, Abe. He’s going to be unbearable enough as it is.”

“You have my word. Goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight, mum.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled and kissed her forehead, smoothing out her bedsheets before finally turning off the lights and heading to bed. With the curtains closed her room was dark as pitch, but strangely comforting after the dreams of glowing eyes and bodies in the moonlight. Thank goodness her mom hadn’t asked for specifics. If she ever found out that Harry had been naked in the dream, she doubted she would ever see Hogwarts or Harry again.

Sirius woke to a full moon and howling. For several long minutes, he thought he was dreaming or dead. His lifted his hand to his face and stared through his human fingers at the Moon, and felt strangely unmoved by the sight of Her. Dreams, he thought. Just dreams.

But pained, human cries found their way through the animal sounds, frantic and tapping against his psyche persistently. Reluctantly, he turned his head towards the sound. Bars and beyond that werewolves, pacing excitedly, snapping and clawing at his prone form but too far away to reach. It sounded like they might have gotten something… someone, but no, if they had gotten someone that person would have been dead and eaten long before.

A scuffle broke out, one moderate-sized werewolf tenaciously chasing three others away, and it took him only a moment to recognize Remus. The significance of the cries suddenly made itself known to him.

“H-har…” he coughed, unable to speak with his sandpaper tongue.

“Yes.”

He was too weak to immediately turn his head, but his eyes found Voldemort’s readily enough. The great snake was right beside him, and he felt himself tense at the proximity and his own helplessness. The Dark Lord merely smiled coldly, and made a gesture back to where he had been looking before. Remus was busily chasing away anyone who got too close, and through his efforts Sirius could just barely make out a naked form writhing on the ground a short distance away behind another set of bars.

“I had to tie him down,” Voldemort offered, “Taking possession of your wolf knocked him flat, but once the full moon rose he was ready to crawl out of his own skin. It’s a good think I thought ahead.”

Sirius was confused, but he hadn’t the strength to question and really his only care was that his godson was suffering. Sensing the injured man’s distraction, the Dark Lord took Sirius by the chin and forcibly turned his head back towards him.

“I know you’re very tired, Blackbone. I know you’re very weak, but I need you to concentrate for just a few more minutes.”

Sirius glared at him, attempted to growl but only ended up coughing painfully.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. I’ve done you an incredible favor. I’ve saved your life. I’ve obtained you a pardon. With Harry’s help of course.”

Voldemort sighed, and tilted his head as Harry’s distress faded into a long moan. Around them, several werewolves broke out into long mournful howls, mingling their songs with his.

“You owe us both a great deal, Blackbone. He suffers now to save your life, and I risk losing my precious apprentice to obtain your pardon. I’m going to collect the compensation due to us, one way or another.”

Sirius didn’t really understand why he was even alive or looking at the full moon as a human or really anything beyond the point that this was all somehow Voldemort’s doing and he was going to pay a terrible price for it. The thin blanket that had been placed over his body, was pulled back so that the Dark Lord could retrieve his hand, and he felt a quiver of fear and revulsion at the touch but hadn’t the strength to pull away.

“You owe us a life debt,” the Dark Lord continued, “And that debt will be paid with an Unbreakable Vow.”

Dread came over Sirius like the touch of a Dementor, cold and consuming.

“N-never…”

Voldemort’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t look surprised in the least. With complete calm, the dark wizard covered Sirius’ mouth with his hand and pinched his nose shut. His eyes widened, and he tried to lift his arms to fight him off, but they were weak and the monster had always been so very strong.

“Then you die, and all that Harry has suffered will be for nothing, and I have my apprentice all to myself once again. Slivermoon won’t last the year, I suspect, deprived of both his mate and his godson. Greyback will continue his rule completely unchallenged until his strength fades enough for some weaker alpha to finish him off, and I will pull the leash on your people as I always have. But what do you care? You’ll be dead. Absolved of responsibility. Reborn as a shit eating worm or something else equally appropriate.”

Voldemort removed his hand, leaving his prey gasping weakly, struggling to to retrieve the oxygen he had lost.

“Or you can promise never to raise your hand against me in war or to allow any under your authority to do so, either. I believe my price is quite cheap considering. I’m not asking that you to be my ally, Blackbone, I’m just making sure you can never be my enemy.”

Sirius glared hatefully, wishing more than anything that he were a wolf right then, and tearing the other man to tiny meaty pieces. But all he had left to him were two impossible choices. To live as another one of the Dark Lord’s pawns or to abandon everyone and everything he cared about to the creature’s mercy. Staring up at the monster’s amused red eyes, he was ready to choose death, but he could hear Harry’s voice drifting towards him, soft, tortured sounds and Remus whined softly on the other side of the bars, pacing helplessly to and fro. He knew he couldn’t just leave them. He didn’t know what Voldemort’s pawn could do to protect them, but it would definitely be more than his corpse could.

As if he’d read his mind, and that was actually quite likely, the Dark Lord’s mouth curled back into a wicked grin.

“There’s a good dog.”

The next morning was quiet. Exhausted men and women stumbled to the nearest shelter they could find, curled up with whoever else they found there, and fell asleep. Sirius was unconscious again after the Dark Lord forced half a dozen more healing potions down his throat, and once the door to the cage was open Remus drug himself inside to sleep beside him.

Voldemort was feeling quite energized, however, his latest magical experiment a resounding success so far. All that remained was to make sure that Harry was alright. The boy was more exhausted than anyone, and didn’t so much as stir when the Dark Lord lifted him up into his arms and carried to his tent. Predictably, the tent was partially destroyed by the night’s activities, but nothing left inside was breakable, and after kicking out a few sleepy pups it suited his purposes just fine.

“Is he alright?”

He turned to see Luna standing in the doorway of his tent, naked as could be, mud covering her hands and feet and forest debris sticking out of her hair. Something about her struck him as charming, so he indulged her.

“His breathing and heart beat are strong, but of course he’s exhausted. And dirty. I’ll know more once he wakes up.”

She nodded once, and wandered off. Thinking that was the last he’d see of her for a while, Voldemort flipped over a torn pallet to its undamaged side and laid Harry down. He went back to the field to retrieve some of his possessions from the cage, and when he returned Luna was back. Her hands were clean, although she hadn’t bothered fixing her feet or hair, and she had pulled on a cotton tunic. She had brought food, drink, some blankets, and a bucket full of water.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll grant you that,” the Dark Lord remarked, settling himself a short distance away in order to watch her as he reviewed his notes. “But I hope you realize, he isn’t for you.”

Leaning over Harry, she gently washed his face, unperturbed by the man’s presence.

“He’s not for you, either,” she said. If she had sounded smug or accusing, Greyback’s daughter or not, Voldemort would have smacked her and thrown her out, but there was only a dreamy sort of observation in her voice.

Instead, he merely said, “I could argue with you, about that.”

Greyback went in search of Luna late that afternoon. He’d slept away most of his post-transformation drowsiness in his own house, and in the course of finding himself something to eat, had become aware that a member of his family was absent. His adopted daughter, though remarkable, was the most fragile of his children, and it was with some unease that he went out in search of her.

He didn’t have to search long. His suspicion that she might have followed Harry was proven correct when he found her sharing peaches with the Dark Lord. The wizard was cutting up pieces of fruit, and when Greyback entered he offered some to him.

“Hungry?”

While meat sounded better, he wasn’t going to turn it down.

“Thanks.” He entered the tent and found a place to make himself comfortable, taking a quick inventory of the space. Harry was wrapped in a blanket, deeply asleep and smelled a little different, but otherwise seemed okay. There was a place beside him composed of ruffled blankets where Luna must have been napping. The Dark Lord himself was situated nearby, but Greyback thought he must have wandered the entirety of the tent throughout the morning. “So did it work?”

Voldemort smirked.

“Almost perfectly. Blackbone didn’t transform at all, and I managed to wrangle an Unbreakable Vow from him, as well. You will have your successor Greyback, and you will never have to fear war between our peoples for as long as he rules.”

The Head Alpha nodded once, not revealing exactly how much of a burden had truly been lifted from his shoulders. They might be allies, and to some extent even friends, but that didn’t mean the wizard wouldn’t call on a debt if he thought he could get one.

“Almost perfectly?”

The Dark Lord’s cockiness faded a little.

“There was an unexpected… side effect.”

He made a gesture towards Luna, who turned to Harry and pulled down a portion of his blanket. The blood had all been cleaned away, but an expanse of flesh on Harry’s chest remained marred with a red crescent moon.

“It won’t come off. I suspect it’s tattooed into his skin and will never come out. Magic of this magnitude frequently leaves magical scars, but I hadn’t anticipated this. There is no way of knowing if or how it may have affected him physically or magically. I do know he’s not a werewolf or even contracted lycanthrosis. I checked him for possible spirit possession, but the only spirit in his body is his own.”

“Mm. Fascinating.”

The Dark Lord made a rude sound. “It might be. He’s been touched by a wolf spirit and by the Moon Goddess. His fate may now be linked to that of your people, if it wasn’t already.”

Greyback yawned, climbing to his feet. “I’m sure I’ll care more tomorrow. We’ll talk more then. Right now all I want is about ten pounds of meat and a half a galleon of beer. Come on, girl, your lover boy will still be here tomorrow.”

Luna looked down at Harry for a moment, shrugged, and followed after her father. Voldemort let them go with a wave of good-natured disgust.

“Last time I try to have a meaningful discussion about magic with a wild dog,” he muttered.

“Padfoot,” Remus growled as his friend cautiously stretched himself out. Sirius had woken up looking much better than he had in days. He was still sickly looking, but his skin was now just pale rather than gray, and the infections had all but disappeared. The wound to his stomach was still an ugly mess of stitches and scars, but even that looked better. After an afternoon of being hand fed fruit, broth, and well ground pieces of meat, some of his strength had returned as well. “You’re in no condition to wander around. Lay down. I’ll go and check on Harry myself and then come back.”

“I’m fine, Moony. Besides, I need to talk to him myself,” he said, trying to find muscles he could stretch that wouldn’t pull at his stomach wound and having little luck. “I put it off long enough.”

“He might not even be awake yet, and if he isn’t, you shouldn’t wake him.”

“Or he’s awake and wondering why his asshole of a godfather hasn’t come to visit him after saving his life. Give it a rest, Moony.”

“You know I almost preferred you comatose,” Remus muttered, lending his shoulder for Sirius to lean on. Sirius smirked, and hobbled his way out of the Healer’s hut. It was vaguely embarrassing to be so weak out in public, especially when those few werewolves actually out and about watched him so intently. A few started to approach them, but Remus gave them a warning growl and they quickly backed off.

“You know they may have just wanted to wish me well.”

“They probably did, but you said you wanted to talk to Harry and I’m not making you stand around in this heat because they feel chatty. If they want to talk to you, they can do it while you’re laying down.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. He was happy just to have his beta talking to him, and having him actively mothering him was more than he could ever have hoped for. Dying, or in his case almost dying, had brought things into perspective very quickly for a lot of people. Sirius, in particular, was seeing things clearly. He could now even list his revelations in order of significance.

Being alive was a lot better than dying.

Remus and Harry loved him more than he deserved, which was why being alive was so important.

He needed to be more careful with his actions, since he wasn’t the only one affected by them.

Voldemort was still a #&*#&$!, and deserved to die horribly, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it about.

And speak of the devil, there’s the giant snake now, slithering out of his den. Elsbeth was perched on his arm, a scroll attached to her leg, and after finding an open space with enough room to take off, flew from his arm and into the sky. The Dark Lord watched her until she disappeared, then his crimson eyes slid over to the two approaching guests.

Sirius could feel his hackles rising, but reminded himself it was pointless. He wasn’t here for him anyway.

“Is Harry awake?”

Voldemort said nothing for a moment, simply looking at him as if he hadn’t spoken, then looked back at the tent as if to consider.

“Sort of. You can have ten minutes.”

Sirius was very tempted to snap at him for thinking he could limit his time with godson (never mind that he technically could and did so regularly), but settled for an annoyed glower and let Remus lead him inside the tent. Both werewolves grimaced at the strong smell of incense as they entered. They waded through the haze to the prone figure laying beside one wall.

Harry was wrapped in a blanket, despite the day’s heat, and his eyes looked bruised with exhaustion and his face smooth with sleep. It was jarring to see him so exposed, so vulnerable, so very, very young. They were both used to seeing him alert, focused, and self-possessed. Even in a crisis, when everything was falling apart, Harry had always retained some sort of strength. Magically or intellectually or psychologically or all at once. It had been a long time since either man had really thought of Harry as a child. He had become a young man in an even younger body without either of them realizing when the transition had happened.

“Harry?” Sirius called softly, thinking perhaps the Dark Lord had lied about Harry being even ‘sort of’ awake. Bright green eyes peeked out between his slitted lids, staring up blearily at two unrecognizable globs.

“Mmm?”

The werewolves shared an amused look. It might have been a while since they’d seen Harry so childlike, but that didn’t mean he didn’t make a cute kid. They sat down on either side of him, Sirius grimacing as his wound was stretched in a new and particularly unpleasant way.

“Hey, Prongslet. How you feeling?”

“Siri…?”

“In the flesh, except of course for the few pounds Greyback took out of it. Remus is here too.”

“You did great, Harry. I’m so proud of you.”

“Mmmm…” the boy sighed, his eyes drifting shut again and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Tired.”

“I know, and I’ll let you rest in a minute,” Sirius said, gently touching his shoulder. “I just needed to say this to you, because it’s important.”

“What is?” His green eyes drifted open again, trying to look serious but just came out looking adorably pouty.

“I’m sorry, Harry. For everything. You were only looking out for me when it should have been me looking out for you. I said a lot of stupid things that I didn’t mean, knowing they’d hurt you, saying them because I knew they would. I’m sorry. All I’ve ever wanted from you was your respect, and when I failed to earn it, I lashed out at you. And even though I didn’t deserve it you went ahead and… This is all my fault…”

Sirius broke off, unable to continue. He wasn’t prone to overly sentimental displays of affection or grief, but he had never felt so much regret for something he had done as he did now. He wasn’t going to cry, he wouldn’t allow anyone so see such an obvious sign of weakness, but he had to stop talking. Harry didn’t do anything for a moment, his sleepy green eyes just looking up at him, then slowly he lifted his hand to lay on top of Sirius.

“It’s alright. We’re family.”

Everything that needed to be said was held in those four words, and having said them Harry drifted back to sleep as quietly and suddenly as he had awoken. Sirius just stared down at him, completely flabbergasted. Surely it wasn’t that simple. Not after everything he had done, and not after everything Harry had been made to pay for it.

Remus drew back his attention with a hand to his shoulder.

“Don’t over think it, Padfoot. If he wants to forgive you that’s his prerogative. I hope you’ll be able to do the same as well. Come on, we’d best let him sleep.”

After his godfathers left, Harry slept for several more hours before yet another visitor disturbed him. He couldn’t say what had woken him, for Luna hadn’t made a sound. One moment, he was dreaming he was drifting quietly across a lake in a boat, and the next he opened his eyes to a face so close that even he could recognize who it was without his glasses. As startling as this was, his body was still much too weak to allow him do anything more than blink owlishly at her.

The corners of her mouth pulled back to reveal a broad grin.

“You did it, Harry,” she said, happily. “You said you’d try, and you did it. Thank you.”

Slowly, it dawned on him what she was saying, and gradually, he found a smile of his very own to give back to her.

1. Alright, as gay as that might sound, they’re not really homosexual. I feel it important to reiterate it at this point, since it becomes significant later. While I don’t have anything against homosexuality, I didn’t see Rowling’s Sirius and Remus as gay (indeed they showed a clear preference for women), and I don’t see any justifiable reason for making them so just for this story. Even if they do make a delightful pair. :)↩

2. Honey is an ancient form of antiseptic. When it ferments, it creates hydrogen peroxide, which stings like a bitch but is a magnificent disinfectant. Hurray for the History Channel!↩

3. Real Gaelic words, but they don’t mean much by themselves. Unless one of my readers can actually speak Gaelic and offer up a niffty translation. That would be awesome.↩

Travelers From Near and Far

Harry couldn’t say how long he slept, but he could guess about how deep, for his last memory was of Luna smiling down at him in Voldemort’s tent and the second time he woke up it was to a considerably less happy person scowling down at him in a hospital room.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione snipped, “are you really this unlucky or does someone have it out for you?”

He blinked up at her, blearily, and then slightly less blearily when she put his glasses on his nose. Surveying the room, white, cold, and smelling of antiseptic, he wondered how much of what he remembered really happened and how much was the result of some sort of head trauma. He sat up, and she handed him a glass of water. He drank nearly all of it.

“How do you feel? No one has been telling me anything, except that you’re suffering from exhaustion… and that I shouldn’t kiss you. Why would they think I’d kiss you? Honestly! I even looked through your chart- I hope you don’t mind- but it just says they’re running some weird tests I’ve never heard of. At least I know you don’t have lycanthrosis. Your test came back negative for that, you’ll be happy to hear, but they still want to keep you under observation just in case. Uncle Severus won’t put up with it for much longer though. He hates hospitals, and doesn’t like being in them any longer than necessary, so you’ll probably get out when you can walk around unassisted. With all that sleeping you might be a bit stiff and weak. If you want I can get you nurse to get you something to make you more comfortable. Or perhaps you’d just like to get home. They wouldn’t let you keep Inana in the hospital obviously, but she seemed worried we left her at the house. I mean, not that I can really tell when a snake is worried or just hungry-”

“I feel fine, thanks,” he interrupted her, afraid she’d pass out at any moment from lack of air. He peeked under his blankets to make sure he had pants on, then moved his legs onto the other side of the bed. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

Only the second day after the full moon? That wasn’t so bad. He stood up…

“The first of July to be-”

…and fell to the floor. Oops. It seemed he’d miscalculated his inactivity by nearly a week.

“Harry!”

Shakily, he climbed back to his feet. “I’m fine. Not to worry. If I hurt myself, hey, I’m in a hospital. Where better to do it?”

She gave him a disapproving look, but he just smiled at her. Her sternness melted away, and she raced around the bed to hug him tightly. He heard a suspicious ‘snuffling’ sound, but couldn’t be sure she was crying or not with her head at his shoulder.

“Idiot. I don’t want you to get hurt at all.”

Awkwardly (it was so different hugging a witch than it was hugging a werewolf!), he hugged her back.

“Don’t worry, Hermione, I didn’t get hurt. I wasn’t in any real danger. It’s just exhaustion. Partied a little too hard and all that.”

She pulled back from him, glowered at him as if she’d never stopped, and poked him in the chest.

“I don’t doubt it. How much had you drunk when you decided that would be a good idea?”

He followed her finger, which had pulled aside some of the lapel of his hospitable pajamas to expose a sliver of red on his chest. Rushing to the bathroom and the nearest mirror he could find, he lifted his shirt to get a better look.

“Bloody hell!”

“Bloody hell!” McGonagall cursed, right in the middle of transfiguring plain wooden chairs into overstuffed reading chairs. The disruption caused the semi-padded chair to break out into splinters, making it resemble a giant pin cushion rather than anything one might want to sit on. Flitwick sighed, turning from the stain glass windows he had been charming against drafts. He had been waiting for this moment since they had first been assigned the rather dubious honor of making the newly reconstructed wing of the castle inhabitable for their foreign guests. He was himself a bit resentful of having his precious free time impinged upon, but McGonagall seemed to be taking it as an intentionally vindictive act rather than a security precaution.

“What is the matter, Minny?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“No, but I have the feeling you really need to tell.”

“What are we doing here, Filius? We’re teachers, not interior designers! They could have pulled in half a dozen university students for a summer job, and been done in a week.”

“That isn’t true, and you know it. There are many perfectly good reasons why we should be doing this and not some kid fresh out of the dorm,” he said gently, trying to placate her.

Her response was to kick her transfigured monstrosity across the room. “If you give me that same load of crock about the school’s safety that Lestrange was dishing out, I swear I won’t talk to you for a week.”

“Of course not. There are other even better reasons why we should do this. Not the least of which is because this castle recognizes us and our magic. Hogwarts hasn’t accepted this part of the building into its magical matrix again since the attack. It will take time, but considerably less time will be needed if the area is saturated in magic of one of its own residence.”

She looked slightly mollified, but not entirely convinced. Sensing her wavering conviction, Filius decided to add a bit of humor to the situation.

“Besides, you should be honored. In a way, we can now be counted as among the schools founders. Think of it Minerva, you could have your own House. McGonagall House, house colors will be orange and copper, and the mascot will be a cat. Flitwick House shall have purple and pewter, and the mascot will be a goat.”

Her expression had turned stony, and for a moment he hadn’t made a mistake, but then the mental image of what he had just suggested seemed to really sink in, and the muscles in her cheeks started to twitch until they’d pulled back her lips into a smile and her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

“Alright,” she said, “But I get to keep Potter, Granger, and LeFoy.”

“As long as I can have Diggory, Boot, and Allbright.”

“Diggory and Allbright aren’t even Ravenclaws!”

“I know, but in Flitwick House, persistence is the defining character, not curiosity. I’ve never seen a pair of boys that persistent in trying to prove themselves, and since you’ve already taken Granger…”

She chuckled. Turning about, she seemed to regard the plain room with considerably more enthusiasm, and a bit of the old mischievousness that Flitwick could remember from when she herself was a student.

“You know, if we’re going to have our own Houses, this end of the castle would be the the perfect place to start.”

A month after his hospitalization, Harry was relieved to be celebrating his birthday with the knowledge that the full moon brought nothing stranger than the ability to see perfectly (and that meant without his glasses) in the dark, some rather bizarre eye shine, and giddiness that resulted in insomnia during the full moon. Voldemort had actually taken the day and the night of the full moon to visit the house to record his observations. The Dark Lord seemed to find the results amusing (or perhaps laughter was contagious because Harry couldn’t keep a straight face the entire time). Snape, who had stayed up to see what sort of madness he was housing under his roof, had drunk an entire pot of coffee and didn’t find the situation funny at all.

Snape had been snippy the entire month Harry had been home, and at first he had thought it was because the potions master was nervous about his condition. Nothing had improved after the full moon, however, so he suspected there was something else bothering the man. Of course, once the full moon was over, Harry had an entire list of other things to worry about himself, and hadn’t bothered looking into it. He had spent so much time just working to appear unaffected by what had happened for his friends and coworkers (who knew he had gone on a vacation with the Dark Lord, just not what that entailed), that he had neglected not only what remained of his homework, but also what he was going to do for the new school year. The foreign exchange students were only a small part of it.

This year, he had elective courses.

Lots of elective courses to choose from. Lots of electives he should choose, but couldn’t without another body and perhaps Hermione’s brain. Intro to Magical First Aid (a definite), Intro to the History of European Magic (which seemed a good idea if he continued to work at the Ministry or didn’t want to seem a complete idiot in front of the exchange students), Care of Magical Creatures, Fundamentals of Spell Design I, and Celtic Magic and History I (the closest he was going to get to a formal education in pagan magic without following the Dark Lord around every day). The thing was, he could only take two electives on top of his core classes. Which was why he celebrating his birthday in Daigon Alley with Draco and Hermione by brooding over a piece of chocolate cake.

“For the love of Merlin, Potter,” Draco said in exasperation. “If you wanted white cake you should have just said so.”

The three friends were tucked into a corner booth in a trendy little restaurant a block away from the main shopping area. They were taking a break after shopping for some non-academic essentials (owl treats, underwear, candy, etc.), their potion supplies (which the waiter had eyed resentfully when they were being seated), and some sporting gear for dueling club (and quidditch even though Hermione said it was pointless if they weren’t going to be playing for the year), before they finished the day at Banikey’s Books for their writing supplies and text books. Harry had to decide and decide quick what classes he was going to take.

“I like chocolate cake,” he snipped, and shoved a giant piece of it into his mouth to prove it.

“You do seem a bit glum,” Hermione said, grimacing at his chipmunk-ish cheeks. “Is everything alright with your godfathers?”

Harry waved off her concern while he finished chewing.

“Yeah, they’re fine. I told you about the boots they sent me, didn’t I?”

He doubted they had forgotten. The boots were black leather, bronze fixings, and lined in the softest black mink. They were charmed so that they left wolf prints rather than boot prints when you walked in snow or mud. The Malfoy siblings had both been completely envious. Remus had kept his word. They were the best damn boots in Britain.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing serious,” he assured, “I just don’t know what electives I’m going to take this year.”

Hermione sat up straight, and Draco let out a pained moan. “Oh, no you’re going to get her started again. She’s been driving me nuts about this all summer.”

“Do you have your school list?” she said, ignoring her brother. Harry pulled out his list, and handed it to her. He’d already scratched out the supplies he’d bought and the classes he wasn’t interested in, but that still left a lot undecided and undone. Hermione eyed his selections critically, and Harry smiled and took a more enjoyable bite of his cake as he imagined he could see the endless aisles of books that lived in her head shooting out reference materials like canon balls to decimate his latest problem. This was the obvious solution, but truthfully he preferred fixing his own problems. Kyle Reicher’s lesson on friendship had been learned, but sometimes it was hard to break old habits.

“Why on Earth did you cross out Magical Theory?” she said, disapprovingly.

“The Fundamentals of Magical Design covers the same thing, just with more practical application,” he pointed out. “I like classes I can actually do magic in, not just think about. Didn’t you say I was a kinetic learner, or something?”

“Kinesthetic learner, and yes, I did. Fine. I see you put a star by Magical First Aid. So you’ve decided on that one? A good choice.”

Draco snorted, “Especially for you.”

Hermione continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

“I don’t know if Uncle Severus bothered to mention that all ‘Intro’ courses are only one semester long. So that gives you Introduction to Magical First Aid and the only other ‘Intro’ course not crossed off is… Introduction to the History if European magic. That leaves three classes to choose from. Can I ask why put down Celtic Magic and Culture?”

“I’m pagan,” he said simply. “I’d like to know what that means.”

“Yes, but are you a Druid?” she said a bit condescendingly.

“Not yet. I don’t have a definite religion right now, except that it involves lots of spirits and gods and rituals and running around naked.”

“Maybe I should join.”

Hermione slapped her brother on the shoulder.

“Anyway, Druidism is the closest thing I can find to what I am, and I know most of the rituals Voldemort performs are spoken in Gaelic, which they teach in the class. It’s more of a commitment than the other classes though. If I want to take the entire course, I have to start this year and follow it all the way through my seventh. That means I won’t have as many options for electives every year.”

“Considering you had all summer to figure out courses for this semester and haven’t figured it out for yourself, that’s probably for the best,” the Slytherin pointed out. “Although, I’ll admit it’s fun seeing you indecisive. Just like watching Hufflepuffs try to play poker or Uncle Severus sit next to Lestrange.”

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh. Harry reached across the table and patted her hand comfortingly. “There, there. He’ll be married off soon.”

“Hey!”

“Well then, you should probably take the Celtic class. Care of Magical Creatures would be fun, but academically useless unless you want to go to Beastiary School, and you can still take three years of the Fundamentals of Spell Design later. The fourth year of that is actually a university level class, but you’d still have a better quality course at a university. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a genius, and a bow before your superior wisdom.”

“Don’t encourage her.”

Before she could come up with a clever retort of her own, Snape strode into the restaurant. Not being much of a cake person, he’d left them there while he ran some of his own errands with explicit instructions for them to wait till he came and got them. They weren’t expecting him for at least another half hour, and once they’d spotted him, Draco and Harry raced to finish their cake before he actually reached the table.

“Why Potter, I see you’re passing on your remarkable skill of of inhaling food rather than eating it to Draco. Thank you, so much,” Snape remarked blandly. Harry had a come back, but after swallowing his cake and downing half a glass of milk, his timing was off so he didn’t even bother.

“We weren’t expecting you back so soon,” Hermione said. “I hope everything went well.”

“I’m not actually done. Barnikey’s Books seems to running low on some of their stock. I thought I should come and get you before they ran out and we’d have to search for them in Glasgow. Hurry up.”

They paid their tab, and hurried to the book store. The store was full, but not crowded this early in the month, but a gaunt man with graying hair and gnarled hands was arguing with the store clerk and holding up the line. Harry thought he heard the man curse in German, but before he could investigate, Snape was turning him back towards the aisles with a look that told him pointedly to stay out of it. The text book shelf was looking alarmingly bare, and the three of them split up to gather their core class books, collecting three of the same subject at a time and then came back together to exchange between them.

“I got the last three books for Transfiguration. They were completely out of both the new and the used, after I left,” Hermione said breathlessly. With their core classes out of the way, they now had to search out the harder to find elective course books. “I wonder what’s going on? I’ve never heard of Banikey’s being short before. Don’t they get an inventory list from the school?”

Harry thought he might know what had gone wrong, but he hadn’t told his friends about the Triwizard Tournament, and bringing it up now seemed a good way to get yelled at. Instead, he watched Snape watching the German man at the counter, still arguing with the clerk, who was becoming more and more flustered as several people had abandoned their selections and just left.

“Bloody hell, Harry, I hope all these books are for all four years of the class,” Draco said, drawing his attention back to the book shelves. It didn’t take Harry long to see what the Slytherin meant. ‘Celtic Culture’ took up an entire book shelf, not because of its popularity, but because of the sheer number of books the course required. Looking at his supply list, he grimaced, and wondered if he had made the right choice. Even Hermione looked surprised, until she started reading the titles.

“Oh… well, I think I get it. When they say they called it Celtic Magic and Culture, they weren’t kidding. There’s two books on the actually magic, but there’s five books dedicated just to the culture aspect. Language, history, art, philosophy and religion, law and social order. They’re being very thorough.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Harry groused. His list required all seven books, but at least Draco hadn’t been wrong about the books being for all four years. The only other Celtic books he’d have to buy over the next couple of years were more advanced language books. None of the books were small or used, and Harry grimaced at the thought of his student loan as he eyed their prices. He wondered if Voldemort would cover the cost as his ‘teacher’, or if he wasn’t going to have to be more frugal with his summer earnings.

They got the rest of their books and headed towards the line. A manager had finally come out and was now on the receiving end of the German man’s tirade, but at least the harried clerk could now attend the other customers. This still left Harry plenty of time and proximity to overhear what the problem was.

“Vat is going on here? Vat kind of éstablishment doesn’t have enougs books to sell? Is my money not good enoug for you? Is sat it? Herr Barnikey von’t akzept money from a forener?”

And on and on the man went, the manager unable to break in with his repeated ’Sir, please’s and ’Of course not’s. Snape was still just watching, and Harry asked his friends to hold his spot in line while he spoke with him.

“You’re not going to stop him?” Harry asked. Snape rolled his eyes.

“Why should I? It’s the manager’s fault for not ordering enough books. I know for a fact that we sent him the correct inventory. He must have thought there was error.”

“Maybe it is his fault, but that guy isn’t making anything better for himself or anyone else by carrying on like that.”

“‘That man’ is your new Dark Arts and Defense teacher for the year, Professor Oblitz. He’s Durmstang’s Dark Arts teacher and was the World Dueling Champion in ’83 and ’87. I recommend not crossing him. Get back in line, Potter.”

At the mention of Harry’s name, Oblitz suddenly went very quiet, and slowly turned around. Snape met his regard with deceptive calm, but Harry knew better. He could smell the rising magic coming off of the potion’s master, an earthy smell like decaying leaves in fall. Neither man moved for a moment, but Harry felt uneasy. He had seen werewolves act this way before in their beast forms, and it was never a good sign. A tight, unpleasant smile came across Oblitz’s face, and his pale blue eyes found Harry, but quickly returned to Snape.

“I hadn’t realized a fellow professor vas here or else I wood greeted you sooner. Good morning, sir. You must be Professor Snape.”

“Indeed, I am,” he said, equally unpleasant. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Professor Oblitz. Though it seems I’ve interrupted you at a bad time.”

“They are short at last sixteen books my students require. It seems someone has made a mistake.” Something about the way it was said, made the statement sound very much like an accusation. And that accusation was that the ‘someone’ was Snape or else someone else at Hogwarts. Harry felt himself bristle. Perhaps Snape sensed it, because he placed a firm hand on his shoulder, though he didn’t look away from the German.

“Not to worry, Professor. Mr. Potter, what do you think might be done to solve this dilemma?”

Harry was startled from his anger. Snape did this sort of thing in dueling club all the time, interrupting matches or coming up unannounced, disrupting ones mindset and forcing it to think and work differently without a moment’s notice. It took only a few seconds of fumbling for Harry to remember he’d already known what the solution was.

“Ah… the store has a guarantee. If it doesn’t have a book, it’ll order the book for you and deliver it to you without charging the delivery fee within five business days. I’m sure the manager would be happy to do it for you,” he said, and then added under his breath, “… if you’d let him.”

“Yes, yes!” the nearly forgotten manager said, looking massively relieved.

“There now. No problem the strong mind of a fourteen year-old couldn’t solve, isn’t that right, Mr. Potter?” Snape said, still keeping his eyes locked ahead of him. Harry looked cautiously between the now vaguely superior potions professor and the stiffly furious dark arts professor.

“I’m going to go check out my books now.”

Ginny was weeding the garden, while Abe went about chasing knarls and sling shotting them over the wall nearby when she spotted their visitor. The Burrow was a small and out of the way place, and company was rare and usually during holidays and weekend afternoons. Being an ordinary Tuesday morning, Ginny decided that man riding towards them was strange enough that she should forewarn her mother and aunt.

“Mum, Auntie Sue, there’s someone coming,” she said from the doorway, knowing better than to enter while still covered in dirt. She was lucky the both of them were making jams that day, instead of out back in the orchard. The Burrow had originally been an orchard farm that had gone into disrepair after Segundus Weasley left it to his town bred nephew, Arthur Weasley, but Molly and Suzanne had grown up on a farm, and with so little work to be found in town, had made work and money for themselves right at home. They did a lot of the labor themselves, but hired some squib families to help them out during the growing season. They normally would have been out in the orchards with their hired hands, but a large order for Walapple Jam[1] had kept them indoors for the day.

“Who is it, Gin?” Mrs. Weasley asked, but Ginny just shrugged and went back out. “Stay here, Sue. I’ll check it out.”

Ginny and Abe were both at the garden gate, watching the rider cantering towards them. It didn’t take them long to notice he had bright red hair.

“Bill!” Ginny called, and ran out of the yard to meet him, and Abe followed after her. William Primus Weasely pulled his horse up short, and hopped down to meet them, throwing open his arms so they could jump right into them. Molly Weasley, never one to miss an opportunity with one of her ‘lost boys’, wasn’t far behind.

“Bill, Heaven’s Blessing, what are you doing here?! And my word, what are you wearing in your ear?” she exclaimed happily, wrapping him up in a hug. He laughed and fingered the pearly white bauble hanging from his ear.

“It’s a dragon tooth. Charlie sent it to me. The ladies love it.”

“Wicked,” Ginny said, and Abe nodded his agreement.

“Told you so.”

Molly Weasley sighed, the Procter family had taken care of her son for the short time before his graduation, and though she didn’t doubt they were good people, she thought they’d given him a bit too much leeway as a teenager. She never would have let him leave the house thinking teeth were a fashion accessory or that men should ever wear earrings, unless they happened to be pirates. No point crying over spilt potions, she supposed.

“What are you doing here, Bill? Aren’t you suppose to be in Ireland?”

“Boss pulled me back early. Government contract, and he said he wanted the best he had on it. Abe, could you go tie up Picakatte before she wanders off?”

They made their way back into the house (sans Abe who went to do as requested), spelling themselves clean as they stepped inside. Sue smiled as she spotted the eldest Weasley brother and kissed him on the cheek. It took her a moment to realize Molly looked upset.

“A government contract? You said you didn’t involve yourself with the Court. You said they only wanted curse breakers so they could steal other peoples’ property.”

“Yeah, I meant that, but this is something else entirely. I’m going to Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?!” Ginny said excitedly. “Are you going to be a teacher?”

Bill bulked at the very notion. “No! No!Nothing like that. It’s for a some big project they’ve got going. I can’t talk about it, yet. It’s all hush-hush, but the gist of it is I’m there for safety.”

“Are you helping with the expansions on the castle?” Molly asked, immediately relieved. She hated what he did for a living, even if it was honest work, but this sounded like it might be safer than his other jobs.

“Er… sort of. I really can’t talk about it. I just thought I’d let you know I’d be around for a while, and might actually be able to stick around for Christmas for once… and thought I might ask to bum a room for a few weeks?”

Molly smiled. “I’ll be happy to have another of my boys home for a change… as long as you take out that awful earring.”

One year, three months, and twelve days after his ‘murder’, Tom landed on roof of the tallest tower in Hogwarts, took a long look around at the surrounding country and decided it was time to get to work.

August 28th was circled in red on Fleur’s bedroom calendar. Behind it was a trail of red ’x’s that ran from the 27th all the way back to the 1st. The picture on the calendar was of an Irish Blue[2] swimming across a lake; the sky, lake, and dragon barely discernible from each other. Fleur thought it very appropriate that morning, but standing on the perfectly manicured lawn of the Beauxbaton’s she wasn’t really in much of a mood to enjoy the subtle irony.

The entire school had shown up to see them off, along with everyone’s parents, the media, and even the royal family. With all the hugs and goodbyes and photographs and speeches, it all felt suddenly very permanent. Which was ridiculous.

It was only nine months, and she’d be back.

Madam Maxime had promised.

Viktor, as had become the norm at Durmstang, was the first of his classmates to enter the ship atop the perpetually frozen lake of Durmstang valley, but even he had to wait out in the frigid wind for nearly hour. Ambassador Schwartzman had been the first person to board, followed by Headmaster Minz, a slew of other officials, and by the time he and his classmates had been given the go ahead, they were half frozen.

His classmates, used to the constant cold, laughed it off with jokes that they might actually have a pleasant weather for once in Scotland. Viktor didn’t say anything, but let them have their fun. Pleasant weather was about the only good thing he imagined he’d find at Hogwarts.

“Where the bloody hell are we?” Draco muttered looking around what should have been the Hogsmeade platform. All of the students looked equally confused, and some rather alarmed, but their teachers were all there to greet them and start ordering them to follow. Harry, Hermione, Draco, Clyde, Ron, and Ginny stayed close to one another, as they had since the trip had begun (mostly to crowd out hangers on and ‘fans’ from trying to invade their compartment and their personal space), pulling their luggage behind them and wondering where they were.

“I think we’re actually in Hogsmeade,” Clyde said, “There’s Zonko’s Joke Shop and the Three Broom Sticks is over there. There’s just… more.”

And indeed, there was ‘more’. Townhouses, grocery stores, an owl post station, a livery, what looked to be a large garden park, and several other things that all ended up making Hogsmeade nearly five times its original size.

“Do you suppose they’re ahead of schedule for starting up the university?” Hermione asked. “Maybe it’s for all the new students and professors.”

“Um… actually, you’re sort of right and sort of not,” Harry started. He wasn’t supposed to talk about it per Snape’s instructions, but now that they were actually at school, it seemed kind of silly to keep it secret any longer. “Have any of you ever heard of the Triwizard Tournament?”

Hermione and Draco, as Harry predicted they would, yelled at him for the entire ride up to the castle, and would have kept on going if everyone else hadn’t gotten bored of listening to them and asked them what the Triwizard Tournament actually was.

“The dumbest idea anyone could come up with and still have it held in a school,” Hermione groused.

Ron smirked. “Sounds like fun if its got the walking library up in arms.”

“Says the talking brick,” she said under her breath. Draco quickly gave out an explanation before they could really get into it. Ron didn’t look so enthusiastic afterwards, but Ginny and Clyde did.

“I’ve never met a French person before,” Ginny said, interested in meeting people from places she considered ‘exotic’. “Do you think any are from Paris? Are they going to wear their own uniforms or will they have to wear ours? Are they going to get sorted like us or have dorms for themselves?”

“I wonder if anyones going to get eaten.” was about as deep as Clyde’s thoughts went on the subject, and the rest revolved around bloodshed in name of sports.

The Great Hall was noisier than usual, even for the Welcoming Feast, everyone gossiping and wondering about the newly expanded Hogsmeade. Harry and company all looked around for the new exchange students, but it seemed none had arrived yet. The only even slightly unusual thing was the presence of the Dark Lord, Professor Oblitz, and an unknown woman at the teacher’s table, and even that wasn’t that unusual. The evening proceeded in the completely usual way as well, with the Sorting of the first years and the welcoming of the new teachers. It wasn’t until it was time for the school year announcements to be made, that the ball finally dropped. Voldemort took the podium.

“Hogwarts, for the first time in many, many years, is opening its doors for the sake of international outreach and education…” and went on to explain what was actually happen, what it would mean for the students, for Britain, encouraged them all to be hospitable to their guests and set a good example, and of course ended with a threat of what would happen if they did not. “… including the rest of your immediate family and any pets you might happen to have.”

The utter silence that followed assured the Dark Lord that the message had been understood. Even Oblitz looked appropriately stunned. Voldemort let his expression soften into something less terrifying, and gestured towards the door.

“I know you are all hungry, but I would like you to walk down to the North 2nd Floor corridor so that you might witness the arrival of the Durmstang and Beauxbaton students.”

No one, of course, disobeyed, and within minutes everyone was crowding around the windows and waiting for them to arrive. While they were waiting, Harry caught sight of an unmistakable figure out on the lawns.

“Hey, I think I know him.”

“Who?” Hermione said, looking where he was pointing. “That man? Is he really as big as he looks?”

“Almost ten ft. tall. I’ve seen him carry a full grown horse like it was house cat.”

Draco looked utterly horrified. “Where do you meet these people, Potter?”

“Hey, look I see something!” someone cried nearby, “In the sky, between the two mountains.”

“It’s a bird you nitwit,” someone else shouted.

“No it isn’t!” Hermione shouted, “Look it turned sideways! It’s a carriage and horses!”

There were gasps and ‘oohs’ as the carriage drew closer and closer, and grew large and larger, until it finally it landed beside the lake. The horses were so large they made even Hagrid look a bit small, but the half giant still managed to wrestle them to a standstill. The carriage was opulently decorated in gold lief and an emblem was carved into the carriage door. Several attendant, dressed to match the carriage, hopped down to open the door and pull out a stair case, and then assist the several girls that climbed out. And women. And one GIANT woman. Then a handful of boys and men.

“Whoah… is that lady even going to fit through the front door?”

There were several snickers, but it didn’t last long before they were distracted yet again.

“Look at the lake! It’s boiling!”

“It’s not boiling, it’s freezing!”

It seemed to be doing both, bubbling madly before settling into a solid sheet of white. The ice spread to about twice the size of the quidditch pitch before it stopped at the very edge of the shore. There was an enormous cracking sound, and the still ice exploded upwards as a great ship burst from its surface, coated with ice and seaweed.

“I’ll give them this,” Draco said, “Foreigners can certainly put on a show.”

Harry just nodded his head in agreement.

Fleur was happy to have landed, although she could have done with out the crowd of students gawking at them all like a flock of simpletons. She could also have down without the realization that ‘castle’ and ‘palace’ where not the same thing, for though Hogwarts was magnificent architectural achievement (a thousand years ago!), it in no way compared to the splendor of Beauxbatons.

She was an adventurer, however, and wouldn’t let her consternation show over something as minor as the quality of the rugs, or how little light there was, or how plain the decorations were… no, she’d just smile sweetly, and demonstrate how cultured people looked and behaved, because clearly these people needed it.

They briefly saw the Durmstang students, who looked even more brutish than the Hogwarts ones, but luckily didn’t have to talk to them as they were escorted to their dormitory by a teacher whose name she thought sounded like the gargling sound one makes before spitting out mouthwash[3]. At least the dorm was fairly nice. The room was open and airy, with enormous windows looking out over the lake. They’d made a definite attempt with the Baroque style furniture, the white washed walls, and the abundance of elegant purple, but the whole affect was sort of ruined by the abundance of pewter goats inlaid into the doorway and the fire place.

Oh, what she sacrificed for her country.

Viktor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Hogwarts at first glance. It was just as magnificent as Dumbledore had described, and even the reign of a tyrant did nothing to diminish its magnificence both inside and out. The children who had looked out at him when he arrived didn’t look any different that those back home, perhaps they even looked a bit friendlier. He wondered, perhaps if the young had been mostly spared the corruption of the Dark Lord. Sheep didn’t need to be, and preferably weren’t, wicked in nature after all.

He wasn’t given much time to think about it before he and his classmates were escorted to their rooms to freshen up before dinner. He took one step into the common room and got a rather curious surprise. Jophery, his closest friend, came in right behind him and let out a startled laugh.

“They have sent uz to live inside a giant pumpkin, mein Freund. Zat or they like to zelebrate Halloween early here. I’ve never seen so much orange in my live.”

1. Wallaple is like an apple, only the core has a nut similar to a walnut. Both nut and pulp are edible, and most recipes include both parts of the fruit.↩

2. Dragon. I mention Harry seeing one in the first book.↩

3. McGonagall…. gargle gargle… :)↩

The Peaceful Invasion

As the foreign students and dignitaries were exploring their living quarters for the next nine months, the Order of the Phoenix was gathered yet again, this time at a muggle ski resort that was closed for the season. The lodge house wasn’t air conditioned, but opening the windows allowed in fresh cool air and soothing nature sounds. The accommodations were much finer than usual, but no one was in the mood to appreciate it.

Johan still stubbornly kept watch from the shadows, ignoring everyone, including Gilfred and his incessant jokes at his expense. Gilfred, Timmons, Fredric, and Phoebe occupied themselves with a card game, but no one was particularly enthusiastic about losing or winning. Tonks paced in the background, too agitated to sit still. And through it all, Dumbledore sat in an over stuffed chair, drinking his tea and seemingly lost in thought.

“They should be there by now,” Tonks muttered. “Why haven’t we been notified?”

“I have no doubt you are right,” Dumbledore agreed, “But since we are not using our own spies for this mission, I’m afraid we’re rather at the bottom of the ‘those who must be notified’ list. Still, I suspect it won’t be that much longer.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

The old man chuckled. “My dear, when you reach my age, an hour ago isn’t very much time at all.”

She was ready to snap something at him, but a loud ‘RINGGGG’ interrupted her. Several people jumped in fright, and everyone turned to the source of the noise. The plain black telephone resting beside Dumbledore’s cup of tea stopped for a moment, then let out yet another ‘RINGGGG’ and scared poor Fredric all over again.

“Well, here you go, my dear,” the elderly wizard said. He coughed into his hand, and picked up the phone before its third ring. When he spoke again, it was with the chipper tone of twenty-something-year old female receptionist. “Guten Abend, Alstasenberg Ski Resort, mein Name ist Alba Dumbeldoff, was kann ich für sie tun?”

There was talking on the other line, which no one else could hear, but went on for nearly five minutes uninterrupted. At last, Dumbledore smiled.

“Ja, danke und auf Wiederhören.”

He hung up the phone.

“What did they say?” Tonks asked excitedly.

“They said… oh, excuse me,” the wizard chirped femininely, then coughed into his hand again and began speaking normally, “They said everyone arrived safely and are being treated with the utmost courtesy. No one appears to suspect a thing. A secure communications network has already been set up and tested in Hogsmeade.”

“And Viktor?” Gilfred asked. “Any word on him?”

“It’s still a bit early to be receiving any reports from his end. I am told the Dark Lord himself will be at the Welcoming Feast. It will be our young friend’s first real test.”

“And if he fails?”

“I have the utmost confidence in him, and so should you.”

“He’ll be fine,” Johan said, not looking away from the window. “Stop looking for trouble were there isn’t any. You can freak out when something actually goes wrong, otherwise you’re just making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Jonny, that isn’t the way to talk to a lady,” Gilfred admonished, and of course was ignored.

Tonks backed off anyway, stalking out of the room before she did or said something she’d regret later. She hated this plan. Had from the moment she’d been told about it. She’d tried everything to convince Viktor it was a bad idea, but his only response to all her pleas and bargains and threats had been ‘If you’d been in my shoes while you were at school, you would have gone in a heart beat’. Infuriatingly true, and not the least bit comforting.

She’d had a death wish when she’d been at school.

Their arrival at the Great Hall was rather ridiculous in Viktor’s opinion, what with the marching and spell work, but the Hogwarts students and staff seemed suitably impressed by it, He thought he looked a lot less ridiculous after watching the Beauxbatons students flutter in like butterflies. He felt distinct pity for those few male students who accompanied the female majority. The Great Hall was large, but still crowded, especially now that the usual four long tables was supplemented with two smaller tables at the end, yet they managed to fit into their seats comfortably.

At least the Durmstang students did. To his left, at the Beauxbatons table, the other students were trying not to look uncomfortable in their wooden seats, and doing a very poor job of it. He looked down the row of elegant, attractive, and weak looking people and couldn’t imagine a single one of them being a champion of anything.

“Poor babies,” Jophery snickered in German so they wouldn’t hear, “How long do you think it will be before one of them starts crying?”

Viktor ignored the remark. They might not look impressive, but their curriculum was as exacting as Durmstang’s, if not their physical location. It would be foolish to underestimate them before they had been tested.

Speaking of which…

He turned towards the teacher’s table. Madam Maxime, as large as she was, stood out first, but he found others who were more interesting. He recognized Headmaster Minz and Professor Oblitz by sight, but there were others he recognized from photographs and secret files and newspaper articles. Headmistress Bellatrix Lestrange, Death Eater and psychopath. Professor Severus Snape, Death Eater, potion’s genius, and assassin. Professor Bonita Toure, Dark Wizard fanatic. Professor Minerva McGonagall… cat lover. He was certain he’d been thoroughly briefed on her, but the only thing he could remember was Dumbledore’s offhand remark about ‘poor dear Minny’.

And the King of them all, the Dark Lord Voldemort, sat right in the middle, looking completely out of place by his sheer normalcy. From what Viktor had heard, the Dark Lord should have been in his sixties, have red eyes and fangs, and probably resembled a vampire. The Dark Lord in person look in his late twenties, smiled a bit darkly, and had a tan that suggested he spent a lot of time outdoors. Altough he did have red eyes. For a long time, Viktor was convinced it was someone else. Even after the man… dictator… monster… raised his goblet and made a toast as their host.

“Welcome, my brothers and sisters, in both magic and nobility. I have extended my hand to your countries in friendship, and now you have graciously reached back in return as young ambassadors. The people of Britain, myself first among them, are honored by your presence. May this be the first step to the reunion of our great nations, and the rebirth of peace.”

There was thunderous applause, and everyone lifted their glasses, regardless of what they had, and drank deep. Viktor brought his own goblet to his lips, pretended to drink and then set it aside for the rest of the feast. The Dark Lord lingered only a few minutes after that, then disappeared, leaving Viktor torn between confusion and anger. Should he have just cut through all the spying bullshit and just set the creature on fire?

“Charming fellow,” Jophery said, as he watched his friend watch his enemy. “De kind of guy mader vould have vanted my zister to marry… ezept for the whole laying vaste to an entire country ting. Aldough I don’t see how being a banker is much better.”

He gave his friend an irritated look, but of course Jophery didn’t notice.

“Oohhh… look, I tink that’s the ‘protégé’. Poor guy… or maybe not. Apparently, British girls dig the whole ‘the Dark Lord is my Pimp’ ting he’s got going for him.”

Viktor, of course, couldn’t help but look. Harold James Potter looked as nondescript as his mentor, and even less threatening. He had glasses for Merlin’s sake. He was talking with a small cluster of people, who must have been his friends, and two of them must have been the girls Jophery was talking about. One of them was a little pixie of girl, red-haired and freckled and chucking a dinner roll at a pair of boisterous twins, who had to have been related to her somehow. The second…

Was the most captivating creature Viktor had ever seen in his entire life.

“I’ve got to go, guys,” Hermione said, getting up from the table. “I need to talk with McGunny before taking up my prefect duties. He’s probably going to call an emergency meeting later, so I might not see you for the rest of the night.”

They all said their ‘good nights’, but once she was out of sight, Harry surveyed the room to see if anyone was looking towards him and quietly made his own retreat.

“I’ll meet you all in the Common Room later. There’s someone I want to talk to.”

He didn’t stick around to listen to their questions, and slipped out relatively unnoticed. Once he was clear of the Great Hall, he made a light sprint down the empty corridors to the main entry. There were House Elves sorting out the luggage, popping in and out of existence in front of him. Several of them squeaked in panic when they saw him, quite adamant in their belief that a House Elf should be neither seen nor heard unless ordered to be so.

“Shhh… It’s alright. You’re not in trouble,” he assured them. “I just need to step outside for a few minutes. Will you make sure no one locks me out?”

“Oh!” one of them clapped, “Yes! Yes! We will do this for the Monster Slayer! It would be great honor! It is the least we could do!”

The other elves started bobbing their bald little heads.

It took Harry several confused blinks before he realized they were talking about the Basilisk or possibly the ‘acrumantula’, since he had no idea how much they really knew about the incident in his second year. He figured it was more than most.

“Um… thanks.”

“We is being thanked!” it gasped. “You are too kind, Monster Slayer, sir!”

More happy head bobbing, and Harry was starting to get weirded out.

“Er, you’re welcome… bye.”

He slipped out the door, and found it still light outside. The sun had just set over the mountains, but it would be over an hour before true night set in, and he went in search of his friend. As large as the castle grounds were, it wasn’t hard to find someone nearly twice as tall as a normal man and furry as a bear. All he had to do was follow the sound of whinnying horses the size of small airplanes to the quidditch pitch and after that it was simple. He found Hagrid rubbing down a horse, staring off into space dreamily. The rest of the animals were eating up the pitch or snout deep barrels of a suspicious amber liquid.

“Hagrid!” he called. The half giant turned his shaggy head towards him and let out a great laugh.

“‘Arry! Wha’ ya doin ‘ere? Why ain’t you at the feast with the res’ o the fine folk?” he said with a wink, then laughed. “They crowd you out? Best keep a bit ‘o space. These ladies don’ like being crowded themselves.”

Harry wisely did as he was told, and stayed close to the door way. It was too small for any of them to squeeze through, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kept them from just flying away?

“I was just wondering what you were doing here.”

“I sent you a note,” Hagrid said, and looked a bit sheepish. “I suppose you were too busy to reply.”

“Hagrid, I would have been happy to have gotten a letter from you. It probably didn’t make it past the wards. Most of my mail doesn’t.”

“Ya mean ya ne’er got it?”

“I would have written you back if I had. I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

Hagrid seemed to think about that, then grinned. “Ya are at that. And I’ll be hope’n to see more of you. I missed you back at the bestiary. I enjoyed our lunches together.”

“Me too, Hagrid. But what are you doing here to begin with?”

“Stable hand,” he said, looking rather proud of it. “For the tourney. I’m gonna help take care of the big animals, like these pretty girls.”

He patted the horse’s rump affectionately, and she stopped his foot with equal enthusiasm. He barely even flinched.

“My boss didn’t want ta let me go, but I told ‘im to stick it in his ear… or somethin’ like that, anyway. Perhaps it’ll make’m appreciate me more when I’m not around. See how he does tak’n care of three headed dogs andbandywols and tubberdewiggins.”

Harry frowned. “Are they mistreating you, Hagrid?”

The half giant waved it off. “Nah. ’Course not. Things ’ave jus been a bit tight. All these university brains coming up, want’n bigger paychecks for reading so much its pushed their wits clean out of their heads.”

They talked about work and life and interesting animals they had met and their plans for the school year, but after a while Hagrid seemed to get distracted. He was ready to say something several times, but then hesitated and started talking about something else. At last, Harry decided to help him out.

“Is something bothering you?”

Hagrid’s eyes widen in surprise, and he fidgeted a bit before saying, “No, nothin’s bother’n me. I’m happy as could be!”

“Mmm… well, then… was there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Ask you? I… well, maybe… um… maybe later? I feel a bit out o’ sorts bout it.”

“Sure. I might be busy this weekend, but I should find some time during the week.”

“Aye, that’d work fine. I’ll put on some tea and-”

“Potter!”

Professor Snape appeared out of the shadows on the other side of the pitch walls, scowling in annoyance. Harry flinched. He had thought no one would notice his absence with all the festivities and extra students, but apparently he had been overly optimistic.

“Um… hi.”

“Shut up, Potter. The Headmistress wants a word with you.”

A feeling of dread settled over him. It had been a while since he had to deal with the woman, and the fact that he was starting the school year in her office didn’t bode well for the rest of the year. He didn’t get to dwell on it for long, for Snape grabbed him by the collar of his robe and physically dragged him back towards the castle. Harry managed a quick goodbye gesture towards a dumbfounded Hagrid, and spent the rest of his trip back inside trying not to loose his balance.

“Professor, please let go!”

“And have you take a detour with a boat ride across the lake?”

“I was just visiting a friend! I wasn’t aware I had an appointment!”

“Five points from Gryffindor for wandering out of the castle without permission and another five points for back talk. Keep it up, the night is young.”

Harry grimaced but wisely shut up. The professor was in a bad… worse mood than usual, but the night had carried on long and it didn’t appear as if it was going to be ending any time soon. The irritated man finally let him go when they reached the first set of stairs, and by the time they reached the gargoyle guarding the headmistress’ office, both had composed themselves into strangely similar expressions of cool reserve.

“Wormwood,” Snape muttered, and the staircase opened before them. They climbed the stairs, and Harry took a moment to be darkly pleased at the empty case that should have housed the Sword of Gryffindor. The moment was brief. He couldn’t spare any of his attention while in Lestrange’s presence.

The headmistress was sitting behind her desk, looking pleased with herself. This was rather alarming for Harry, and it became even more so when he noticed that Natalie was sitting in one of the chairs.

“How good of you to join us,” Lestrange said, smiling darkly. “I was starting to worry that something might have happened to you.”

“I’m touched my your concern,” Harry said evenly, “I apologize if I inconvenienced you.”

“No, no. Ms. Cypher and I were just enjoying a little heart to heart. Witch to witch.”

“That’s terrifying,” he tried, then realized what he said, “… I mean, terrific.”

Natalie’s stoic expression cracked for just an instant. Lestrange pretended she hadn’t noticed.

“Yes, well, have a seat, Mr. Potter. You’ve taken up enough of my valuable time. Are you staying, Professor?”

“I am.”

“Suit yourself. Mr. Potter, Ms. Cypher, it has come to my attention that you both are fluent in German and French, respectively-”

Harry looked to Natalie, who ignored him, and wondered how he could have missed that.

“- and have an abundance of free time this year. Therefore, I thought it would be wise to apply your talents to the benefit of the school. I am enlisting you as school liaisons to our foreign students. You will assist them in navigating the school, sorting out their schedules, helping them through their studies, and generally making them feel comfortable and welcome here at Hogwarts.”

“You’re turning us into servants?” Natalie said, indignantly. The headmistress smiled cruelly.

“Of course not. Servants have the option of quitting.” The headmistress snapped her fingers, and a large folder fell on both their laps. “These are their students files. Familiarize yourselves with them tonight. You will be leading them on a tour of the castle tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock sharp, and you would do well to know what interests them. I will be quite cross if one of them should get into trouble because you neglected to mention something or they forgot because they were too bored to listen.”

“Honestly, wouldn’t an older student be better for this? Most of these people are six and seventh years. There has to be-”

“Forget it, Natalie,” Harry said, not looking up from the file he was now leafing through. “This was an order from higher up. There’s no point in arguing with the person who can’t do anything about it.”

His ex-girlfriend glared at him.

“Then who should I take my argument to, Oh Wise One?”

“Lord Voldemort, unless you actually have a sense of self preservation, then I’d just take the job. Like you said, they’re sixth and seventh years. After we show them around, do you really think they’ll come to us if they need help with something?”

She didn’t look any happier, but she was Slytherin enough to know when to keep her mouth shut. If he was right, she’d be wasting her breath.

“Well, you seem to have the gist of it,” Lestrange said, looking annoyed now, which meant Harry had probably been spot on. “You should leave now.”

The two fourth years and the potion’s master didn’t need to be told twice, and left quickly. Once out of the office, Natalie turned to Harry.

“How did you know it was Voldemort who ordered it?”

“Because she’d have had to ask and then justify to him why she wanted me to lead around a bunch of people from a country that tried to have me killed… plus it explains why I got that job at the embassy. Practice,” he explained. This was the first time she’d talked to him since last year, and he hoped this meant she was ready to forgive him, if only as a fellow victim. He was soon disappointed.

“So it’s your fault I’m stuck showing around those French snobs? It figures.”

She stomped off. Harry looked after her helplessly. He found himself looking towards Snape for some sort of clue of what he should do, but the man just arched his brow in a wordless ‘your asking me’?

“Well, bollocks,” he muttered.

Snape smirked and strode after her, but not before leaving him with, “And another five points for foul language.”

And really, he should have seen that coming.

Voldemort was enjoying a considerably better, or at least more productive, evening in Hogsmeade with the foreign dignitaries. Most were far too self important to cram themselves into the Great Hall with hundreds of children, regardless of the occasion, and had opted to throw a little soirée of their own. The garden park that had been cultivated over the summer was decorated in canopies of of white silk and paper lanterns floated about in strategic randomness, giving the evening a warm and elegant feel. There was a lot of crystal champagne glasses, hors d’oeuvres made of strange cheeses, and laughing at things that weren’t funny. Journalists and photographers circles the room, asking for quotes and pictures, and got them.

By tomorrow morning, the evening’s events would be on the front page of every newspaper from Britain to Japan. He was feeling quite pleased with himself, which made it easier to smile through the French ambassador’s asinine story about her cousin’s attempt to learn Elvish (which was impossible for even a wizard since it required two sets of voice boxes and the ability to hear three decibels above the range of hearing of a dog) and ignore her husbands extremely poor English.

“But jokes aside,” Ambassador Prideux, her accent nearly undetectable, “I thinks its wonderful what you’ve managed to accomplish within the last five years. The British economy is stronger than it’s been in a hundred years, even with the embargo, and your social reforms have been remarkably effective. His Majesty is quite interested in your Community Service Obligation system in particular.”

“I am flattered,” he lied easily, but couldn’t help teasing her a bit. “If he’s impressed with the CSO program, perhaps he’d also be interested in our Wizarding Youth Reclaimation Agency. I have to say, that is the one I’m most proud of.”

Ambassador Prideux’s smile froze, and her gaze suddenly became evasive. Inside, Voldemort cackled in delight. He’d thrown her into a frying pan with only a fire to escape to. Whatever her personal feelings, she couldn’t voice her approval for WYRA and go against her country’s popular (or at least more public) opinion, nor could she object to it before Britain’s ruler in the middle of a peace mission.

“Ah, yes… well, it’s certainly a unique idea,” she fumbled, trying to maintain her sophisticated demeanor.

He spared her further embarrassment, more for his own benefit than hers, and continued, “Yes, but I understand it’s not for everyone. Britain was facing a critically low population in her magical communities after all, which I understand isn’t the case for most of Europe. Hopefully, programs like WYRA will no longer be essential in a few decades.”

Lies. Everything he said, utter lies, but she smiled in relief and not a small bit of admiration. He wondered how she would look at him when his army marched on Paris, and she realized the truth. Would she be afraid of him then or would her admiration only grow? Women were strange and unpredictable creatures.

Schwartzmann was easier to read, but only because Voldemort understood his motivations. The man had maintained the isolationist policy in Germany because that was what the German Minister of Magic wanted, and the ambassador liked his job. Now that the Minister was facing a re-election, his scramble to gain some political clout fell to his studious lackey. Schwartzmann was a spineless worm, bending and creeping through the political muck, and holding no strong opinions about anything. At least he appeared to have the common sense to be afraid of him, and the will power not to let it show. The man had been discreetly avoiding him all night.

He’d get his claws into the man sooner or later, but for now he could afford to be generous.

“Can you believe it? Why didn’t they tell us!”

“Did you see their uniforms? Why can’t we have uniforms like that?”

“I heard the pretty girl’s name was Delacour. Fleur Delacour. I mean, wow, even her name is pretty.”

“Whose classes are they going to be in? Maybe they’ll have their own teachers? There were a couple of people at the teacher’s table I didn’t recognize.”

“Merlin, that woman was huge!”

“Mom and dad are going to flip!”

“ALRIGHT, QUIET!”

The Hogwarts’ Herald newsroom fell into an immediate hush, their eyes finding their leader immediately. Horace McGunny ran a tight ship, and this wasn’t the first (although it might be the biggest) major event that he had led them through. Composed and serious, he glared out at them with the nerve of a four star general.

“Alright, listen up, we’ve got some major work to get done. I want the first emergency issue out by Saturday night.”

There were some groans, but he ignored them and continued.

“It won’t be a full issue, but it’s important we get out the general information. Professor Toure had the courtesy to inform me of events in advance, and I’ve gathered most of the information we’ll need. Tournament rules, schedule, history, etc as well as the list of the exchange students and professors. I’ll need four volunteers to help me format and print what I’ve got, while the rest of you to get started on next Saturday’s full issue. Volunteers raise your hands.”

Three people raised their hands. He turned to Ron Weasley, trying to avoid his notice behind a seventh year photographer.

“Weasley, you’re with us.”

“Why me?” he groused, “Why don’t you pick Granger? She’s the one who skipped out.”

“Granger is performing prefect duties, and will be busy most of the weekend. You on the other hand, still owe me two articles. Besides, everyone else will be busy interviewing the new students, and you don’t have the tact for that.”

Several people snickered, but stopped when he glared at them.

“Alright, people, assignments are on the board. If you get an idea for an article, you know where to find me. I’ll see you all tomorrow, 9 A.M. sharp.”

The reporters and photographers and editors scrambled towards the news board, where scraps of paper were dangling, listing jobs and interview and photo assignments. It wasn’t their usual system, which involved McGunny selecting a person that best fit a job after painstaking consideration, but in situations like these when they needed to get things done fast, it worked.

McGunny went to his desk, waiting for people with ideas and Granger. She showed up in time for the board to empty, and half the staff had already left. She approached his desk a bit sheepishly.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“No need to apologize. I saved you an assignment, and it’s a good one.”

He handed her a piece of paper that he had saved from the bulletin board melee before hand. There was a name, a picture, and few general facts. It hadn’t originally been his intention to assign it to her, but something he had witnessed in the Great Hall had given him the idea.

“His name is Viktor Krum. Bulgarian. He got into Durmstang on a quidditch scholarship, but he’s playing professionally now. Don’t let that fool you though. He’s not just a dumb jock. He was top of his class three years in a row, and is active in a lot of social causes. Muggleborn and squib rights seem to be his favorites. Out of everyone, I think he’s got the best shot at being the Durmstang champion.”

She scanned the sheet curiously, and that expression didn’t change when she looked back to him.

“Why are you giving this to me? Wouldn’t O’Connelly or Cokesbury be better suited?”

He shook his head.

“I need someone who is fair, objective, and sensitive. I know you can appreciate how important it is that we don’t insult the Durmstang champion.”

“Oh… yes, I can understand that, but are you sure? I mean…”

He sighed in annoyance. “Granger, just have the rough draft to me by Thursday.”

“Okay.” She ducked out of the news room quickly, and he rolled his eyes. He hoped she didn’t end up reciprocating Krum’s obvious crush. It was bad enough that he couldn’t get anything about Potter out of her, it would be even worse if she clammed up over the likely Durmstang champion. He’d have to play it by ear. In the mean time, he had his own story he wanted to work on that had nothing to do with Durmstang, Beauxbatons, or the Triwizard tournament.

It involved the subject of his recent curiosity and the many weird events that seemed to revolve around him, not the least of which were the deaths of a student and a teacher and the release of werewolves upon the entirety of Britain.

Oh, yes, he was going to get some answers out of Harold James Potter if he had to tie him to a chair and pour Verisaterum down his throat.

The Foreign Occupation

Harry did in fact see Hermione before she got to bed, and after they related their individual assignments, they decided a little cooperation might be beneficial. Harry let her look through his file notes on Krum and offered to see if he couldn’t set up a meeting between them, and Hermione made him an outline for a tour around Hogwarts and tips on what might interest or confuse them. He made a copy of it and had it magically sent to Natalie with an apology note for getting her dragged into Voldemort’s weird political games. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

He wasn’t sure what to make of his situation in general. He would have preferred being consulted first, but if asked to be a liaison he didn’t think he would have said no. While the situation put him in a politically delicate situation, he couldn’t help but admit that he was curious. What was the wizarding world like outside of Britain? How did they run things without a dictator?

Saturday morning, he woke up early with those questions running through his head, and unable to sleep he took Inana out of her basket and took a walk beside the lake. The Durmstang ship floated eerily in the distance, a strange mist rising up where ever it drifted, and Harry decided at some point he was definitely going to paint it. He let Inana loose to hunt, and managed to chase down a breakfast of his own back at the castle, before heading to the Durmstang Common Room.

He met with a bit of trouble along the way. He was on the second floor of the new wing (looking surprisingly ancient considering it had been destroyed and rebuilt last Christmas after Moody’s attack), and on his way down to the first when a very beautiful, and very irritated girl stopped him in the hall.

“You zere!” she called, stalking towards him as if he were a criminal preparing to flee. He had to admit he was increasingly tempted to run away the closer she got. “Where are you going? Our dormitory is down zis way! ’Onestly, ’ow can you show us around a castle when you don’t even know where you are going?”

He started to explain, but she grabbed his wrist suddenly to tug him along. An incredible shock ran between them, and she dropped his wrist and pulled away. There was a moment of dumbfounded incomprehension as they stared soundlessly at each other, followed by a moment of inexplicable embarrassment. Whatever had passed between them had been magic of some sort, but not the kind typically practiced from books. Now that he had a moment, he could smell magic coming off of her, similar to what he felt around werewolves, but the animal was all wrong.

He wondered what she was.

Then realizing he might have just magically violated her on accident, thought it better not to ask.

“Sorry,” he said, “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m the Durmstang guide.”

Her awkwardness quickly vanished, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

“Then I will not bother you further. We shall entertain ourzelvez. Away with you.”

She made a dismissive gesture that Harry found rather insulting, but decided to ignore. He really did need to get going if he didn’t want to be late. The Durmstang dormitories were easy to find. There were no portraits to conceal the entrances’ whereabouts, and the doors themselves had been left open. There were only three girls amongst the twenty-something Durmstang students (but whether that was because only three girls had decided to come or there was just a disproportionate number of boys to girls at Durmstrang or both Harry didn’t know) and all of them were lingering at the doorway to their separate rooms.

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted politely.

They smiled back a bit shyly, and managed their own ‘good mornings’ with varying levels of success.

“Good morning!” came a considerably more enthusiastic and masculine greeting from the boy’s dormitory. The voice’s owner, a boy with wild blond hair and a mouth meant for laughing, came out and Harry felt an automatic compulsion to like him. There was something about the openness of his expression that reminded Harry of the werewolves. “Hey, Viktor, everyone! He’s here!”

He turned back to the Gryffindor and gestured for him to come in. Harry did, took one look around, and winced. It looked like the inside of a pumpkin! The boy laughed.

“I’m glad we weren’t the only ones who noticed. It’s really not that bad. Our dorms back home aren’t decorated in anything except black or gray. This is actually a rather cheerful change of pace.”

“Sorry, I’ve never been in here before. They only finished re-constructing this part of the castle over the summer.”

“Re-constructing?”

“It got blown up.”

The boy laughed again, until he realized Harry was serious. “No shit? Hey, Viktor, you hear that?”

“I heard it, Jophery. I’m sure the Beauxbaton’s students are wondering what you’re shouting about.”

Harry’s first impression of Viktor Krum was that he was Jophery’s opposite in every way. Where Jophery was amiable and boisterous, Krum looked as inviting as Snape in a dark alley. Having read the professional quidditch player’s file, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of nervousness as he approached. This was Durmstang’s most likely champion, and if Harry got on his bad side, he couldn’t be certain of the consequences. And judging by the way all the other boys seemed to be looking towards Krum for instruction on what to do next, it would also determine how he got along with everyone else as well.

“Good morning,” he tried experimentally.

Krum glowered at him for a long moment, measuring hims with his dark eyes, before finally speaking.

“Good morning. We go now?”

Well, that wasn’t too horrible.

“Um… yeah, if everyone is ready.”

A quick glance around the room showed everyone was. Harry led the boys out into the hall where the girls joined them. It suddenly became very apparent to the Gryffindor that his job sucked. Every single one of the Durmstang students, boys and girls both, were not only older, but also taller than him. It gave him the very bad impression that they were stalking him rather than following him, and he had to brutally crush his instinct to run away very quickly. He knew the school inside and out, he could bolt into a secret passageway and they’d never find him. Not the best impression to leave them with, however.

“Um… okay, my name is Harry Potter, I’ll be your guide, if you have any questions or need any help with something, just ask me. I guess we can start the tour right here…”

Hermione had gone over everything he should say, and more importantly what he shouldn’t say, when showing them all around. The ’shouldn’t’s involved everyone who had died or been injured by typical Hogwart’s weirdness in the last couple of years, and anything about himself (which mostly fell into the same category). With Krum standing beside him at the front of the crowd, looking at him with his dark measuring gaze, he thought perhaps the g-rated tour wasn’t going to cut it.

“Alright, this part of the castle was destroyed last Christmas by an escaped prisoner. Former Ministry of Magic Auror Alastor Moody murdered a construction worker, assumed his identity, and planted bombs all over the school intending to blow it all up when the students returned from winter break. Luckily, he was discovered before then. Professor Vesper Larousse and Professor Severus Snape managed to stop him from destroying the school, but Professor Larousse was killed. This entire corridor was collapsed during the battle except for a section of the tower that we’re heading towards now, which is named in her honor.”

There was a startled silence amongst the students as they made their way to the tower, but once they reached the stairs Krum, whose expression hadn’t changed, broke it.

“We have heard of this Alastor Moody, but not the story you speak of. What I remember hearing was that Moody was killed vile trying to assassinate a student.”

He was being challenged, Harry realized quickly. Challenged to be honest and confess his involvement in the matter. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure what would happen if he did or didn’t. If he admitted he was there, it would expose a weakness, a memory of things that still haunted his dreams some nights. If he lied or dismissed the matter, they wouldn’t trust him. Of course, if he lied he wouldn’t be worthy of their trust, so that wasn’t unreasonable. What they’d do if they didn’t trust him was anyone’s guess.

He stopped on the tower stairs before a plaque.

IN HONOR OF

PROFESSOR VESPER LAROUSSE

WHO DIED PROTECTING THE SCHOOL AND ITS STUDENTS

FROM THE TERRORIST ALASTOR MOODY

Dec. 25, 19XX

“I was there when it happened,” Harry said, pointedly looking at the plaque. “The school was evacuated before Moody knew we were on to him, but there were still people I cared about left behind. I went back for them and Moody found us. We all would have died if it weren’t for her and Professor Snape. I don’t know everything you’ve heard, and I don’t really care if you believe me, but that’s the truth.”

He turned away and walked up the stairs without looking back at them, not wanting them to see his face until he could regain control of his emotions. Sadness was only part of it. He resented them for bringing it up. No one said anything while he struggled with it. He finally regained control of his voice.

“If you look out the window, you can see Hogsmeade a few miles out. It’s normally not that big, but they have some interesting stores and pubs. There is a Hogsmeade weekend scheduled once a month…”

The tour went much easier after that. Krum started asking questions once they reached the moving staircases, which weren’t exactly friendly but didn’t challenge him any further. Eventually everyone else started to become curious and started asking questions as well. The Durmstang students seemed rather stoic by nature, but even they couldn’t help express a bit of curiosity at all the wonder that was Hogwarts. It was a long tour, there was a lot to see after all, but the last of it Harry spent outside.

The Durmstang students soon had to strip off the outer layers of their uniforms do to the heat, but no one complained or asked to go inside. Here, several of the students remarked that the weather was remarkably pleasant compared to their school, which Harry learned was founded by a wizard prince, who slew an ice demon, and was consequently plagued by winter where ever he went. Unable to live in populated cities or anywhere near farms, the man had moved into the mountains and created a school. This was very interesting to Harry, who decided to asked Voldemort about demons the next time they met. It wouldn’t do to kill one and have say, a flood follow you around… or droughts or any number of other natural disasters or phenomena.

At last, it was half past noon and Harry led everyone inside for lunch. He waved at his friends, but ended up sitting with his group to answer questions. The Beauxbaton’s students were at the adjoining table, looking exhausted and extremely nervous (particularly when they noticed him looking at them), and back at the Slytherin table, Natalie was looking smug. He wondered exactly what she had told them during her tour. Some how he didn’t think it was what had been on the outline he’d sent her.

“You have a very interesting school,” Krum said idly, assembling a rather impressive butterbrot[1] out of ingredients Harry hadn’t seen since he was eight. “There must be a lot of interesting people who study here.”

As it turned out, Krum wasn’t really Snapish at all. With Snape you could always tell that he hated you. With Krum you couldn’t tell if he hated you, liked you, and or even realized you were there unless he said something.

“Oh, yeah, we’ve got all sorts of different people. I mean, the only real requirement to get into the school is a higher than average magical level, and that can show up anywhere and in anyone. Rich, poor, pureblood, muggleborn, athletes, geniuses, anarchists, socialites… and at least a few people who aren’t entirely human. I think this one kid in Ravenclaw is part wood elf.”

“Muggleborns? I thought muggleborns were not permitted to attend Hogwarts,” Jophery said, looking surprised. Krum kicked him under the chair.

“No, they’re allowed, My best friend is a muggleborn. You just have to take this really boring class the summer before you attend and pass an exam, and then they let you in. Actually, I met a lot of my friends in that class.”

“Why would you be in that class? You’re not a muggleborn,” Jophery pointed out. Krum kicked him again, this time harder. Harry shrugged, pretending not to notice that they seemed to know certain things about him. He wasn’t surprised. They must have heard about him in the newspapers or been told (warned) about him by someone like Schwartzmann, just as they likely had been warned about Voldemort and the headmistress and how he had been informed about them.

“I didn’t know I was a wizard until I was ten, and I never knew about my parents being magical until I started at Hogwarts. They raised me in Germany as muggles, and after they died, I was raised by my mom’s muggle sister in Surrey who never said anything about it. So they stuck me in the class once I’d tested with a high magical aptitude. Good thing too, since I couldn’t tell the difference between a ward and owlry before that.”

“Hmm…” Krum said, looking at him directly for the first time, “Tell me, have you…”

Whatever he was going to ask faded on his tongue, and Harry looked over at him to see what had happened. Krum’s gaze wasn’t on him, but caught on something else. He turned to see and found Hermione heading towards them with Colin Creevey at her heels. She gave them all her most charming smile, before turning to Harry.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, Hermione,” he said, then turned to the other students. “This is Hermione Granger of Malfoy. She’s with the school newspaper.”

“Hello. I was wondering if we could get a picture.”

Krum blinked in surprise, and came back to himself quickly.

“Ah, yes.”

Harry moved out of the way and let Colin take their picture. He was vaguely amused to note that it must not have been the custom where ever they were from to smile in a picture, as they all glared fiercely. Just out of hearing range, Hermione asked him how it was going.

“It’s going alright. They’re not as scary as they pretend to be.”

“And did you ask Krum yet?”

“Not yet. I still haven’t figured out if he’s planning my demise or is just disgruntled about his dorm room’s color scheme.”

She rolled her eyes. “Quit joking around. I’ll be in the library for most of the afternoon if you want me.”

“Studying before we’ve even had a class yet?”

“There’s a reason I’m the head of our grade and you’re not.”

“Yeah, probably having to do with an elaborate plot by Voldemort that will end in the conquering of Europe.”

“Just so you know, I’ve always wanted to own Belgium,” she said, and sauntered off. A moment later, Colin scurried after her. He went back to the table to finish eating, and noticed Krum was still distracted. The only way Harry could tell because his expression had softened from stolid interogator to vapid school girl. It was a frightening change.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” the older boy started, composing himself into something closer to a lost tourist but no where near recovered. “Yes, I am fine. Very fine. That girl just now, that Her-mon-e Granger, is that your girl? She’s very lovely.”

Harry choked on… absolutely nothing. It figured that something just had to go wrong today.

“No…” he admitted reluctantly, “…she’s not my girl. She’s just my friend, the one I mentioned before.”

Jophery chuckled. “I wasn’t aware a guy could be ‘just friends’ with a girl.”

“It’s not that hard. A lot like getting along with a sister, I suppose,” he said reasonably, ignoring the implication the other was making. With some trepidation, he turned to Krum. “If you want to meet her, I can set up an interview for the Hogwart’s Herald with her.”

“Oh, can I get an ‘interview’ too?!” asked Jophery, looking around the great hall and landing on Angelina Johnson. “How about with her? She looks very… inquisitive.” He made a gesture with his eyebrows that had Harry choking on absolutely nothing again.

“If I have to kick you again, my friend, it’s going to be in the groin,” Krum warned with a menacing glower. “And once will be enough.”

“It was just an innocent suggestion,” he said sulkily.

Harry shook his head and wondered if he shouldn’t introduce Jophrey to the Weasley twins. Then realized it probably would result in an ‘international incident’, especially if Fred learned about the Angelina Johnson comment. Wars had probably been started over less.

Tom wandered the school on silent wings, avoiding being seen but not particularly worried if he was. It would hardly be odd to see an owl, even outside of the Great Hall and the owlry, within the castle. He’d made a thorough exploration before the students had arrived to test the limitations of his current form, and found there were surprisingly few. The castle was designed to allow owls entry, and it still acknowledged Tom as one of its students.

He’d originally taken up residence in the owlry, but soon decided it was impractical, since the other birds there were scared of him and their avoidance of him would draw more attention than his avoidance of them. Now he lived in the Room of Requirement, and haunted the corridors of the schools at his leisure.

He’d spent most of the morning following around the Beauxbaton’s students and the Cypher girl, which had been one of the most hilarious experiences of his life.

“And this is were the last teacher died. Terrorist attack,” Natalie said with all the plastic cheer of a nursery school teacher. “Luckily, they managed to find the rest of the magical explosives… at least they think they did. They said they were pretty sure they did. Just in case I wouldn’t touch the walls if I were you…”

“When the weather is good, the lake is great for swimming and boating. Just watch out for the giant squid… and the grindylows… and the carnivorous lake weed…”

“No one is suppose to go into the Forbidden Forest, hence the name Forbidden, but every so often something wanders into the school. Did I tell you about the acrumantula? No? Good thing Potter killed it, or we’d be over run with the things. They lay their eggs in their victims while they’re still alive, you know… Poor Sweetey, she was so young…”

So on and so forth, until no one felt safe enough to look around a corner let alone open a door. The leader of the group, a part veela he was certain, had been game at first, but after awhile even she looked disturbed. Not enough that she was cowering, just enough to look like she was questioning what exactly she had gotten herself into.

Of the entire lot, there had only been a handful of boys, but they seemed to have been rich and well taken care of, which Tom was looking for in his next body. He still wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to possess a foreigner, but the idea had certain benefits. One, he could get out of the country and safely away from Voldemort to begin planning a regime of his own. Two, he could eliminate his foreign enemies before they even knew he was amongst them, chief among them Dumbledore and his Order of the Perpetually Burning Peacock. Three, if he could somehow take Harry with him, that would solve the problem of insuring the boy’s safety and allow him the opportunity to reveal his elder counterpart’s misdeeds against him. There was still the problem of being out of the loop in Voldemort’s plans of course, and that was one of the reasons he hesitated. Possessing one of Voldemort’s lackeys had benefits of its own, and if he had to choose among them it would definitely be Snape. He had both the Dark Lord’s ear and authority over Harry. Snape would be tricky, however, having both a strong will and being an accomplished occlumens.

He had time to make up his mind. Opportunities would more than likely present themselves, and he still hadn’t examined the Durmstang boys.

He just had to be patient.

Viktor returned to his rooms, more than a little conflicted about the day’s events. He wasn’t really surprised that Voldemort would send his protégé to guide (spy on) them, but he had to say he was surprised by the guy himself.

Harry Potter was a nice kid.

Not a miniature Dark Lord, not an evil incarnated into younger body, or even just an arrogant prick. He was just an ordinary sort of kid. A little nervous speaking in front of strangers, but obviously proud of his school. Perhaps a little adventurous. He seemed to know quite a bit about surrounding countryside and the secret passages and rooms in the school. A little simple with his German, but then he hadn’t really had a reason to speak in six years. Nothing that gave him the impression that the kid was hiding anything or faking.

There were reports that Potter could speak to snakes, killed a monster, and commanded werewolves, but Viktor hadn’t seen any evidence of it and was growing increasingly skeptical. He seemed kind of small to be doing those sorts of things.

He’d even set up an interview with his best friend, who he had been convinced was his girlfriend by how closely they had sat together during the Welcoming Feast. Apparently, Potter just happened to have friends who were girls. Which was kind of odd to Viktor. At Durmstang, there weren’t very many girls, so the few that were there tended to get a boyfriend and avoid the other boys, unless they were related somehow. As annoying as Jophery’s comments had been, he realized he had been thinking along the same lines. It was just one thing among hundreds that was different between Durmstang and Hogwarts, and he was starting to feel the culture shock.

He really needed Dumbledore’s encouragement and insight right now. The man had tried to warn him that it would be difficult, not just because of the mission, but because of the many distractions that would present themselves. Viktor hadn’t listened, convinced he had the discipline to see things through, and he still believed that, it was just…

He hadn’t expected the people to be nice. Or normal. Or in Hermione’s case… beautiful.

What had he gotten himself into?

“Hey, Viktor, I know we’re living in the Room of Eternal Halloween, but must you act like a vampire? You’re brooding is bringing me down,” Jophery chided. “Are you homesick or love sick or just plain sick? I thought their sausage looked a little questionable at lunch.”

“I’m fine. Just thinking about things. This place… isn’t wat I expected.”

His friend looked a bit more sympathetic to that. They had both been raised with the belief that Britain belonged to the devil and assumed that meant it was inhabited by his demons and everywhere you went was thunderstorms and lighting and dark shadowy places. And Voldemort… He didn’t seem particularly dangerous or evil, but of course they hadn’t gotten very close. He looked very much like a movie star. Potter looked like his somewhat more awkward baby brother who you see occasionally dragged into photos by happenstance. At least the Headmistress and the Potions’ Professor looked appropriately evil. It was so much easier when they looked like they wanted to kill you.

“Don’t worry about it. We just arrived. We’ll figure things out as we go. Nine months is a long time to pretend to be anything. If things aren’t on the up and up, they’ll slip up. Otherwise, hey, the situation isn’t as bad as we thought. That’s a good thing, Viktor. I think you came in expecting the worst, but it’s a not bad thing if that’s not what you find. Yeah?”

Viktor gave him a small smile. There were reasons he was friends with Jophery, despite how annoying he could be and normally was. He was a simple guy. He viewed things in simple terms. It was pretty hard to find a situation in which you could confuse or manipulate him.

He was glad to have him here.

“Especially when it comes to the girls. British witches are cute. They actually pluck their eyebrows here.”

And at the same time…

Monday morning, Harry woke early with the rest of his dorm mates for their first day of classes. He couldn’t have been happier. As well as things had gone this weekend with the Durmstang students, he was feeling rather put upon by Sunday night. He had wanted to hang out with his friends and settle into the dorm with everyone else, but instead found himself at the beck and call of people just a little too old and little too different for him to feel completely relaxed around. He liked them for the most part, but they weren’t really his friends.

With classes starting, he hoped this would mean they would find students in their own classes to help them through the day, and he could focus on his own endeavors.

“Good morning,” Harry said, settling in beside Hermione at the breakfast table. She looked as if she had been there for hours already, reading her History of Magic text for their first period class. Clyde stumbled into a nearby seat, and looked like he wouldn’t be awake until after that class was finished. Of course, both instances were fairly typical for both of them.

“Good morning,” she replied cheerfully.

“Geerrr meehhhh…” Clyde… said.

Ginny came up behind him and slapped him upside the head.

“I didn’t know you’d taken Trollish over the summer,” she quipped, and he just glared at her nastily. “Hey Hermione, hey Harry.”

“Hey, Ginny, did you get your books in time?”

“I did, but I heard some of the sixth and seventh year girls complain that they didn’t. They’re supposed to get them by the end of the week though, so hopefully the teachers will cut them some slack.”

“Hmm, maybe I should write an article about that,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “… as a warning not to try and get your school supplies last minute. By sixth year, they really ought to know better.”

“If they’ve never had a problem by the time their sixth years, it shouldn’t really be a common problem,” Ginny pointed out, and headed over towards the rest of her yearmates.

“She got you there. Besides, you have your interview on Krum,” he reminded her. “4 o’clock in the library.”

“I know, I know. Thanks by the way.”

“That’s what friends are for… just don’t tell Draco about this. I think he might turn me into newt if he found out I set you up with a guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t ‘set me up’. This isn’t a date. It’s an interview. A perfectly professional interview.”

“Mmm… well that’s a relief… just don’t tell Draco about it.”

The day was long, as it usually was for the first day of classes, and rather boring. Most of the foreign students were fifth years or older, so they saw only two or three of them at their core classes. They had History of Magic, Herbology, and just before lunch Dark Arts and Defense. Professor Oblitz was not as bad as Professor McNair, but he wasn’t nearly as fun as Larousse had been either. He was rather like Professor Snape, except he cussed when he grew impatient (which didn’t take long), and he didn’t seem to trust turning his back to the students. Also like Snape, he didn’t dither about on the first day, just handed out a syllabus and started teaching like they’d been doing it for months.

“Der are many dark creatures that inhabit forests, and dey have killed many people, magical and non-magical alike, but perhaps the most sinister of dese creatures are the vones dat make demselves comfortable around people and der settlements…” he lectured from behind his podium. On a table beside him wasa large box-shaped object covered in a tarp, which he finally removed. The box was made of glass, and inside was what looked like the skin of some sort of large black animal, but it moved around as if their was something still beneath it.

“Dis is a lethifold, perhaps the most infamous of the ‘domesticated’ monsters. Originally from tropical Africa, it made its vay into South America, the Caribbean, and parts of da Mediterranean on slave ships during da last five hundred years, aldough recent efforts to remove dem have been met with some success. Dese creatures are most closely related to snakes, but only about as much, as say, a dragon vould be. Most importantly, dey feed only on humans, often infants, aldough dey are capable of eating fully grown men. Dey come upon der victim vile dey are sleeping, smother dem, and den eat dem whole.”

There was a collective shiver across the classroom as they looked at the shapeless thing. They couldn’t see any teeth, but neither could they see a head or any part of the thing that might actually be vulnerable to attack. Harry was rather reminded of the day he’d inadvertently attacked his cousin with his bed sheets, which looking back was pretty funny… or had been until now. It really didn’t sound like a pleasant way to die… if there was such a thing.

“Lethifolds are fire resistant, but vill burn under extreme temperatures. However, as dey tend to be found in villages and hovels, it is generally a bad idea to set dem on fire. Most experts agree dat a Patronus Charm is by far da most effective defense and offense against dem, but is difficult to master. The Patronus Charm is a deterrent for many dark creatures, so I expect all of you to be able to create one by midterm. I suggest you start practicing now. The first person to master it vill earn twenty points for der House. For now, I expect a two foot essay on da Patronus Charm and da creatures it can be used against, due Friday. Dismissed.”

There was a unified groan. No one liked essays on the first day of class, particularly two foot long ones. Hermione was, naturally, ecstatic. Of course, she hadn’t noticed the weird way Oblitz had been watching Harry the entire class period, even if he hadn’t said anything to him. Harry had gotten the distinct impression that the German professor was daring him to perform the Patronus Charm first.

This of course, made Harry want to rise to the challenge… and then not to. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did succeed after all. What was Oblitz looking for? Confirmation that he was a powerful wizard? That he was as evil as the Dark Lord?

He decided to ask for some advice before he did anything rash. Luckily, he had Potions just after lunch.

“I need advice,” Harry said after potions class. It had been a fairly typical class, except for the fact that their first assignment was a two and a half foot essay on potions that didn’t require boiling (Harry suspected Snape was now in direct competition with Oblitz which sort of suited his own purposes just fine). Everyone had left quickly, except for Harry, and in a bad mood, except of course for Hermione.

Snape didn’t even bother looking away from the board he was currently writing on for the next period. “You have a Head of House, Mr. Potter, and despite what you may have heard, it isn’t me.”

“It’s political,” Harry tried.

Snape just snorted.

“It’s about Professor Oblitz,” he tried again.

This time he got a glance, and no sarcastic sounds. He took that as a sign to continue.

“He’s having the class learn the Patronus Charm, and set a challenge to give twenty points to whoever gets it first.”

Now Snape gave him a full out glower. “Are you asking my permission to show off?”

“No! I just… I get this weird feeling he was challenging meto do it.”

“What gave your inflated ego that impression?”

“He was looking at me when he said it.”

Snape considered, then seemed to dismiss it, then reconsidered it again.

“Play dumb…er. Wait until my goddaughter and Draco get it first, then pretend they taught you how. If this is in fact a … test, it’s one to test your potential. This could be simple curiosity on Oblitz’s part, but it could still be used by those hostile towards you. A measure of your strengths and weaknesses.”

Harry nodded. He had been more worried about Dumbledore sending another assassin, but Snape’s assessment seemed more likely. And ironically more optimistic.

“This advice applies to your new foreign friends, as well. Don’t lie directly, but avoid demonstrating any of your… unusual… talents. If the political situation changes, I don’t want them taking information that might be used against us with them to our enemies. Is that understood?”

Well, that was more disturbing. The other students didn’t strike him as spies… but then again if you could tell a person was a spy they must be pretty lousy at their job. But still, they were just kids like him… which thinking about it like that made the possibility of international intrigue seem more plausible.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go, before people start implying weird things… like we get along.”

“Or I’m a masochist.”

Snape lifted a curious brow.

“Who taught you that word?”

“… You did.”

Curiosity turned to annoyance.

“… Go.”

He left.

1. A butterbrot (at least as I understand it) is German equivalent of a sandwich, except they’re not really the same thing. Different sort of bread, different types of ingredients (although sandwiches are pretty versatile so perhaps they really are alike).↩

The Knighted I

As far as Natalie was concerned the weekend had been a marvelous success. She’d terrorized half the foreign population of Hogwarts, insured there would be no foolish mischief making in the interim, and still fulfilled her obligations and all without Harry’s silly little list of suggestions, which probably hadn’t been written by Harry to begin with. It smacked of Encyclopedia Hermionia.

Snape hadn’t been as pleased, but it was hard to please Snape anyways so she didn’t feel particularly contrite.

She was still stuck with the Beauxbaton’s students for lunch though, which was enough to make her a tad annoyed. Not like it mattered much, since Draco had run off with the Gryffindorks and the Great Red Prat for lunch out by the lake, and it wasn’t any fun sitting at the Slytherin table if she couldn’t make Pansy Parkinson jealous at the same time, but she still would have liked options.

“Ze English food is zo bland. Does no one believe in zpices ’ere?” Delacour complained. Natalie wanted to ask if she wanted some cheese with her whine, but thought that might be too clever for the other girl to understand. She was starting to doubt the promotion of peace with France. The more time she spent with them, the more she thought they really needed to get conquered before their brains turned into goo.

“Oh, yes, we used to use a lot of spices, but it took too much effort to sort out which spices had been replaced with poisons and we had to stop. I heard one year it was so bad the school lost half the house elves that worked in the kitchen,” she said tiredly.

Delacour glared at her, and pointedly took a large bite of her fish. Not so stupid, after all, it seemed. Smart enough to know Natalie was teasing, at least.

“Do you not ’ave friends of your own, Natalie, or were they all killed in the last orc invasion?”

Much better. “No, no, they are around. They’re enjoying the weather while they can. Showing off their summer tattoos and such.”

Delacour didn’t seem to know whether she was having them on with that, which Natalie only partially was. She’d heard of Harry’s tattoo from Draco, right before she’d told him to shut up, which he had done, but not before she found herself dying of curiosity about what it looked like. If she leaked the info to the press, would they manage to get a picture?

“Your British wit is so charming,” her French nemesis said offhandedly, grimacing at her left over meal, “I suppose what comes out of your mouth is a result of what you’ve been shoving into it.”

“If so, you’ll be quite witty come May. You might actually have something interesting to say by then,” she said dismissively, taking a sip from her cup.

“Et tu peux le tatouer sur ton cul cet été.”[1]

Natalie choked on her tea.

Harry was the last to arrive at Double Celtic Magic and Culture, but he didn’t see anyway it could be helped. First, he’d had to go back to his room, empty out all of his morning classes’ textbooks, and replace them with his Celtic ones, which filled his bag so much he barely had room for his parchment or quills. Secondly, he had gotten lost. ’In the willow grove’ was printed were his class should have been. It wasn’t quite specific enough for him.

He did managed to find it though, if only because he’d spotted someone who actually seemed to know where they were going.

The willow grove was exactly that, and nothing more, nestled between the edge of the Forbidden Forest and a small brook that ran into the lake. There were only ten students, aging from fourth to seventh, sitting on blankets in the spaces between the trees around a man only slightly elevated on a low stool. They had all removed their school robes and their shoes, and looked more like children at story time than serious students. The teacher was a patient looking man with white hair and had just a few strands of red in his beard, and welcomed him with a gesture of his hand. Out of everyone, Harry only recognized two of the students as fourth years, one a Slytherin and the other a Hufflepuff.

“Tagaimid,” the teacher said, and gave Harry a terrible start. His hand went instinctively to the mark on his chest, but there was not so much as a tingle of magic from it. The teacher gave him a curious look. “It means ‘welcome in’. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I am Professor Brennan,” he said, his voice just barely hinting at an Irish accent, “But you can just call me, Teacher.”

There were no syllabuses, note taking, essay assignments, or really much of anything resembling a class with the exception that they were all learning. The older students did have assignments over the summer, but they weren’t written down, and entailed translating a fable in Gaelic into English and then explaining what it was about right there. There were a lot of Fae involved, which Harry wasn’t entirely sure involved witches and wizards or sort of fairy race he couldn’t identify or both. Brennan listened through the entire story and explanation, and corrected nothing until the end. He never suggested their interpretations were wrong, only asked other students what else they might have thought it meant, and made references to things they might not have known while making their interpretations and asked how it might have changed their ideas.

Harry didn’t understand half of it, but enjoyed listening anyway. Every so often someone said something that just sent a shiver down his spine, like the teacher’s greeting had. Amongst the willows, two hours passed quickly, punctuated every so often by laughing when someone’s story turned silly or was mistranslated into nonsense. By the end of it, though it was hot and his friends were waiting for him at the castle, he didn’t want to leave.

“Very good,” the teacher said at last, “You have given even me something to think about. Friday there should be rain, so leave your books and wear boots if you have them. The ground should be nice and soft for a little bone hunting. Review chapter twelve in volume one of Celtic Magic and chapter 3 in Art and History.”

Harry and the two other fourth years were confused by that, but the other students seemed to know what was going on and either grinned or groaned

“My youngest pupils, if you wouldn’t stay for a moment, I have something special for you.”

Harry and the others remained behind as the older students gathered up their things and left, watching as the man pulled out a small bag from under his stool.

“I want you to put your hand in the bag and feel around. When you find something that feels right, take it out. This isn’t a test and you’re not on the clock. Take as long as you need. Mr. Potter, you will go last.”

Harry was shocked, and strangely hurt. Had he done something wrong?

The Slytherin girl stuck her hand inside, and a few seconds later pulled out a dark purple crystal. The Hufflepuff boy took only a little longer and pulled out a large feather, reddish brown with black markings on it. Both looked very surprised. Brennan held out the bag to him, his congenially expression not changing a bit. Harry wasn’t certain what was going on.

His hand found its way into the bag anyway, and there found neither stones or feathers but what seemed like marbles, glassy and smooth. He gave the teacher a questioning look.

“Keep going,” the man encouraged. “Feel around, touch them individually until you find the one you like.”

Uncertainly, he did as instructing, feeling each little marble. He wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘one you like’, because they all felt exactly the same to him. The longer he kept searching the more convinced he was that he was being teased. His patience running out, he shoved his hand into the very bottom of the bag… and stopped. There was something odd about the bottom. It was cooler. No, not just cooler, it was cold! His fingers wiggled around, searching out the source of the chill, until at last they found a marble that felt as if it hand been made of ice. He pulled it out.

In his hand was not a marble or even a piece of ice. It was a stone the size of a Snitch, dark gray with two thin lines running in a perfectly straight parallel. It was a river rock.

“Ah, I wouldn’t have guessed water for you, young man. You struck me as more of an air person. That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Brennan laughed gently, then turned to the rest of them. “You young lady,” he said, pointing to the Slytherin girl. “Have a crystal formed inside of a geode. Do you know what a geode is? It’s a hollow volcanic rock in which crystals form under extreme heat. Your affinity to it suggest your spiritual element is fire.”

He turned to the Hufflepuff boy. “You hold the broad feather of an Himalayan eagle, which spends more of its life riding the wind than settling on the ground. They’ll even sleep while flying. Your spiritual element is air.”

And finally he landed on Harry.

“This stone was pulled from a sacred spring in Ireland, flowing in one shape or another from the sea at the northern most point of the country to the sea at the southern end. This stone was pushed over hundreds of miles, over thousands of years from one end of the country to the other by the gentle, persistent force of that spring. It’s been worn smooth and almost perfectly round during that time by that very same force. It is extremely powerful.”

The other two looked skeptical. To them it only looked like a regular rock. They’d seen prettier ones in their gardens, but Harry could feel it, as cold in his hand as the spring water must have been for thousands of years. Harry could just imagine what this simple rock must have gone through. How many creatures had drunks from its waters? How many eras had come and gone? Floods? Wars? Summers and winters?

“These items are keystones. They have an affinity to your magic which allows them to be excellent storage devices. You can pour your extra magic into them and they’ll hold it for you until you want it, say, for a very powerful spell, or in case you’re in a situation were you mush caste spells repeatedly without rest.”

“So we can keep them?” the Slytherin girl asked, as if getting something for nothing was always a trick.

“Yes, they belong to you. They’d be useless to me, and almost everyone else. Even other people whose element is fire, probably won’t be able to use your particular keystone as well as you can. There are different types of fires, after all, just as there are different types of water and air and most particularly earth. These ones are simply the ones that suit you all best from what I have. You might find keystones of your own that work even better one day.”

“Do you have a keystone, Pro-, I mean, Teacher?”

The man smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked to be a stone but… not.

“What is it?” the girl asked.

“It’s petrified wood, my Pupil. Wood so old, it’s become fossilized into stone. This too is a powerful keystone.”

“Can we touch it?” the girl asked.

“You may.”

They each reached out to touch it. Harry only brushed it lightly with his finger tips. He could feel the magic inside, pulsating against his fingertips like a heart. It seemed disrespectful to fondly it too much, but the others didn’t seem to notice. The man put it back into his pocket.

“Now, as much as I enjoy your company, I recommend returning to the castle and start reading the introductions in all seven of your text books, as well as chapter 1 in Celtic Magic Volume 1 on keystones. There won’t be any written tests, but I guarantee I’ll know who has been keeping up on their homework and who hasn’t. I’ll see you all on Friday.”

There was some grumbling, although not too much since they didn’t actually have write essays for once. They gathered up their things and made their way back to the castle. Harry lingered behind the others. Still having one more question for his teacher before he left.

“Why did you tell me to wait last?”

Brennan’s expression remained as gentle as ever. “Walk with me.”

Instead of heading back towards the castle, they moved further into the grove until they were walking along the spring and towards the lake.

“You are different from my other pupils, at least from those two. Understand, I don’t mean that in a bad way, but you will be treated differently and held to different expectations.”

“Why? How am I different?”
“Because you are a pagan, and they are not.”

“How did you-”

“I could tell the moment I saw you, but I knew before then. Professor Snape had a talk with me before the school year started…” Harry wondered exactly what they had talked about, how insulting Snape had managed to be, and if he should be angry or not. “… And I’m rather glad he did. I would have completely underestimated you otherwise.”

“I don’t understand. What difference does it make if I’m pagan or not? I’m not really a Druid, and I don’t know anymore about it than anyone else.”

“That’s not true,” Brennan said, staring pointedly at him. “You have achieved what Druids spend most of their lives hoping to achieve. You’ve tapped into the very essence of the Earth, drawn on Her power, and become a tool for Her will. You have reached the very core of a Druid’s way of life. She has blessed you for this.”

“I didn’t intend for this to happen,” he insisted, “I didn’t want anything from Her, but it just sort of… the Dark Lord just sort of… I don’t know how I got here.”

Brennan remained quiet for a while, as they reached the lake and there stopped. They stared out over the lake together, taking in the mountains and the water and the sky that seemed as if it could go on forever.

“I don’t know how you got here either, and I don’t know why,” the man said at last, “But perhaps in your journey for knowledge you will find the answers you seek. All beings are created with a purpose, both in their life and their death, and I believe your purpose is larger than most. As your Teacher, I will help you if I can.”

“Thank you.”

“It seems we’ve gotten off topic, however. To answer your first question, I made you wait last so that you wouldn’t inadvertently influence the other pupils choices in keystones. Being blessed by the Earth, your magic is more easily absorbed by different types of keystones, even those not of your element. If you had gone first, you would have… I suppose ‘corrupted’ is the best word I can think of… corrupted the other keystones and they may have selected different ones than they should have.”

“Then the other keystones-”

“Do not worry, I can cleanse them of your magic easily enough.”

Harry sighed. Now what? He had a million and one questions and wasn’t sure where to start, or even if he should. They could talk here all day and night, and he still wouldn’t have half the answers he was looking for. Professor Brennan patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Don’t let it bother you. Go enjoy the rest of your day. Talk to your friends. Start your homework assignments. The dynamics of life are best sorted out by living it, not talking about it.”

Accepting that was difficult, but he did need some time to sort himself out and he could try that back at the castle. Standing by the lake gave him the impression of standing at the edge of the world, and he needed somewhere less overwhelming to think.

When Viktor had thought of his first real meeting with Hermione, he had to admit, he had pictured something a little more romantic. Down by the lake, alone in one of the towers, or perhaps in one of the myriad of mysterious rooms that flourished within Hogwart’s walls. Honestly, he’d have been happy to have been anywhere with a window.He could even have lived without the window if it meant going without supervision, as well.

“So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far? Do you miss your own school?” Hermione asked, sitting across from him. Between them, a Quik-quotes-quill danced across a sheet of parchment. At the other end of the classroom, Professor Snape graded papers, smirking evilly. Every so often, he’d look up from his paper to check on them, and some how manage to look even less pleasant.

Viktor cleared his throat.

“Dis is a very interested school, and everyvone has been very kind. I vill miss my friends and teachers at Durmstang, but I am glad I got to come. I like seeing different places,” he said carefully, feeling stupider with every word. He’s sounded like such a dork!

“Have you traveled to many places?” she asked, looking genuinely interested.

“Yes. I have gone all over Europe. I travel a lot playing for da Bulgarian Quidditch team, but I don’t get to stay anyvere very long and my manager doesn’t let me explore much. It is dangerous being alone in a rival’s city. Players get hurt if dey are not careful.”

Hermione had her back to the professor, but Viktor had a perfect view of the meaningful look Professor Snape gave him.

“You sound like you are familiar with competition and danger,” she continued, oblivious. “Do you think these experiences will give you some advantage in being chosen as Durmstang’s champion?”

“Ah… yes, maybe. Dere is no vay to know for sure dat I’ll get picked.”

“What will you do if you get picked?”

“Celebrate.”

“And if you don’t get picked?”

“Celebrate. Ve have all planned a party for da night of the drawing. Ve’ll all have fun, who ever vins.”

She laughed softly at that, and he felt inordinately pleased with himself. And then she got up, and he realized it was over already. They’d only talked for fifteen minutes, probably less!

“I think this will be enough for now,” she said. “At least, until after the drawing. If you’re chosen, would you mind letting me interview you again?”

He blinked stupidly for a moment, and then nodded. He was even more surprised when she took his hand shook it.

“Thanks for the interview, Viktor. I really appreciate it. It’s a really great thing you’re doing, coming all the way to Britain to expand your education. I hope I get the chance to do the same thing one day.”

She left him baffled and more than a little flabbergasted. Damn, she was fast! He hadn’t had a single opportunity to ask her a question, like if she had a boyfriend or if she’d like to go out with him. He hadn’t even gotten to flirt! Not with the great bat lingering in the corner. Why had they had their interview here to begin with? As if to read his mind (perfectly plausible, Dumbledore had warned him that Snape was a legilimens), the man spoke up.

“If you’re entertaining any ideas about my goddaughter, I suggest you stop right now. Remember, in my class, I don’t need to ask for volunteers to test potions.”

Well, that’s just fabulous.

September passed at a snails pace for Harry, though his days were packed. He was used to his days being busy, but this year things were not only busy, but… different. Unpredictable. His classes had more homework on harder topics (which happened every year), except for his Celtic class, which really felt like more of a club than a class and was taking up more and more of his free time. Celtic class only met twice a week officially, but most of them ended up back at the grove about twice a week outside of class, as well. At least those of them who were Druids (and just pagan in Harry’s case) which was all of them except for the fourth year Hufflepuff, Corey Watts (the fourth year Slyterin had quit after two weeks, complaining of boredom, but everyone else thought she had just gotten overwhelmed) and a sixth year Ravenclaw girl who was curious, but still resolutely Christian. Depending on the weather, the time of day, and their Teacher’s willingness to help, the Druid students would gather around to perform the religious aspects of their faith. Shrine building, sacrifices of small animals and food, and sometimes just planting trees. Nothing as extreme as Harry had experiences, and luckily nothing that involved getting naked or being out after dark (which was good since he’d never told anyone about the werewolf ritual or any of the rituals he’d performed with Voldemort, and he thought it might be difficult to explain his few magical eccentricities).

His friends were curious about what he was doing, but he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with them. Once he’d seen Draco and Ron trying to follow him to the grove, but they soon lost tract of him. He watched from the trees as they searched the grounds, but the place seemed to be shielded from them. It would explain why Harry had never even heard of the willow grove, let alone found it, before. In fact, most of Hogwarts didn’t seem aware of the Druids at all, and Harry wondered if there wasn’t some sort of enchantment going on. He had to admit, it did make life easier without people knowing their ‘uncivilized’ customs.

More than just the practicing of rites, Harry found himself talking with Teacher Brennan. He was the only person aside from Voldemort, who seemed to know what it truly meant to be a pagan and it helped ease his mind just to talk with someone who could give sound advice and was actually sane and morally conscientious. Besides, the man had this entire Grandfather-you-wish-you’d- had kind of thing going for him.

He still spent part of his Saturdays with the Durmstang students, making sure they were all taken care of, but like he had suspected they didn’t come to him very often after the first week. Except for Krum and Jophery, whom Harry liked but didn’t really trust since Oblitz was still trying to test his abilities during class. They were testing him too, he thought, but not for his magical potential.

“What do you want to do when you leave school?” was the first, seemingly innocent question during a Saturday breakfast. Harry had said he didn’t know. Go to college again probably. Maybe art school.

“Do you miss your relatives? Even though they are muggles?”

“No,” Harry had said bluntly, and then shut down the conversation by escaping to the loo. Meaningful conversations among toilets was a taboo their culture luckily shared. Thinking back, he probably should have elaborated. Krum had probably really been asking whether he hated muggles or not.

Jophery hadn’t been as subtle. “So… Ever kill anyone?”

Harry asked if he was volunteering for the novel experience, which made the other boy grin. He didn’t ask again, though.

Their morality testing turned out to be harder to avoid than Oblitz’s, magical ones, but he was adaptable. Mentioning Hermione tended to distract Krum effectively, and turning a question into a joke worked best against Jophery.

Krum liked to get his friends together and play quidditch on the weekends, and play against whoever was brave enough to join them. Harry occasionally did, but he wasn’t quite up to speed with Krum (or really the guy was just a bully on broom and Harry didn’t fancy getting knocked off. He assumed this was typical professional competitiveness, or at least hoped it wasn’t personal, causeyikes)Jophery insisted he was more than qualified to play professionally. He didn’t feel too flattered though, since you could never be certain when the older boy was serious or not.

There were six new rookies in Dueling Club, and since Harry’s former rookies still tended to turn to him rather than Ron, he was more than a little busy getting them up to par and getting enough practice himself to actually qualify him to do so. Snape had to complicate the matter of course, and introduce the basics of sword fighting… which was a lot harder than Harry had thought it would be. He’d handled a sword before, but his opponents hadn’t had swords themselves and that made a big difference. Ron had found a new way in which he hoped to wail on him. Draco could soundly wail on everyone, having had private lessons since he was nine.

He wasn’t the only one with unusual activities this year either. Hermione was dating Krum. She insisted she was just tutoring him in his English or getting an interview or some other feeble excuse, but no one believed her for a second. Draco had turned into the quidditch captain from hell, and despite there being no matches, had rounded up all of his teammates and insisted that they practice over the lake (the pitch had been taken over by giant flying horses and even Draco wasn’t going to push his luck), which was amusing because as fiercely as Draco had everyone playing, it wasn’t uncommon for a player to fall off their broom and into the water. Despite this, the young Malfoy refused to play or let any of his players play against Krum during the weekend matches, insisting it was ‘aiding the enemy’. Ginny had made friends with the youngest of the Beauxbaton’s girls, and was often cloistered away with her, drawing fashion designs and making plans to visit strange and exotic places. Clyde had become even more popular, and was chasing down girls by the handful despite how Hermione and Ginny glared at him all the time. Even Hagrid was making new ‘friends’, with perhaps the only other person in the world he actually had to look up at. Madam Maxim made quite a sight herself, giggling like a school girl when she thought no one was watching.

“I swear, if you manage to actually perform a Patronus,” Hermione groused, “It’s going to come out as a naked girl and you’ll be expelled for lewdness.”

“Ha!” Clyde smirked, “You’re just mad because it you didn’t make a Patronus first. Spoil sport.”

Harry, Hermione, Clyde, Draco, and unfortunately Ron, were gathered in an empty classroom, practicing their Patronus charms. No one had gotten the charm, except…

“Harry, stop showing off!” Draco snapped, glaring at the Gryffindor as he directed his Patronus around the room with frightening ease. “It’s distracting!”

Harry’s Patronus stopped its prancing and turned its antlered head towards its Master as if waiting for permission. He made a gesture with his wand and the stag vanished. The spell had come quickly and easily to Harry, like many of the oldest spells they taught at Hogwarts, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that it was a spell developed by Celts and that it had spread quickly across Europe. He was surprised to learn that the Patronus he had summoned was his father’s.

Not a copy, not a similar one, but the exact same one. He had shown the Patronus to Hagrid, partially to find out exactly what kind of deer it was and partially to show off (since he couldn’t show it off in class due to Snape’s warning), and the half giant had burst into tears. Teacher Brennan had informed him later it wasn’t uncommon for Druids to inherit the corporal familiars from parents or earlier ancestors. It’s original name had been Familiae Patronus, meaning ‘Family Protector’, but after the spell’s fall into disuse, it merely became the Patronus. It was also said that every so often a person who died became one of these protector spirits, and they were feared by even the most powerful of Dark Creatures.

Harry was satisfied with the stag.

“This sucks,” Ron muttered, “I’m getting dinner.”

“Yeah, me too,” Draco agreed and left with Clyde following happily after them. Hermione glared at them in annoyance, and tried to cast the spell again. The tip of her wand barely glowed.

“You might as well let it go,” Harry said. “You’re not going to find your ‘happy’ place glaring like that.”

She gave him an annoyed look, but he just smirked. It wasn’t often when he could say he had one upped Hermione.

“Come on. They’re drawing from the Goblet of Fire today. If you want to get a good spot to watch from, we’ll have to eat early and arrive early, right?”

There was some hesitation, but in the end she was as eager to leave behind this particular charm as everyone else. They ate dinner quickly, made a brief stop at the Durmstang table to wish Krum luck, and went down to the gallery to wait. Over the next hour the crowd around the Goblet of Fire grew until every resident of Hogwarts, from the youngest to the oldest (and that included ghosts), and not a few others, was huddled around it. When Lord Voldemort strode into the room, however, they still managed to find enough space to move out of his way.

Behind the Dark Lord the Headmaster and Headmistresses followed, and they were not there for even a minute before the Goblet flared and spat out its first piece of paper. It fluttered around like a confused moth until Voldemort snatched it out of the air. He read it.

“For Beauxbaton Academy the champion shall be Fleur Delacour,” he stated and handed the strip to Madame Maxime. There was a delighted murmur among the Beauxbaton’s students, but Fleur herself didn’t look as if she had ever doubted it would say anything different.

The Goblet spat out yet another fluttering scrap, and Voldemort read this as well.

“For the Durmstang Institute the champion shall be Viktor Krum.”

There were no surprises there, but everyone looked quite happy nonetheless. The third paper fluttered out from the Goblet and Hogwarts held its breath. The other school’s champions had been fairly obvious, even to outsiders, but Hogwarts was another matter altogether. There were hundreds of students to choose from, and there was a raging debate (and not a few bets) about who would be chosen. Most of the votes were divided between Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff and Doris Whitmore of Ravenclaw, even though half the Slytherins insisted it would be someone from their house.

“For Hogwarts,” the Dark Lord read, “the champion shall be Cedric Diggory.”

Applause ripped through the crowd, along with shouts of congratulations. Harry just sighed in relief and turned to Hermione.

“Thank Merlin.”

She grinned at him. “You’re getting paranoid, Harry.”

Cedric could hardly believe it. His entire House was cheering and patting him on the shoulder and congratulating him, and he still couldn’t believe it.

It was just…wow.

This sort of thing never happened to Hufflepuffs. Gryffindors had adventures. Slytherins had glory. Ravenclaws earned prestige. Hufflepuffs… just didn’t.

Until now.

Until his name had been called.

Holy crap, there was no way he was graduating a virgin after this.

“I’m really starting to hate that guy,” Draco muttered, shuffling his vegetables around his plate with his fork. “I don’t get what people see in him.”

“Says the guy who hangs out with Ron Weasley,” Natalie said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey! We’re not talking about my friends here. We’re talking about that Krum guy.”

She shrugged. She didn’t have much opinion on him as she never saw him around. Draco, however, had fostered an undying hatred for the Durmstang Champion, the origin of which seemed to be from all the attention Hermione was giving him and her growing respect for his ‘causes’. Draco was the jealous sort after all, and didn’t like his place in Hermione’s affection and admiration usurped.

“What about Krum?” she asked, resigned to his inevitable rant.

“He’s up to something, I know it. He’s got a sneaky look about him.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t even start Draco. At least you don’t have to babysit the guy. I swear that Delacour girl can’t go a day without complaining to me about something.”

Draco smirked.

“Liar. You like her.”

“Like her? She’s a spoiled little harlot.”

“See? Kindred spirit. She’s your idol.”

“Ugh. Now you’ve ruined my appetite. Thanks a lot you twat,” she muttered, threw down her own fork and stalked off. He grinned as she went. It wasn’t often that he could outwit Natalie, but it was always worth the effort.

“Ve do not have house elves in our country. The vood elves tink of dem as abominations, and have svorn to kill anyvone who creates von. You do not have dat problem here?” Viktor asked Hermione quietly. Even though they had already erected a silencing charm, it felt wrong to speak too loudly in a library.

They were having a discussion when they really should have been studying, but like so many times before they found a distraction in each other. Viktor was more convinced than ever that he had found an angel, for not only was Hermione beautiful, she was also kind and very clever. The only fault he could find in her, was her insistence to keep things ‘proper’, which meant very little privacy and absolutely no flirting. Even now, they were holding their time together in a library, and though no one could hear them, he was very aware of her adoptive brother glaring holes into the back of his head at another table along with his redheaded friend. What precisely did they think he was going to do to her?Potter was there too, but looked embarrassed by the other boys’ behavior and was pointedly ignoring everyone.

“There isn’t a significant number of wood elves in Britain to cause that kind of problem. We only have a few scattered colonies in Ireland and Northern Scotland, and they avoid witches and wizards. There’s…history between our races,” she said, looking regretful of it.

Truthfully, there was history between Europe’s wizarding populations and the elves (wood, water, and mountain all), but the elves fared better on the continent than in Britain. More resources available to them, supposedly. In any event, it was generally agreed it was a lot easier (and cheaper) to go to war with trolls and orcs (and other wizards) than it was to war with elves, and a truce had been upheld between their races for two hundred years running now. Which didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot of bad blood between them. Viktor decided against mentioning it, as mentions of war seemed to sadden her.

“Dat is too bad. It might sound unfair, but if I had to choose between da friendship of an elf and da blind loyalty of a house elf, I vould definitely choose da-”

A paper plane landed on the table in front of him. He picked it up and it unfolded itself to reveal a message.

“What is it, Viktor? Is everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Every ting is fine. It seems I forgot my book in Dark Arts. I am sorry, but might ve hold dis conversation for another time?”

“Yes, of course. I understand.”

Feeling a little daring, he took her hand and kissed it. She blushed , but didn’t pull away.

“It has been a delightful conversation, as always.”

He strode away ignoring the glares the Slytherin boys were sending his way, and left. He followed the route that was gradually becoming familiar to him to the Dark Arts classroom, passing familiar portraits and tapestries and students. It made him uneasy how quickly he was becoming comfortable in the castle, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember that he was on a mission and had to remain constantly alert and aware of his surroundings and potential spies-

He spun around quickly, scanning the hall behind him for just those sorts of dangers, but there was no one there. Just his imagination then.

Professor Oblitz was waiting for him in the Dark Arts classroom. The room was empty of students, everyone having left for the day, and the teacher was sitting in his chair, reading something or other.

“Sie wollten mich sprechen, Herr Oblitz?”

“Ja, es ist Zeit, dass wir reden.”

The teacher scanned the room, then raised up the privacy wards, and Viktor felt a sudden thrill. This had to do with ‘the Mission’. The mission he was helping to carry out.

“Is this about the second phase?”

Oblitz shook his head distracted. “No, you needn’t concern yourself with that. You’ll be busy with the challenge. This has nothing to do with that, but it may prove important in the long run.”

“Tell me what you need, and I will do it.”

The man gave a satisfied smile, which was a nasty look for him, and made Viktor regret his words. There was no telling what Oblitz would want. He had never trusted the man at school, though he’d been completely professional if a bit harsh, and didn’t know what had made him think he should do so now.

“It’s about the Potter boy. Do you know anything about him?”

Unease coiled itself inside of him. He did not like where this conversation was heading.

“A few things,” he said, uncertainly.

“Anything unusual?”

“Of course. We have all heard the rumors, but I haven’t seen anything to verify them. It seems to be hype mostly.”

“Have you ever seen him talk to snakes?”

Viktor snorted. That was one rumor he didn’t believe for a moment no matter how often it was repeated.

“No.”

“Me neither, but I have seen his familiar. It is a cobra, Krum. A King Cobra. Now tell me that isn’t a bit concerning?”

Here Viktor had to hesitate. He’d never seen Potter’s snake familiar, although he had heard about the snake. He’d assumed it was just part of the rumor. The white owl had seemed more likely.

“Many people have snakes for familiars. Most of the Slytherins do. I don’t see your point.”

“Yes, but those people don’t have venomous snakes as familiars. The only other person who has something similar is the Dark Lord himself.”

“I still don’t see your point. What are you asking me to do? Find out if he’s a parseltongue? What if he is? That’s hardly a crime, in and of itself.”

Oblitz’s expression darkened.

“He is the next in line to rule Britain if anything happens to the Dark Lord. It is imperative that we know as much about him as we can before the war begins. There’s no telling what role he’ll play in the coming war-”

“If he plays a role at all and only if there is a war.”

“Do not be naïve. Of course there will be a war. What do you think that creature is building an army for? Do you think he’s just showing off?”

Of course not, but the way Oblitz said it. It just sounded like warmongering to him. Like he was looking to start the fight, rather than just prepare for it.

“He’s just a kid. Fourteen. The war- if it even happens- will probably be over before he’s old enough to fight, let alone lead. It’s pointless to plot against him. The head of the Malfoy family is much more likely. More than that it’s… it’s cruel.”

Oblitz glared daggers, but Viktor held his own. He had nothing to fear from this man. He was the school champion, so he couldn’t be harmed without people finding out why, and next year he would graduate and be out of the man’s reach forever. Besides, he’d had practice duels with Oblitz before. If push came to shove, he could hold his own.

“You said you would do what I tell you.”

“An admittedly stupid thing to say.”

“If I tell the Minister about this-”

“Did the Minister order Potter to be spied on?”

“…”

“I am sorry, sir, I’ll keep an eye on him, but actively spying on one kid puts the true mission at greater risk than is justifiable. I must decline, and will instruct my classmates to do the same,” he said evenly, and walked away.

“Krum! Get back here, Krum! I’m not done-”

The door slammed shut, breaking the privacy charms.

“-WITH YOU!”

He could feel himself smirking. That was damn satisfying. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he drew his wand. He heard a ruffling of wings, and lit his wand with a ‘lumos’. Shiny nocturnal eyes blinked down at him, followed by a ruffling of feathers.

“Hoo-hoooo.”

Viktor sighed. It was just an owl.

Ron held his breath from behind the suit of armor, sending out a silent prayer that Krum hadn’t heard him. He was positive that for a moment, the guy must have. What would he say? What excuse could he give? Would the meathead even wait for an excuse or just blast him into pieces? But no, Krum left after quickly checking the area with a Lighting Charm.

Chump.

What the hell was he up to? Coming all the way down here for a ‘book’ that he clearly wasn’t carrying now. He had lied to Hermione. Very, very suspicious. He half expected a girl to follow Krum out of the room (and wouldn’t that shock Princess Hermione to know her Prince was a louse?), but all he’d heard was Professor Oblitz cursing. Once Krum was gone, he left the area quickly. He wanted to get caught by the surly DA&D teacher even less than he wanted to be caught by Krum.

Still, it was suspicious. What were they talking about? The next challenge? Were they cheating?

He knew the best way to find out. McGunny was good at this sort of thing, after all. Plus, it might get him out of the trouble for blowing his last two articles. Yeah. This could be fun.

1. For those who are wondering, she said “And you can tattoo it across your ass over the summer”↩

The Knighted II

Fleur looked across the lake at Hogwarts and thought, sulkily, it looked rather pretty at a distance. In a rugged sort of way. After a month, she thought she would get use to the differences, and lately she had been doing a good job at not making comparisons between home and here. She still felt the differences though. She felt out of alignment with her surroundings, unable to find the proper flow of things.

She found herself envying the Durmstang students, who flaunted their adaptability with careless confidence. Their champion was already going out with a Hogwarts girl, who was cute and clever, but really too young and naïve to be dating someone Viktor’s age in her opinion. Fleur had her own fair share of boys making offers, barely a day went by when someone wouldn’t ask her on a date or at least try to, but they were either completely unappealing or reminded her painfully of Clotaire. Besides, she knew exactly what they wanted and it wasn’t her conversation. She could smell it coming off of them.

Natalie was… a bitch. Sometimes she was a fun bitch, but a bitch all the same. There were a few people she might like to make friends with. Krum, maybe. He was pretty interesting, but the only girl he had eyes for was Granger. He was also a rival champion and she knew better than to make things complicated by becoming friends. The same applied to Diggory, who was just as cute as a button. Potter had sounded like he’d be interesting, but having seen him in person she felt disappointed. He was just so young. He didn’t look capable of doing half the things she’d heard he had done, and when she’d asked Natalie the girl had just snorted and rolled her eyes. Of course, that could have meant anything.

Classes were dull, but she’d always found that true even at Beauxbaton’s, but at least she’d had enough extra-curricular activities to take up her time and interest. Right now, the only thing she had to look forward to was the first challenge, which wasn’t for another two weeks. Madam Maxime hadn’t been able to give her any clues about the first challenge, except that it had been designed by Lord Voldemort himself.

And wasn’t he a surprise. He was supposed to be in his sixties, but damn, he looked fine. Smelled interesting too. Like earthy things, burning leaves, and masculinity. She had only talked to him in person once, right after the Goblet of Fire had announced them as the champions, when he had been congratulating them. He had kissed her hand, looked at her with those piercing red eyes and wicked smile, and said, “Such beauty and grace hiding fierceness and power, you are a true Athena. I look forward to seeing your divinity unleashed.”

Athena was the goddess of wisdom and war.

She was also the ancestor of the veela. Cursed ancestor, but ancestor nonetheless.

He’d read about her. Spied on her or something. Not unreasonable given the situation, but it sent a thrill of intrigue down her spine. But he was gone now, and she hadn’t seen him since. He was suppose to be at the next challenge though. A Master of Ceremonies as it were. She wondered what he’d do if she won the next challenge? If she won the tournament?

It left her as excited as she’d first felt when Madam Maxime had told her about the tournament and invited her to enter.

Then she thought of home. Thought of Beauxbaton’s and it’s endless gardens and lawns, the cries of peacocks wandering the grounds, dinners served on different china patterns every day, warm breezes through the bedroom windows at night, masquerades, and sneaking over the gates for an adventure in Paris whenever the days became too stifling. She thought of roaming the city with Gabrielle during Christmas time, feeling like a little girl caught up in her little sister’s enthusiasm, and mama and papa acting like newly weds, testaments to fact that true love existed and was forever.

“Such a sad look for such a pretty girl.”

She spun around, her wand in her hand. A man, a young man, was standing behind her, some strange object mounted on a tripod resting over his shoulder. His hair was orange, a color that seemed to be equated with the Weasely Family in Hogwarts, but she couldn’t be certain. There had to be other orange haired wizards and witches in Scotland, after all.

She lowered her wand, but didn’t put it away. She was aware, as any young woman alone with a strange man is aware, that he was bigger and stronger than her. He lifted a brow at her, smiled, and shook his head.

“Don’t mind me, miss. I’m too busy with my job to attempt any canoodling, even with someone as pretty as you. Besides, I’m a gentleman.”

Fleur didn’t know what ‘canoodling’ meant, but she could guess. She hid her discomfort with indignation. “Az if I would canoodle with you! Gentlemen do not zneek up on young ladies.”

His grin only widen, and he even had the audacity to laugh at her.

“Ah, you’re one of the Frenchies.”

Now, she was honestly indignant.

“I am French, not a Frenchie, and you are rude.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but rude usually isn’t one of them. Let’s call it a cultural misunderstanding, shall we? My name is William Weasley, by the way, but everyone calls me Bill.”

She wasn’t interested. Not even a little. Nope.

“I am Fleur Delacour, and you may call me Miss Delacour or, preferably, you could not call me at all.”

He frowned. “Now who’s being rude? Or are only Frenchies allowed to get away with it?”

“Well, I never!” She started to stalk away, purposely knocking him in the shoulder as she passed to prove he didn’t intimidate her. It was harder than she thought. He had very muscular arms.

“Well, maybe you should!” he called after her.

She gave him the finger without looking back.

“Have you had any problems between your house and the foreigners? I know Slytherins can be a bit territorial,” Voldemort asked, not looking up from his notes. On the other side of his desk, Snape sipped his tea, looking the picture of dignified reserve, as he had for the last twenty minutes.

“Nothing too outrageous. The French students tend to irritate a lot of the girls with their complaining, but they’ve taken to avoiding each other rather than antagonizing. There is some worrisome behavior between Draco and young Mr. Krum, but given the situation with Ms. Granger, that might be for the best. A scandal involving a fight between two boys will be a lot less troublesome than a scandal involving a seventeen year old foreigner taking advantage of Commander Malfoy’s fourteen year old daughter.”

Voldemort looked up at him. “What are the chances of that occurring?”

“I don’t honestly see Krum as the type to force himself on anyone, and my goddaughter is pragmatic enough not to be seduced. Even if my estimations are wrong for the both of them, she’s under a Chastity Contract. She’s not getting anything more than a kiss until she’s legally married. Rumors do happen, however. A protective older brother standing between them should waylay those. He’s her designated chaperon in my absence.”

That made Voldemort smile.

“Does Lucius know about this?”

“I honestly don’t know. I am not going to mention it to him. He tends to be unreasonable when it comes to my goddaughter.”

“He is her father.”

“No, he isn’t.”

Voldemort felt a sting of curiosity. It was a very rare occasion that Snape would contradict him so bluntly. It was also rare to see him display any sort of protectiveness for someone. He’d seen the vaguest hints of it when his godchildren were younger, and only once or twice in regards to Potter. He’d almost convinced himself such incidences had never happened.

“I’ll trust your judgment in this matter then, and leave you with a reminder that it wouldn’t be worth Lucius’ anger to take too many liberties in Miss Granger’s upbringing, even if you are her godfather.”

Snape hesitated, but nodded. “Thank you, Master. Will that be all?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but you understand the schedule I’m keeping. I have one more appointment and then I’ll be going.”

The potions master nodded, and left. Ten minutes later, Brennan entered the office.

“Fáilte[1],” he said to the teacher. “It has been a while, old friend.”

The man gave him a less than friendly look. “Friend, is it? If knowing exactly who you are and actively not pursuing your death qualifies me as your friend, than I suppose you can call me that.”

Voldemort smirked. He’d known Brennan since he was just a boy, apprenticed to a teacher of his own and in love with the world. Now Brennan was the teacher, and though still in love with the world, he was cautious in his affections. The war hadn’t been any kinder to the Druids than it had any other sort of witch or wizard. It had been a miserable time for the Irish in general.

“You should be more cautious. You never know when I won’t be in the mood to tolerate your insufferable self-righteousness. I should feel bad if I killed you in a fit of pique.”

Brennan just scowled.

“What do you want?”

“How is my apprentice?”

“Harry? He’s magnificent. As if you didn’t know. I’ve never seen anyone so sensitive to the flow of magic. If he had half an idea of what he was doing, he’d be the next Merlin, but his mind doesn’t work like that. His element is water, after all. He needs his boundaries defined for him or he flounders. What did you do to him?”

“What do you think I did?” he laughed.

“You’re the devil. You’ll eat his soul given half the chance.”

“That’s a strange thing for a pagan to say…”

“There are many devils that the Druids fear. What did you do?”

The Dark Lord leaned further back into his chair. So Brennan truly thought he had done something to Harry? Well, he suppose he had. He’d been the one to introduce the old magics to the boy, to pull him slowly away from the ‘safe’ magics, and finally he help the boy sell his soul. Perhaps he really was the devil. What a titillating thought.

“Surprisingly little. He is an open and welcoming spirit. The Earth wanted him already. I think She intended me to make him Hers from the beginning. An angel to stand beside her devil.”

“A balance?”

“She is all about balance.”

“He’s a child.”

“So was I once. Won’t you help me?”

“Help you? Help you what? Turn him into another one of you?”

“Of course not. There can only be one of me, but I see so much potential for him. He can fulfill the roles I can’t… do as easily. I am a conqueror, he is a defender. I lead by the lash, he leads by example. He might yet become my equal, but we shall never be the same.”

Brennan said nothing for a long moment, taking in what was said and what wasn’t.

“And you are all right with that? Having an equal with different ideas about how the world should be? You are too conceited to lend that much trust. If you’ve come for assistance in binding that boy to you, I tell you I’d rather die.”

Voldemort’s amused expression vanished.

“That can so easily be arranged. I do not need the aid of a feeble old man to bind Harry to me. I have not even entertained the idea of such a corruption of spirit. He’d be driven insane and I want him whole. That’s what I need you for. You are the only one he can turn to when I’m not here. The only guiding hand.”

“I don’t need to be threatened to do that. He is my pupil, my responsibility. I will not allow him to come to harm.”

“But will you allow him to grow? It takes almost thirty years as a disciple to become a fully fledged priest. I want you to speed the process along.”

Brennan looked horrified. “He hasn’t even accepted being a Druid, only a pagan, and you want me to make him a priest? No. He’ll make that decision for himself when he’s an adult.”

“It’s the Earth’s decision.”

“You are not the Earth. However much she favors you, she doesn’t obey your whims.”

This was starting to give the Dark Lord a headache, and he rubbed his temple. He didn’t want to argue with Brennan or get into metaphysical or moral arguments. Especially not if the man was going to intentionally misinterpret him at every turn.

“Fine. Suit yourself. Waste his potential. Bind his hands with your fear. He’ll break free of your restrictions soon enough. Go. Plant a tree or something before I turn you into a woodpecker.”

Brennan didn’t dignify him with a reply and angrily stalked out. Voldemort sighed.

And to think he’d been such a sweet kid.

The First Challenge was held on a Friday. Classes and clubs were all canceled so everyone could attend. The Hogsmeade weekend would be the next day. The only classes anyone seemed to have homework in was Potions and DA&D.

It felt like Christmas to Harry, albeit a warm Christmas with a lot of pumpkins turning up in odd places. He’d been working non-stop, with barely enough time to spare any of his friends a hello, let alone sit down and enjoy their company. He had even started dreaming about classes in his sleep, and woke up one morning convinced he had already taken all his quizzes for the week.

“For someone who flies so fast, you walk really slow,” Draco groused, trying to hurry without actually looking like it. Malfoys did not hurry for anything or anyone, after all.

“It’s fine, Draco. What’s the rush? No one is going to steal your seat.”

It was just past 8 o’clock in the morning and the tournament started at nine, but already people were heading out to snag the best seats. Most of the other students and teachers were heading for the newly constructed stands on top of the lake. Harry, Hermione, Draco, all the Weasley siblings, and a few others had found an even better vantage point. Ginny’s eldest brother, Bill, was part of the Safety Team who would be standing by in case something went wrong, and had set up a floating platform opposite the stands and closer to the action. He’d invited them to take advantage of the view.

“Tell me who’s brilliant idea it was to spend the tournament sitting next to the Wealsey twins?” Draco groused.

“Your’s,” Hermione said, Colin following behind her once again with camera already out and ready. “Well, actually I accepted Ginny’s invitation and you just sort of invited yourself along.”

“Pfft. Like I can leave you unprotected with that lot?”

Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes. They reached the edge of the lake, and after a precarious hike through a swampy edge, came to rocky beach. Fred and George were already there, helping Bill and Percy set up the floating platform, which was easily as big a classroom, from atop broomsticks until it was safe enough to land on. Ron and Ginny were loading two rowboats with chairs, blankets, and other things and charming them to float out to the platform. Harry and his friends quickly went to helping them, and Angelina Johnson and Penelope Clearwater turned up just as everything was ready.

They squeezed into couches and overstuffed chairs they’d transfigured from wooden benches, but only after a rather ridiculous game of musical chairs, in which Angelina squeezed herself in between Harry and her boyfriend, Fred, only to realize she was next to George, so Harry got up and sat next to Hermione, but Draco order him to move over so he could sit next to her, which left him next to Ron, who got up… and by the end of it all Harry was sitting on the orange shag rug (George’s idea, along with ottoman that wouldn’t let you put your feet on it) between Ginny and Colin, his bare feet hovering inches above the water.

All the while across the lake, people gathered in the stands like ants on a sugar mound, and an obstacle course started to take shape as workers set up a variety of barriers. Everyone had their own telescopes (a Charms project Flitwick had been thoughtful enough to assign, and little more than charmed paper cylinders a child might make to play pirates), but Harry simply charmed his glasses to give him eagle vision. He could make out strange sigles painted onto the grass along the shore where the challenge would start, and waiting at the shore were large golden keys, the course must have continued under water, for their were strange glowing lines beneath the water that gradually faded as the lake deepened. The course continued right up to the spectator stands, where empty spaces had been left for champions to pass through. Three broomsticks were chained to the platform, waiting for riders, and way out at the middle of the lake was a single platform on which three flags, each bearing one of the school’s crest flapped in the wind. On the neighboring shore there were still more stands where the flags would have to be set, but if there were any more obstacles Harry couldn’t make them out.

He felt uneasy. There was a lot of space between each relay, and a lot could go wrong… he shoved the thought aside. This was just a game. A dangerous game, but there were people like Bill all around the lake prepared to jump in if anything happened.

“Hey, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling attention, “Do you know what those symbols on the ground by the lake are?”

Harry took a closer look. He didn’t recognize them, but their shapes suggested they stored magic for some purpose.

“No… not really. They’re not like any runes I’ve ever seen.”

She looked disappointed. “McGunny said this challenge was designed by Voldemort himself. I thought he might have shown you something like it.”

Harry didn’t say anything to that. He was uncomfortably aware that everyone was now looking at him expectantly.

“What?”

Fred grinned. “Nothing, you’re just so damn cute.”

Everyone burst out laughing, including Harry, until Ron interrupted.

“Will you all shut up? I think it’s starting.”

At the lake shore, the three champions appeared.

Voldemort surveyed lake. Finding everything met with his approval so far. The course had been perfectly laid, the stands completely filled, the safety team all in their places, security was nearly as thick as the spectators, and the champions appeared right on time. His Death Eaters, those still living and loyal, sat at his left as honored veterans and to his right the teachers and foreign officials as honored guests.

Lucius was seated directly beside him, looking as menacing and superior as a general should. He wasn’t entirely happy to be there, Voldemort knew, as he had been diligently organizing his army and training them for a war he felt was quickly approaching. Lucius was pragmatic, however, and had accepted an invitation to meet some of his future enemies up close.

“You should relax a little, Lucius,” the Dark Lord suggested, “There will be no battles for you to fight today.”

“Yes, Master,” Malfoy Sr. agreed but didn’t lighten up. He hadn’t forgotten about Moody or the explosion that had nearly killed his son. Where was Draco anyway?

The Dark Lord stood as the champions took their positions at the starting line. He grinned darkly to himself and stood to address the crowd.

From the back of the viewing box, Oblitz glanced around, crammed with Death Eaters and political giants, the greatest among them the Dark Lord himself, and felt almost giddy with anticipation. He had to wait for the perfect moment, however, which arrived when the Dark Lord rose to address the spectators.

“Welcome-”

Every eye was turned to the creature, unwillingly captivated by his handsome face, his seductive tone, his charming vaguely archaic turn of phrase as he talked of the five elements of the world. Water, air, fire, earth, and…

“Spirit… the element with allows all living things to persist against the forces of Nature and bend it to their benefit. The source of all magic. Here today, we test these young champion’s spirit in a battle…”

Oblitz stopped listening, without moving his head, he scanned the other spectators and found them all suitably distracted. From his sleeve, he pulled out a box. It wasn’t a particularly interesting box. Indeed, it was like thousands of other match boxes a wizard might carry around for lighting a pipe or candle or oven, but it wasn’t matches inside. He slid it open with one hand and discreetly dropped it under his seat.

Hundreds of tiny black bodies with six tiny legs scurried away from their prison as fast as they could, starved and thirsty, they sought out their sustenance and found it readily available. Dozens of giant, warm bodies all around them, and they scurried to beat their competition. As tiny as they were, they didn’t share.

They found their way to every available body, but for a dozen who reeked of pesticide, crawling and hopping their way upwards, stopping only to fight off other invaders. Their own kind weren’t the only danger though, as they soon found out.

Snape slapped his leg, crushing the little insect ruthlessly, scowling down at the bloody smear.

“I thought the frosts would have gotten the last of you little buggers,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to the champions.

Cedric looked out across the field, flat and faded green with stark white lines scribbled across it, then over at his fellow champions, and weighed his odds. Krum would definitely be a challenge. He had seen him practicing in the Dueling Hall and knew his focus and magical strength were impeccable, and on a broom Cedric admitted the other boy was superior. Fleur was a mystery. He had her in a few of his classes and had never seen her struggle with a spell, but he had never seen her battle anyone either. She certainly looked confident.

But he felt confident too. He was the captain of the Senior Dueling team andthe Hufflepuff Quidditch team, top of all his classes, and just generally good at magic. He had been chosen to represent his school and country today, and he wasn’t going to embarrass either with anything less than first place.

Fleur smirked at him, before looking out across the field. “I know I’m cute, but you are going to need to focus if you don’t want to fall too far behind.”

“I just wanted to get a good look now, since I won’t be able to see you’re pretty face once the race starts. I don’t intend to be looking back,” he teased.

Viktor scowled and didn’t bother looking at either of them. From the lake, they could just barely make out Voldemort’s speech, but it didn’t last long before he pointed his wand in the air. There was a loud crack, and they all sprinted onto the field. They had no sooner touched it than it rolled beneath them, knocking all of them to the ground. There was moment of confusion, and another subterranean wave rose and fell beneath them. Across the field, the earth undulated like the surface of the ocean during a storm, the golden keys, their first goal, remained the only immobile thing, hanging stoically from wooden stakes.

Determined, they all rose to their feet again, struggling to keep their balance and pulled out their wands.

“Wow.”

Harry wasn’t sure who said it, but it was definitely the feeling of everyone watching. From their vantage point they could see the entire field, and the champions dipping in and out of sight as hills rose and fell around them. Once the they’d found their footing, the champions were really something.

There was an announcer on the other side of the lake, but they didn’t need to listen to follow what was happening. Colin’s camera flashed continually as he followed their progress.

“That first earth wave caught them all by surprise, but they’re on their feet-”

Delacour was waving her wand around, which didn’t affect the moving ground, but left her weightless and agile. She hoped from the crest of one hill to the other without pause, swift and graceful as a deer. Viktor’s method was more brutal, blasting apart the ground when ever it rose up and storming over it before it dipped beneath his feet. Cedric had cast a Incorporeal Spell on himself, and simply ran straight through the solid ground, but while it was quick it was disorienting too, and the momentary blindness he experience when he passed through a hill kept him from following a perfectly straight path.

The field was only two hundred feet, but it took them all nearly fifteen minutes to cross it. They managed to reach their keys in roughly the same time, sprinted towards the lake, and quickly disappeared beneath the water. The crowd all waited for several minutes, but nothing seemed to happen. The announcer was starting to struggle with things to fill the silence with.

“What do you think they’re doing down there?” Ginny asked, curiously.

“Don’t know,” said George. “Might be taking bath. That last bit probably left them sweaty.”

Natalie hadn’t lied. There really was carnivorous lake weed, and it seemed quite intent on dragging Fleur to the lake floor. She shouted a muted curse and flung out her wand, shredding it to pieces, and broke free. From behind her bubble of air, she could see Viktor and Cedric had gained a lead, each partially transformed into different aquatic beasts, and contemplated propelling herself forward with a spell but decided against it. She had spent too much magic on the Earth Obstacle, and she had no idea what the other three obstacles involved. Instead, she swam naturally, and was glad she had, because the two boys ran into the grindylows first.

Tom cocked his head to the side curiously, watching the tiny black insects leap onto the oblivious spectators, and crawl up their bodies. He wondered if they were poisonous. He hoped so. Killing off all of his elder counterpart’s minions right in front of him would be a marvelous treat to watch. Perhaps if he was really lucky Voldemort would die too. He’d have to keep his feathers crossed.

It wasn’t like he had expected something like this to happen. He’d only come by to watch the competition, do a little recon on Krum, Snape, Voldemort, anyone else who caught his fancy. Perhaps check on Harry. He hadn’t risked seeing the boy up close, just as he hadn’t risked getting too close to Voldemort. They weren’t like other wizards. There was a chance they’d sense there was something off about him.

So he’d perched himself at the back of the viewing box, and no one had noticed him. Not even Oblitz, who was directly in front of him, thought to look behind him before he released his bit of six-legged mischief.

He really did hope people would start keeling over soon. That’d be an absolute riot!

Viktor broke to the surface first, struggling for air as his gills receded and he regained use of his lungs. He hated that transformation for a number of reasons, but it had proved useful today. Swimming clumsily for the last couple of feet to the stands where the brooms rested, he finally pulled himself out of the water. He cast a drying spell on himself quickly, hating to waste the magic, but knowing he couldn’t let the cool autumn air rob him of anymore of his body heat.

An explosive splash, and he spun around, expecting an attack. Fleur landed on her feet beside him, her faced twisted into something monstrous, as she seized a grindylow still gripping tenaciously to her leg. It screeched in pain as she drove her clawed fingers into its back and released her, escaping into the dark water. An imperious shake of her hair, now come undone, and she looked her usual beautiful self again. She lifted a regal brow at him.

“What?”

Cedric finally appeared, dragging himself out of the water in time to see the other were already using their keys to unlock their broomsticks. He struggled to do the same, but he’d been bitten on the foot and had a heavy limp. He barely remembered to dry himself off before he took flight, but once he was in the air he felt much more at ease.

And then a giant tentacle shot out of the water and nearly knocked him off his broom.

“Oh, that was a close one for Diggory!” The announcer shouted, rising above the growing din of the crowds.

Another tentacle shot out, this time aiming for Viktor, who easily rolled out of its way and then rose up as yet another slimy appendage reached for him. Fleur had already shot up out of reach with surprising speed, too far up to be a likely target, and the others followed her example.

“And they’re safely out of reach! But they’re not going to get their flags if they don’t get down there. Yikes, it’s going to take some pretty spectacular flying to get past all of those arms!”

Viktor dip sharply twice, but the tentacles followed him, appearing everywhere at once and barely escaped both times. Cedric and Fleur each tried a variety of curses and hexes, with limited success. The squid was too large and too fast. Attempting to levitate the flags to them, didn’t work either.

“I have an idea!” Fleur called out to the others, “But I’ll need your help.”

Both boys looked reluctant.

“Are we even allowed to help each other?” Cedric asked, skeptically. She rolled her eyes at him.

“We’re not helping each other, we’re helping ourselves. We need to freeze the surface of the lake! If we do that, it won’t be able to move its arms or even see us, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s the only way any of us are going to get what we want.”

Viktor scowled even more darkly, but nodded, and Cedric shrugged. She was right after all, they couldn’t do this alone. They spread out to form a rough triangle around the squid, and pointed their wands down at the water.

“Congalcio!”

Light sprang from their wands like lightening, and where ever the light touched ice bloomed like a flower, from the surface and started to spread across the water, hardening it into a solid sheet. The squid didn’t seem to notice at first, continuing to swing its arms madly, smashing through the thinest layers with ease. But slowly the ice started to thicken and harden, and the wiggly appendages started to slow, uncertain of their movements as the ice started to block the view in front of its bulbous eyes. They kept at it until the squid was barely moving at all.

“And look at that, all three champions working together! It’s man against beast this time around, but how long with this truce last?! There is still one more obstacle left before the finish li- AND KRUM IS GOING FOR IT!”

Viktor broke off first, streaking towards his flag, and Cedric followed half a second behind.

“No! It’s not safe yet!” Fleur cried, chasing after them anyway, but she was too late. Viktor’s hand was already wrapped around the staff of his flag, pulling it free. The ice exploded beneath him, flinging him aside and straight into the Hogwart’s flag. Boy, broom, and flags all landed on the edge of the ice circle. A part of it breaking off and dipped briefly beneath the surface before bobbing up again, leaving Viktor sopping wet. Cedric had managed to pull back in time to avoid being knocked from his broom, and in a quick low-flying sweep, snatched up his broken flag and sped towards the opposite shore. Viktor rolled over on to his broom, grabbed his flag, and kicked off into flight just as the ice beneath him was crushed beneath a tentacle.

The crowd burst out into wild cheers. The announcer shouting out with equal enthusiasm.

“That was FANTASTIC! Not half a second longer and they’d both have been goners! Delacour is the only one without a flag now. The pressure is on for her as the Hogwarts and Durmstang Champions widen their lead!”

Fleur was definitely feeling the pressure. Her flag now rested on ice, ice that was quickly being torn apart by nine blindly flying arms. She made two passes, but had to pull up both times when an arm passed too close. Frustrated, she made one last dive.

And then everything went black.

There was a collective gasp, and everyone jumped to their feet.

“Oh my god,” Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with horror. They’d seen the chunk of ice flung flying through the air strike Fleur by sheer luck, knocking her off the broom and sending her skidding across the ice. There was a streak of bright red to mark her passage.

“Shit,” Bill cursed, sparing only a moment. “I think she’s unconscious.”

He ran to one of the waiting boats, throwing out everything inside it accept for some blankets, a first aid kit, and a length of rope.

“We’ll help,” Fred said, “Just tell us what to do.”

Bill turned a warning glare at them.

“You’ll stay right were you are. I’ll have enough to worry about just with her, I don’t want to have to worry about pulling you all out of trouble as well.”

“How are you even going to get to her?! Look, you’re buddies aren’t doing a very good job and they’re on brooms!”

Sure enough, several safeties were already hovering over the squid, but like the school champions they couldn’t get pass the tentacles to get to Fleur, whose chuck of ice was starting to sink.

“I’ve got a ward up on this boat. The squid won’t touch it! So stay out of it. You’ll only be in the way,” Bill snapped, jerked the rubber of the boat twice and it groaned once before speeding towards the other end of the lake. It’s progress seemed painfully slow.

“What are those idiots doing?” Ron growled as he watched the safeties hover around uselessly. “They should at least try strengthening the ice underneath her! Fucking retards! She’s going to drown.”

“Shut up, Ron,” Draco growled. “You’re not helping.”

“It’ll be alright, Bill will get to her,” Angelina said, mostly to Ginny who was ashen, staring helplessly as the situation became increasingly dire. Percy rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, but his expression was grim.

“Nonononono, oh no, oh no, no!” Penelope chanted to herself, watching as the ice finally gave way and Fleur sank beneath the water.

Harry who had been watching the entire thing without so much as blinking, reached behind himself and opened his hand.

“Up!”

Bill was half way there, but already knew he’d be too late as he watched the girl disappear into the water. It would be another two or three minutes before he reached the spot she had been in, and he had no way of knowing where she was by then. And there were things in the lake. Normally, fairly harmless things, but they’d been intentionally aggravated for the sake of the tournament. There was no telling if he’d even be able to find a body let alone save her life, if the grindylows got to her first.

He clenched his teeth. This wasn’t suppose to happen! It was just a damn-

Something shot passed him, hovering close to the water and disturbing surface, making his boat chop up and down dangerously. He struggled with the rudder, adjusting his speed and angling his boat into smoother water.

“What in Merlin’s name?”

Snape was torn between rushing down to the lake to help attempt a rescue and casting a Calming Spell on Madame Maxime, who was now shrieking hysterically and demanding someone do something, her tantrum causing the entire platform to shake dangerously. Voldemort was completely nonplussed by the situation, looking more curious than anything. Like everyone else, he was standing to get a better view, his hands resting on the railing, perfectly at ease. Next to him, Lucius looked far too amused than was appropriate. If Madame Maxime happened to notice, Snape suspected she’d stomp the aristocrat flat.

The announcer continued his monologue, now reporting the incompetent attempts of the safeties and insisting that Delacour was still somehow going to be rescued, but even he was starting to sound doubtful. At the other end of the lake, Diggory and Krum had stopped their race to the finish, instead watching the lake like everyone else for some sign of the Beauxbaton’s champion.

“It’s all right, Madam,” Voldemort said at last. His tone was calm and level, and though he hadn’t raised his voice, the Beauxbaton’s headmistress heard him and fell quiet. “Help is on the way.”

He pointed a little further out into the lake, but his finger moved steadily closer towards the rampaging squid. Snape found what he was pointing at and stiffened. Potter was flying across the lake at a speed he wasn’t sure was possible on a broom and definitely faster than was safe, little more than a dark shadow. Really you couldn’t see Harry’s face, but Snape just knew.

The instant headache forming behind his eyes was a sure sign.

Harry felt, more than saw where he was going and how fast. His magic extended out around his body and if he could have seen it’s shape he’d have described it as falcon-like, wings bent close to his sides until the sprung out with a sharp flap for extra speed. His senses extended still further than that, glasses still charmed to see perfectly at a distance, nose filled with the scent of lake water, squid, and magic.

He wasn’t planning at this point. That girl didn’t have time for a plan, only quick action, and he wasn’t going to wait. Never mind that Snape would probably cane him for this, that he might be violating the tournament rules and cause an international incident, or that she might be dead already. He’d watched someone die right before his eyes once already, and he wasn’t just going to let it happen again.

He was a hundred feet from the first tentacle, when he abruptly turned his broom on its side, nose pointed down and his right side facing the creature. It helped to slow his momentum, and the angle he kept lifted him higher above the lake rather than overshooting his target area altogether. By now the safeties had moved even further away, as the squid had taken the remaining chunks of ice and started hurling them at anything that moved.

“Who is this!? Who is this!?” shouted the announcer, “Flying in like a whirlwind, untouchable! I’ve never seen anything like it! Will this be Delacour’s salvation?”

Harry dodged two head-sized chunks easily (they weren’t nearly as quick as bludgers and only came from one direction), still not righting his boom. Pointed downwards made it more difficult to keep his hold, but at this angle he could look down at where the squids arms met its body and follow their movements more easily. He swayed to and fro, avoided being slapped out of the sky with as little wasted movement as possible, while he searched for any sign of Fleur.

Half a minute later of futile searching and dodging, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He shot down, down, down…

“And he’s going in! My god he’s-”

The water swallowed all sound and most light and heat, and the force of the impact half robbed him of his senses. Taking a bellyflop to the face hurt. His broom continued to pull him deeper, though more slowly, the pressure pushing in on his fragile ear drums. He had to stop or risk bursting them, and took the time to prepare himself. He charmed his glasses, which immediately turned into goggles and gave him a clearer view. It was still too dark to see far, and the most he could make out was the outline of the squid’s enormous head. The horrible idea that Delacour might have been eaten flitted across his mind.

He didn’t have time to spare on those thoughts. He didn’t know any spells for breathing under water.

He cast a locating charm.

A white light snaked out of his wand and the twisted through the water, arching downwards, beyond the squid. He pointed his broom in that direction and willed it forward, letting it drag him far faster than he could swim on his own. He had to stop after only a short distance.

He needed air. Needed it BAD.

But so did she. She’d been down here for nearly five minutes already, long enough for her heart to have stopped. He couldn’t help her if he lost consciousness, though. Merlin, he need help.

Please! If you’re my element, why won’t you help me?

Something grabbed him by his ankle and pulled.

“Vat is he doing?” Viktor asked, simultaneously horrified and transfixed as he watched Harry disappear into the lake. In the distance, he thought he could hear Hermione scream the boy’s name. Beside him, Cedric gave him a wane smile.

“What he can.”

“He’ll never find her in time. It’s impossible.”

“I know. He’ll probably do it anyway. It’s what he does.”

Viktor turned back to him, searching his expression for arrogance or disgust, but found only a sort of fond expression.

“Vat does dat mean?”

“I’ll put it to you this way. If the Goblet of Fire didn’t have an age restriction on it, I guarantee it wouldn’t be me you’re up against.”

Bony hands dragged him down, and he screamed on instinct, loosing the little air that remained in his lungs. He struggled and kicked, but the hands held firm and multiplied, seizing him by his arms and legs and head. Something squishy and plant-like was shoved into the back of his throat, forcing him to swallow it and more than a little water.

Immediately, the hands all pulled away, leaving him to flounder after their mysterious attack.

He swung his wand around threateningly, not entirely sure where to point or if he should even try. No sooner than his line of sight settled on something strangely hideous and beautiful at once, a spasm wracked his body, and he felt himself started to change. Skin grew between his fingers and toes, and along his neck he could feel the skin part. A feeling of relief came over him, like he was suddenly getting his first breath of air.

Gingerly, he touched his neck and felt three large slits there, opening and closing to let water in and out.

He had gills.

He had fucking gills!

Well, at least he wasn’t suffocating, and decided he should just be satisfied with that for the moment. He turned his attention back to his maybe-not-attackers, and their appearance suddenly made more sense. They were merpeople. Dozens of them, none of them under six feet and most of them easily over seven, naked from the waist up and decorated with shark teeth.

They were a benevolent race, or at least not humanity’s sworn enemies. He didn’t know much about them, except that they’d been known to rescue people from drowning around Hogwarts every once in a while, were known for singing when fogs rolled in, and they didn’t speak English.

“Thank you,” he tried, although it sounded like nothing more than gurgles underwater. A male merperson with a scraggily beard nodded, and pointed in the direction he had been heading before he’d started drowning. Recalling Fleur, he recast the location charm and sent his broom racing in the right direction. Around him the merpeople followed, keeping up easily, their tails glinting silver in the light of his spell.

She wasn’t far, just deep. She was resting lifelessly at the sandy bottom, eyes closed and mouth open, yellow hair floating around her. There were already merpeople surrounding her, but unable to get close, a large pack of grindylows snarling and clawing at anyone that came near. The only thing the merpeople had been able to do was keep the creatures distracted enough so they hadn’t begun to feed on her. For this Harry was supremely grateful.

The stunning spell he hit them with knocked half of them away and sent the rest scurrying for their lives. He put his wand away, grabbed the girl by her wrist (which felt uncomfortably cold and limp), and pointed his broom upwards. They shot straight up, faster than even the merpeople could follow, the water growing lighter and brighter, and the oddest thought that this was what it must feel like to go to heaven flitted through his mind.

They broke the surface, and Harry took an automatic gulp of air, only to have it go straight into his stomach. Gills he reminded himself, pulling Fleur further out of the water so her mouth and nose were exposed to nothing air, while he dipped further down to submerged his gills. It made looking around harder.

He tried calling for help, but the only was a gurgling cough. Awkwardly, he pulled out his wand, and shot out a distress signal, one of only a dozen spells he could cast with wordlessly. A blaze of red streaked upward and exploded.

“Harry! Over here!”

Bill eased the boat up beside him, not even completely stopping before he half threw himself into in the lake, pulling Fleur from Harry’s grasp. He reached in to pull out Harry as well, but the boy swatted him away and pointed towards the girl. Bill took the hint and went back to her.

Harry couldn’t see what he was doing, but there were spells involved and strange instruments, one that looked suspiciously like a miniature bellow, lots of yelling and cajoling and begging, and then finally Bill just beating her in the chest with his fist.

A minute dragged on and then another, and Harry grew increasingly distressed, more and more convinced that he had been too late, too slow. Another person he couldn’t save.

And then there was a gasp and coughing and still more coughing.

“That a girl! That a girl!” Bill crowed, dragging her upright though she had no strength to sit up on her own. She continued to struggle for air, the blue around her lips fading to white and finally the faintest hit of pink. Harry could just barely make out her eyes, barely open, staring dazedly down at him. He smiled up at her, and laughed and cried his relief.

Hehad done it. Bill had done it!

Just barely.

Just enough.

She was alive.

Cautiously, the BUG crawled its way up its prey’s pants, up his cloak, detoured a little towards the back for safety, and continued up until it had reached the bass of the neck. Thick black hair, the perfect hiding place, beckoned across the last and most vulnerable stretch of skin. The neck was sensitive, and if the BUG didn’t step lightly, it would find itself the same bloody smear Snape’s BUG had become.[2]

There was a moment of hesitation before it risked a rushed hop, and then… SAFE!

Eagerly it traveled over it’s victim’s scalp to the clean patch of skin behind the ear. Eager to feed and quench its thirst. The skin was warm beneath its feed and smelled delicious. He clamped down with savage little pincers, knowing its prey would feel nothing, and swallowed down the first droplet of blood.

And promptly dropped dead.

1. Failte, I have been informed. Is the actual Gaelic term for ‘welcome’. I will be going back and replacing Taigamid with this. Just an FYI.↩

2. The BUGs are what they sound like, in both contexts of the word (no, not the Voltswagon Beetle type of bug, the other two meanings of the word).↩

The Knights and their Honor

The Infirmary was quiet, but for Madam Pomfrey talking softly to the mediwizard behind the privacy screen. Fleur honestly didn’t know why they bothered. She knew exactly what had happened to her. She had been knocked unconscious and drowned. Underwater for eight minutes and forty-two seconds. Another minute and fifty-eight seconds to restart her heart.

There had been brain damage, the mediwizard said as quietly as he could, but the water was cold enough to minimize it and the potions should repair most of what little there was. She’d be able to speak, move, and remember just fine. There might be occasional headaches and nightmares. A small price to pay for life, they said.

Except that wasn’t all she had paid.

She pulled her blankets over her head and curled into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut. This was too humiliating. Not only to be defeated, but to be rescued afterwards. In front of everyone. Her friends, classmates, admirers, the Brits, the Germans, the Dark Lord, and worst of all, Madam Maxime. The Headmistress would be so humiliated to have made a klutz like her their champion.

And tomorrow, the rest of the world would know about her failure, and sneer.

Is that what they teach kids at Beauxbatons? To fall off their brooms and drown?

What about her family? All those rumormongers and cold-hearted débutantes mocking her parents over the daughter they had taken such pride in. Those nasty kids at school waiting to tease her sweet Gabrielle, just waiting to pick a fight. She didn’t know if she would ever be able to face them.

“Pardon moi,” a new voice interrupted the mediwizard and nurse. “I was hoping I might see my student.”

“Oh,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I’m not sure now is a good time. She’s still a bit upset.”

“Please,” Madam Maxime insisted gently, “All of my students are very upset. It would ease their hearts and minds to know how she is doing.”

There was long silence, and finally the mediwizard spoke.

“Maybe she’s right. A familiar face might do Miss Delacour some good.”

Fleur tightened her hold around her blankets, willing the world away even more fiercely. She couldn’t handle this now. She wasn’t prepared for the condemnation. The last time anyone had scolded her, she had been twelve. There was a rustling sound as the privacy screen was pulled aside, followed the scraping sound of a chair and muttered Enlargement Charm.

There was a long silence.

“My dear, I do hope your jaunt through the lake hasn’t convinced you to begin your life again as a turtle. I am an awful swimmer and should miss you terribly,” the headmistress said gently.

Fleur pulled back a blanket, just enough to see the woman, her expression filled with confusion.

“You aren’t mad?”

Madame Maxime looked honestly surprised.

“Mad? Why would I be mad? I am just relieved that you are all right. I thought I had lost you forever. I never would have forgiven myself if you…”

She sniffed loudly, and pulled a handkerchief (easily as large a baby blanket), and dabbed her eyes. Fleur felt herself get all teary eyed just watching her, now for more than just self pity.

“But I failed… I didn’t even finish the challenge…”

The headmistress made a dismissive gesture.

“You did wonderfully. Wasn’t it you who came up with the idea of freezing the lake, while those other two just hovered there scratching their heads like a pair of mountain trolls? Your plan would have worked too if they hadn’t messed it all up by breaking off too soon. It was just bad luck that you got knocked in the head. The only mistake you made was trusting the other two were half as clever as you.”

Fleur choked on her laugh, wiping her tears of relief away. Perhaps it was going to be okay? Madam Maxime’s expression suddenly turned somber, and her heart clenched all over again.

“Fleur…” she began hesitantly, unsure of how to approach the subject. “About the competition… I’ll understand if you want to drop out. I think after what you went through, anyone would second thoughts. None of us were prepared for how dangerous this tournament would really be.”

Fleur blinked confusedly.

“You mean… I wasn’t disqualified already? Even though I didn’t finish the challenge?”

“Finish? No, you don’t need to finish a challenge. If fact, you made forty points just getting as far as you did.”

“I did? What about Krum and Diggory?”

“It took them ridiculously long to get past the fire challenge. I mean honestly! Diggory got sixty, but Krum got sixty-five for finishing first- barely.”

Fleur remained silent for moment, processing all that was being said.

“So they’re not too far ahead, do you think?”

Madam Maxime blinked, and then smile. “You are going to keep going?”

“I… Can I? Next time… next time I’ll definitely do better. I promise. Please? I can’t let it end here, like this.”

“Of course, my dear. If this is what you want, I’ll support you. You were our greatest hope and pride, and that hasn’t changed.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

She stumbled out of bed and leaped into her arms. Hands that were large enough to crush a horse’s skull patted her gently.

“I’m just so relieved,” Madam Maxime continued. “I thought for sure you were dead, and then after I didn’t know if you would be the same. I was so frightened. I could kiss those boys for pulling you out of the lake! Now there are true chevaliers!”

Fleur pulled back, confused. She didn’t honestly remembered much of what happened until after she was given some potions. They’d only given her a very brief explanation.

“Boys? What boys?”

“Well, that Potter boy was the one to fish you out, and I mean that literally. He partially transmuted himself into a fish or something, gills and such, but he got stuck. Took nearly an hour before he could get himself sorted out. Brave child, I’ll give him that, but not much on plans.”

Fleur thought she might remember something about Potter, looking up at her, smiling like a very wet puppy.

“Then there was the Weasley boy… well, he’s not really boy. Billius Weasley. He’s actually some sort of curse breaker, even though he’s only… nineteen or something. Got you breathing again before the medi-wizard even reached you. You owe them both a very big thank you.”

“Billius Weasley?”

“I know… they run rampant around this part of the country.”

That wasn’t exactly what Fleur was thinking.

Harry’s much anticipated Friday was officially a bust. Aside from actually saving Fleur’s life, which was really was the only redeeming event of the day, it was just one unpleasant thing after another. Alright, the flying part was actually pretty cool, looking back on it. He’d never flown that fast nor attempted to fly in that strange of a position, and it was also an interesting way to learn that a broom did work underwater. Being underwater (very cold water at that), nearly drowning, being forced to eat something very unpleasant, finding Fleur’s lifeless body, and waiting for it to be resuscitated was pure misery. That hadn’t been the end of it either.

He’d had to wait around in the lake for hour, unable to figure out how to get rid of his gills and unable to explain to the professors, who were trying to figure out what do, how he had gotten them. He had been very scared he’d be stuck with them forever, but luckily they had faded away before anyone had gotten any extreme ideas about how to fix it. There had been an unpleasant amount of flashbulbs, pointing, and murmuring through the whole ordeal.

The moment he was able, he’d climbed out of the lake, chilled to the bone and Snape had dragged him off. To the dungeons. Where it’s cold. He had to wait for nearly ten minutes as the man sorted through his potion stores, ranting at him for being a reckless idiot (of course Snape’s word choice was considerably more clever and insulting) while he felt his toes and fingers go numb. At least the Pepper-up potion warmed him up, it was the other three he’d had to drink that were just plain nasty.

The caning had been as unpleasant as he remembered. Worse. He’d gotten twenty whacks this time. And then another nasty potion to alleviate the bruises.

“You really are hopeless,” Snape had muttered afterwards, running a hand through his hair and looking frustrated. “What is it with you and damsels in distress?”

Harry, who was tired, sore, and rather angry, glared at him rather than argued. Anything that came out of his mouth at that point would only have gotten him a detention.

Now, rather than having lunch and then a much deserved nap, he had been summoned to the Dark Lord’s office. He seriously hoped Voldemort wasn’t as peeved at him as Snape was. He didn’t think he could take another punishment on top of everything else.

There were a lot of people lingering in the halls once they exited the dungeons. Students turned to them, looking as if they wanted to rush forward, but the glare their much feared potions professor gave them was enough to keep most of them away. Which was good, because even if the anti-bruising potion had helped, his back was sore and his temper short. He didn’t think he could stand people manhandling or bumping against or questioning him.

They had to pass the castle entryway to get to the Dark Lord’s private tower, and a mob of reporters was waiting just on the other side of the open doors, a row of severe looking Sentinels the only thing blocking their entrance. Flashbulbs and shouted questions went ignored, as he resolutely refused to look in their direction.

“Mr. Potter, how did you manage to rescue Miss Delacour?!”

“Mr. Potter, what made you decide to chase after her?!”

“Are you having a secret affair with the Beauxbaton’s champion?!” That one nearly did have him spinning around, and it wasn’t to answer the question.

The students had thinned out the closer they got to their destination, until there was only one left. McGunny was leaning against a wall, presumably waiting for them. He didn’t have his notepad with him, and when they passed he didn’t attempt to ask Harry any questions.

But there was a look. A questioning, slightly pleading look.

Harry stopped walking for just a second.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said, reluctantly, then hurried to catch up with Snape. It wasn’t that he wanted to go through an interview, but of all the reporters Harry knew (aside from Hermione of course), McGunny was the only one he found tolerable. He was as nosy as everyone else, but at least he was polite about it.

They entered Voldemort’s office and found the man standing near a window, a glass of wine in hand and looking smug. Lucius Malfoy occupied a chair, looking arrogant as ever. Both men smirked upon seeing Harry. The young Gryffindor felt simultaneous relief and unease. They obviously weren’t mad at him, but that sort of pleased expression usually spelled trouble of a different kind.

“And here’s the man… boy… of the hour,” Malfoy chuckled, raising his own wine glass in salute.

“Please don’t encourage him. It’s sends a mixed message,” Snape groused and found a chair of his own. As tired as he was, Harry didn’t sit down. He remained by the exit, silently stating he wanted to leave.

“I hope you weren’t too hard on him, Severus,” Voldemort chided. “A little parental discipline is a grand thing, but his spirit is something to admire.”

Snape looked blankly at the Dark Lord for a moment, then turned to toward Harry and glared. Harry glowered right back, barely refraining from sticking out his tongue. Snape turned back to his master.

“As you can see he’s still as stupidly unaware of his own mortality as ever.”

The Dark Lord chuckled. The mutual annoyance the two caused each other was something he had always found amusing, and the fact that they didn’t seem capable of leaving each other alone made it all doubly so.

“I thought it best we discuss what has just happened and what it means for us. Harry, you in particular should be made aware of your new position.”

“New position?” the boy asked skeptically. The Dark Lord’s amusement was becoming increasingly apparent. He looked as if at any moment he’d burst out laughing.

“Of course. You didn’t think such acts of heroism would go unnoticed, did you?”

Not unpunished anyway, Harry thought testily, unconsciously rubbing his back.

“You performed beautifully,” Voldemort said, “It was really quite magnificent to watch. Everyone thought so. So fast. So agile. So very, very brave. Rushing in to save the fair maiden from the horrible monster and certain death, risking life and limb without hesitation. And you succeeded. A miracle in an of itself.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if everyone had actually tried to help her, a miracle wouldn’t have been necessary,” Harry muttered. Malfoy and Snape both sent him a warning glare, but Voldemort ignored the accusation.

“I admit even I was starting to worry. You were underwater for quite some time. I didn’t think your education had advanced to self-transfiguration.”

“It hasn’t. I didn’t transform myself. Some merpeople helped me out. They gave me some sort of… plant, I think. It wore off after awhile.”

“Gillyweed,” Snape said, thoughtfully.

“You got merpeople to help you?” the Dark Lord said, looking surprised for once. “Why didn’t they rescue Delacour themselves? They’re perfectly capable.”

“They tried, but a pack of grindylows got to her first and weren’t letting them get close. I had to knock them away with some spells before I could get to her.”

“This just gets better and better,” Voldemort said, looking utterly delighted. “You have no idea what this is going to do for Britain, Harry. You’ve done this country a great service.”

Harry looked away, embarrassed. He hadn’t felt particularly brave, and certainly hadn’t been thinking about Britain when he rescued Fleur. Frankly, he didn’t see how this was suppose to help Britain at all.

“Can you just spell it out for me? I’m too tired to figure out your political games, right now.”

Voldemort sighed, somewhat disappointed with Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. He couldn’t really blame the boy. As much as the Dark Lord intended to benefit from Harry’s foolish selflessness, the boy himself wasn’t going to get much out of this. Nothing that he really wanted anyway.

“You’re a hero.”

“Yes, I got that. And?”

“Don’t get sassy.”

Harry bit his tongue and looked down, knowing he’d reached the limit of bad attitude Voldemort would tolerate from him right now.

“A hero is a much loved thing,” Voldemort continued once he’d received proper contrition, “By everyone. British, French, German. You risked your life saving a girl you barely know, and you did it with class.”

“I barely bumbled through it! I didn’t even really save her. Bill got her breathing again. I just recovered her body.”

“And Mr. Weasley will receive appropriate praise for his efforts on Ms. Delacour’s behalf, but it was you who actually put yourself at risk and allowed him to have help her. By Monday, every paper in Europe will know what you did. They will know that a British wizard is capable of bravery, compassion, and honor. The Europeans will feel awe… and uncertainty. You will shake the very foundation of their belief that Britain is a monster and her people are just waiting to strike at them. They will become curious about what you and this country are truly like, and that curiosity will drive them to investigate, and the more they learn, the less they’ll fear, and the less they fear the sooner we can open up relations, and remove these foolish embargo and travel restrictions.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just looked at him with complete disbelief. Finally, he shook his head.

“No way. It can’t be that simple. This tournament was suppose to do what you’re saying, and now you’re telling me I’m going do it? There’s no way that’s going to happen.”

Voldemort smirked.

“You’re right, it isn’t that simple and the tournament is…will… improve relations between our countries, but your actions will augment that process. Besides, a tournament is just a competition and once it’s over, its influence is very limited. A person, however… that’s a different animal altogether.”

Harry just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say or how to react. He couldn’t fathom doing any of the things Voldemort was talking about. Help Britain make friends with Europe? That was the job of ambassadors and politicians, not fourteen year old school boys. Feeling overwhelmed, he stumbled to an available chair and fell into it. He looked to the other men in the room, looking for some form of reassurance that this was just a bad joke.

Voldemort looked ready to laugh, but it wasn’t at Harry. It was a giddy sort of expression when things went his way on a project he was already excited about. Malfoy was smug as ever, but he was looking at Harry differently. A strangely possessive way that made Harry things he saw tool rather than a person. Snape… refused to look at him. That was the most concerning thing he’d seen so far.

“I don’t know what to do…” he said. “What do you want me to do? This is just… stupid.”

Alright, ‘stupid’ wasn’t the right word, but that’s what he felt like at the moment.

“Do what you’ve always done. Keep them guessing,” Voldemort said.

Harry didn’t know what he meant and waited for an elaboration, which came from Malfoy.

“There isn’t a lot known about you. The newspaper glen fascinating tidbits about you- your parents were originally rebels who fled to Germany, you can speak to snakes, you killed a monster, your future mother was killed by an insane terrorist… Even these things, no one knows the specifics of. You’re a mystery people want to unravel. Now there’s just a lot more people looking to do that.”

“How does being mysterious help? Won’t they get suspicious?”

“Only if you come off as intentionally hiding something. If you’re going to avoid the press, use the excuse that you’d rather spend time with your friends or studying. Don’t talk about anything unless someone asks you about it first. Give credit to other people when talking about your accomplishments. Humility is an excellent cover for secrecy.”

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. “How would you know?”

Snape let out an amused snort. “Because even Lucius was gullible once.”

Malfoy glared at his friend.

“Let’s not get distracted,” Voldemort interrupted before they started henpecking each other. “Lucius is correct. Humility is an excellent cover, and reduces suspicion. However, we must also promote you. You are my protege. How you are perceived affects how I am perceived, good or bad, and I need all the positive regard I can get.”

“Promote me, how? How can I be humble and advertise myself at the same time?”

“You get invited to a lot of events with a lot of important people, and politely accept,” Snape said, looking tired at the prospect. As Potter’s guardian, he knew he’d be dragged along.

“Just so,” Voldemort said. “You’ll have time to practice this weekend. The Champions have all been invited to attend a dinner party in Hogsmeade on Sunday. I expect that you will be receiving an invitation.”

Harry let out a huff. Perhaps he should have just let Fleur drown? That immediately brought a surge of guilt. This wasn’t Fleur’s fault, and even if it had been she certainly didn’t deserve death for inconveniencing him. Besides, maybe he could do some good. It wasn’t like he didn’t want peace between Britain and everyone else. If he could help, even a little, wasn’t he duty bound to try?

Merlin, this was tiring.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Fine. Great. I’ll do my best. Can I go? It’s been a long day.”

Voldemort gestured towards the door. “You may go, but I want to speak with you tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he agreed unenthusiastically and left. Malfoy glared at the door, then turned to Snape.

“He’s awfully uppity for a pawn,” he said, clearly annoyed. He risked a glance at the Dark Lord. “You’re rather lenient on him, my Lord.”

Voldemort smirked cruelly. “Why Lucius, are you suggesting I’ve gone soft?”

Malfoy quickly looked away. “No, absolutely not. I’m curious. I just assume there is a purpose behind your tolerance.”

A quick save.

“You are right of course, there is a reason, but you won’t like it.”

“My Lord?”

“He deserves to be a bit uppity. You underestimate his importance, my friend. He’s a knight, not a pawn, and my tolerance is born of appreciation. Unlike you, he doesn’t actually get paid to serve me.”

“My Lord, I-”

“Don’t, Lucius. I’m not criticizing you. You’ve earned everything I’ve given you. I am merely answering your question.”

“… Thank you, my Lord.”

“You both may go. I have to discuss the serious lack of adequate safety officials during today’s match with the tournament coordinator,” he said darkly, his previous good humor evaporating. Both Death Eaters bowed and left, passing a very nervous man in the hall, who they suspected they would never see again. More than likely, nor would anyone else.

Malfoy clearly wasn’t happy with being rebuked, however gently, and scowled fiercely.

“Do you think he deserves it, Severus?” he sneered. Snape watched him stoically from the corner of his eye.

“You’re starting to sound like a jealous wife, Lucius. I suggest you stop now. It’s tacky.”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“… Yes.”

Malfoy looked clearly surprised by the answer, though Snape didn’t know why. “Merlin, he’s infected the both of you.”

Potter Pox, flitted through Snape’s mind, making the other man’s words more funny than insulting. Symptoms include; headaches, insomnia, violent mood swings, and the urge to strangle Gryffindors.

“I didn’t say Iliked him, only that he deserved some leniency. He’s given more of himself in the last four years than you will ever have to give in your entire life. He’s reckless, ill-mannered, troublesome, and sometimes right out dumb, but he’s earned everything he’s been given. The Dark Lord isn’t wrong about that.”

“I still say we’re wasting opportunities here,” Oblitz insisted. “If those BUGs can be used for spying, they definitely could have been used for something…more.”

Schwartzmann gave him a bored look. Both men had sequestered themselves in the ambassador’s temporary home, waiting out the horde of reporters that were lingering after the event. They’d been quarreling over whether the mission should extend beyond surveillance and into sabotage and assassination. Schwartzmann was getting very tired of repeating himself.

“Mr. Oblitz, as I’ve said before, it is not in Germany’s intention to start a war, only to be prepared for it. Murdering Court officials and teachers at a school sporting event is hardly going to endear us to our allied nations. We received enough flack for what happened with Moody, and that wasn’t even our doing.”

“We don’t need their help to defeat the Dark Lord.”

“Spoken like a true warmonger. Believe me, the Minister knows exactly what our country’s capabilities are, and if he doesn’t want to fight against Voldemort’s forces alone, there’s a very good reason for it.”

“Pft. You sound like Krum. The whole God damn country is filled with a bunch of pansies. Pansy champion, pansy minister, pansy ambassador. Fuck, fine, let the Snake destroy you. Deserve what you get, you cowards. Won’t even handle Potter, and he’s the most vulnerable and dangerous of the lot of them. Only Voldemort deserves it more.”

Schwartzmann rolled his eyes. Oblitz was a soldier before he was a teacher, and unfortunately he gave a bad name to the entire profession.

“You’re an idiot. Potter deserves our pity, not our condemnation. God only knows what that monster has done to him already. If it’s half as bad as I suspect, and these BUGs manage to prove it, I’ll personally grant him sanctuary in Germany.”

Oblitz sneered but said nothing more. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted yet, but when the Death Eaters came pounding at Germany’s door, they’d be sorry. They’d all be sorry.

And he’d be right.

Fleur was escorted to the dormitory in Hogsmeade by Professor Flitwick. She would have preferred to have gone with Madam Maxime, but with so many reporters around they’d both decided someone more discreet would be needed. He was also more familiar with the castle, and the best ways to sneak in and out of it. They waited until dark, when most of the reporters were gone and night hid their movements. There was a boat house built into the castle that lead straight out onto the lake, and while the inky black water made her distinctly uneasy, she was pleased to find she wasn’t as scared as she thought she’d be.

This was the sort of adventure she remembered from Paris, sneaking out after hours for a secret rendezvous or just to explore the mysteries of the city, but what a interesting new twist! Far from home, surrounded not by city, but forests and lakes and mountains to meet the man who had saved her life with the aid of a dwarf (part goblin? Gnome?), and risk of discovery held the potential for international scandal!

Flitwick, noticing her barely repressed excitement, smiled.

“You know, you could have just invited Bill to the castle in the morning, and talked to Harry first. You’ve had a difficult day as it is.”

She smiled back him and shook her head. “It would be rude to make my rescuer come to me after all he has done. I must go to him and thank him in person, without the press turning it into an interrogation.”

“And did you already talk to Harry?”

She shook her head ruefully. “I went to Gryffindor Tower to speak with him, but his friends said he was very tired and was sleeping. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

They pulled the boat up to the shore, Hogsmeade only few hundred feet away, lanterns hanging in the doorways of the shops and houses. She pulled up the cloak of her hood, and followed Flitwick to the east end of the village where a dormitory had been erected to house the tournament’s work crews and engineers. There was a sign on the door reading ‘Residents Only; No Journalists Allowed’.

“That’s new,” Flitwick remarked, before opening the door. At the check-in counter, a very bored receptionist looked up from his crossword, looking ready to shout at them but the words died on his lips. Flitwick smiled congenially, summoning a stool out of the air so he could look over the counter. “Good evening, sir. Would Mr. Weasley be in, per chance?”

The receptionist eyed them both suspiciously.

“Who wants to know?”

Fleur pulled back the hood of her cloak and looked down imperiously at him. There was a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes.

“Oh… sorry. Thought you might be reporters. They been bothering Billy-boy all day. I’ll get him for you.”

He scribbled a note and tossed it up in the air, where it folded itself into a paper plan and flew up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. A moment later, the eldest Weasley son appeared. It was strange feeling that came over Fleur. Logically, she knew he had saved her life and she should feel extremely grateful for that, but her last memory of him was from before then and the silly squabble she had admittedly started.

He paused on the stairs when he saw her, and smiled just a bit.

“Miss Delacour, I didn’t expect you to be up and about so soon. I’d have thought Madam Pomfrey would have kept you strapped to the bed for three days, at least,” he said.

She smiled a bit at that. He was right, the medi-witch had been very reluctant to let her go, and it took a lot of crocodile tears and pleading to spend the night among her friends to convince her.

“It’s best not to underestimate a Beauxbaton’s champion,” she said.

“I believe that. Are all French witches this stubborn?”

“What do you think?” she challenged.

His expression turned sober.

“I think it would take a lot of stubbornness to claw your way out of a grave as deep as you were in. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? You saved my life.”

He shook his head. “We should have been prepared. I should have been more prepared. It was an obvious danger that someone could get knocked off their broom and into the lake, but no one was prepared to pull you out. We should have had men in the water already or attached tracking devices to all the champions or portkeys that we could activate if things went wrong. Merlin, we were so-”

She closed the distance between them, and placed her finger over his lips.

“Shhh… It’s not your fault. I am here now because of what you did do, not because of what you didn’t. Thank you for being there.”

He blinked at her, then suddenly turned red around the ears. He rubbed the back of his head, looking at his shoes in such a boyish way, Fleur wondered what she’d done to fluster the confident man so.

“Er… you’re welcome. I’m just glad I could help.”

She sighed forlornly. “This really seems a feeble way to thank someone, now that I’m here. Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? My treat.”

He blinked in surprise. “I… yeah, I’d like that, but… won’t you get in trouble?”

“Don’t worry, tomorrow is a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“That’s not what I… oh, forget it. Yes, I’d love to. Madame Puddifoot’s, then? If you come at eleven, we can beat the crowds.”

“It’s a date,” she agreed, pulled up the hood of her cloak and headed towards the door where Flitwick was pretending not to linger. She turned back to him at the entryway. He was looking bemused, and still just a tad bit pink in the ears. His little boy smile was so endearing, she couldn’t help but add, “And Bill, it’s Fleur to you.”

McGunny left a note with Granger to give to Potter. He didn’t want to get pushy, but he really wanted to talk to him as soon as possible. His Sunday deadline was only part of the reason, but the only one he left with Granger. She’d promised to give it to Harry, but not until he was awake, which probably wasn’t going to be until morning.

She was right. He didn’t receive a reply to his request until half past nine the next day.

He went to the dueling hall and found the boy just where he said he would be, eating breakfast on the stairs of the dueling platform. It didn’t surprise McGunny that the kid was avoiding the Great Hall. It seemed his standard practice to avoid crowds for a few days after an event, and this was a significant one. Few people actually got to see a hero in action, and though McGunny had heard of and guessed at several of his exploits, even he had been left breathless seeing it in real life.

It was strange to see Potter doing something as menial as buttering toast after yesterday.

“Are you hungry?” the Gryffindor asked politely, when he saw him. “I can get the house elves to get you something.”

“No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. Hermione said you were kind of in a rush because of the next issue.”

“It’s fine. You have to take care of yourself first, and my life is hardly in the balance.”
“Mmm…” Potter took a bite of his toast and chewed in thoughtfully. McGunny was eager for answers, but push him. While the younger boy ate, he pulled out a notepad and self inking quill, trying to make it as casual as possible. He wanted the silences between them to be comfortable. It was important for what he wanted to ask of him.

“How do you feel?” he asked at last, a simple question to get things going. Potter shrugged.

“I feel like I normally do. Kind of disappointed that my weekend with my friends isn’t going to work out like I hoped, but it’s not a big deal. I heard Delacour is doing well, so I’m happy about that.”

“What made you decide to rescue her in the first place?”

Potter gave him an embarrassed look. “When she slipped under the water… I just knew no one was going to get to her in time. I figured… I didn’t figure anything. I just did it. Looking back on it, I think it was just impatience. The safeties had already taken too long. Bill could have gotten her, but his boat could only go so fast, so I just rushed in without thinking.” Potter sighed and drank some of his juice, thinking about what he was going to say. “It was stupid and reckless, what I did, but it worked out. Barely. I could have drowned too. I nearly did.”

They talked for nearly an hour about what the first challenge and his views on what had happened. With every word, McGunny felt his admiration for the boy grow, not only for what he had done but for his complete lack of pretentiousness. Potter clearly hadn’t expected to succeed in saving Delacour, but he had kept trying on the very slim chance that he could. He had done something, because doing nothing hadn’t been an option, and in the end he readily admitted that he played just one part in the girl’s rescue. The merpeople and Bill Weasley were given more attention and praise than his own, fumbled efforts.

“After you got out of the lake, Professor Snape took you down into the dungeons. Why?”

Potter looked embarrassed here. “Made me drink a bunch of nasty potions, and lectured me for putting myself in danger. Professor McGonagall was worse. She made me write down twenty reasons why what I did was a bad idea before she let me go to bed… then posted them on the Common Room bulletin board. Merlin, she knows how to make you feel bad about something. Professor Snape can make you feel bad about nothing, but then you just sort of forget about it after ten minutes, but not her...and you’re not going to print that part are you?”

McGunny smirked. “What will you give me if I don’t?”

The panicked look Potter had made him burst out laughing. “I’m kidding! You can trust anything you say to me in confidence will remain between us.”

Potter sighed. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I know a lot of reporters who… well, you know.”

Here was McGunny’s chance, the opening he had been waiting for. He took a deep breath.

“Yes, I understand why you would be hesitant to trust them, and I appreciate you putting as much faith in me as you have. I’ve always wanted to be a biographer more than a journalist, and trust is a lot more important to me than it is a lot of my colleagues.”

Potter looked at him curiously.

“A biographer? Really? So you’re going to go around and ask important people about their lives, and write books about them? How do you know when a person’s life is interesting enough to write a book about?”

“Most people’s lives are interesting enough to write books about,” he explained. “Everyone has interesting moments in their lives. Good things and bad things and strange things happen all the time. The nice things about books is you can edit all the boring stuff that happens in between. You don’t have to be important to have story worth sharing with others. Some of the best biographies out there are about normal people trying to get by in abnormal situations. With everything that’s happened over the last decade, and everything that’s happening now… I think there’s going to be a lot of stories that need to be told. People are going to need to hear about others in situations as bad as them, and know that they can survive and get over it. That’s the point of biographies, you know. It’s not just about telling a person’s story, it’s about sharing an experience. Nothing inspires people more than a true story.”

Potter didn’t say anything for a long time, just watching him with those piercing green eyes. He looked like he wanted to believe him, so McGunny continued.

“You know… your story could do that.”

The Gryffindor started. “My story?”

“Yes. Your story. You’ve had a lot of experiences I think people could benefit from hearing about.”

Shaking his head, Potter said, “That probably isn’t a good idea.”

“Think about it,” McGunny insisted, “There are a lot of people out there who need to believe that their lot in life can change for the better. Kids who are muggleborns or orphans or just don’t see any future for themselves. Adults who need to remember how to be adventurous, curious, and compassionate. You came out of nowhere, and look at everything you’ve managed to accomplish. You could inspire a lot of people.”

“Are you asking to write my story?” the Gryffindor asked, his expression disbelieving.

“I…” McGunny hesitated. He didn’t want to the throw out the idea until he was certain he had Potter sold on it, but he had caught on too quickly and there was no turning back now. “Yes… I wanted to ask you if I could… if you would… tell me your story. Can I be your biographer?”

Potter got up, shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

He panicked as he saw the younger boy starting to leave, and got up to chase after him.

“I know I haven’t even graduated yet, but I know I could do this. I’ve sent in some of my articles to universities and newspapers and they’ve all said I did great work. I-”

The young boy turned back to him, his expression apologetic.

“It’s not that. It’s not personal. I think you’re a great journalist and that you’ll be an even better biographer, but I can’t tell you everything you want to know… need to know. Too much of what I do involves the Dark Lord, and that’s not something that I can or will share with the public. For your own sake, it’s better you don’t know.”

McGunny stood there, sick with disappointment. Potter had turned him away. His reasons were honorable, but it still made him feel ill and somewhat betrayed. Hadn’t he proven he could be trusted? Hadn’t he shown he was on his side?

He couldn’t give up. Not yet.

“Wait!”

Potter stopped at the door, looking back at him. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Not yet, McGunny mentally agreed, but eventually.

“It isn’t about that. There’s something I overheard, and wanted to warn you about.”

Reluctant curiosity slipped across the Gryffindor’s face, before it was ruthlessly suppressed. The Ravenclaw fought back a grin.

“Shouldn’t you tell a teacher about it then?”

“It’s not anything specific enough to report. Not really. I just overheard an argument between Oblitz and Krum a few days ago.” Not true, but mentioning Weasley shot his credibility to hell and he did feel what the guy had told him something worth knowing. “We both know Oblitz has it out for you-”

“How did you-”

“I’m good at what I do, Potter. Very good. Krum… I think he’d be just as bad if it weren’t for Granger. He’s given you the benefit of the doubt because of her, and I think Oblitz got into an argument with him about it. You should probably try to keep some distance from the Durmstang group, if you can. I’m keeping an eye on them, but I don’t know if they’re up to something yet or not.”

Potter nodded, clearly disturbed by the possibility that something might be going on, especially with Hermione’s not-boyfriend.

“Thanks… I’ll be careful, but I don’t think…”

McGunny gave him a reassuring smile. It wouldn’t do to freak the kid out. It would back fire on him fantastically if it turned out Oblitz had been pissed off at Krum for a lousy essay.

“You’re probably right. Like I said, I’m just going to keep an eye on them. I’ll keep you updated if I find out anything. You’re their student liaison. It’s only right.”

“Yeah… thanks… I’m sorry, I couldn’t give you what you wanted…”

“It’s alright. I understand,” he said casually, as if his plans for the year hadn’t just been completely derailed. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

The boy nodded, a bit more uncertain than he had been before, and finally left. McGunny let his smile drop. Things were not going well. He needed to do something to gain Potter’s trust, and perhaps find a new approach to the biography business. Clearly, the boy didn’t feel he could tell his story without putting them both in danger, so if McGunny wanted his story he was going have to assure him that it was going to be written in complete confidentiality and then find some sort of motivation for Potter to tell a story nobody else would ever hear (at least not until after they were both dead and therefore relatively safe).

Trust first though. Motivations and enticements could come later. Right now he needed to build a relationship of trust between them. They had the beginnings of a friendship, but with little in common and their difference in ages, it would be difficult to maintain a friendship without regular contact of some form. This was where Oblitz would come in handy. There was something clearly wrong with the man (and having read his file, a veritable manual on urban warfare, he could make a pretty good guess on what it was), and he had his sights set on Harry, which provided McGunny the excuse he needed to keep up regular contact. If he should actually happen to find something on the man, that was even better.

He’d have protected Potter (and possibly several other people on the off chance that there was a conspiracy going on), and if he was very lucky, he could convince him to give him the story as a personal favor.

If he was very, very, very lucky.

Advisors

Harry had plans to meet his friends in Hogsmeade for lunch, but he had to swing by the Dark Lord’s office first, like he said he would. He took a circuitous route to the man’s private tower to avoid the other students, and was almost successful.

Almost.

He climbed out of a secret passageway hidden behind a tapestry and found himself face to face with Fleur Delacour sitting on a bench, waiting for him.

“I came by Gryffindor Tower earlier,” she explained, “But your friends zed you ’ad already left.”

“Oh… how did you know I’d be here?”

“You weren’t in ze Great Hall for breakfast, zo when I azt Natalie, she zed you were probably ’aving breakfast with Lord Voldemort. I admit, I zought you would be coming from the other direction.”

He smiled a bit. She smiled back. They had no idea what to say to each other.

“How are you feeling?” he tried, though she looked as beautiful as ever. In fact, she looked even better that she had. Before, she had seemed rather depressed and mopey, but today she practically glowing.

“I feel good. ’Ow about you? I heard you were stuck in ze lake for an ’our.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Snape made be drink a bunch of potions so I wouldn’t get sick. Can’t have the hero sneezing into the camera lens. It sort of ruins the affect.”

Her gaze droped, and he realized how insensitive that was. It wasn’t her fault his weekend was shot to hell. Not really.

“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out how I meant.”

She shook her head. “It is alright. It wasn’t much fun for me either. I just wanted you to know, I appreciate what you did for me. I don’t remember ze rescue myzelf, but Madam Maxime zed you zaved my life.”

Now he ducked his head, shyly. “Not really. I found you, but Bill got you breathing.”

“Such a modest chevalier,” she said, and leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. He felt his ears burn, but it still felt… nice. Up close her skin was perfect, her touch soft, her scent was that of lilacs and lavender. “Zank you, ’Arry. I promise I’ll find a way of repaying you zomeday.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, still not quite able to look at her directly. Everyone had told him how beautiful she was, but he’d honestly been too busy to notice until now. She tapped him on the nose with her finger, cause him to look at her instinctively. Her smile was playful.

“It is a matter of ’onor. As one chevalier to another, you should understand.”

He did. Honor was about behaving in a way that would allow you to respect yourself. At least, that was how Sirius and Remus had described it, and since he respected them, he trusted their judgment on the matter. In this case, that meant repaying those who had done right by you. He nodded.

She turned to go. “’Ave fun with your friends, ’Arry.”

“See you later, Fleur.”

They shared a knowing smile, turned away from each other, and walked in opposite directions.

“The press interview is at six-thirty, Sunday. Dinner starts at seven,” Voldemort said by way of greeting, as Harry stepped into the office. He blinked, looked around to make sure he hadn’t walked in during the middle of a conversation with someone else, and then back at the Dark Lord.

“Good morning to you too. I slept great. Thanks for asking.”

The dark wizard rolled his eyes.

“Since both events are Ambassador Schwartzmann’s house in Hogsmeade, I’m letting Professor Snape stay behind and will escort you there myself. I expect you to be appropriately attired and waiting at the entryway by six-fifteen. I’ve made an appointment for you at Madam Malkins at two. She’ll know what you need.”

Harry made a ‘blah’ face. “Do I really need more clothes? I can’t fit what I’ve got in my trunk anymore.”

Voldemort thought that fairly typical of most teenagers, but refrained from pointing it out. There was no reason to let the boy think he wasn’t being spoiled.

“You have grown since the last dinner parties, and I want you looking your best. What do you care anyway? I’m paying for them.”

That earned him a suspicious look.

“Are you sure it’s not just being added to my student debt?”

“What is with you? You were full of snark yesterday too. You’ve been cynical and unpleasant since I came back. Did I do something to actually annoy you or has Snape’s charm finally started to rub off on you?”

Harry let out a huff. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you… well, maybe I do. You seem to be benefiting from my ruined weekend, so yes, that is kind of annoying.”

The Dark Lord had the audacity to grin at that. “As long as you can curb the sarcasm tomorrow evening, I suppose I’ll let it slide. We’ll be seeing each other regularly this year, and I’d rather keep things pleasant.”

Feeling silly for being such a grouch, the Gryffindor nodded in agreement. There wasn’t any point to starting fights with the Dark Lord. The man was his guide through this political mire, and as long as he had his back, Harry knew he could get through it relatively unscathed. As long as no one tried to kill him, of course.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Voldemort made a dismissive gesture and walked over to one of his bookcases. “I have something for you. I meant to give it to you yesterday, but it didn’t seem appropriate after what had happened.”

He pulled a medium sized tome from his collection, and handed it to his protégé. Harry studied it curiously. It was very old, with dark brown leather, and bronze fixtures turned black with age. There was no title on the book, but a abstract rendering of a very pregnant, naked woman was set in bronze on the cover. He ran his fingers over the image. It tingled with magic.

“Is that the Earth Goddess?” he asked, sensing the truth.

“One of her more popular representations, yes. This is The Book of a Thousand Gods. It holds the names and descriptions of exactly one thousand of the most powerful of the pagan gods in Britain, including Ireland and Iceland. At least the most powerful ones there were twelve hundred years ago.”

Harry gave him a horrified look. “Don’t tell me you expect me to learn all of them.”

Voldemort burst out laughing. “Of course not. You’re old enough to start thinking about what deities you are going to pay homage to. Gods whose knowledge and skills you desire, whose ideals you respect, and whose protection is the strongest. Skim through each deity. If you find one that interests you, write down their name, and I will try to find more materials on them for you.”

It was difficult to know how to feel about the book. On one hand, it was going to play an important role in his life as a pagan, perhaps determining the path his magic would follow. On the other hand, it was a reminder that he didn’t have the option of turning away from his current path. From what he had learned from Teacher Brennan and what Voldemort had implied, he was going to need some divine help if he didn’t want to wake up one day to find an evil spirit feasting on his liver.

“Thanks.”

Viktor walked through Hogsmeade under a Notice-Me-Not charm, sticking to back alleys when he could. If anyone had actually noticed him, he would have said he was avoiding the reporters stalking the town, but truthfully he would have cast the spell on himself even if the reporters weren’t there.

He needed to talk to Dumbledore, and he needed to do it alone.

Tom circled the village like a buzzard, keeping track of his prey’s every movement. Even under the anti-surveillance charm, he could follow the boy’s movements easily. He wasn’t going to let him get away.

It had taken him a while to make his decision, but Oblitz’s little act of subterfuge had cinched it. The Germans were on the offense, and that meant the situation at Hogwarts had become a lot more dangerous and unpredictable than he had originally thought. Opportunity was the bastard child of chaos, and he was feeling paternal.

If Durmstang was planning an attack, he wanted to be a part of it, and assure that his own goals were realized in the process. The first goal being to kill Voldemort and the second to secure Harry. Krum was perfectly positioned for both of these goals. Krum was a part of the German’s plans, he was certain of that. If he managed to kill Voldemort, who was going to reprimand him? And when that dragon was finally woken, he was going to take Harry and escape to Germany. It wouldn’t be hard to find an excuse.

Once in Europe, he would hunt down those most likely to oppose him, and kill them before they realized what he was doing. Dumbledore would be the first on his list, but he could think of at least a dozen others who would soon follow. Then he would use Krum’s celebrity status as a means to gain supporters, and eventually take back Britain.

Harry would be safely tucked away in Durmstang or Beauxbatons for another three years, which gave Tom some time to figure out what to do with him. He was a clever boy with growing potential that he had no intention of hindering.

If he somehow missed his chance to kill the Dark Lord before leaving, well, he knew his secrets. He’d find a means to destroy him eventually, and if he couldn’t do that from Europe he would simply abandon Viktor’s body and find another in Britain.

His options were almost limitless.

McGunny went down to Hogsmeade to sulk. He told his few staff members back at the castle that he wanted to get some interviews from the students about the tournament, but he didn’t actually talk to anyone. Potter wasn’t being cooperative, and he was admittedly depressed.

He needed somewhere to think, and gather his thoughts. Going somewhere new usually helped to inspire him, and as changed as Hogsmeade was this year, it qualified.

And inspiration came, by mere happenstance, by a door opening out of the corner of his eye just as he passed an alley. The door itself was not particularly interesting, looking as drab as most side doors did with trash bins and empty pallets lining either side of it, and he would have over looked it even being opened if it weren’t for the sound of a glass bottle falling over and shattering drawing his attention. He pulled back behind a wall on instinct, and felt silly for it. He peeked back down the alley, hoping no one had seen his skittishness, and it looked empty of people at first glance.

But the door was open, and it was a cool day, and that just struck McGunny as kind of odd. He stared expectantly at the opening, thinking someone was going to step out, but after a few second of concentration he became aware that Viktor Krum was standing in plain sight.

Notice-Me-Not, McGunny realized, and was instantly intrigued. Now why would you need that particular charm, I wonder?

The Durmstang Champion made a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed him, but seeing no one, quickly ducked inside. McGunny made his own brief scan of the area, and followed after him.

Tom mentally cursed when he spotted the school newspaper editor. The alleyway would have been the perfect place to strike, but he couldn’t afford witnesses. Particularly, not busybody reporters. At the same time, he couldn’t allow McGunny to uncover anything suspicious Krum might be doing and blow the boy’s cover. There were still some things that needed to be done before Tom was ready to leave the country.

So when McGunny opened the door to follow Krum, Tom dove in after him, smashing the boy in the back and knocking him down the stairs. The Silencing Charm the Ravenclaw had cast to cover his entry, worked in Tom’s favor, muting the slamming of the door behind them and the crash of McGunny’s fall. The boy lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, and did not move.

Tom fluttered awkwardly in place for a moment, then landed beside him to see if he was alive. McGunny stilled breathed, but was unconscious, which was ever so convenient. A missing person would rouse just as much suspicion as a person with a story.

But now he couldn’t turn back. He had to find Krum and take possession of his body before he found McGunny and panicked or McGunny woke up and ran to tell the nearest Sentinel what had happened.

He rotated his head, surveying the situation he had gotten himself into. A single light bulb illuminated the stairs, and gradually faded off into the surround gloom. They were in a large cellar, rows upon rows of shelves stacked with canned and jarred goods, dusty mason jars, boxes of nails, old toys, and empty baskets and layers of dust on the ground. Krum was nowhere in sight.

With a powerful flap of his wings, he took flight, breaking free of the magical silence and moving towards the other end of the cellar. He dropped onto the top corner of a shelf. There was yet another door, cracked open just a bit. A sign was hung on the door, reading ‘Furnace’, and a warm glow and heat emanating out of it seemed to correspond with that statement.

From inside, Tom could hear voices.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said, staring into the furnace. It was a monstrously large thing, with an ugly leer, and the tendency to belch fire at him if he got too close. The entire room was boiling hot, and he was already starting to sweat. “I just needed to talk to someone. I needed to regain my perspective.”

From within the furnace’s mouth, the pile of coals and embers glowed, forming a kindly face that you would have missed completely unless you were looking directly at it.

“It’s quite alright, Viktor. I’m happy to hear from you, whatever the reason. How is Hogwarts treating you? Have you been learning any interesting things?” the elderly wizard asked conversationally. The boy nearly rolled his eyes, but settled for a snort.

“Hn. I guess you could say dat. I tink I’m learning too many dings, about dis place and dese people, and I don’t know vat to do about it. I’m scared for dem. I feel like I’m dragging dem into a var dey don’t deserve.”

“Few people deserve war,” Dumbledore said, “And I don’t wish it even on those who do, but a battle is coming. One way or another, Voldemort will find a way, and I pity our enemies as much as our allies when that day comes, but for everyone’s sake we cannot fail. We failed in the first war against him, and if we fail a second time there will be suffering on a level the world has never seen.”

Viktor shook his head. “But dat isn’t vat I see here,” he said, his voice filled with despair. “I don’t see suffering like you’re talking about. Everyone here is looking forward to der future, and dat future doesn’t factor in var. They just vant to be vith derr families, go to college, get jobs, fall in love. If everything is as bad as you say, vy isn’t everyone here miserable?”

“Aahh…” Dumbledore said, his expression understanding. “You think because you haven’t seen it, that it isn’t there? That is didn’t happen? You know better. You’ve met refugees before, you’ve heard their stories. Those children at your school are not cruel, but they are sheltered. Their magical ability has marked them as the elite of Voldemort’s society, and they are coddled and protected and nurtured so that they, the most powerful and educated, may re-enforce the regime that they associate with the happiness of their youth. Their good intentions, the preservation of a way of life they’ve become accustomed to, will be the downfall of hundreds, maybe thousands of others.”

Viktor said nothing, feeling the truth of the elder wizards words. It was true. He had volunteered in the refugee camps, the ghettos, the slums where witches and wizards had fled with only their clothes on their back to escape death or worse to foreign countries unprepared to shelter them. He’d seen the cripples, the widows and orphans, the lone survivors, and each had their tale to tell. Tales of horror, murder, rape, torture, casual cruelty, and desperation. He had seen grown men weep, children curse the world, and women stripped of their kindness and trust.

And those were the survivors, if they could be called that.

He couldn’t forget about them. Not now, not when he could help prevent Voldemort’s sickness from spreading.

“I am not asking you to hate them,” Dumbledore continued, “Though it will cause you much pain, an open heart is a blessing and I hope you can hold on to that till your dying day. I just want you to remember, what you see is not always truth, and what is truth is not always seen.”

Viktor nodded.

“Yes, I tink I understand. Dank you.”

“You are quite welcome, my boy. Now, tell me how the challenge went? I heard you won. Congratulations!”

The Durmstang Champion smiled just a bit and shook his head.

“Barely. I tink Delacour might have beaten me if it veren’t for da accident. Did dey tell you about dat?”

“Yes, I have received extensive reports about what happened with the squid. I hope she is alright?”

“She seemed fine dis morning. She vas lucky Potter vas dere. He saved her life, but just barely.”

“Yes, quite fortunate. I trust Potter got through it no worse for wear?”

“Dere vas some complication in actually getting him out of da lake, but he seems fine. I haven’t seen or heard from him since den, though. Da kid is crazy. Brave, but crazy. I’m starting to believe some of da stories I’ve heard about him.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be something?” the old wizard chuckled.

“It vould certainly make for interesting conversa-”

There was a shift of air, the barest brush of cool air against his sweaty neck. Viktor ducked instinctively, his wand practically jumping into his hand, and rolled to the side. Something large flew over his head, and he rolled again.

“Stupify!”

The spell struck true, and there was panicked screech and flurry of feathers, before his target collapsed to the floor weakly. Viktor cast a Lighting Charm to get a better look at what he had hit.

“Viktor? Viktor? Are you all right?” Dumbledore called from the furnace.

“I’m fine. It vas just an owl.”

“An owl, you say? Is anyone else there?”

Viktor peeked outside the furnace room, but saw no one and heard nothing. He cast a quick charm to light the room, but there was still no one in sight. He stepped back inside.

“No, I tink it vas just da bird. It must have been hunting mice down here.”

“Did you see it when you came in?”

“No, I… vait… I tink I’ve seen dis owl before.”

“Where? Does it belong to someone at the school?”

“I don’t know. I don’t tink so. But I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it once before, outside the DA&D classroom.”

The silence that followed left Viktor increasingly uneasy. Was this owl one that Dumbledore recognized? Some sort of spy or guardian?

“… I want you send it to me,” Dumbledore said at last.

“Vat are you tinking?”

“I doubt it’s anything, but we can’t afford to be careless. I’ll check it over. It should only take a day. Come back tomorrow night, after the dinner. Until then, be extra alert.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sending it now.”

Viktor pulled a small silver star from his pocket, and placed it on the owl’s chest. The bird continued to lay sprawled on the ground, taloned feet groping futilely at the air. He tapped the star with his wand.

“Porticulus.”

There was another panicky screech, cut off mid way through as the owl was portkeyed away to Dumbledore’s waiting hands. Viktor swept the cellar for any surveillance spells or evidence that someone unauthorized had been down there, but found nothing.

Ron glowered across Madame Pudifoot’s at his brother and Fleur laughing over a meal they had barely touched, and wanting to punch one of them. He wasn’t entirely sure which one.

“Will you stop that?” Ginny begged, looking mortified. “You’re going to creep people out if you don’t stop watching them like some sort of stalker.”

He turned his glare on her, but she just smiled, completely immune.

“Much better. Hurry up, and eat your ice cream. We can’t be late or we’ll miss the Floo to Madam Malkin’s.”

“Merlin, you’re a nag,” he muttered. “As if I’m going to that hag’s shop and watching you turn Potter into a queer.”

“Dressing in nice clothes does not make someone queer!” Ginny said indignantly.

“Don’t mind him,” Draco said, sounding bored. “Something got his knickers in a twist. Jealous your brother got the girl?”

“Bloody hell, no! It’s disgusting what they’re doing. Contorting together like they’re best friends. Fuck, it makes me sick.”

Hermione gave him a shriveling stare. “I think you mean ‘cavorting’, and what are babbling about? I think they’re cute.”

“You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re any better. Ever since Viktor showed up, you’ve turned into such a-”

“If you value your life, I would be very careful how you end that sentence,” Harry snapped. “Why shouldn’t we get along with them? They’re foreigners, not lepers.”

“What the hell do leopards have to do with this, Potter? And it’s nothing to do with them being foreigners. They’re competition! Did you forget that in the middle of your hero routine? And you know what? Right now, Delacour is buttering up my stupid brother so she can pump him for information. Just watch, next challenge she’s going to blow everyone else out of the water, and all because she bats her eyes at him and turns his brains to mush.”

There were several eye rolls around the table. “God, Ron,” Clyde said, pointing his spoon at him accusingly, “She’s just thanking Bill for saving her. If she weren’t, then you’d be calling her an ungrateful so-and-so. You’re just being nasty to be nasty.”

But Ron wouldn’t be deterred.

“If she were just being grateful, then why the hell isn’t she over here laughing at Potter’s stupid jokes? He did more than Bill, but she hasn’t even looked this way.”

“Oh, she already thanked me,” Harry said absently. “I got a kiss too.”

Everyone turned to him, eyes wide. “On the cheek! It was just on the cheek,” he promised, a little weirded out. It wasn’t like she’d promised to have his babies or anything.

“Forget it,” Ron snarled, and got up. “You’re all completely missing the point. I can’t talk to you when you’re all being this thick.”

He stormed off, leaving everyone else exasperated or annoyed.

“Well, honestly,” Hermione said, “What is his problem? Why did he come if he just wanted to gripe at us?”

“Because gripping to himself would label him a loon?” Harry offered.

“No,” Ginny sighed, “He just wanted free ice cream. You do realize he left without paying, don’t you?”

“Oh, he’s going to be paying for it,” Draco said, clearly annoyed. He’d have to foot the bill after all, since he’d been the one to invite the little ingrate. “Out of his hide when I catch up to him.”

At least the conversation turned more pleasant after that. They caught up on what everyone had been doing in the last month, gossiped about what other people were doing, and what they all hoped to be doing. There wasn’t much talk about what Harry had done the day before, for which he was grateful. After being scolded by Snape, McGonagal, and Hermione, he was sick of discussing it. The few times it was mentioned was in reference to the dinner party and his appointment at Madam Malkin’s, which everyone agreed they should accompany him to.

He had originally invited Ginny as his ‘fashion consultant’, who had been utterly delighted and asked to bring her new French friend, Aimee Anatole. This in turned had resulted in Clyde inviting himself, saying they’d put Harry in a dress if someone wasn’t there keep them in check. Hermione asked to come along simply because she didn’t feel like wandering Hogsmeade alone, and Draco naturally decided to follow her. They’d all gone to get sweets before heading out, and somehow Ron had ended up there as well. Harry still wasn’t sure how.

Ginny’s friend, Aimee, a fourth year, was a petite little pixie, but carried herself like she was the biggest, most important person in the room. She greeted Ginny with a hug and a kiss to both cheeks, and even kissed Clyde’s cheek when he teasingly asked for one too. Gushing over Harry like he was a puppy, she pushed him inside and hurried him towards the floo.

“’Urry! Urry! We ’ave much to do!” she crooned. “Ginerva and I ’ave been waiting for zis chance, and we will not let it pass!”

Harry managed a surprised look at Ginny, who blinked at him innocently as if she had no idea what the other girl was talking about. They squeezed pass the other patrons, Harry smiling awkwardly as complete strangers patted him on the back and raised their drinks to him and shouted things at him like ‘to a real bone fide hero’ or ‘way to go, Potter’! A Sentinel met them at the floo, gave Harry’s friends an annoyed look, but let them through at his request.

The shop was empty but for another Sentinel, a tailor, and Madam Malkin herself.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter!” the woman greeted enthusiastically, coming forward to shake his hand. “It is so good-”

Aimee was too impatient for formalities, however, and wasted no more time. Taking Ginny in one hand, Madam Malkin in another, she took them aside. She pulled out a little book from her robe pocket, enlarged it, and opened it to show the shop matron.

“We were thinking something like this. Clean lines and sharp angles, just a little bit of color, but nothing garish. Simple and classy, with a modern twist,” Aimee said, pointing at the book.

Madam Malkin blinked at the girl, caught off guard by her authoritative behavior. She turned to Harry for some clue as to who or what she was. Harry gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Miss Anatole and Miss Weasley are my fashion advisors. I trust their judgment,” he said, though really he only trusted Ginny’s. He didn’t know Aimee at all, and had to hope she had some sense, or at least that Ginny wouldn’t let her get carried away.

The seamstress turned back to the picture.

“Yes, I think I can do this. Why don’t you come this way and select the materials?”

The three disappeared into one of the shop back rooms, and Harry turned back to his friends, wondering if this had been such a good idea. Clyde was the first to say it.

“You’re doomed.”

Clyde’s dismal foretelling hadn’t amounted to anything, luckily. There had been some tense moments when Ginny and Aimee had started bickering about accent colors and how sharp of an angle they wanted cut, but luckily Madam Malkin had enough experience to know what would work best and this tailor wasn’t nearly as dodgey with a needle as his last one.

The outfit turned out well.

At least, he hoped it did. Everyone had said he looked great, even Clyde, but Harry was still feeling a little nervous as he got ready in front of the mirror in his dorm room. The clothes were different from his usual, even different from his old clothes, and he couldn’t tell if they were too plain or too fine for the dinner tonight. He also thought they made him look short and skinny, younger than he would have liked. In other words very much like his skinny, little fourteen year-old self.

“You know, if you don’t stop it, I’m going to have to agree with Ron. They turned you into a queer,” Clyde said. He was laying on his bed, flipping through a quidditch magazine (or possibly porn, Harry was afraid to ask), while Harry struggled to feel comfortable.

“Oh, shut up. I just… I hate interviews. They all look at you and judge you, and you know what ever they think they’ll write down and then thousands of other people are going to think the same thing. I don’t want them thinking I look like a dork.”

“You look fine.”

“I look short.”

Clyde burst out laughing. “You are short.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. There really wasn’t any point in delaying things at this point. Voldemort would be at the entrance soon, and he wasn’t about ready to try to find something else to wear. He grabbed a cloak, and put it on, not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary and left.

The school champions were already there when he arrived, along with their headmistresses and headmaster. He hesitated when they all turned to him at once, looking at him as if they had never seen him before, or more likely that they were really seeing him for the first time. He squared his shoulders and kept moving forward.

“Good evening,” he said, cautiously. Fleur came up to him, smiling cheerfully, and took the corners openings of his cloak and pulled them open. Harry bulked and immediately pulled them closed. “What are you doing?!”

“I just wanted to zee,” Fleur laughed. “Aimee zed she dressed you up, but I can’t zee anything under this.”

He flushed with embarrassment, and frowned up at her, showing how completely unamused he was. “You can see it later.”

“Leave him alone, Delacour. He isn’t a toy,” Viktor growled. Fleur gave him an amused look.

“You’re an only child, aren’t you?” she asked. His surprised look made her think she’d hit the nail on the head. “If you ’ad younger siblings, you’d understand.”

Cedric, who did have younger siblings, chuckled behind his hand. The bickering was interrupted by the Dark Lord, arriving through a secret passageway. He scanned each of the gathered party briefly, before settling on Harry. He beckoned him to his side, and the boy did as instructed. Just as Fleur had done only a minute before, he pulled open Harry’s cloak to see his outfit. What was it with people and his wardrobe, the Gryffindor mentally lamented.

“Good,” Voldemort said, nodding his approval, before turning his attention to the others. “Is everyone ready?”

Everyone nodded their agreement, and the Dark Lord moved to the giant door, and pounded on it twice. The groan of the door as it was opened was immediately drowned out by the crowds of people outside and the tell-tale flash of lightbulbs. The Dark Lord took Lestrange’s arm in his, and lead the way out into the crowd. Sentinels formed a barrier, keeping the reporters from rushing in, and pushed them out of the way as the party made their way to the waiting carriages.

“Mr. Krum, how does it feel to win the first challenge?!”

“Mr. Potter, what made you risk your life to save the Beauxbaton’s champion?”

“How are you feeling after your brush with death, Miss Delacour?”

“Have there been any changes in regards to insuring the safety of the champions?”

No one bothered answering the reporters here, but Harry still felt claustrophobic with them crowded around so close, their questions dogging their every step. Beside him, Fleur squeezed his hand, and smiled at him. He felt himself smile back at her, but the flurry of flashes that followed had him flinching and turning away. They climbed into two separate carriages for the brief ride to Hogsmeade. There were reporters waiting for them there, as well, and also more Sentinels to keep them at bay. It all seemed very strange to Harry, who had seen such a thing before, but always outside government buildings or sporting events. It all seemed a bit excessive.

They stopped in front of a large house with a fenced yard. They exited the carriages, and ignored the flurry of questions hurled at them, until at last they reached the inside. An attendant took their cloaks and escorted them into the parlor, where other foreign dignitaries and several more reporters were waiting for them. Harry felt his stomach lurch as he spotted Rita Skeeter, standing out in her electric blue cocktail dress, a few inches too high in the skirt and a few inches too low on her breasts. Like a shark scenting blood, she found her intended target within moments, and stalked towards him with an exaggerated swing in her hips. Her camera man scurried after her.

Harry looked at his watch, and sighed. He only had to get through the next half hour. Voldemort patted him on the shoulder, trying for sympathetic, but naturally came off as amused. The Dark Lord left Harry on his own as he went to talk with a group of important looking people, Lestrange sticking close to him the entire time. He thought about looking for one of the other champions, but decided against it almost immediately. He wasn’t going to hide behind them like a little kid. He had done all of this before, probably more often then Cedric and Fleur combined, and Krum would lose respect for him if he showed such weakness. All he could do was brace himself.

“Harry, darling!” Skeeter exclaimed, “You look fabulous! What are you wearing? Baxter & Gimble? Picetti?”

What was it with people and his wardrobe? He floundered for a moment, thinking up a reply. Explaining where exactly his clothes came from seemed… embarrassing, but Ginny would be hurt if he didn’t give her proper credit.

“Aimee & Ginerva,” he offered, as if it were a name that fell right in line with the ones she had just mentioned. It worked. Skeeter made an ‘oh, of course!’ expression, and moved along.

“Do you mind if we get a picture first, and then ask some questions?” she asked, batting her eyes coquettishly. He fought back a grimace, and nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and leaning back a little to give a relaxed look, just like Ginny had shown him.

“Perfect! Now, then, down to business! There has been all sorts of theories floating around about why you went out to rescue the champion of a rival school-”

Harry held up his hand, not wanting to hear what any of those probably ridiculous and insulting theories entailed. “She’s a rival, not an enemy. Why shouldn’t I have helped her? If it had been Diggory, I would have done the same thing. I just couldn’t stand there and let someone die right in front my eyes, or in front of all my friends and classmates. It’s a horrible memory to have to live with.”

Skeeter leered, “So you don’t think your decision to go risk your life was influenced in any way by the fact that Miss Delacour is part veela?”

He blinked stupidly for a moment, caught completely by surprise. He hadn’t realized it before, but Skeeter’s revelation made sense. Funny, he hadn’t been as affected by her as the rest of house mates were.

“Of course not. Like I said, I would have done it for anyone,” he said quickly, before she could latch onto his hesitation as surprise.

“Naturally,” she agreed, her voice thick with condescension. “So have you considered how you will have her pay off her life debt?”

He felt his temper rising every second he had to stand near this nosy creature. He needed to get away from her fast, before someone got hurt.

“Miss Delacour… was rescued thanks to the help of several individuals, not just myself. The merpeople protected her from the grindylows and helped me find her, Bill Weasley got her breathing again, and the medi-wizards standing by made sure she would be okay. If I had been the only person trying to save her, she would have died. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t owe me anything, and I didn’t do what I did to get something from her. I helped her because I didn’t want someone to die if I could prevent it. I don’t know why you’re having so much trouble grasping this. It’s really a very simple concept.”

He abruptly walked away, more quickly than she could follow, and looked for some sort of exit. He found one, or more accurately one found him, in the form Cedric coming up and pulling him aside into the foyer.

“Hey, Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, a little surprised. While they were on friendly terms, they didn’t really hang out together. He wasn’t sure what to expect “What is it?”

The Hufflepuff looked a little embarrassed, and fidgeted for a moment, before finally blurting it out.

“I know this is really sudden, but with what happened to Fleur during the challenge, I’ve been thinking a lot about what would happen if I got hurt and couldn’t compete.”

“Yeah… okay?”

“I… would you be my second?”

Harry looked at him blankly. “Second what?”

“You know, my second, the person who comes in and finishes for me if I can’t. My backup.”

“… ummmm…. no?”

Cedric looked honestly surprised. “No? Why not? You’d be perfect for the job!”

“Because I’m fourteen, and wouldn’t qualify to compete? Because I’ve got enough to worry about with classes, club activities, friends, andthese god awful social functions? Because I’m sane, and don’t want to die by squid or something else equally weird?”

“… Alright, all perfectly good reasons, but this is just a precaution. The chances are-”

“Then it shouldn’t matter who else you pick,” Harry pointed out. “Just as long as it isn’t me.”

Cedric gave him a disappointed look. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“Positive, but thanks for asking me first instead of assuming. I really hope you aren’t hurt during the challenges.”

The older smiled ruefully.

“Me too.”

The interviews went fairly well, by Viktor’s estimation. All the champions and Harry had been henpecked by the press for thirty minutes, but aside from varying levels of annoyance (Harry’s being the most blatant as he made a point to flee everyone who stopped to talk to him within three minutes) they had all gotten through it relatively unscathed.

They had all gathered in the dinning room, which must have been modified to accommodate Madam Maxime, with the champions all sitting beside their headmaster or headmistress at one end, and the Dark Lord and other officials at the other. Harry had been placed to the left of Voldemort, which Viktor found rather interesting. The young Gryffindor was quiet for most of the evening, but polite, and friendly enough. Voldemort had whispered something into Harry’s ear during the dinner at one point, and the boy had actually laughed.

It left Viktor feeling uneasy.

As had Ambassador Prideux’s questions about him owning a cobra, and more importantly Harry’s answer.

“I do not own, Inana,” he had said, “She is a cobra, a ‘Queen of the Nile’, not a pet. We helped each other out of a bad situation, and became friends. When I am able and she is ready, I will send her home where she belongs. Until then, we enjoy each other’s company. She has a very interesting view of the world.”

More and more, he was starting to think of Harry as a victim of his own innocence. The boy obviously had no idea about the dangers that surrounded him, disguised as these dangers were as ‘mentors’ and ‘friends’. At least, that’s what Viktor hoped, because he liked the kid, and after seeing him fly to Fleur’s rescue he even respected him quite a bit.

He would hate himself if it all turned out to just be an act.

Sneaking back to Hogsmeade after hours turned out to be incredibly simple. Jophery had figured it out within the first two weeks, and was more than happy to point him towards the boat house. The place was charmed so that only a Hogwart’s boat could come or go, which was fine if you wanted to keep someone out, but not very helpful at keeping people in.

After that, it was a simple matter to sneak into town and into the secret cellar, and after midnight only a few Sentinels wandered the streets. He crept down the stairs, casting spells to make sure no one had come down since he left and to check for traps, but everything was as he left it. In the furnace room, the fire burned even hotter than it had during the day, leaving him feeling instantly over heated.

“Dumbledore?” he called uncertainly.

“I am here,” came the reply from within the furnace. “How are things on your end, Viktor?”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Everything seems normal. Da dinner vent as expected. The Dark Lord didn’t appear suspicious. Da owl?”

“Is completely normal. I checked it for enchantments, possession, animagical transfiguration, charms… nothing. It’s a perfectly normal, rather cranky owl. If it was under any sort of spell, it’s gone now. I’m going to send it back to you. If it belongs to someone, it’s best we not risk them looking for it. I had it magically purged and sedated, so no one should be able to glean any information from it.”

There was a muted pop, and the owl appeared in the middle of the floor. Viktor quickly picked it up and retrieved the silver star, slipping it into his pocket. He’d felt anxious all day without that portkey, even with his emergency one stashed in his boot.

“You best hurry back,” Dumbledore said. “We both took far too many chances as it is. Tonks says ‘stay safe’”

“Alright. Give my regards to da others.”

Viktor hurried out as quickly as caution allowed, but even so, he missed the silent shadow that separated itself from the alley wall and watched him run back towards the lake.

The Forbidden Land

There was a flood of articles about the first challenge come Monday, and despite Harry’s best efforts, he wasn’t able to avoid all of them. He had read the Hogwarts Herald out of simple respect for Hermione, and also to see if he could pick up any resentment from McGunny’s article since he had turned him down. The editor’s article was professional and well-written as always, without a hint of ill will. There was even a little praise in it, not just for Harry, but for all the other champion’s performances as well.

It was still embarrassing, especially when the gossip picked up, and he couldn’t turn a corner without having groups of people stop talking or start whispering once his back was to them. At least, it was mostly the ‘giggly’ type of gossip and not the ‘sneering’ type this time around. It was still annoying, but definitely safer.

The only good thing that came out of the press attention, ironically came from Rita Skeeter’s article. The article itself was atrocious, riddled with absurd speculations and romantic drama between Fleur and him. There was, however, one line mentioning Harry ‘dressing to impress in his chic new outfit by Amy & Ginevra’, that made it all worth while. Ginny had been ecstatic when she saw it, and nearly broken a rib when she hugged him before rushing off to show Aimee, all of her friends, half of her professors, her brothers, and to write a letter about it to her family back home.

It was the first time he felt he had really started paying back her loyalty.

Things were definitely different after the first challenge. The foreign students all treated him differently. Krum wasn’t exactly friendlier, but he seemed to have finally decided he could trust Harry, and stopped asking him difficult questions. Jophery asked him to fly for the German quidditch team so that they could finally get someone capable of out flying Viktor. One of the girls even requested he be their date to the Halloween ball.

Fleur teased him constantly.

“My God, you are much too short! Eat your salad!”

“What are we going to do with this wild hair? There isn’t a comb in the world that can tame it.”

“Why must you wear these glasses? You have such pretty eyes!”

She was never mean about it, but it was driving him batty, and worse he thought she knew it too. So did Natalie if her smirking was anything to go by. Harry suspected his old girlfriend might actually be putting the Beauxbaton’s champion up to it. Three Beauxbaton’s girls asked to be his date to the Halloween ball.

He took Ginny.

Halloween was the most the fun Harry had in weeks. There was good food, crazy dancing, contests, and games. There was even a slime ball war (much like a snow ball fight except of course with slime). He still wasn’t sure who got him in the back of head, but figured it was an even toss up between Ron and Natalie.

Even Hagrid and Madam Maxime came, and had fun acting like a couple of teenagers.

Classes resumed as normal. In Celtic class, they spent a week building house, so that they could meet out of the cold. The house itself was just a large circular stone wall with wooden doors and windows, a straw thatched roof, a wooden floor, and a large stone fire pit in the center to keep it warm. It was just as cozy in the house they had proudly made themselves (albeit with a lot of magical help), as it was in the willow grove. They studied Samhain, the gods of harvest, and the art of hunting.

Hermione finally figured out the Patronus Charm, and earned Gryffindor the extra points. Draco figured it out shortly after. Harry waited another week before demonstrating his. Oblitz glared at him suspiciously the entire class.

He got better at sword fighting in Dueling Club.

Ron was furious. Draco could still kick bother their asses at it.

Harry found himself being dragged to parties and charity events every other weekend. Aimee (properly corrected eventually) & Ginevra were mentioned three more times by the beginning of December. Snape’s loathing for him was reaffirmed with every event he had to escort his ward to. Luckily for Harry, he seemed to take most of this loathing out on the hosts rather the Gryffindor himself. Not including the three completely unfair detentions, which really might have only been do to Snape’s laziness. The man hated sorting his storage closet and scrubbing cauldrons. The fact that Harry hated these things as well was entirely beside the point.

Everything fell into a workable routine of work, study, and play. He even managed to work in some free time to himself to write letters to his godfathers and the Reichers, practice his art work, and read through The Book of a Thousand Gods.

Life was good.

And then the second challenge was announced on the first Friday of December.

“Impossible,” Hermione said, staring disbelieving at the challenge rules. They had been handed out to everyone during first period classes, to prevent them from aiding the champions accidentally or getting themselves into trouble. There was definitely a lot of trouble to get into. “The first challenge someone nearly died with the safeties, and now he wants them to do something even more dangerous without any safeties at all and with no way to help them if they get into trouble? It’s insane! Who would agree to this?”

“Miss Granger, you are dangerously close to writing our Lord an apology letter,” Professor Toure warned, her expression unforgiving. “And for your information, all three champions have already accepted. Besides, they are not going in without protection. Each champion will carry a champion’s badge, which will allow them to be magically transported in and out of the boundary, and medical personnel will always be on standby if someone comes back injured. Really, this challenge is a lot less dangerous than the last.”

“They’re hunting a dragon!”

Yes, Harry was having a hard time wrapping this thoughts around that too. He understood people did, in fact, hunt dragons long before they had the benefit of wands, but they were specialists, and even then more died young than retired (which was usually after three dragons. It was a very profitable trade after all). Besides, wasn’t it illegal to hunt dragons, now a days?

“A sleeping dragon, Miss Granger. They’re not actually going to fight it. Most of the challenge will simply be finding it. It’s a test of endurance, not combat skill, and their main opponent will be the weather and the forest, not the dragon itself. Just so everyone understands what is going to happen, I am going to go over it with you,” she said, and turned to the announcement to read.

“To win the challenge, a champion must locate the sleeping dragon, slay it, and return to the castle with some part of the dragon as proof. The dragon is located within the Forbidden Forest. A ten square mile area has been blocked off with a special ward that will prevent anyone except those champions with badges from entering or leaving.”

Professor Toure now turned her sharp eyes to each of them, insuring that she had their full attention.

“Now, here are the rules, which I expect all of you to respect.’

“Rule #1, only a school champion may hold in their possession a champion’s badge. They can not be given or lent to another person, for any reason. Anyone found in possession of a champion’s badge, and not themselves a champion, will be severely punished, regardless of age, rank, or station.”

“Rule #2, there is no time limit to the challenge, and a champion may spend unrestricted time searching within the Forbidden Forest, including after hours and during classes. However, if not within the Forbidden Forest, champions are expected to attend classes and keep curfew, and any missed classes can only be made up on their teacher’s discretion.”

“Rule #3, a champion may make use of any items within the school to aid them in their quest, including library books, weaponry, brooms, food, etc, but may not accept gifts from other students, teachers, or outside sources. A champion cannot purchase or send for additional resources to aid in the challenge, with the exception of nonmagical clothing. A champion caught breaking this rule will be withheld from searching for three days for each offense and suspended from the challenge after three offenses. The second party will face severe punishment.”

“Now, any questions?”

Several hands shot up, including Harry’s. Toure pointed towards him first.

“Isn’t it killing dragons illegal in Britain?”

“The hunting of dragons is illegal, yes,” she said, “but the Court authorizes the extermination of a dragon that proves a hazard to human settlements. This particular dragon was caught half a mile outside of a wizarding village in Northern Scotland. It destroyed three cottages, killed most of the local livestock, scared away the wild game, and injured several people. It’s been relocated twice, but returned both times. It’s execution is a bit unorthodox, but inevitable nonetheless.”

She pointed to Clyde.

“Can’t the champion’s just cast a locating charm to find it? It seems kind of a weak challenge.”

Toure smiled and turned to Hermione. “Perhaps you could answer that question, Miss Granger?”

Hermione nodded, “Dragon’s skins are almost impervious to magic, including locating charms. Unless it happens to be blowing fire while you cast the spell, it won’t work.”

“Absolutely correct, anyone else?”

The school was buzzing with excitement about the latest challenge all morning, and even Harry could feel himself caught up in the enthusiasm. He held himself in check though, for Hermione’s sake. She was obviously upset about the danger, and the fact that all three champions were absent during lunch did nothing to alleviate her worry. When Fleur and Cedric showed up late to dinner, but Viktor did not, she was practically frantic.

“What if something happened to him?” she asked.

Harry tried to reassure her. “He’s just still looking, Hermione. Think about it. Fleur and Cedric aren’t as used to the cold as he is. To him, it’s probably a warm spring evening.”

“But the forest-”

“Everything is hibernating. The worst he’s going to find is some hungry foxes or wild boar. The really bad stuff is either asleep or deeper in the forest. If he doesget into trouble, he has his badge and his wand. He’ll be fine.”

And he was fine. One sleepless night later, and Viktor was at the breakfast table just long enough to refuel, resupply, reassure Hermione he was fine, and then he was off again. Cedric and Fleur were quick to follow his example.

No one saw much of the champions over the next couple of days. They appeared irregularly at meal times, during classes, or at random times to warm up or rest or eat. Krum was the most rarely seen. He would show up at the castle for only a few minutes at a time during the day to gather food or just to reassure Hermione that he was in fact, alive and well, and wouldn’t return to the castle until after midnight and then was out again before dawn. Cedric and Fleur were just as dedicated, but Fleur wasn’t used to the cold and had to return to the castle every few hours to defrost. It didn’t help that she didn’t own very warm clothing, and none of her classmates had anything better to lend her.

In the end it didn’t matter, because after a week, none of the champions had found any sign of the dragon. Fleur was the first to realize it was going to take more than blindly wandering around in the forest to find what she wanted, and consequently was spending more and more time in the library than outside.

It didn’t take long for Cedric to come to the same conclusion. The rest of Hogwarts soon lost interest when it became obvious that they wouldn’t see anything really exciting from them whether they were reading in the library or wandering the forest. Harry had his own problems to deal with.

McGunny had requested to see him.

“Is something the matter?” Harry asked, his first though upon entering the abandoned classroom was that Oblitz had done or said something suspicious. He hadn’t heard from McGunny directly for months now, and even the last interview he had done for the Hogwarts’ Herald had been done through one of McGunny’s underlings. He figured the other boy had accepted his reasons for not wanting a biographer, and was glad for it.

McGunny shook his head, his back turned to him as he wandered further into the classroom.

“No, not really. I’m still keeping my eye on the Durmstang people, but they appear to all be behaving themselves. That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it, then?”

The older boy stopped, and turned back to him. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and his hand twitch for the wand up his sleeve. There wasn’t anything threatening in his expression, indeed it was friendly and open, but it wasn’t one Harry had ever seen him wear before. At the same time, it was a little too familiar.

“I wanted to ask for your story again.”

Harry shook his head. “I told you already why I can’t do that.”

“Of course, and you were right. There is no way I could write your story for anyone else to read. Not only would it likely violate national secrets, it would reveal personal things you would never feel comfortable with the public knowing. I understand that, and won’t ask you to make yourself that vulnerable. I just thought…”

McGunny sighed, and his strange expression slipped away into something Harry recognized. Frustration and the desire to make someone understand. It was the only thing that kept him from running out the door and not looking back.

“I just thought, one day you would want someone to understand you, not just assume that they understand you. One day, you’ll find a girl you want to marry and have children, and they’ll all hear what the world says about you and that they’ll want to know what is true and what isn’t, but you won’t have the words or the memory to explain it all. Perhaps it will still be too personal to say directly. Either way, you’ll have your story that you can’t or won’t tell, and you might die without anyone ever having truly known you.”

Harry said nothing. He could feel McGunny’s sincerity behind his words, and it pulled at him like a magical force, urging him to accept his offer. But he couldn’t do that.

“And that is what you want?”

“I do. I want to understand. If I can understand you, then perhaps one day what I write will have others understand. Even if it’s just one other person. Even if it’s never read by anyone else for a thousand years. I believe it will be worth it.”

Harry looked away. It was starting to become painful to face that sincerity directly. He was afraid to be overwhelmed by it.

“What do you expect me to do?” Harry asked angrily, hoping passion of some sort would strengthen his will to resist. “I can’t tell you, even if I wanted to. If Voldemort found out I told you certain things, both of our lives could be in danger. He’s a legilimens, and he’s used his ability on me before. None of my secrets are safe from him.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

Harry looked back at him, and watched as he removed a book from his bag and came forward to show him. It was large, black leather with steel fixtures, and a lock on it like he occasionally saw on books in the restricted section. It did not, however, require a key to open it. The pages were completely blank.

“What is it?”

“It’s a Keepsafe Book. It’s what witches and wizards write anything they want to keep secret. Book of Shadows, diaries, things like that. You can spell them so that they won’t unlock without the blood of a family member, or a secret password, or special key or talisman. If someone forces open the lock, all the writing on the page disappears, and becomes irretrievable or is filled with something else. I had a grandmother who kept a diary that showed cookie recipes instead if you didn’t say the proper password.”

“… um… okay, that’s neat, but that doesn’t really help.”

“I know, but this is my idea. I’m going to give this book to you. Only you will be able to unlock it. Every so often, we’ll meet, and we’ll have a writing session. I ask questions, you talk, a charmed quill will write what we say. Afterwards, you stick around for a while and do homework or something, and I revise what was written. When I’m done, you take the book with you. If we reach a point where you can’t talk about what happened, then I leave you to fill in those parts on your own. So you keep the secrets you have to, and only I will know the rest. It’s not like I’m interested solely in your secrets. It’s what you do and feel in the quiet moments between rescuing damsels and slaying monsters that I want to know. That’s the part that explains who you are and why you do what you do.”

Harry had to admit that was a good idea.

“How do I know if I can trust you? Even without the book, do you expect me to just tell you everything about me? I mean, come on.”

“I’ll take a Confidentiality Oath.”

“I have no idea what that is. Is it magical?”

“Yes. Lots of Court officials and doctors have to take it before they talk about a case or treat a patient. I’ll never be able to talk about anything you don’t give me permission to talk about. It’ll be like having a… a therapist.”

Harry felt the corner of his mouth twist into a smile at that. He supposed if anyone needed to vent to someone, it was probably him. He dropped it quickly before McGunny interpreted it as a ‘yes’.

“I don’t know… I mean, I’ve got enough going on as it is…”

But McGunny already sensed he had gotten over most of Harry’s resistance, and wouldn’t be stopped now.

“We’ll do it over… Sunday dinners… or while you’re painting or… or… or just whenever it’s convenient. I mean, we’ll have to meet regularly. There is so much I want to ask you, and there;s no telling what the future will bring. I’m sure that with the political situation you’re in right now that a lot of important things are going to be happening in your life, and people are going to misinterpret or even lie about you at every turn. When that starts happening you’re going to really need me to write for you, to have someone understand.”

Harry tried to grasp the concept of working on something for decades, but couldn’t. He understood working at the same job for decades or educating yourself all your life or being married until death, but working on a single thing for that long just didn’t quite click in his head. He thought he would get bored of it or just exhausted. McGunny didn’t seem worried about that in the least.

“I still don’t know. It’s not really my thing,” he said.

“Alright, then why don’t we just try it out? We’ll do three interviews, and if you really don’t like it, then we’ll stop. Let’s give it a try, at least. Please? This is more important to me than you’ll ever know”

And that’s what worried Harry so much.

“… Alright. Three tries, but if I say no after that, then it’s over.”

“I promise, Potter… Harry… You’re not going to regret this.”

Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him, he already did.

Fleur was not having a good week. Since the challenge had begun, she had spent a horrible amount of time in an even more horrible forest where it never got above forty degrees, evil dead vegetation tore at her clothes and hair, and she felt watched where ever she went. She’d ruined her nicest boots too. Worse, it had all been for nothing. She hadn’t found the dragon or any sign of it. Honestly, she had no idea what to even look for.

Now she was in the library, blessed warm but so far unhelpful. She had researched dragons, hiding spells, finding spells, hunting manuals, tales of dragon slayers, government policies on dragon extermination, but none of them had produced anything remotely helpful. If the dragon had chosen it’s own lair, the informations might have been useful, but since it was hidden by wizards, this clearly wasn’t the case and she didn’t know what to do. All the caves she had found were empty (of dragons at least. There had been a rather startling encounter with a very drowsy bear), and the ground didn’t seem disturbed anywhere she searched. Although it was hard to tell in some places. There were a few species of wandering trees that were known for uprooting themselves and moving somewhere else, but if they had moved it hadn’t been since summer.

But then, who knew when the dragon had been put in the forest? No one had seen or heard anything around there since school had started.

“Ah, excuse me, Miss Delacour?”

Fleur looked up from her book on Ents ( it was worth a shot), and looked over her shoulder. A Gryffindor was standing behind her, roughly the same age as her. He had the shockingly orange hair of a Weasley, but she couldn’t recall his first name.

“Yes, Weasley?”

“Sorry to bother you, but um… my brother Bill was wondering if you were available to talk. I’ll explain that you’re busy if you like. I understand you have more important things-”

“That’s quite alright. I needed a break anyway.”

He seemed startled by her answer, and floundered for a moment as he tried to think what he should do next. “Ah…um..er… he’s out in greenhouse number two, not the one with Potter’s cobra of course, that’s in number three so… yeah, he’s not suppose to wander around the school, even though he goes here- I mean went here.”

“I hope Hogwarts doesn’t let a cobra wander around the halls,” she said, feeling her amusement rise with his every flustered word.

“No, no, of course not… well, Nagini used to, but… I meant Bill. Bill isn’t supposed to wander around.”

“I understand. Will you put my books away for me?”

“S-sure, I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

She left him flustered, and went down to the entryway, bundled up as best she could against the cold, cast a quick warming charm on herself. Outside the gray sky warned of snow and lots of it, and a hard northern wind threatened a full storm. Even Krum would have to spend the night indoors tonight. She sprinted around the castle as quick as she could, hoping to reach the greenhouse before the warming charm wore off. She didn’t quite make it, but the running saved her from the chill, and when she entered the greenhouse she felt immediately overheated.

“Hoo,” she sighed, pulling off her cloak. “Bill? Are you here?”

“Over here,” he called, coming around an enormous fern. He smiled at her with his little boy smile she was becoming increasingly fond of, and pulled out a box. “Sorry to come by unannounced, but I got something for you.”

“For me? Bill, you didn’t have to do that!”

His grin turned impish.

“Of course I did. I’m the new safety coordinator. I have to make sure all the champions don’t hurt themselves, like say… wandering around the forest with barely any clothes on in the middle of winter.”

“I am not naked.”

“Might as well be, as much heat as that getup looses. Come on, you’ll like it. Well, most of it anyway.”

He handed the box out to her, and after a good long moment of just being stubborn, she snatched the box out of his hand and opened it. Inside was a cloak and a pair of boots, dark gray and lined with rabbit fur.

“They’re nothing fancy,” he said, sheepishly, “but they’re durable and warm. They’re not magic, so the rules say I can give them to you. Ginny mentioned you didn’t seem to have anything appropriate for spelunking in winter, so I thought you might like them.”

“Bill, they’re perfect! Thank you!”

She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. He turned pink, but still managed to keep grinning like a rogue..

“Glad you like them, because you’re going to hate me for this one. My mom heard you didn’t have anything either, so she sent you something too. Please don’t blame me. It was Ginny’s fault, I swear,” he said in mock regret, handing her yet another box. He tried to touch it as little as possible, as if there were something particularly nasty inside. She accepted it, more curious now than apprehensive. She opened it…

…and understood his feelings completely. She found herself face to face with perhaps the silliest (if not the ugliest) sweater she had ever seen. It was the same baby blue of Beauxbaton’s school emblem, but the color was it’s only attractive feature. It was bulky, shapeless, with a giant’F’ stamped across the front of it in golden sequence. Her face must have said it all, because Bill burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, I really am. She means well, but her fashion sense hasn’t evolved since she was in primary school. I don’t expect you to wear it, but you can always take it back to France with you. Think of it as a funny souvenir.”

She gave it another considering look. It did look warm, and as long as she wore something over it, no one had to know. Gabrielle would laugh herself silly if she saw her sister wear it, which might just make it worth the embarrassment.

“I like it,” she said.

Bill’s jaw practically dropped clean off his face.

Sunday arrived with snow. Lots and lots of snow. It started falling lightly after sunset on Saturday, and gradually grew in strength through the night and into the next day. Even Krum hadn’t bothered searching under those conditions, and spent a rare afternoon with Hermione just talking in the library. Cedric and Fleur also visited in the library, but they went looking for ideas to aid their search once the snow let up. Cedric had a few he wanted to try, even though he doubted they would work.

Wanting to try out his ideas at the first available opportunity, he waited only long enough for the snow to ease up just a bit, and then headed out. The sun had just set, and the world was a bluish gray as light slowly drained from the endless white. Cedric trudged through the eight inches of snow to the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. He pulled out his champion’s badge, the Hogwarts’ coat of arms molded in gold and hanging from a heavy chain around his neck, and held it out before him. Passing through the barrier was like walking through a small waterfall, cool with a feeling of pressure coming down on his head and shoulders. He always checked himself instinctively to see if he was wet, but he never was.

In the forest, it was already deep night. Even without any leaves on the trees, skeletal wooden limbs reached out to block out as much of the sky as possible, casting the land in shadows. Tonight, however, the luminous glow of the snow under the light of his Lumos overpowered even the most stubborn gloom, and soften the darkest shadows into deep blues. He stopped occasionally to look around and admire the dramatic change. It was quite miraculous.

When he was finally deep enough that he could no longer make out the castle, he opened his satchel and pulled out his supplies for his latest experiment. There wasn’t much to it. A Smell-n-Seek Hound, little more than a charmed origami dog the size of his hand, and one dragonhide glove. The Smell-n-Seek he had found in craft book for amusing young children, and its reliability was definitely questionable, but since he was searching for a smell instead of a magical signature, he thought it just might work.

If the poor thing didn’t dissolve in the snow first.

“Smell,” he instructed his charm, and it immediately stiffen in his hand and leaned forward to sniff at the dragonhide glove in the other. It wagged its paper tail to let him now he’d picked up the scent. “Seek.”

The charm floated out of his hand and around his head, before drifting off towards the North. Cedric trudged after it, his enthusiasm growing. He may have actually stumbled across something that would work! And it was so ridiculously stupid too!

He grinned to himself, and followed it deeper into forest.

Viktor speared the ground with his enchanted javelin, pulled it out, barely glanced at it’s clean wooden tip, took a few more steps, and repeated the process. This had been his hunting technique for the past week. He’d only managed to cover a third of the entire territory, but he wasn’t deterred. If anything, he knew he’d find it by Christmas, and he just had to hope the other two didn’t think of something better or just get lucky.

The technique he was using wasn’t really designed for hunting dragons, although the javelin was known to be at least partially effective against them, but for hunting Wolpertinger[1], a type of antlered rabbit the size of small pony that hibernated in underground burrows. There was no point in looking for their lairs with your eyes, as they left no mounds or openings and were usually under a layer of snow. Javelins enchanted to pierce the ground effortlessly, poking through the earth until it came back bloody was the only way to find them. He just had to count on who ever hid the dragon hadn’t buried it very deep. His progress was steady for nearly half an hour, when he found something he hadn’t been looking for.

A hoof print.

He looked at it curiously, holding up his glowing wand to it. It was the distinct ‘U’ shape of a horses foot, and as he looked about he spotted several more. There were at least two sets of prints moving along side each other in one direction. His first thought was ‘unicorns’, but then realized these were much too large. Besides, unicorns could walk on top of snow.

There was no way horses would simply be wandering around the Forbidden Forest on their own. They had to have had riders.

Viktor immediately snuffed out his Lumos, and crouched low to the ground, looking around for any sign of watchers. How long had they been there? Had they seen him and the others? What was their purpose? A dozen ideas ranging from assassins to dragon poachers flitted through his mind. There was only one way to find out.

With only the barest outline of the tracks visible in dark blue of the snow, he kept his body low and began following them North.

The Smell-n-Seek dropped out of the sky like a falling leaf, landing with it’s head buried in the snow and it’s tail wagging happily. Cedric let out a woop of joy and began to dig where it had landed, shoveling snow out of the way with his hands. He was reached the ground and was ready to bring out his wand to start with digging spells, but what he saw gave him pause. He recast his Light Charm, and pulled up some dead vegetation. He examined it closely, and once he realized what it was he let out a frustrated curse.

“Dammit!”

It was monkshood. Snape had his class brewing Wolfsbane Potion last Thursday. It wasn’t the dragon hide the stupid charm had been smelling it was the potion ingredients!

An amused laugh shocked him out of his ire. He spun around with his wand, but saw no one.

“It was a good idea. I admit I thought it might work,” came a familiar voice, heavy on the French accent.

“Fleur? Where are you?” he demanded, still unable to see her, even though her voice was close.

“Up here.” He looked up, and found her hovering above him on a broom. In her gray cloak, she was barely visible against the sky above.

“How long have you been up there?” he demanded angrily. “Were you spying on me?”

“Of course I was. You didn’t show up for dinner, so I knew you had to be up to something.”

“How long?”

“Not long. Fifteen? Twenty minutes?” she admitted readily. “I wasn’t going to steal your victory if you actually found it, I just wanted to see for myself.”

“Right,” he said skeptically, and started trudging back the way he had come. The snow had started to pick up again, and with Fleur spying on him, he didn’t fancy being outside any longer.

“It iz not like it matters anyway, zince you didn’t find anyzing,” she pointed out. He glared up at her.

“It matters to me. At least, I know now I’m going to have to watch my back-” he started, but soon realized she wasn’t paying him any attention. She was looking in another direction, off into the distance that her high vantage point allowed. “What is it? What’s wrong’

“There iz zomezing coming… Cedric, I zink you should get out of zight.”

“What are you playing-”

“Cedric, please.”

There was honest panic in her voice, and joke or not, he decided not to risk it. He turned tail and ran. At least, he tried. The snow was deep, the route filled with obstacles half hidden, and he stumbled frequently.

“They’re getting closer,” Fleur called, “Climb a tree, you’ll be in a better position!”

“Help me, then!”

He went for the most likely tree he could find, a huge old oak with several massive branches, but his gloves made finding a grip cumbersome. Fleur dipped low beside him, grabbing wrist and pulling him with as much strength as she could muster. They made it half way up before a crash and snap of underbrush being disturbed, drew their attention. He ducked as far behind the tree as he could and she shot upwards on her broom, hoping they hadn’t been spotted.

“Viktor?” Fleur whispered, as a figure bolted beneath her.

It was, in fact, Viktor, but he wasn’t alone. He was running, his wand held out before him to create a magical, obstacle free path as he moved on top of the snow, but his pursuers were close behind. Her first impression was that Viktor was being chased by men on horseback, but even in the darkening wood she knew that wasn’t right. It took her a long, confused moment, before she realized they were centaurs.

And they were shooting at Viktor. She couldn’t see the arrows themselves, but she could see the boy ducking them and branches shift from the impact. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t just portkeyed away already, but knew there had to be something wrong. Had he lost it? Had it been taken from him?

She withdrew her wand and aimed it below. “Expelliarmus!” she shouted, and spell rocket downwards, smashing through tree branches and exploding in the snow before them. Both centaurs veered, splitting into different directions. They shouted something to each other, and one continued to pursue Viktor while the other aimed his bow towards her. “Stupify!” she tried, but he ducked behind a patch of trees. She tried to follow his movements, but he disappeared.

She scanned below her frantically, seeing nothing. An arrow came at her, and she twisted so that it only caught a loose bit of cloak. She cried out in surprise, and the broom shot up per her body’s instinct to retreat. It was a mistake, she hadn’t had time to look where she was going, and ended up tangled in the branches of a tree. Another arrow shot passed her, dangerously close to her chest.

Frightened and angry, she screamed out a fire curse, hardly bothering to aim and watched in satisfaction as it exploded, knocking the centaur off it’s feet and into a tree. Seizing her chance, she began to untangle herself, intent on going after the other centaur. Cedric still had his champion’s badge and could portkey away if he got into trouble, but Viktor obviously needed help.

She was so busy pulling the last of her cloak from the tangle that she didn’t notice when the centaur got to its feet and gathered up its bow. He took aim and pulled back his arrow.

“FLEUR! MOVE!”

Dropping fast, she turned to the origin of the voice, and found Cedric dangerously exposed. He had his wand out, but had lost his footing and only one hand was keeping him from a fifteen foot drop. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second, and then he looked ahead.

The arrow caught him square in the chest. He jerked at the impact, then looked down slowly to see the shaft sticking out of him. He didn’t move even a fraction after that, but his hand loosed around the supporting branch and he fell…

Harry knew he should have been inside, studying or playing with his friends, nice and warm by the fire and early to bed for a school the next day. He should have been, but it was a full moon. Even hidden by the snow and the clouds, he could feel Herand knew she would not let him sleep tonight. He was restless and giddy, and couldn’t think of anyone to share it with except perhaps the Weasley twins, who were nowhere to be found (and neither was Jophery suspiciously enough). So he wandered the grounds, all but invisible in his Baluvian cloak and magic boots, exploring his world transformed.

His nocturnal eyes missed nothing. Every falling snowflake, every distant light, every curve of his white, glowing world.

He was glad he had decided to stay out for so long too. If he hadn’t been wandering, he never would have seen the explosion inside the forbidden forest. He was quite convinced at that moment that someone had woken up the dragon, and that would have been a terrible thing to have missed.

Medi-wizard Keigle had to say his latest assignment was by far the easiest he had ever had. All he had to do was sit around the cozy little cottage that had been erected near the boundary of the wards to the Forbidden Forest. He’d been doing it for over a week without incident.

It was rather like a vacation. The views outside his window were quite lovely, he caught up on some of his reading, got to wear bunny slippers all day, and the Hogwart’s house elves took care of all his meals, cleaning, and chores.

Then, on a night where he wouldn’t have thought champions foolish enough to even dare a search, he was pulled from his dinner by a woman screaming. He’d grabbed his medical bag, not bothering with his cloak or boots, and rushed out to see what had happened. One look at the boy, barely conscious and covered in blood, and he knew his vacation was over.

Harry followed them back to the castle, guided more by curiosity than concern. The moon was fat and content, and there was little that was going to keep him from enjoying it. He wasn’t going to get in their way though. He was very careful to make sure they didn’t notice him.

He followed them all the way to the castle, through the hallways, and up the stairs. Cedric floated stiffly in the air, eyes wide and frightened, hand to his bloody chest. Fleur pushed his body along as fast as she could, the medi-wizard muttering spells and shoving pins into chest, careful to avoid the hand over his patient’s heart.

There weren’t many people in the hall, but Harry kept to the shadows and secret passages anyway, slipping past even those few gawkers they happened upon, making a game of it. He went completely unseen all the way to the infirmary, where he hesitated for a moment. It would definitely be a lot harder to go unnoticed once inside, and Cedric obviously needed some serious care. Should he really risk distracting them?

Then he figured if Fleur didn’t distract them, it was unlikely they would even notice him. He slipped inside. A privacy screen had already been pulled up, so no one even saw him enter or find himself a quiet corner to watch their silhouettes against the screen and listen. They provided a very helpful narrative.

“Careful, careful, we can’t risk any further damage to the heart,” he heard Pomfrey urge.

“I know. It’ll be fine. Are you still with us, Mr. Diggory?”

There was a pained moan, followed by a strangled scream.

“Got it! Miss Delacour, get this to Professor Snape and inform of what has happened. He’ll be able to use it to create an antidote to the poison later. For now, tell him we need a stasis potion if he has any, otherwise we’ll have to send for it at St. Mungo’s, and I don’t know if he’s going to last that long. Hurry, hurry!”

Fleur rushed out from behind the screen, covered in blood, clutching something wrapped in a white handkerchief. She didn’t notice him at all as she left, but then he doubted she would notice anything until she had her mysterious item safely in Snape’s hands. He removed his cloak and gloves, and moved closer.

He could smell the blood now. How much could Cedric possibly have left inside him?

“Stay awake, Diggory!” the medi-wizard snapped, “Don’t you dare close your eyes! You just have to stay awake, and you’ll be fine. Diggory? Diggory!”

There was a harsh sound of a slap, and a sharp, painful cry.

“Enough of that! Stay awake or I’ll start breaking your fingers,” he threatened.

That really isn’t fair, Harry thought. Cedric needed help, not more pain. He slipped around the privacy screen, surveying the damage. A memory rose up instantly, spiking through his giddy dissociation. Sirius had looked so much like this that day. Prone, pale, and dying.

Even as the pain rose up, it began to ebb away. He couldn’t summon the tears to heal this one. He didn’t have the love, and at the moment he lacked even the compassion. He couldn’t heal, but… he might be able to do something else.

Neither Pomfrey nor the medi-wizard even realized he was there until he stepped up to the bed and placed his hand over Cedric’s. Both jumped away in surprise and fright, dropping their equipment in their retreat.

“Potter! What are you doing?! Get out of here at once!” Pomfrey screamed at him, but he ignored her. They had stripped Cedric down to the waist, exposing his bare chest and their ghastly efforts to save him. Pins, large nasty pins like those at Madam Malkin’s used to hold cloth in place, stuck out of the boy’s chest in the rough shape of a circle around his heart. The wet hand beneath his, held some sort of moss over the wound for equally mysterious purposes. Harry suspected it was to fight the poison.

“Hey.”

Cedric stared half lidded at this newest presence, familiar but inappropriate to the situation. Why was Harry there? He couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. “You’ve gone and made a mess of yourself. It’s not as fun as people make it out to be, is it?”

Cedric shook his head, ever so slightly. The Gryffindor was quite right.

“Are you mad! GET OUT!” he heard Pomfrey shouting, her voice muffled as if underwater, though he could hear the other perfectly.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t lecture you if you weren’t going to live to learn your lesson,” Harry assured him.

“Mr. Potter if you don’t step away right this minute, I will be forced to move you!”

“You’re starting to feel stronger already, aren’t you?”

“Stu-” Pomfrey began, but it was cut off by the sounds of a struggle, and then a man spoke. “No, don’t! Look! Look at what he’s doing!”

They were barely comprehensible, so Cedric ignored them, and simply nodded at the other, feeling his strength return even as he spoke.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

And pain started to recede, leaving him feeling heavy as if he were laying in a bathtub while the water drained. All that was left, was the heat on his hand where Harry laid his own, slowing sinking deeper into his body. He blinked at him in confusion. “No, it doesn’t. What’s wrong with your eyes? They’re all… shiny.”

“You’re dreaming. This is just a dream. They’re fixing you up while you sleep. That’s why you aren’t hurting.”

“…But I can feel your hand. It’s hot. I feel the heat filling up my chest.”

“Potion side effects. Nothing more. If you were awake, wouldn’t you be scared? Would I even be here?”

Cedric looked side to side, as much as his position would allow, his vision still too blurry to make out much of anything except two people just out of his periphery and Harry standing over him, starkly vivid.

“I’m dying right now, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “But you won’t die. Not tonight.”

“Are you an angel?”

The smile grew to full out grin, making the vision before him a frightening thing. But who knew? Maybe that was how angel’s were suppose to look.

“Yes, I’ll be an angel for you tonight. I’ll protect you from the dark places.”

“Viktor. What about Viktor? He’s still out there. I don’t know if they caught him yet, but I don’t think he can escape. Will you protect him, too?”

“Of course. I am a Wælcyrie[2]. I am where ever a warrior falls.”

“Oh…” Cedric said, as if that explained everything. He relaxed back against his pallet. “Why do you look like Harry?”

More horrible grinning.

“How do you know he doesn’t look like me? Maybe he’s my cousin.”

That made even more sense to the half delusional boy, and the Wælcyrie laughed, sending searing hot spikes of strength through his entire body. He let out a groan, grabbing its wrist, and attempting to pull its hand away, but it was immovable.

“Potter!”

The Wælcyrie turned, smiling fiendishly at the newest arrival. To scare it away, was Cedric’s first thought.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to see Snape standing behind him, a rubber tube in one hand and an infuriated expression on his face. Both things struck him as strangely hilarious at the moment, but he managed to swallow his laughter, if not his smile. He waved at his professor with his free hand.

“Hi!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” the man snarled, then turned to the stunned doctor and nurse, “And why the hell are you letting him do it, you imbeciles?”

The medi-wizard glowered right back, but even without the bunny slipper he never stood a change. He just made Harry giggle.

“Whatever his technique, it is proving more effective than my own,” the medi-wizard insisted. “But a stasis potion is still required. I trust you have one.”

“I do. Shall I give it to him now, or would you like to visit the Hufflepuff dormitory first and see if they have any brilliant ideas? Or perhaps the St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward?”

The medi-wizard made an impatient gesture for him to proceed. Snape turned back to the patient, who looked towards him (in a vague sort of way) before settling back on Harry. Harry grinned back at him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let him eat you,” he promised.

“Have you ingested mushrooms, Potter?” Snape hissed, tossing aside the tubing (brought in case the patient proved incapable of swallowing) and pulling out a vial of dark purple liquid from his robe. The potion’s master uncorked it and handed it to Cedric. “Drink it.”

The Hufflepuff looked to Harry for reassurance.

“I won’t let him poison you either.”

Satisfied, Cedric drank it quickly. His arm didn’t even make back down before he suddenly stilled, his body caught in the tableau of a grimace. His role complete for the night, Harry pulled his hand away. It didn’t get far. Snape snatched it up, then dropped it again, recoiling from the saturation of magic there. He glared at Harry.

“Go to my office. I want an explanation when I get back there. You will not leave until I say so.”

“Okay,” Harry said agreeably, and turned to go. There wasn’t anything left here to amuse himself with anyway. Or at least, that what he thought until, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the remains of Cedric’s cloak and shirt.

Resting on top of the pile was something shiny.

By the time Harry reached Gryffindor tower, news of Cedric’s death (everyone was quite convinced he was dead and he didn’t bother to stop and correct them) had spread, and everyone gathered in the common room to bounce ideas off each other in the place of actual facts. No one paid him any mind as he squeezed pass the masses. They had seen his odd comings and goings before, and there were more interesting things to discuss for once.

He was careful to keep his hood pulled low and his bloody hand hidden.

The dorm room was deserted, and he lingered only long enough to wash his hands and pack his school satchel with supplies. It was while he was looking for an extra pair of socks under the bed, when he found something… not entirely unexpected. His searching fingers closed around cool, smooth wood, and he pulled it out.

Gryffindor’s sword sat in hands, thrumming with excitement and ready for battle.

“Not exactly what I was looking for,” Harry mused to himself. “But it might come in handy.”

1. A real, fake creature. Like an American Jackalope. It’s a running joke in places like Bavaria. Wikipedia it.↩

2. Anglo-Saxon word for Valkyrie. Yes, I know Harry isn’t a woman and suggesting he’ll protect a warrior from death is contradictory to the definition. Convincing Cedric of this despite the contradictions, is what Moon-crazy Harry finds so funny. And yes, Cedric would know what a Wælcyrie is, for the same reason everyone else knows about angels and Buddha and Hercules. It’s just one of those cultural things that shows up in stories and historical references and such.↩

The Forbidden Land II

The snow had picked up, and even with his perfect night vision, Harry found himself disoriented in the dizzying fall. He didn’t mind. It was sort of fun. Besides, the enchanted ring on his watch insured he never became too lost. His glasses, the spares he wore at night to hide his night shine, had been transfigured into goggles to keep the snow out of his eyes. His fur cloak and boots made the cold tolerable.

He wondered if Snape realized he had run off yet, and if he realized where he had gone. The potion’s master would figure it out eventually, and he wished he could see his expression when he did. Or Voldemort’s. That might be interesting too. In a scary, swimming with sharks kind of way. His musings accompanied him all the way to the barrier, which he didn’t notice until he walked right into it, nose first. Thankfully, he hadn’t been in a hurry when he hit it.

It took a few moments to dig out the champion’s badge and a few more to figure out how it worked, and finally he managed to push his way inside. He shivered at the feel of the barrier passing over his skin. He put the badge away and pulled out his watch again.

“Viktor,” he said, and observed as the minute and second hands reoriented themselves. He followed it north.

It took Snape exactly twenty six minutes to realize Harry had taken Diggory’s badge. Twenty-five of those minutes he had been legitimately distracted assessing Diggory’s condition and receiving a summary of what little the medi-wizard knew about how he’d come into such a state.

It took twelve minutes to confirm that Harry wasn’t in the castle, and another three minutes to reach Voldemort’s office.

The Dark Lord had been there most nights for the last few weeks, though he might be anywhere in the country during the day. Snape wasn’t about to ask for an explanation for this, but he thought tonight might have something to do with it. Had the man set this all up? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, but when it came to his master that was hardly uncommon.

He entered the office. Delacour was there already, drinking something she probably shouldn’t to calm her nerves. To her credit, she wasn’t crying or hysterical, she just didn’t seem comfortable with sitting still. Voldemort was behind his desk, writing out something. He looked up at Snape as he entered.

“I expected you sooner. Was there a complication with Mr. Diggory?”

Snape looked at him squarely, trying to figure out if the Dark Lord wasn’t aware of the entire situation already.

“… No, Diggory is in stasis. He’ll keep until St. Mungo’s can come and get him. There’s no telling if his heart is salvageable though. Centaur poisons are impressive, even by my standards.”

Voldemort nodded. “Hearts are easy enough to replace.”

He turned to Delacour and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, my dear. He will receive the finest of care. Britain is indebted to you for bring our champion to safety.”

She managed a shy, relieved smile. Snape was more than happy to ruin it.

“There are a few more urgent matters I must discuss with you.”

“Of course. Viktor must be recovered at once. I have sent for Morgan and a team of Sentinels. With Diggory unable to compete, the badge will allow anyone to use it. They’ll find him and bring these renegades under control within the hour.”

Snape grimaced. Well, at least he knew Potter’s part in the story hadn’t been planned.

“About that…”

It took him almost an hour to find Viktor. Even with his compass, he couldn’t tell how far the other boy was, and it turned out to be nearly a mile and a half. An easy walking distance normally, but the mounting blizzard made it much less so. He was very glad he had such an excellent pair of boots.

Not just because they were warm either.

They were also very silent, which, along with his Baluvian cloak, was perhaps the only reason he was able to get so close to Viktor without getting shot. The Durmstang champion laid inside a cave near a small fire, seemingly unconscious. Two armed centaurs stood at the mouth of the cave, their backs to the fire, peering out into the blinding snow for enemies. Staring at them, Harry could see they were both in bad shape.

The younger of them was injured, partially burned on the right side of his equine body and there was a gash on his arm. Clearly, he had met the brunt of the other champion’s retaliation. They were both thin. Alarmingly thin. Their equine ribs were easily visible, and their cheeks and eyes were sunken.

“We do not murder children,” said the elder, uninjured one, not looking at the other. “What you did was inexcusable.”

“Children do not blow up people,” the other said darkly. “They are the reason we are going to die in this place. I would have my vengeance.”

The elder said nothing for a moment, turning his eyes upwards to a sky of endless gray and white.

“It is a wicked moon tonight. It guides your mind to wicked thoughts.”

“She resents that remark.”

Two arrows whizzed by Harry, neither coming even close to hitting him. He flicked his wand and bother their bows flew out of their hands and into the snow. Now that they were unarmed, he pulled back his hood and removed his goggles. The younger tried to locate his weapon, but the elder merely look at him. He didn’t look nearly as surprised as he should have.

“Hello,” Harry said, smiling pleasantly, “Do you make it a habit of shooting every wizard you come across? I honestly thought centaurs were one of the less aggressive races.”

The younger centaur stopped searching, and turned to him, glaring hatefully.

“You mock us? After all you have done, you have the gall to-”

His companion held up his hand, signaling him to be silent. Harry tilted his head curiously.

“I have never seen you before,” the elder said, “But the stars have spoken of you.”

“Do you hear the stars?” Harry asked.

“Yes. We hear the stars and the planets,” he said, then looked to his companion disapprovingly, “If we listen carefully.”

“I only hear the moon,” Harry admitted, “And she’s more than I can handle, but she is not wicked. Not really… I’m Harry, by the way. Or did the stars already tell you that?”

“They call you by a different name, Ghihalmelan. I am Firenze.”

Harry nodded and turned to the younger expectantly, but he just crossed his arms and glowered.

“What do you want?”

Harry smiled. “I want Viktor. My friend pretending to be unconscious over there. You can stop now.”

The prone figure looked up, and glared at him. Or tried to. There was a gash on his head, and he didn’t seem able to focus on anything.

“And I want to know why you tried to kill Cedric. What did he ever do to you?”

The younger centaur snorted and stomped his foot, his glare utterly hateful.

“We are trapped in this place, isolated from our herd, from food and shelter so that we will die slowly of starvation and exposure, and you wonder why we are upset?!”

“Ulaithur,” Firenze warned, then turned to Harry. “We want out of this barrier. We were trapped here, and do not know why. When we saw the other wizards and witch, we kept ourselves hidden and tried to determine your purposes. We don’t know what you are looking for, but the talismans you wear seemed the only means of escape. We managed to take this ones,” he pointed to Viktor, “but he ran away before we could make him tell us how it worked. We gave chase. The other boy and girl tried to stop us. Even after we caught him, it didn’t help. The talisman doesn’t work for us.”

“Why didn’t you just ask them for help? This is just an accident. They must have put up the barrier without realizing you were here.”

“Like we said, we didn’t know your purposes, but you obviously didn’t want anyone else finding what they were looking for.”

Harry thought about it, and decided their story made perfect sense. It was all a big, rather violent misunderstanding. They were desperate, not malicious. He sighed.

“The Dark Lord will be angry…” he explained. “You interrupted a very important tournament, and nearly killed our champion. I don’t know what he will do to you if he finds you, but death will probably be the least of your worries.”

Firenze nodded, and looked up again.

“The moon is bad… but the stars are in our favor.”

“The moon is not bad,” Harry insisted. “I would not be here if She were. I will take all of you out of the barrier. You will be able to go where ever you like from there.”

“Why should we trust you?” Ulaither snarled, hooves pawing the earth in agitation.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it before you even knew I was here,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, what else can you do?”

The centaur looked like he had swallowed something foul. Harry was exasperated to find that he reminded him of Ron. At least, he didn’t say anything else. The centaurs gathered up their scant supplies, and Firenze allowed the still disoriented Viktor onto his back, which only seemed to deepen Ulaither’s hatred for the wizards. Viktor was weak and disoriented from the blow to his head, and cold was finally starting to seep into him as they left the fire behind. Twice they had to stop when the boy lost his grip and slid from Firenze’s back, Harry being the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground both times.

Harry convinced Firenze to help him take Viktor to the Sleuw’s house. It was close to the unbarriered part of the Forbidden Forest, and would be a safe place to part ways for all of them. It was two miles Southeast, and another hour and half in deepening snow. Even Harry, high on the moon’s magic, was starting to tire as they struggled through the storm. He couldn’t imagine what the centaurs were feeling, for though they held a steady pace, they had to be worse off than him. They hadn’t eaten in who knew how long? Days at least, and one of them was injured while the other carried another person. Despite what they had done, Harry found himself admiring them.

He found the barrier when he smacked into it…again.

“I hate it when that happens,” he muttered, and pulled the talisman out. “I’m not sure if this will take all of us across at once. I’ll walk Firenze across first, then Viktor, then Ulaither.”

He helped Viktor down and set him beside the barrier, casting a quick warming charm on him.

“Hey,” he said, shaking the older boy gently, “Stay awake or you’ll get hypothermia.”

Tiredly, Viktor forced his eyes open. “Potter?”

“Yep?”

“Yur crazy.”

Harry laughed, loud and hard, and then went to Firenze. He held out his hand but Firenze shook his head.

“Among my people, you offer your left hand to your family as a sign of affection and the right to your friends as a sign of trust.”

“And to strangers?”

“We do not offer our hands.” He held out his right hand, and Harry graciously took it in his and lead him through the barrier. It was much harder to move through it together than it had been alone, and the force of it nearly pulled them both to the ground. They were left shaking and gasping as they pulled free of it.

Harry went back for Viktor. It was hard to say whether it was easier or harder to pull the older boy through than it was Firenze, as he was already tired and Viktor was leaning on him heavily. Firenze took him from Harry, and the Gryffindor stumbled back across for Ulaither. The younger centaur was shifting and pawing at the ground anxiously, unable to hold still. Panting hard and exhausted, Harry held out his hand for the final trip.

Ulaither suddenly went very still.

Harry, who had been bent over to catch his breath, saw his entire equine body tense and looked up. The look in the centaur’s eyes gave everything away. Harry recoiled, but Ulaither caught his arm on retreat and pulled him closer to catch his throat with the free hand.

“Ulaither! Stop!” Firenze commanded, but he was helpless to stop anything from the other side of the barrier. The younger centaur tossed Harry to the ground, tearing the talisman from his neck as he went. He reared up on his hind quarters and let out a cry of triumph. Harry scrambled away, his wand lost somewhere in the snow. Ulaither turned to Harry, perhaps to complete his vengeance and kill him, but found the boy had pulled a sword from his cloak, so he merely gloated instead.

“I hope you enjoy your stay as much as we did, though I doubt a mere human like you will even survive the night,” he sneered, and forced his way through the barrier. Firenze was there to greet him with a fist to the head. Ulaither stumbled back, but found his footing and reared up to strike back. Harry watched in horrified fascination as their hooves tore at one another even as their fist punched and wrestled in the animalistic savagery.

Ulaither broke away first, but he still had the talisman and rather than surrender it, he ran. Firenze started to give chase.

“Firenze! No, let him go!”

The elder centaur pulled up short, and turned back to him. Harry shook his head.

“People know where I am. They’ll come looking for me eventually, but Viktor isn’t going to last long out here. Take him to the Sleuw’s and then go home. I’ll be fine.”

“Harry…” Viktor said, tiredly, “He has my talisman too. I can’t come back.”

“Fleur still has hers. She can bring me back. Go, before you fall asleep again.”

Viktor protested, but Firenze grabbed him and tossed him across his back. He turned back to Harry before he left.

“The moon is wicked tonight, Ghihalmelan, but she desires something other than your death. I hope the stars will align so that we might meet again under better circumstances.”

“Until then, my friend,” Harry called back, and searched for his lost wand. Firenze knew where to go, but he still needed to find shelter and start a fire. He was hungry too, but he would have to do without. It hadn’t been in his plans to be stuck outside all night and the only food he had was some candy to snack on. He should save it for later.

He glanced back, but Firenze and Viktor could no longer be seen through the curtain of snow. He looked down at the Sword of Gryffindor.

“You came in handy after all.”

Fleur did not know Professor Snape very well, and she hadn’t been particularly impressed with him when she had her first class with him. He knew what he was doing, but his teaching technique seemed crass and his appearance altogether uncleanly (well, honestly it was just his hair that looked unclean but that was more than enough). Standing in his presence as he systematically replaced every layer of her clothing with combat gear and informed her of her ‘mission’, she knew she had seriously underestimated him.

“The barrier is designed to be indestructible from the outside, but simple enough to bring down from within. The barrier is maintained by six keystones, if any one of them is destroyed part of the barrier will fail. You will destroy one of them and our Sentinels will take care of the rest.”

He began loosening and tightening her armor so the pieces moved smoothly without getting caught on each other.

“The centaurs are dangerous, particularly at night. Their vision is better, and they are experts with crossbows and concealment. This armor will protect you from their arrows, unless they manage to shoot you in the face.”

She chose to ignore that last statement.

“And what about ’Arry and Viktor?”

“Potter can leave any time he wants to. He has a badge. Krum apparently lost or damaged his and can’t. The only way he’s leaving is if he finds Potter or you destroy the keystone.”

“And if zey are dead?”

He gave her a blank look. “If they teach necromancy at Beauxbaton’s, then I only ask that you use your discretion before raising them.”

She gave a huff, and walked out of the Dueling Hall closet, and stopped. There was a crowd of students hanging out around the back doors, and they were all looking at her expectantly. She steeled herself and stalked forward, Snape following behind her.

Jophery was there and first to speak up.

“Vat’s going on, Delacour? Vat happened to Diggory? Vere’s Viktor?”

“I really don’t ’ave time for zis right now,” she said, pushing passed him and into the crowd that started to pull back as Snape came up behind her. She had to stop again however, when confronted by the Weasley twins, looking surprisingly menacing when they weren’t smiling.

“Then how about telling us where Potter is? We can’t find him anywhere and his cloak is missing.”

A surprised murmur drifted through the crowd. Snape moved ahead, facing off against them and their intolerable quick-wittedness.

“Mr. Krum is where he usually is when he isn’t in the castle and Diggory has had an unfortunate accident. I wasn’t aware Potter was roaming this evening, but if does not return to his dormitory before curfew than I guarantee you will find him in detention tomorrow night,” he sneered. “As will the rest of you, if you are not back in your respective houses in exactly,” he checked his watch. “Six minutes. I recommend you hurry. This week’s detention is cleaning out the spider webs in the sixth tower.”

There was a collective shudder in the crowd. They had all heard stories about the sixth tower. It was supposedly cursed and infested with thousands of spiders. You couldn’t see six inches ahead of you with all the cobwebs in the way. And it hadn’t been cleaned out since the search for the acrumantula. Most of the crowd quickly scurried off. The Weasley twins and Jophery weren’t so easily dissuaded.

They glared at the potions master and Fleur, who met their gaze firm and steady before moving on. It would have all ended at that, but Pansy Parkinson came running down the hall.

“Professor! Professor!” she wheezed, hurrying up to him.

“What is it?”

“It’s- It’s Krum! He’s back. That hairy giant just hauled him in. He’s a mess!”

Fleur and he shared a quick glance at each other, before turning back to her.

“Where is he now?”

“The Great Hall. Hagrid just set him in front of the fire and went to go get the nurse.”

“Idiot,” Snape curse under his breath. “He should have just taken him straight to the infirmary. Who’s with him?”

“McGunny,” she said scornfully, more than happy to make the situation sound as boxed up as she could so she would appear smarter for having noticed. “And Professor Flitwick and McGonagall.”

The students around them were very quickly moving off and Snape seriously doubted it was to get to their dorm rooms. Scowling fiercely, he headed towards the Great Hall to see what could be learned.

He was quite pleased to see that several teachers had arrived and were already ordering the students out of the Great Hall and to their beds. A few were lingering stubbornly, including McGunny and several of his reporters, but they too were being herded away. He squeezed in with Fleur, and made their way to the great fireplace. Viktor was there, and he did indeed look a mess. His cloak and boots had been pulled off, and he was wrapped in a blanket. His skin was pale, his hair wet, and he was shaking. A towel pressed to the side of his face, obscuring his expression. There were splashes of red against the white terry cloth.

“Viktor!” Fleur said, rushing to his side, finding an opening on the floor beside McGonogall. He looked at her hazily, and managed a weak smile.

“Hey.”

“He has a concussion, so he’s disoriented,” McGonogall explained. “But he doesn’t appear to be seriously injured.”

“What do you know so far?” Snape asked her. Her expression became distinctly unfriendly, but she answered.

“He was attacked by centaurs. They took his talisman before he could escape and then captured him. Then he tells me Potter came and talked to them, and convinced them to let him go. I thinkthat’s what he said. He’s not making a lot of sense. Hagrid, however, confirmed that there was at least one centaur. He handed Mr. Krum over to Hagrid when he met him on patrol.”

“Patrol?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a blizzard,” she said icily. “Very easy for someone to get lost in. He took one of his dogs to patrol along the barrier in case anyone came out and needed help. It seems his idea had merit.”

“Indeed. Well, that is one less thing to worry about. Did Potter show up?”

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t tell me Harry really did go into that place and rescue another champion?”

“That would make all three, if he has. Hopefully, he’s got it out of his system now.”

“Three? How did he save Diggory?”

“Later. Did Potter turn up?”

She hesitated. “I haven’t seen him, but then…” she looked cautiously at Viktor and Fleur. “It’s that time of the month. I didn’t expect to see him at all after sunset.”

“‘Zat time of ze month?’” Fleur asked curiously. Snape gave her the look she was quickly associating with sarcasm.

“Yes, I suppose there’s no hiding it now. Potter’s actually a girl…”

She scowled at him. “Excuse me for noticing zat you are both talking weird.”

“He has a monthly project for one of his classes that requires him to be up most of the night. That’s all,” McGonogall assured her, awarding Snape a warning glare. “I’ll check with Professor Brennan and the Tower just to be sure.”

“You do that. In the meantime, Miss Delacour, you will go ahead with the original plan. Even if the danger has passed, the Sentinels must still investigate the attacks.”

“You’re sending her out in this weather? After everything that’s happened?”

“It is her decision. If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to.”

Everyone was suddenly looking at her, but she was looking up at Viktor, whose expression had become so miserable.

“I couldn’t do anyzing,” he said. “I couldn’t save myself and couldn’t protect him either, and he didn’t even ask it of me. He just smiled and said he’d be fine and valked off. He vasn’t scared at all. I zink he’s gone mad.”

“No, he’s always been like that,” Snape muttered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find him,” she promised, and got up to go. It was now past eleven, and the night was long and her task would be difficult in this weather. She strode out of the Great Hall, and of all people to have avoided the teachers, it should be Natalie. Her expression was tight with restrained emotion, but Fleur could see it in every line of her face.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” she said, as if she already knew the answer. “He’s gotten himself into trouble again, hasn’t he?”

Fleur said nothing, but Natalie cursed as if she’d answered.

“That idiot. That stupid… he always does this… God dammit, what is wrong with him?” she snarled, and then just stalked away. It was the most baffling thing Fleur had ever seen the other girl do, and Natalie was a baffling person in general. Could Natalie and Potter…?

She pushed the thought aside. It was irrelevant for now. She had to make sure he was alive before she started wondering at his love life.

Harry managed to find shelter in a hollowed out hill, eroded at some point by a flood. It was smaller than the centaur’s cave, but that was just as well. There was less space that needed to be heated. He had enlarged the spare cloak he had packed (just in case Viktor had needed something warm and dry), and hung it over the entrance to keep out the wind and keep in the warm, and his Everheating Fire Spell would burn for hours even with only a few soaking wet twigs.

It was good to be magical.

After that, he was too exhausted and hungry to do anything else but curl up inside his cloak and watch the fire. Dawn was still hours away, and the moon was still giddy and laughing in his ears. He smiled a bit and chuckled sleepily. He had never slept during a full moon since that summer, but he thought he might achieve it this time. It had indeed been an interesting night.

He was going to get thirty lashes for this, which wasn’t really funny, except that he probably going to give Snape a sore arm. All of his friends were probably beating their heads against the wall and lamenting, ‘not again!’ He really was hopeless, but that was okay. He had his honor and his regrets were few.

He wasn’t going die here, at least. Once the storm was over, Fleur would find him and no doubt take him home. It was just a matter of time.

Fleur found him in twenty minutes. Despite Snape’s instructions, she wanted to make sure that Harry was alright first. The snow had started to lessen, but the temperature had dropped and the wind was picking up. She was convinced he would be half dead when she found him, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that he was in fact fully alive and had found himself a shelter. She certainly didn’t mind sharing it with him.

He was fast asleep, and didn’t so much as stir as she made the place more comfortable. Snape wasn’t a nice man, but he was a practical one and hadn’t expected her to complete her task until after the storm (which made her wonder if he hadn’t sent her knowing perfectly well she would attempt to find Harry first). As such, he had provided her with abundant supplies in a convenient carry all Bottomless Bag. She pulled out two sleeping mats, blankets, and pillows and rolled them out beside Harry. Then rolled Harry onto one.

He didn’t really wake up, but shifted into a more comfortable position and grumbled, “Go sleep in your own bed, Luna.” That gave her pause, and she wondered for a moment if that were some sort of nickname for Natalie or perhaps the reason Natalie always seemed angry with him.

She cast a protection spell on the entrance of the cave, and climbed into her own sleeping mat beside him. Tomorrow, they would have plenty of time to talk and plan, but for now all either of them really needed or wanted was sleep.

Gryffindor was sleepless that night. McGonogall had checked the common room twice (mostly to make sure the Weasley twins hadn’t snuck out) and found it filled with students each time. She didn’t have the heart to tell them to go to bed. They may not have known Harry’s habit of wandering the halls during the full moon, but tonight, when both Diggory and Krum had been attacked, they were all very aware that he wasn’t with them now.

She understood how they felt, and though there would be a lot of tired faces and short tempers in the morning, she would over look it this once. In a way, it was comforting. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep either. That boy would be the death of her. He was worse than all the Marauders and young Snape, Lucius, and Narcissa put together… in a room with weapons, potions ingredients, and gum.

Speaking of Snape…

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. He gave her an annoyed… more annoyed than usual… look, and took a sip of his tea. Slowly. He had a skill for making people feel foolish, but she had long ago developed immunity. “You know what I mean. Even you sleep more than four hours a night.”

“Really, last I heard I apparently don’t sleep at all, and survive on revival potions. It’s why I’m so cranky all the time, you know,” he said idly, and took another sip. She wasn’t impressed.

“I’m immune to your Slytherin wit, Snape, so you can drop it.”

“And I’m not your student anymore, Professor,so you can bite me.”

She snorted, and retrieved a cup from the pantry and then helped herself to his kettle. There was just enough left for one cup. He must have been there for quite some time. She gave him a considering look, taking a sip. It wasn’t the school’s tea, which was, alas, one of its few failings. This tea was actually good.

He must have noticed her expression (and been very tired), because he offered an explanation.

“A Christmas present from Vesper. We both had a deep loathing of the school’s Earl Grey… or mop water… or whatever the house elves try to pass off as tea.”

Oh, Vesper. Poor, poor Vesper. The staff all still talked of her, remembered her fondly. Her strange love for Snape had been a topic of many colorful conversations, and to this day no one could agree on whether her fiancée had loved her back. McGonogall hadn’t believe he was capable of it anymore… hadn’t, at least, until this moment. He had sounded… fond when he spoke of her.

What was he doing up anyway?

“I wonder what she would have thought of all this,” he said offhandedly, without prompt. He was either very tired or he had drunk something other than tea earlier, she thought. He was never this talkative. “I bet she would have started a fight with our… with my master. Then gone and done something insane and rescued him. God Almighty, they could have already been related.”

He rubbed his forehead as if in pain, but his tone still had that same fondness in it. Her world tilted, ever so slightly. She set down her tea and quickly took a seat before lost her balance.

Snape had cared about Vesper. And more importantly, he did care about Harry. The sad thing was it was so incredibly obvious. Yes, they bickered and lamented the other’s existence, but who did Harry go to when he needed guidance? She was rather sad to admit it wasn’t her, but definitely relieved that it wasn’t usually Voldemort. And Snape, didn’t he always know what Harry was up to? Didn’t he come to his rescue when ever he got in over his head?

If Snape didn’t care, would he be up here at three in the morning, waiting for word of the boy?

“She was a remarkable woman,” McGonogall said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. “He certainly could have benefited from her guidance.”

“And she could have benefited from his dumb luck,” he said bitterly, but continued on in his usual reserve. “I’ll never find another woman of that caliber. It’s incredible that I should have even known two. I don’t know how I’m going to settle for anyone else after them. We’ll make each other miserable for sure.”

She felt another wave of shock. He intended to get married? As she understood it, he hadn’t been interested in it until Vesper had proposed to him.

“You want a wife?”

He gave her a wicked smirk. “I’m not that crazy. I want children, preferably legitimate ones, which unfortunately requires a significant legal other.”

Who was this man?

“You look surprised.”

“You hate children.”

“I hate other people’s children. I’m told it makes a difference when they’re your own. Besides, if loving children had anything to do with it, you’d have popped out a dozen by now.”

And why the hell was she talking to him? They hadn’t talked… ever really. He had arrived at Hogwarts a scared, intelligent, lonely little boy. They had never said anything to each other not in reference to schoolwork or his most recent fight with the Marauders. He had left school an angry, intelligent, ambitious young man. She had never heard of him again, let alone spoken of him until he came back. He had returned a jaded revolutionist, disenchanted with his own cause. She had hated him for that, knowing he must have been among those who had murdered friends and students of hers for reasons he didn’t even believe in. Nothing in his behavior suggested contrition, and after all these years she had never forgiven him.

She still didn’t. She couldn’t. But…

“I pity your future offspring.”

His smirked widened. “Me too.”

‘And I pity you,’ she thought to herself. ‘I hate you for what you’ve done, and I pity you for whatever made you this way. I never thought of you as lonely until now.’

“At least you’ll have some practice with Potter,” she said.

He made a face, and she burst out laughing. She hadn’t seen that face since she’d made him pair with James Potter in seventh year transfiguration. How strange that this man should be acting as the guardian to his fiercest enemy’s child. Or perhaps it was appropriate. That child was Lily’s too. Perhaps it explained their relationship. An old hatred for the father mixed in with the old love for the mother. He must be as confused and conflicted as she felt right now.

It still didn’t explain Harry though.

But then, when it came to being mysterious and surprising, that child could give an old pro like Dumbledore a run for his money.

“This is starting to get ridiculous,” Voldemort thought to himself standing out on the turret of the tower. He had no real business being up there. It was late, cold, and frankly dangerous (for anyone other than himself) to be out in the storm. He needed somewhere to think though, and his office felt stifling tonight.

He had intended to talk with Harry this evening, keep the boy company as they waited out the night. It seemed he had missed his chance, and that was rather irksome in more ways than ones. He didn’t mind making plans around whatever mischief Harry got himself into, but it was another matter altogether to break plans because of him.

The moon madness had been funny to begin with, with no real harm apparent, but if it continued to lead to such an absence of judgment, something would have to be done. Harry got into enough trouble when he wasn’t looking for it.

This could all be easily manipulated into his favor, but people were going to start to wonder why Harry was allowed to get into these situations in the first place. Certainly, responsibleguardians didn’t let their children wander around in the middle of the night or negotiate political situations with dangerous magical beasts. This was very close-minded in his opinion, but people were often unreasonable when it came to their offspring or even other people’s offspring.

He wondered what it was like when people had a dozen children with the expectation that they wouldn’t all live to adulthood. If it had all remained that way he rather thought the wizarding world would have a lot less stupid people, and the ministry wouldn’t have been necessary (he was convinced it was only invented to protect the stupid witches and wizards from their own silliness, but of course it eventually was infected itself by it).

If he were still capable of having children, he would have been sure to raise them the old fashion way, but the closest thing he had was Harry, and who knew if there would ever be anyone else with as much potential? With no children of his own, Harry would have to carry on the Slytherin line and the gift of parseltongue, while simultaneously serving as his lord as protege, companion, and prince. He had to be careful with him.

Even if testing his limits was so much fun.

It was time that Harry called on a little divine protection. The Earth favored them both, but while he had the benefit of carrying her cause for the next thousand years, Harry’s position was more tenuous. Or perhaps transcendental would be a more accurate term. At any moment, She might decide Harry would serve her better as something other than Harry, and reclaim his body and his memories so that his spirit might take some other form and then who Voldemort have to talk to?

So Harry needed protection from a lesser, but strongly influential god. No god would directly defy the Mother, but She was less inclined to interfere with a person under the management of one of her Children.

The sooner Harry found such a deity the better. He needed all the protection he could get.

The Forbidden Land III

“This isn’t your fault,” Hermione insisted, glaring across the infirmary at Viktor. Madam Pomfrey and the medi-wizard were supervising Diggory’s move from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, where he could be flooed to St. Mungo’s, and she had snuck into the infirmary to talk to the Durmstang champion for a while before she had to go to class. It wasn’t turning out how she had hoped. He was in a rare, petulant mood and as much as she could sympathize with his frustration, she wasn’t going to endorse it. It was her friend out there, after all. She had more to lose than pride.

“He’s dere, so I could be here,” he pointed out, “And he might be dead…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I know him a lot better than you, and he’s come out of a lot worse situations than this. He’s… designed for adversity.”

He turned to her, but she was turned away now, staring out the foggy windows at the forest. The snow had finally stopped, and the gray stretch of trees was clearly visible under the rising sun. If one looked close enough, they could make out the various paths to and from that barren wasteland of trees that had been made in the night. Hermione tried to guess which ones were Harry’s, and most of the paths she decided on ran all over the place from the lake to the fields to the castle to the forest. She could make out Cedric’s too, the very faintest hint of red shining through the snow. Viktor’s wasn’t as clear, but she could tell where the centaur must have been carrying him towards the Sleuw’s. Even now a handful of Sentinels could be seen walking along the perimeter of the barrier, looking through the snow for evidence.

Last night must have truly been horrible, and she didn’t know what news the day would bring. Harry had always survived, but not always unscathed. His luck was too patchy for her comfort.

“Cedric said somezing like dat. Dat doing da impossible is just vat he does. Vhy is dat?” he said, his voice challenging.

She looked back at him, her expression impatient.

“I don’t know.”

He snorted. “Don’t know? Or von’t say?”

“What is that suppose to mean?”

“Ever since I came here, dere are all dese vild stories about him and dis feeling dat he’s important, but no one really knows anyzing. Vhy is he Voldemort’s student? How does he get into all dis trouble? And last night… dere vas somezing vong vith him.”

“Viktor, you had a concussion and weren’t thinking-”

“No! I know vat I saw. He vas mad. His eyes vere strange. He shouldn’t have even been dere! How did he get Diggory’s badge? Vhy?”

“To save your ungrateful self!” she snapped at him, and turned to leave. “I’m not discussing this with you, now. Harry is my friend and I’m not going to talk about him behind his back. If you want answers you’ll have to wait till he gets back to ask him yourself.”

“Vait!”

She turned back and glared at him. “I know you’re frustrated with being stuck waiting here while Harry goes off to save the world. Welcome to the club! Meetings are Tuesdays and Fridays. See you there!”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, leaving him feeling stupid and even more frustrated. And more than a little like a jerk. She was right. He was being ungrateful and paranoid, but… it was weird. In more ways than one last night had been strange, dream-like even. He needed reasons. Logic, motivations, explanations, even if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. There was nothing to be satisfied with this ‘because that’s just how it is’ attitude everyone here had adopted.

Was Harry good? Wicked? Mad? Mentally ill? If he was, why was everyone covering for him? Why such loyalty and respect? Did it have anything to do with the Dark Lord? What did that mean for the future, when war finally erupted between their countries? Did it mean anything at all in the scheme of things?

He wanted to ask Dumbledore all these things, but even more he wanted to ask Harry himself. To go into that forest and drag him out, sit him down, and demand his answers.

Therein lay the problem, of course. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t go into the forest without his badge, he couldn’t have dragged Harry out even if he did, and it was sort of stupid to demand answers with an impenetrable barrier between them. He couldn’t even thank him properly like this.

And wasn’t that stupid?

Wanting to interrogate him and thank him at the same time. God, he needed to get out of this castle.

“’Arry… ’Arry…”

Harry blinked sleepily, squinting up at the blurry thing above him. The smell of lavender and lilacs drifted into his awareness.

“Fleur?”

“Shhh… ’ere, Professor Snape zed you might need zese,” she whispered, replacing his glasses with another pair. His vision cleared, and he could see her amused expression and her very bad case of bed head. He looked around, and found things as he feared. So it hadn’t been a dream, but when had Fleur gotten there? He found a sleeping palate beside him, and felt heat bloom in his ears as he realized she had been sleeping so close, and that if he had rolled over he would have been on top of her.

“Come on, you must ’urry if you want to zee zem,” she urged quietly, tugging him to his feet. He followed obediently, trying to be as quiet as she seemed intent on being. He eased his way around their fire, now merely a stubbornly glowing smolder of ash, over their satchels and Fleur’s broom, and to the entrance of the cave.

“Shhh,” she reiterated, holding up her finger. “You look on zat side, I will look ’ere.”

His first thought was that Firenze had come back with the champion’s badge to lead him out, and Fleur intended to attack him not realizing he wasn’t really their enemy. Looking outside, however, showed no Firenze, or really anything at all but a lot of white.

“I don’t see…”

“Sshhh! Zere, zere!” she insisted, pointing towards his right. He looked again, and saw nothi-

“Oh…” he gasped.

It was difficult to see them clearly against the snow, but as they moved their silhouettes passed over the gray lines of trees like white shadows. Harry had seen a unicorn only once before, when Hagrid had shown him one at the medical bestiary. That creature had been magnificent as it was, but out here in their element they took his breath away.

There was an entire herd, over a dozen, frolicking about like puppies. They didn’t sink into the snow like logic demanded, but lingered on top of it, until they decided to roll into it or throw down one of their playmates. Only the stallion, slender and elegant as the rest but nearly twice as large, remained stoic and alert to their surroundings amidst the youthful play. It only took a minute or so for him realize they were there, and his large blue eyes fell on them. There was no cry of alarm, just a shake of his slender head and an annoyed snort. The rest of the herd cease their play and stood, turning to look at what had their leader’s attention.

Harry couldn’t breath with so many of them focused on him. He sensed their magic, the pureness of it, so steeped in the most loving aspect of the Earth’s power. Their presence here was a gift from her, spontaneously given.

The leader broke into a sprint and disappeared, his herd following him deeper into the forest.

And just as spontaneously taken away.

He let out a sigh, able to breath once again. He turned to Fleur, and felt his breath catch again. The light that slipped through the opening shone down on her, making her appear to glow. Or had it been the sight of the unicorns? As beautiful as she was, he had never seen her as lovely now with that expression of loving, adoration and longing as she watched them disappear.

He quickly looked away, and hoped she hadn’t noticed him ogling her.

“Ahem… Ah… when did you get here?” he started, turning back into the cave, where it was warmer. It was also darker so she would be less likely to notice him blushing, as he pretended to prod the fire back to life with another twig.

“Last night… early morning? You zlept right through my arrival, so I let you be. Zer wasn’t anyzing to do until it was bright enough.”

“Like now?”

“In a bit. Breakfast first, and zome anzers if you please.”

He flinched at the thought. What to say? He couldn’t give her reasons he didn’t know himself. It was like being drunk (he had just little experience with that thanks to Snape), without the benefit of memory loss. He remembered everything he’d done and said and felt, but as far as his thoughts were concerned he was as clueless as everyone else.

She didn’t push right away, but let him build up the fire and collect his thoughts, and even left him to cook after she had presented him with eggs, bacon, and a skillet from her bag courtesy of some very thoughtful house elves.

But once they were settle to eat, she started in on him.

“Zo… ’ow did you get Cedric’s badge?”

He kept his eyes very carefully trained on his eggs, just in case they rose up to kill him, you know.

“I saw you both after the attack and followed you to the infirmary. You ran right by me. After I found out what happened, I waited till everyone was distracted and took it.”

“’Ow did you find out? Not even the medi-wizard knew what ’ad ’appened.”

He thought thought the bacon was starting to look particularly mutinous, and bit it in half before it would instigate a rebellion. He chewed it slowly to make a point to the rest of breakfast. It wasn’t a stall tactic, despite what anyone else might have thought.

“Cedric told me.”

“Cedric was ’ardly conscious.”

“Cedric told me,” he reiterated, but didn’t elaborate on. “I went to find Viktor. I promised Cedric I would look after him.”

Which was true, even if it wasn’t the motivation for his misadventure, it certainly sounded better than ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’.

“How is he?”

She sighed. “Aggravated, I imagine. I know you like to zave people, but being zaved iz ’ard on one’s pride. Ezpecially when you are rescued by a little boy, no matter ’ow cute.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment.

“And ’ow did you manage to convince zem to let Viktor go?”

“They weren’t bad people… at least Firenze wasn’t and maybe Ulaither was just pushed too far, but they were stuck in the barrier for days, maybe weeks. They were starving and desperate. All they wanted was to go home, so when I offered to take them out of the barrier they didn’t put up a fight. Not until Ulaither finally snapped, anyway. Firenze tried to stop him, but he ran away with the badge and I got stuck.”

“Hhmm…” she said, and looked at him thoughtfully. He ate his breakfast slowly, hoping she’d get bored of studying him before he finished eating and ran out of excuses to look at her directly. “I’m sure zere iz more to zis, but I will let it go for now. Ze important thing iz to get you out of ’ere as zoon as pozible.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Do I look like a boy? Of course I ’ave a plan. We are going to find a keystone zat supports ze barrier and destroy it. The barrier will come down, and zen you will be able to leave. Very zimple.”

That did indeed sound very simple, so he knew there had to be a catch.

“And you know where the keystones are?”

She lifted a regal brow. “Yes. I ’ave a map.”

“How easy will it be destroy these keystones?”

“Very. Zey are eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Ze dragon’s eggs. Zey are using ze eggs to channel ze dragon’s own magic to make ze barrier. Very clever.”

He thought about that, trying to imagine how such a design worked, but had only the barest notion. He didn’t like the idea of destroying an egg though. They were already going to kill the mother, why kill her offspring as well? Hagrid would have happily raised them in her place.

“Is there any we can destroy the barrier without harming an egg? Like move it somewhere to disrupt the magical flow? Break the magical connection somehow?”

She looked at him curiously for a moment, and then smiled indulgently.

“Do not worry, we will not be killing any babies. ’Alf ze eggs are infertile and don’t even ’ave a fetus. Just yoke. Ze baby dragons eat zem when zey are born. Ze map shows which is which.”

He sighed in relief and nodded to her. “It’s a good plan. I’ll get ready.”

“Good, good. Roll up ze zeeping mats while you are at it, will you? I don’t intend to come back ’ere.”

“Why not? It’d be a better place to take a break than at the castle. You know, while you’re hunting the dragon?”

She gave him sly smile. “Ah, but ze map, you zee, it does not only show ze eggs. It show ze dragon too. No more ’unting for me.”

He gaped at her. Surely, this challenge was null at this point? What with the centaur attack, Cedric at death’s door, and yes, his own reckless interference. She laughed at his expression.

“I might not get full points, but I will definitely get enough to close ze point gap with ze ozers.”

He shook his head. She was weird, or maybe just French, but either way there was no reason to tell her exactly how twisted that sounded. As long as she didn’t break into maniacal laughter he thought he might still be safe.

“Well, congratulations, I guess. Lets hope that the third challenge isn’t canceled, what with Cedric unable to compete and all.”

She frowned, not liking the thought at all. They had gone through a lot in this tournament, and as much as she hated it she wanted to see it through to the end. She didn’t believe in leaving things half done. She didn’t believe that other’s should either.

“Let us ’ope ’e recovers quickly.”

“He hasn’t shown up yet. I checked the tower and the infirmary, but no one’s seen him. Delacour hasn’t shown up either.”

“They moved Diggory to St. Mungo’s this morning. He was under a stasis spell. It must have been really bad.”

“There are Sentinels at the barrier, but none went inside. I don’t think they can take it down themselves or it’s going to take a while.”

McGunny nodded at the three reporters. They had been sent to gather information, along with several others, and were the first to return. They didn’t have much information, but they practically confirmed his suspicions. Something very bad had happened in the forest, and Diggory had almost died. Potter had somehow gotten Diggory’s badge and gone into the Forbidden Forest, and possibly saved Viktor or at least helped in his escape. Delacour had gone after Harry. Neither had come back yet. The hows, whats, and whys of the situation weren’t as clear to him.

“Well done. Let’s get to the Great Hall. They’ll have to make announcement soon and that’s as likely a place as any.”

They nodded, and moved out like faithful soldiers to follow his orders. He felt a dark satisfaction in their obedience, accompanied by a sharp pain behind his eyes. He grimaced and had to stop.

“Are you alright, McGunny?” Delby, his sports writer, asked. He managed a grim smile for him and the others who had turned to see what was the matter.

“Headache. I was up all night, and I’m feeling it now. I’ll be fine after I’ve had some tea.”

That was a true and misleading statement. He had been up all night and he did have a headache, but he had been having headaches off and on for over a month and tea wasn’t going to help them. He thought it might be stress, but that wasn’t something he was going to reveal to his staff. They had to believe in his strength, and admitting that his role took a toll would hurt more than just him.

They continued on to the Great Hall, and split off to their respective seats. The Hall began to fill. The owls dropped off their usual deliveries of newspapers and letters. He ate a bagel distractedly as he scanned his edition of Wizards Weekly, but there was nothing in reference to what had happened at Hogwarts. He looked over at the Gryffindor’s table periodically, but Harry’s spot remained noticeably vacant. The Champion’s absences were glaringly obvious as well.

“Students of Hogwarts-”

He had been so distracted looking at the empty seats, he hadn’t realized that Lestrange had taken the podium to address everyone there. He scrambled to retrieve his notepad and quill from his satchel, as she continued.

“No doubt many of you have become aware that events have taken place last night that appear concerning and strange. I am here to inform you what has had happened and to assure you that it is under control,” she continued, looking completely sincere, and yet completely untrustworthy at the same time. Perhaps it was just because everyone already knew her reputation.

“While in search of the sleeping dragon within the Forbidden Forest, all three champions came under attack by a group of centaurs. During the attack, Cedric Diggory was severely injured. Miss Delacour was able to evacuate him to the medi-wizard’s station. He has been stabilized and moved to St. Mungos, and is expected to make a full recovery…”

There was a collective sigh of relief at the Hufflepuff table. She went on for another ten minutes, explaining in a very sugar coated way what had happened. Somewhere in the middle of it, however, Voldemort had arrived and sat himself at the teacher’s table. She paused, but he gestured for her to continue, even as he turned to talk quietly with Snape. McGunny wasn’t sure what Lestrange said after that, because his attention was solely riveted on the Dark Lord.

It’s his fault. He wanted this to happen. He wants to kill them all.

His headache was worsening, but his rising hatred was smothering the pain. It was definitely Voldemort’s fault. Weren’t all these deadly challenges his ideas? His designs? Could all these ‘accidents’ truly be coincidental? Maybe they could have, but not Harry’s role in stopping them. How could he have been so conveniently placed each and every time their lives were in danger?

A realization came on him then, horrible but suddenly, overwhelmingly obvious.

Voldemort was trying to kill the champions, and Harry knew and was trying to stop him.

It made perfect sense. Killing the foreign champions and making it look like an accident would incite Germany and France, while the Dark Lord twisted the incident into a regrettable mistake among the British. Killing Diggory would only reinforce the idea of it all being unintentional or perhaps even one of the other champion’s fault. Tensions would rise, and it would only take a small incident to start a war.

That was what Voldemort wanted after all. The papers might have called the building of a ‘British Assembly of Cultural Preservation’ and stockpiling of goods acts of job creation and market regulation, but he knew how to read between the lines. The Dark Lord was building an army and gathering supplies for an invasion.

Harry had to know. As much time as he spent with Voldemort, he must have figured it out or even been told, and now was trying to prevent it. The evil monster couldn’t punish Harry for it, not yet. Not with everyone looking at him as a hero, and watching his every move. So instead, Voldemort continued to elevate Harry’s heroism in the eyes of the people instead.

It would make his death so much more outrageous, especially when the Dark Lord found some way to lay the blame on the foreigners.

That had to be it. It would explain why Harry always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, why he so readily moved into danger, and why he guarded his reasons so closely. Hadn’t he said it himself? ’I can’t tell you, even if I wanted to. If Voldemort found out I told you certain things, both of our lives could be in danger.’

Harry knew Voldemort was capable of killing him, and had been trying to protect McGunny. But now what? Did he know his life was already endanger? He had to. Maybe the stolen badge was really a cover, and Harry had escaped. But no, Viktor had already said Potter had rescued him and been caught in the barrier.

“… Mr. Potter is quite safe, and will hopefully be returning to the castle by this afternoon. In the meantime, classes will resume as normal. Good day.”

McGunny blinked and forced himself to turn to Lestrange, but the headmistress was already leaving and Voldemort was following her. He turned to his notepad, surprised he had actually been writing what she was saying. He couldn’t even remember her speaking. Skimming his notes, he caught on to what was happening. Delacour was bringing down the barrier to rescue Harry, and the ramifications of the night’s events would be evaluated and discussed with the foreign ambassadors before it was decided if the tournament would resume or not.

McGunny already knew it would, and once it did, Harry and the other champion’s lives would all be in danger again. But what could he do? Facing off against Voldemort directly was out of the question. Perhaps if he told the ambassadors they could help Harry? Maybe… Why hadn’t Harry tried that?

Probably couldn’t. Secrecy spells or contracts or something. McGunny would have to ask for it on Harry’s behalf.

Which would be treason.

His headache was growing, pounding on his temple like a hammer and threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t think like this. He needed a Headache Relief Potion, and a few hours to think things through.

“Are you alright?” someone asked him. He looked bleakly over the speaker and shook his head.

“I’m going to the infirmary.”

“It should be ’ere.”

Harry stopped and looked back at Fleur, who was looking down at her map. Trekking through knee deep snow wasn’t as fun as he remembered it being from last night. Of course, neither was blood or people trying to kill him when the moon wasn’t full. He was going to have to do something about that when he got back.

They were in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by sprigs of sapling bent nearly in half under the weight of snow. There was nothing special about the area, but if there was some sort of sign of the keystone then it was well buried.

“Where?”

She frowned thoughtfully, and started walking in a large circle. She tightened the circle until it was about a meter wide and finally stopped.

“Zome where in zis zircle. Under ze ground.”

They both got out their wands and started casting their own digging spells. Snow went flying and after a while so did dead plants and then dirt in hard frozen chunks. They worked at it for nearly ten minutes before they had to stop, tired from the repetitious movements of the spell. Their hole was only about half a foot.

They looked at each other.

“I don’t suppose you know how deep it’s buried?”

“… zix feet?”

“Oh come on!”

She slept deep and had for a long time now, but there was no reason to stir. She felt neither hunger nor thirst, and her clutch remained safe around her with nothing to threaten them. In her dreams she was warm and content, and on those rare occasions she felt inclined to awaken the awareness of a biting cold began to seep into her consciousness and sent her retreating back to the realm of dreams. There was no reason to face such a thing when their lives were not endangered.

Until their lives were endangered.

They gave up on the digging spells after an hour, when they finally reached soil that wasn’t frozen. Fleur found a shovel in her Bottomless Bag, and they took turns digging. The work was hard and dirty. It kept them warm until they stopped and the cold air cooled their sweat slick bodies, and left them shivering. It only got harder as they got deeper, having to fling dirt higher in order to keep it out of the hole.

At some point, Harry started to laugh.

“What iz zo funny?” Fleur asked, confused that he would find amusement in their current situation.

“I was just thinking… you’re going to have to dig up a dragon by yourself. Good luck with that.”

She huffed. “I won’t dig up ze entire zing!”

“You might have to, if you want to find the head. What if they buried it upside down? Or with its head under its leg? All I’m saying is, I don’t envy you. Not at all.”

She kicked a clog of dirt at him, which did very little considering he was already covered in dirt. He continued to work and he was just about ready to give Fleur her turn, when his shovel dug in and a strange cracking sound gave him pause.

She tensed as something unpleasant and painful course through her body in one violent thump, then stilled. In the aftermath, there was no pain but a great uneasiness had settled over her. She did not feel safe any longer. Reaching out with her senses she anxiously checked on her brood, feeling their magic pulse in time with hers. Lovingly, she wrapped each one in her magic to comfort them and comfort herself in their wellbeing. She knew some of these eggs were empty of life, but they were very much a part of her and she treasured them until the very moment her brood devoured them and made that magic apart of themselves.

She checked each one, and with each one found unharmed she started to relax. Until she came upon the last. There was something wrong.

She stirred.

They squeezed into the hole together, digging the egg out with their bare hands until at last it was free. They could barely hold it, even with their gloves on, it was burning hot. They tossed it out of the hole and into some snow, and by the time they had climbed out the snow around it had melted around it in a perfect circle.

It was large, but smaller than Harry thought it would be, and hard and leathery at once. The shell was vaguely pink with brown spots, and a large crack on one end where Harry suspected he had hit it with his shovel. They both stared down at it curiously for a long moment, waiting to catch their breath from their labor.

“Congratulations… it’s a girl,” Harry joked. Fleur chuckled. “So how do you want to do this? It seems kind of disrespectful to smash it with a shovel.”

“Dangerous too. You felt ’ow ’ot it iz on ze outzide, ’ow ’ot on ze inzide do you zink it iz? If we zmashed it we could get burned.”

Harry frowned. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“So no exploding spells and fire or freezing spells probably wouldn’t work… Oh! I know!” He went over to their supplies and rummaged through it until he found Gryffindor’s sword. “I’ll cut it open.”

“Ah, zat should work. Just be careful.”

He unsheathed the blade and took a moment to admire it. Now that he was taking swordsmanship lessons in Dueling Club, he had a better appreciation for the blade. He already knew it was sharp, and magically powerful, but now he knew it was also exceptionally light and well-balanced in a way that only magic wielded by someone or something very skilled would be able to create. The sheath was more precious to him, however. It was a gift from his godfathers, and one that showed they respected him as a fighter as well as their godson.

Fleur made an impatient sound. “Yes, it iz very big and imprezive. Are you done fondling it?”

He burned with embarrassment. Honestly, her mind was dirtier than his! The egg remained where it was, its heat causing steam rise up like smoke. The blade cut through the as if it were paper, slicing it cleanly in half.

Another spike of pain and she felt the death of her egg as keenly as if it were herself being cut in two. She opened her eyes and threw back her massive spiny head to scream out her rage and pain, throwing back mud and water and ice with her violent awakening. She roared into the freezing cold air, until her anger over came her pain and spat out great swaths of fire, setting the surrounding trees alight.

Her tail and wings smashed the surrounding ice to pieces as she clawed her way out of the embankment, shaking free the remnants of the stream that had hidden her resting place. As she reached level ground, she let out anothering trumpeting roar.

Her egg was destroyed, and her sanctuary defiled. She could not rest again until the threat had been dealt with and her eggs were safe. She was perfectly capable of running, but the trees were too thick and her enemy was no doubt fleeing already, so flight was the only option. With a powerful swiped of her tail she smashed the trees around her into splinters, and with in moments she had cleared enough space to spread her wings. From there it was but a few powerful flaps of her massive wings and she was in the air, flying to meet the slayer of her egg.

And kill it.

The egg fell apart, the pinkish orange yoke poured out, and set the dry grass beneath it on fire. For just an instant the sky swirled with color, like the surface of a soap bubble, before it burst. A sharp burst of wind signaled the fall of the barrier. Neither of them really noticed.

They were both too distracted by the frightening sound of a very, very angry dragon.

“Oh… Snape did not mention zat would ’appen,” Fleur said, rather stunned. “At least I won’t ’ave to dig it up.”

Harry, who had experience with this sort of unexpected turn of events, recovered faster.

“Do you have any brooms in your bag?” he asked, sheathing his sword and slipping it into his belt. He stalked over to her bag and tore it open, and began rummaging through it. He pulled things out and tossing them aside, looking deeper and deeper, but it was hopeless looking for things that way. The bag really was bottomless. “How much junk is in this thing?”

She pushed him aside, stuck her hand inside and pulled out a broom instantly and tossed it to him. She reached in to find another, but came up empty.

“Zat’s ze only one,” she lamented. “Should we ’ide?”

“And be trapped? She’ll find us. She knows what we did. Get on the boom, we’re going to make a run for it.”

“I don’t-”

Another roar rang through the air, closer than before. The dragon was moving fast, and Fleur needed no further convincing. She got onto the broom behind Harry and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Go!”

He shot straight into the air, and she tightened her hold as the icy wind nipped at the exposed skin of her ears and face. He flew in a tight circle trying to find the dragon, but it proved unnecessary. It was heading straight for them. Fleur didn’t even have time to gasp at the sheer size of it, before Harry had turned the broom in the opposite direction and fled.

“Get to ze castle!” she cried, her voice barely discernible in the roaring wind.

“It’s too dangerous! Someone could get hurt!”

“If we don’t we could get dead! It iz a castle, it’s dezigned to fend off dragons,” she reasoned. He grit his teeth and silently conceded, because while he might be able to out fly a dragon by himself, he definitely couldn’t with another person.

She was gaining on them, and she was gaining fast.

Snape was not happy with the world. He hadn’t slept at all, wanting to be ready just in case Potter or Delacour showed up needing antidotes from centaur poisons or just to be the first to ream Potter out for being reckless and stupid again. Neither student had turned up, but McGonogall had. Ugh. He must have been more tired than he thought given the things he had said. It had made for a very awkward breakfast atmosphere.

To top it off, even his Slytherins were conspiring to irritate the hell out of him.

“Do you think they’re dead?” someone whispered.

“Maybe… I bet Delacour is,” replied another.

“Why not Potter?”

“’Cause he’s a freak like that.”

“Parkinson,” he snapped. “Pay attention to what you are brewing, or you’ll be testing the end result.”

The girl had the decency to look embarrassed, especially when several people giggled at her expense. For once, Cypher wasn’t one of them. She was paying very little attention to what she was doing or anything else for that matter, but at least she was smart enough to let Draco handle the actual potion making. Hermione was making an effort to concentrate, but taking out her frustration on her potions ingredients wasn’t doing her any favors.

He went back to grading his papers, annoyed with himself for not getting them done last night, and tried to ignore the continued gossip. Naturally, something else had to go wrong that morning.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

Snape’s papers flew out of his hands, and not a few students jumped in fright, knocking over or dropping their ingredients everywhere.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

The class settled, looking around themselves stupidly for the source of the odd sound. It seemed to come from every direction, from the very walls themselves. It took a moment for Snape to identify the sound and when he did, he felt the blood run cold.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“What the hell did Potter do now?” Draco said, looking more than a little amused. Snape resisted the urge to go up and slap him upside the head. After all, if his godson really knew what that alarm signaled, perhaps he wouldn’t be so glib. He could hope anyway.

For now though, the best thing to do was keep the students calm and exactly where they were. When he had first taken his Hogwarts orientation as professor, he still remembered the safety documentary saying that the dungeons were the safest place to be during a dragon attack. They also were the best place to be in case of a tornado, and honestly he had thought he would experience the second long before he ever did the first.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“Ignore it,” he instructed. “It’s nothing you should concern yourselves with.”

Reluctantly, everyone turned back to their work.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

Viktor woke with a jolt, throwing aside his blankets and scrambling to his feet.

“It’s the dragon.”

He spun around, blindly groping for the wand that wasn’t on him. McGunny stood by a window, looking at him blankly. Beside him another bed, ruffled from use, and a school bag. The Ravenclaw must have been there for quite some time, yet Viktor couldn’t recall when he had arrived.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“Vat? Vat about the dragon?”

“It’s awake. It must have awoken when the barrier came down,” he said coolly. “You need to hurry.”

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

Viktor opened to ask ‘For what’, but then he realized. The dragon was awake. That meant something had happened, something had gone wrong and Fleur and Harry were in danger. He scrambled to dress and find his wand, ignoring McGunny’s unwavering stare. The other boy didn’t say a word until Viktor was half way to the door.

“When you’re done,” he called. “come back and see me. Harry is still going to need your help after this.”

Again Viktor began to ask ‘For what?’, but another chime of the alarm alerted him to his more urgent task. Once he was gone, McGunny turned back to the window, watching the distant form of Harry flying closer and closer.

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“I would appreciate you not dying today, my friend,” he said softly, “You still owe me a story.”

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“Move quickly, but do not run!” McGonogall instructed, moving her class towards the dungeons. Her group soon caught up with Flitwick’s class, and both teachers fell in line with each other.

Nearly Headless Nick floated above them.

“Isn’t this exciting?” he said cheerfully, “I haven’t been through one of these in centuries. Used to have them almost once a month when I was a boy.”

Buuuuwwwaaaaannggg…

“Ooohh… that sound still gives me chills.”

The professors shared a look.

“Don’t look at me,” Flitwick said, “He’s your House’s ghost.”

“’Arry! Dive!”

He didn’t question Fleur’s frantic command, pointing his broom down into the inner courtyard. Fire rushed over their heads, followed by six tons of muscle, teeth, and claws focused only on their demise. The dragon flew passed, and Harry took the opportunity to fly into the covered walkway and out of sight.

“What should we do?” he asked, trembling from the the close call. “I didn’t think she would follow us into the school.”

“Why not? Dragons are infamous for taking over castles,” she pointed out, trying to sound unconcerned even though she was shaking just as hard.

“I thought you said castles were designed to keep dragon’s out!”

“Zey are! Zey just aren’t designed to keep zem away!”

The dragon suddenly landed onto the awning of the walkway, smashing part of it in. She let out a deafening roar and slapped her tail angrily on the courtyard, sending clods of earth and rock flying. Fleur tightened her grip around Harry, and if he hadn’t stopped breathing before hand he wouldn’t have been able to now. They didn’t dark speak or even move from their hiding spot as the beast snarled and sniffed, slowly hunting them down.

Harry knew it wouldn’t take the dragon long to find them, but he couldn’t just fly out into the open. They were so close to it that either the tail or the teeth would kill them before they could get away. Carefully, he began to fly his broom backwards, silently moving it towards the entryway to a western corridor.

The dragon suddenly stopped sniffing. Harry instinctively stopped as well. In his ear, Fleur’s breath, already loud and fast, quickened.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Our shadow.”

He gasped, realizing they were already outed, spun his broom around and bolted for it. A massive spiny tail came at them from the side, smashing through a column and barely missing them. They flew through the doorway, too fast for so little room and hit a wall with the sides of their bodies. The dragon’s snout followed them through, snapping it’s dagger-like teeth close enough for them to catch the spittle.

“Fulmenio!” Fleur shouted, flinging out her wand. An bolt of light flew out at the dragon, and hit it square in its open mouth. The dragon pulled back in surprise, tearing apart the door way with her plated head. Harry pushed the broom forward to escape.

Another angry roar, and the entry way they had just left was suddenly filled with fire, and it rushed up either end of the hall, knocking out windows and setting tapestries ablaze. He pushed the broom faster, taking the first available turn and let the flames speed pass them.

Voldemort is going to kill me for that, Harry lamented, then realized he probably wasn’t going to live long enough to have to face the dark wizard at this point. His choice in turns was unfortunate, because now he was in a heavily windowed corridor looking into the courtyard. And what a marvelous view he had of the dragon tearing at the still burning mortar. The castle was already beginning to repel the attack, smothering the flames and pushing the stones back into the place, but the dragon’s destructive rage was winning out. He needed a plan and fast.

“Fleur, can you apparate?”

“What?”

“Do you know how to apparate?!”

“Not in ze castle! It’s warded!”

“If I take you past the castle grounds can you apparate?”

“I… I won’t leave you!”

“You’d be doing me a favor! Once your off the broom I can definitely out fly it!”

‘Definitely’ was a little strong, but he was fairly certain he could.

“No! It iz too dangerous. We should just move deeper into ze castle or ze dungeons. Ze Zentinels will be ’ere any- ’ARRY!”

Their choice was taken from them by six tons of death blasting through stone and glass, damn near crushing them. They were throw aside violently, knocked from the broom and sent rolling across the corridor until each hit the wall. Dazedly, they tried to reorient themselves and stumbled to their feet. The dragon was also disoriented, and in the confusion Harry snatched up the broom and Fleur and slipped through the impromptu opening.

Their take off was shaky at best, but their destination was clear. They moved towards the lake as quickly as they could, striving for as much distance between them and their would-be assassin as they could.

Voldemort strode briskly towards the castle entrance, making a point to cross through the still smoldering courtyard on his way. The castle was steadily reassembling itself, but the damage was still obvious. Bricks pulled themselves together imperfectly, parts of them ground into powder and burnt wooden frames of the windows barely held themselves together, let alone any glass that hadn’t been shattered or melted.

It was quite impressive, Voldemort admitted to himself, but he wished the dragon’s power could have been exercised on something more deserving. Like Durmstang’s boat or Madam Pudifoot’s. At least he had some ideas on how to further fortify the castle against external attacks, which he would have Lestrange implement during the summer.

He’d make Harry help, he decided, as punishment for this entire fiasco. If he survived.

The Dark Lord exited the castle keep and looked around. He could see a dozen Sentinels he had posted around the barrier running towards the lake, ready and willing to face this latest threat, but they would be too late. They hadn’t thought to carry brooms and apparating wasn’t possible

Harry and Delacour were half way across the lake, another mile from the anti-apparition boundary, and dragon had already caught up to them. They could not out fly their pursuer, and were forced to get clever. Harry was flying as low as he dared and turning sharply, forcing the dragon to fly higher and make wider turns or risk loosing its updraft and send it crashing into the ice. The flames were much harder to dodge, but Delacour proved her worth by casting Shield Spell after Shield Spell and a few attack spells just to keep the dragon cautious.

They were still losing. Their magic or their luck would run out long before the dragon’s rage did, and they were getting no closer to the boundary now.

Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to exert some very interesting magic, but a noise behind him drew his attention and he spun around instinctively, his wand jumping into his hand. Krum’s wand found it’s owner’s hand just as quickly, and the two found themselves facing each other in equally defensive positions. Voldemort scowled.

“You should be inside with the others,” he said darkly, feeling more than a little distrustful. What was this child doing sneaking up behind him? Then he noted there was a broom in Krum’s hand.

“I should be killing da dragon. Isn’t dat da challenge?” he snapped back, his voice thick with accusation.

Voldemort arched his brow, then relaxed. He smirked, and pointed out towards the lake where his protégé and Delacour fought for their lives. “Then by all means, you better hurry. The Beauxbaton’s girl has a head start on you.”

The Durmstang Champion’s furious expression made Voldemort chuckle, and for a moment the Dark Lord thought the child would have the audacity to attempt to hex him. But no, Krum was in a hurry, and ran passed him, barely clear of him when he jumped on his broom and sped out towards the lake.

Voldemort took another deep breath, gathering his magic, then held it. Krum had just challenged him, which was the first interesting thing he had seen the champion do since he had arrived. He wanted to see how far the boy’s bravado would take him. If things got out of hand, he would intercede, but wanted to test this one’s strength first.

Especially if there was a chance they might meet on the battle field.

Harry made another sharp turn, nearly dragged off his broom as Fleur struggled to keep her balance with one arm around him and the other waving widely. A mace like tail swung pass them, skimming the ice. The dragon lost some of her balance and wavered clumsily in the air, until a few power flaps of its wings brought it higher and she steadied..

“That was close,” he huffed, taking the opportunity to move further across the lake.

“Faster!” she begged breathlessly, fear and exhaustion leading her steadily towards desperation.

“I can’t. No unless you want to get off and run,” he snapped back, fear and exhaustion leading him steadily towards irritability. It proved a mistake on both their parts, for the second and half they had focused on each other, they had taken their attention off the dragon. She reasserted her significance in their concentration by nearly dropping on top of them. Her legs on either side of him and a tail swinging behind, he could only move forward, and risk the teeth and fire. They slipped out from underneath her with all their limbs, but she caught the bristles of their broom in her mouth and flung them.

The broom snapped, and Fleur fell off the back while Harry was tossed further away. He landed on his side, and even with all the snow to cushion him, the pain was incredible. It ran the entire length of his arm, before the intensity of it faded into total numbness. His glasses were lost, but there was blood leaking into his eyes so it didn’t matter any way.

“Ahh…” he moaned, and forced himself to sit up. “Fleur?”

“Run!” she screamed, but it was impossible. He didn’t even know if he could stand.

An angry snarl reminded him of the danger, and he forced himself to his feet, stumbling away from the dark fuzzy mass of maternal rage. The dragon had landed, or crashed really in her attempts to catch them, and partially broken through the ice. The back half of her body had slipped beneath the water, while her arms and wings and head struggled to pull her out again. The ice was thick, but she was heavy and having already broken it she was struggling to find a patch that would support her weight.

She was close enough that even Harry’s addled wits knew he was still in danger.

He stumbled over the hem of his cloak as he attempted to flee and fell, unable to stand again for the pain and dizziness that over came him. The dragon noticed him again. She continued to struggle, but now she struggled towards him, snapping at him and tearing away the ice he was collapsed on.

“’ARRY!”

The dragon grew impatient and drew back her head, her chest filling with fire. Harry laid there frozen, his thoughts of fire flitting through his mind.

His little room the Durlsey’s, his painting bursting into flames and Dudley wrestling the cursed bedsheets.

Voldemort standing by the fire place during Christmas break, grinning at him wickedly. ‘Want to see something interesting?’ He shoved his hand into the fire and pulled out a piece of it, a perfect sphere of flames hovering above his open palm.

Writing in his journal, the candle on his desk flickering for no reason.

Teacher Brennan and the others sitting around the fire pit, stirring up the flames with a poke. “The body is composed of earth, but life is made from fire…”

He closed his eyes tight, expecting indescribably pain and then…

“Fragorio!”

There was explosion, a wave of heat, and inhuman screech of pain.

He opened his eyes again. He could not see any better, but he knew that voice.

“Viktor!”

Fleur was suddenly beside him, forcing him to his feet and pulling him away.

“Move, you fool!”

“Congelo!”

Fleur hesitated, then shoved him forward, forcing him to stumble away on his own.

“Go! Keep going!”

“What are you…?”

She had already turned back towards the fight, however, and begun waving her wand.

“Congelo!”

Viktor repeated the spell, then Fleur, and then Viktor again. Each moving round and round the dragon moving in as close as they dared, as it snarled and snapped and blew fire at them. The ice around it began to thicken, but rather than try to climb onto it the dragon was now trying to escape it, as it began to form around her claws and wings, sticking them to the ice and holding her there so that she couldn’t move. Every time she turned to melt ice growing on one part of her body with her fire, the wizard and witch summoned ice somewhere else.

The ice was slowly winning, and so were they. Slowly, ever so slowly, the dragon began to weaken and slow, her enraged cries turning instead to panicked shrieks as the ice climbed over her, until only her head remained free courtesy of her flaming breath. Even that was slowly being taken away. She could no longer expand her chest to breath deep. She could barely breath at all.

Her cries fell into pitiable whimpers. Harry’s heart clenched.

“Stop!”

Fleur and Viktor broke off the spell. There was a moment of silence, but for the dragon’s long suffering groan.

“It can not live,” Viktor said. “If it lives, it vill come for you again. Dey remember der grudges until dey die.”

“I know but…”

“It iz awful, but we can’t stop. It will only make it worse for ’er.”

Harry nodded, “I know, but… not like this. It’s too horrible. I… I can make it quick.”

He turned back towards the dragon, and forced himself to move as quickly towards her as he could, intent on not prolonging her suffering or allow his feelings to runaway with his resolve. His left arm was useless, hanging limply from its socket, but his right was still good and he used it to withdraw the Sword of Gryffindor from its sheath. He didn’t know if dragons had any sense of dignity or pride, but if they did he hoped the death he offered her was one she would find befitting.

Her moaning had subsided into calm shallow breaths, even as his own sped up as he approached her. This close beside her, even with his lousy vision, he could see her yellow eyes and the myriad of emotions drifting across her reptilian face. Hate. Resignation. Regret. Ice was still forming and gradually moved up to cover even her eyes. At least, she wouldn’t see it coming, even though she obviously knew it was.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and slid the blade home.

Voldemort sighed in relief, regathering his scattered magic back into him. Now that the dragon was at peace, he no longer needed to supplement the champions’ Freezing Spells with his own magic. Hopefully, none of them had noticed him do it. He didn’t like the idea of the foreigners knowing he had this particular talent. There weren’t very many wizards who could send their magic over a mile in such a subtle manner, and for certain less publicly acceptable actions this was a useful skill.

It was a necessary risk, however. The two of them would not have been enough to over power the dragon, and Harry was in no state to help them even if he knew the spell.

Still, he hadn’t anticipated Harry making the final blow. It sent a shiver down his spine thinking about it. The potential power behind such an act. The slaying of a dragon was no small thing after all, and he fully intended for his pupil to take full advantage of it.

After his punishment, of course.

The Forbidden Land IV

For once the Reicher household did not wake to the usual morning chaos that Robert now associated with two little girls who could not tell the difference between ‘wake up’ and ‘wake up when you feel like it’ and a private school that didn’t care to explain it to them. There was no frantic searches for socks that matched, homework assignments, or barrettes, no races to the bathroom and wrestling matches for the mirror, no whining about breakfast, their teacher, or each other, and no negotiations about what would or would not be packed in their lunch boxes (there was no way Kyle would let his girls eat anything that was served off an assembly line no matter how much Robert complained their ridiculous tuition included it).

On this particular morning, it was the first day of the holiday break, and Robert was quite happy to enjoy the company of his daughters still happily in their pjs, giggling over their green Christmas tree shaped pancakes and Kyle and his endless (and somewhat obnoxious) holiday cheer. His own work was at a standstill as the Court of Legal Affairs and the Court of Licenses, Registrations, and Permits was bogged down with last second cases and end of the year paperwork, and his own projects were on hold until paperwork could all be filed.

So he was looking forward to nothing more exciting or eventful happening than was typical of this time of year (which was rather eventful with two young daughters intent on catching one of Santa’s spying elves and Kyle’s insistence that they each have at least a half a dozen sugar cookies throughout the day). This was perhaps why he wasn’t prepared to open his newspaper to find Harry Potter sitting on top of the corpse of very BIG, very DEAD dragon, and dropped his coffee in his straight into his lap.

“OUCH! DAMMIT!” he shouted, and jumped to his feet.

“Robert!” Kyle glared at him, and pointed to Morgana, looking scandalized, and Alyssa, who looked ready to burst out laughing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and grabbed himself a towel.

“What happened anyway? Are we being invaded by orcs?” his husband inquired, looking amused now that the profanity had passed.

“No… dragons this time. No worries, Prince Harry dealt with them.”

There was a predictable squeal of delight, and the girls abandoned their pancakes in favor of his newspaper and even Kyle came over to see what the latest news what about. Splashed across the front page was Harry and the dragon, plus another older boy and girl and the headline was practically screaming ‘Harry Potter Slays Dragon As New Hogwarts Champion’. Their prince certainly didn’t look particularly happy about the whole affair, looking rather beat up but still somehow more impressive for it. The sword was a nice touch.

The article read like a cheap adventure story, throwing out images of a speedy chases and a life or death battle. There was only a sentence or two mentioning a dislocated shoulder and a concussion, and nothing dedicated to the fact that a fourteen year old was nearly set on fire and eaten for no good reason at all. There was a little speculation on how precisely Harry had become the champion and what had happened to the last one and how the dragon got out of the warded boundary, but to the adults it was obvious that what little was said was romanticized drivel. They smiled and ‘oohed’ and ‘awwed’ with their little girls, who couldn’t be expected to understand what Harry had just faced, but when they went off to play ‘Harry vs the Dragon’, they sat down together to say what they really thought.

“Kyle, I’m starting to have serious doubts about the Dark Lord as a parental figure.”

“It’s a pity the adoption papers you submitted weren’t approved.”

Robert blinked. “What? When did I fill out those?”

“It was in that pile of school forms you signed last year.”

“… You sneak! You said those were permission slips for dance lessons!”

“They were… at least half of them!”

He went out to Hagrid’s house (he had been given the cabin the medi-wizard had stayed in during the second challenge for the remainder of his stay as thanks for finding and bring Viktor safely back to Hogwarts) after dinner, but before dueling club practice. He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, but he needed to get away from everyone and Hagrid was the least likely to congratulate him for killing the dragon. Of course, that meant he probably wasn’t going to have a particularly pleasant visit.

The little house had a much larger door than Harry remembered, and that was obviously necessary, but it did nothing to ease his anxiety as it loomed over him. He tapped it softly, unrealistically afraid it would fall on top of him, and squash him flat. There was a loud baying bark at the door, followed by a booming ‘down boy!’ and scratching at the door. Harry very much hoped that was really only a dog, and a normal one at that. He was well aware of Hagrid’s eccentricity when it came to pets.

The man swung open the door, looking around curiously until they landed on Harry. His expression was completely blank for just a moment, and then his eyes narrowed.

“What you be want’n then?”

Harry flinched. He had expected this. Hagrid had been outraged by the whole idea of the second challenge, and Harry’s participation and conclusion of it wasn’t going to endear him to the man. It didn’t make the rejection hurt any less.

“I… I needed to talk to you… about something,” he said, staring down at his shoes. There was a tense silence, and Harry was almost certain Hagrid was going to close the door in his face.

“Fine. Come in then, yer lett’n out all the warm air.”

Hagrid moved away from the door, and he cautiously followed the giant man inside. Hagrid hadn’t wasted time making the little house his own. The furniture had all been enlarged (by who, he hadn’t the foggiest as he had never seen Hagrid with a wand) and rough wooden items and furs predominated the decor. An enormous black wrinkly dog regarded him balefully from beside the fireplace.

“So what ya want to say?”

Harry turned back to Hagrid who now had his back turned to him, fussing with a tea kettle.

“Um… it’s about… ah, well… I talked to Bill this morning. Bill Weasley, you know? Is chief of safety and-”

“I know Bill,” he said curtly.

“Oh, right, of course you do. Well, he was saying with the barrier broken down, the stasis spells the dragon eggs are under are starting to wear off, and they’re going to need to be taken care off. I thought… I mentioned to him that you might be interested. I told him you have experience with… spirited animals. He said I should ask you.”

Hagrid went very still, which wasn’t particularly safe since he had just little a match to light the stove and seemed to have forgotten about it. Forgot about it until burned his fingers. He grumbled a curse, suckled his scalded finger. Then he looked back to Harry, who was relieved to see he didn’t look angry anymore. Just exasperated.

“Why’d you do it, lad? Wh’d you kill er? She jus wanted to be lef alone to care fer er little’un’s.”

Harry looked up him helplessly.

“I didn’t go into that forest to start a fight with her. I would happily have let her sleep forever, but things happened. A lot of things happened really fast, and I had to make a decision. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I didn’t want to die either. And she would have killed me and Fleur, and who knows who else? I’m sorry any of it happened. This stupid game. My stupid decisions. You have no idea how much I regret all of it.”

Hagrid let out a heavy sigh and sat himself in his chair, tea forgotten. He ran his hands through his hair and his beard, struggling to think of what to say. He still wasn’t happy with what had happened, but he didn’t blame Harry. Perhaps he never had. He was sort of awkward when it came to being angry.

“So…” the giant man said after a long moment. “How many eggs we talk’n bout?”

Harry smiled cautiously.

“Three alive, two empty.”

“Yikes. They’ll be fight’n over their share the moment they hatch.”

Harry grinned.

“I’m sure you can handle it. Although, you might need to fire proof your house… and your beard.”

“I am sorry, I vas being such a jerkyesterday,” Viktor said as he escorted Hermione from the Great Hall to the Dueling Hall. She didn’t honestly need an escort with her brother trailing behind them with his unpleasant redheaded friend, but he hadn’t had much time to talk with her since their fight yesterday and he didn’t know if she was still mad at him. She didn’t look mad. She was smiling in her usual, coy way.

“I’m sorry too. We were both frustrated and upset, and took it out on each other. I know you just wanted to understand what was happening, but I didn’t have any answers and that just made things worse. Lets just forget about it,” she said, and he was perfectly happily to do just that. “Thank you, by the way, for going out to rescue Harry and Fleur. Harry is trying to downplay the danger he was in to make be feel better, but I know he would have died if you hadn’t shown up. You really are a hero.”

He hadn’t thought of anything that happened yesterday as ‘good’ except for the part where everyone survived. The situation should never had happened, there were so many careless mistakes by everyone, and he still had more questions than answers. He had his fair share of accolades from the youngest first year to the German Ambassdor to Voldemort (gag) himself, but it wasn’t until Hermione had thanked him for saving her friend, and not just for killing the dragon, that he felt any sort of pride for what he had accomplished.

“Just… I vas just returning da favor,” he said, and then mentally flinched. That was not a very heroic thing to say. Luckily, he was saved from floundering for a better response. They had reached the Dueling Hall and stopped, and just as it looked as if Hermione might just lean forward to kiss him on the cheek (he had never once kissed him on the mouth and he was starting to wonder why[1]), her brother and his friend came up behind them and escorted her straight through the door.

“We’ll take it from here,” Draco said, his smile stiff and unfriendly. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Draco!”

Ron gave him a particularly nasty glare, and slammed the door shut behind them. Viktor stared at the door for a long moment, baffled and somewhat amused. Honestly, how could Hermione’s ‘big brother’ be so much less mature than his sister? For that matter, what was that other kid’s problem?

He gave a mental shrug and headed off to the Hogwarts’ Herald office to find McGunny. The boy had warned him of Harry’s continued peril even after the dragon, and that made Viktor suspect the other boy knew something about the strange events that had been happening. More than anything, Viktor wanted clear answers.

He had only been by the newspaper office once or twice, usually accompanied by Hermione, and right then it was even more frantically busy than before and he hadn’t realized that was possible. The staff all ignored him as he entered, bent over their typewriters in deep concentration or running back and forth between the printing press, McGunny’s office, and various reporters. He snagged one of the photographers dashing toward’s McGunny’s office. The boy blinked up at him.

“Hermione’s not here,” he said.

“I am not here to see her. I’m here to see McGunny.”
“Oh… I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Viktor let him go and he dashed the rest of the way into the office. A moment later he returned.

“He’ll see you. Go on in.”

Viktor did. The door snapped shut behind him and the first thing out of McGunny’s mouth was an anti-spying spell cast on the entire office. It startled him a lot more than it should have. McGunny’s office was tiny, with barely enough room to walk around his old teacher’s desk, but unlike the rest of the main office it was tidy and neat, with all the papers carefully filled away or sitting in mail slots. The first issue of the Hogwart’s Herald was hung on the wall, each article had been snipped out and hung in its own custom frame so that the entirety of it came together as a misshapen jigsaw.

“I’m glad you came,” McGunny said, although there was nothing particularly happy about his expression. “But next time a little more discretion would be appreciated.”

“Vat do you know about Harry?”

“Right to the point. Good. We only have about ten minutes before they start to wonder what we’re doing. And to answer your questions, I know a lot about Harry and the true purpose behind this tournament, and even a little bit about you.”

Viktor scowled, already impatient with the runaround.

“Then say it.”

McGunny didn’t for a moment, either to prove who was in charge or to organize his thoughts, he didn’t know and didn’t care. He wanted answers now.

“Voldemort intends to kill you.”

The words sent a jolt up his spine. He couldn’t say anything, and after a long moment, McGunny continued, highlighting the Dark Lord’s plot to murder the champions and instigate a war, and of Harry’s desperate attempts to stop it, and the risk he had obtained in doing so. As each event that occurred from the moment of his arrive unfolded from this new point of view, it all started to fall together into something terrifying.

“And Harry’s strange behavior when he went into the forest?”

McGunny hesitated there, but after checking his watch, continued.

“He has a condition. I’m not sure of the specifics, but the full moon triggers a sort of madness. I believe it’s from the Dark Lord performing some sort of magical experiments on him. He didn’t behave this way until he came back from summer vacation, and I know for a fact he spent part of that time under the Dark Lord’s care.”

“Voldemort experiments on him?” he asked, horrified by the prospect. He had seen nothing in Harry’s behavior to suggest there was such a heinous form of abuse, but it did make an awful sort of sense.

“I think so. I can’t be positive. My belief is it revolves around some sort of immunity to Lycanthrosis. You have been told about his godfathers?”

Viktor nodded hesitantly. He had been told, but hadn’t really believed it. So that was true as well?

“He’s spent the last two summers with them, and they guarded him most of last year. It would make a sort of sense, but again I can’t be positive. He’s never hurt anyone though, and the teachers are aware of it and don’t seem concerned. But enough of that, I didn’t tell you all of this to satisfy your curiosity.”

“How do you know any of this to begin with?”

McGunny gave him a bland look. “It’s what I do, and I’m very good at it. For instance, I know that Durmstang’s intentions for being here are no more pure than the Dark Lord’s reasons for inviting you.”

Viktor stiffened. What did he know? His thoughts jumped to the strange owl that night in the Hogsmeade cellar, and he wondered if McGunny might not some how be responsible.

The Ravenclaw put his hand into his pocket, pulled something out, and held it out to him. It was a small silver star. More importantly, it was Viktor’sportkey. Immediately, he searched for it in his robe and found it. He looked at McGunny quizzically.

“Oh, so you have another. I got this one out of your boot while you were resting in the infirmary. I think I’ll keep this one then.”

“How did you-”

“It’s what I do, Viktor. Like I said, I’m good at it. But we only have another minute or two left, so lets get to the heart of the matter. I want you to take Harry back to Germany.”

“Vat?! Vat are you talking about?”

“Harry put himself in great danger to protect you and the peace between our countries. You owe it to him to take him with you somewhere safe. France, Germany, Timbuktu, it doesn’t matter, as long as the Dark lord can not reach him.”

“I… I don’t have dat authority.”

“But Ambassador Schwartzmann does. Ask him. I bet he would do it for the chance to remind the world exactly what sort of monster Britain’s ruler is.”

Viktor thought for a moment, and realized that was true. McGunny had thought this through extremely well, which made him wonder…

“Vhy? Vhy are you doing dis? If you vere found out you could be tried for treason.”

McGunny didn’t answer him though, merely stood up from his desk, and canceled the anti-spying charm.

“That’s all the time I’m afraid I can spare for now. Come back later with a response to my questions and we can continue the interview from there.”

“Vat are you-”

The door burst open and a reporter hurled herself inside, though she halted as soon as she saw Viktor.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude!”

McGunny shook his head. “That’s alright. We’re done here. Any luck reaching Diggory’s family?”

“I don’t know if they got the letter or not, they haven’t sent a reply. They must be swamped with sympathy letters though-”

Viktor stalked out, knowing he wouldn’t get anymore answers today. Perhaps that was for the best, because he had far too more answers than he knew what to do with. Heaven and Earth, what was he going to do? It was all awful and terrifying, and in some ways fantastic. Voldemort was the devil, manipulating everyone including his own countrymen. Harry was a victim, trying to be the hero, but he needed the sort of help Viktor would gladly extend if he could.

Perhaps he could convince Hermione to come too, if she knew both her best friend and the one who loved her would remain by her side. What would bind her to this place? Hermione loved this school and her education and perhaps her foster brother, but what could she do with it all once she graduated? She had been adopted by purebloods, but was a muggleborn herself, leaving her stuck between two different class prejudices and with slim prospects for careers or relationships. In Europe, someone of her talents and beauty would be accepted and appreciated in almost any field.

He was getting ahead of himself though and he couldn’t afford to do that. He had to talk with Ambassador Schwartzmann to warn him and see if this rescue attempt was even possible, before he even thought about broaching the subject with Hermione. He should probably talk to Dumbledore too, but he was afraid to return to the cellar. Did McGunny know about it? If McGunny had figured out this much, couldn’t someone else have as well?

One step at a time he decided. He needed to talk to the ambassador first.

The dragon was killed on Monday. Harry made it till Wednesday before the other shoe dropped. The first warning came in Potion’s class, when he received a detention from Snape to make up for the potion’s work he had missed and the two missing essays. As he was walking out the door at the end, Snape stopped him for a moment.

“Don’t make plans for this afternoon.”

He received no elaboration, and wasn’t going to push it. He hadn’t gotten a caning yet and he wasn’t about to remind the potions master of that fact. He hoped that wasn’t what this afternoon was about. Classes dragged on, and he counted the minutes. When they were done, he baled out of hanging out with his friends, citing his mountain of homework he was behind on and the exams the next day. He didn’t think they believed him, as he had been using that excuse since he had returned to the castle. It wasn’t his habit to share his depression.

The library was his refuge. Most people took one look at his mountain of books and took the hint, and he really did have a lot of school work to catch up on. He got through one of his potion’s essays and his reading for Celtic class, when McGonagall came looking for him.

“All alone, Mr. Potter?”

He looked up at her, smiled wanly and gestured towards his books.

“Just playing catch up.”

She regarded speculatively, then seemed to remember why she was there.

“Lord Voldemort is waiting for you in the castle keep. He said you should dress warmly.”

“Did he say what this is all about?”

“No, but I wouldn’t keep him waiting. I already sent your friend Clyde for your cloak and gloves. Go, I’ll collect your books.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Professor.”

Clyde met him at the bottom of the stairs with his scarf, gloves, and his warm black cloak (his Baluvian one was being cleaned by the house elves and had yet to be returned). They shared a disparaging look.

“I don’t suppose you’ll actually come back in one piece for once?” Clyde asked.

“If he meant to kill me, he would have done it already. Don’t tell Hermione about this, okay? She’ll just worry.”

His friend shook his head. “If she asks I’m going to tell her. Being lied to hurts worse than worrying. Give her a little bit more credit.”

Harry ducked his head, ashamed. He really was getting carried away in his lies. He used to only do it because he had to, and now Clyde had just pointed out that he was doing to avoid hurting people, which was a self-deluding lie in itself.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. See you at dinner, then, I hope.”

“I’ll save you a potato. With cheese and bacon…”

Harry grinned at him. So Clyde had remembered his favorite food? That was strangely touching.

“Thanks.”

Voldemort was waiting for him just where McGonagall had said he would be, and across the bridge, Harry could see the Dark Lord’s black car. It was the first Harry had seen him since Monday, and then it had only been a brief glance through the open door of the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey had been preparing to pop his arm back into his socket. It was strange that they should meet so long after the fact, but the man must have been busy cleaning up the entire mess.

“You look tired, Harry.”

“Too much homework. Where are we going?”

Voldemort turned and led him out to the car. Victoria was there in her chauffeur’s uniform, holding open the back door for them and looking worried. That wasn’t a good sign. He gave her a reassuring smile as he climbed into the back seat with the Dark Lord. Chief Sentinel Morgan was there as well, which made Harry suspect this was an official matter rather than a personal one between Teacher and Pupil.

“We need your help with something, Harry, in order to wrap up this entire messy business,” Voldemort said, once they had all settled comfortably. “Our foreign visitors have agree to overlook your blatant violation of the Tournament regulations due to the extenuating circumstances. It helps that Diggory listed you as his second in the event that anything happened to him.”

Harry frowned. “I was still registered as his second? I turned him down though.”

“I minor technicality I neglected to mention.”

That made Harry smiled just a bit, until he realized what he was just been told.

“Wait a minute, you mean I’m the Hogwart’s champion now? How does that work? I’m not old enough!”

Voldemort smirked. “That rule only applies to selections made by the Goblet of Fire. Seconds are a personal choice by the Champion and can include anyone. Admittedly, that is an oversight on my part. It would have made things quite awkward if Diggory had chosen the captain of the Chudley Cannons or Newton Settlebeck[2]. It worked out in our favor this time.”

Harry sighed. The year had just gotten that much more difficult.

“That’s what you get for interfering in things that are none of your business,” Voldemort said, unsympathetically. Harry shrugged. That was very true.

“This last one wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“Which is the only reason I haven’t crucioed you. As things stand I will let your training for the third challenge be punishment enough. You will report to Professor Snape every Saturday morning and whenever else he tells you to until the end of the year.”

Harry grimaced but nodded. Honestly, it didn’t sound that bad. He wasn’t expecting to have fun, but he suspected it would be more productive than his own self training for Dueling Club. Not that he was going to let anyone think his time spent with Snape was anything but a cruel and heinous punishment. Particularly not Voldemort.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You better.”

“And the nutty behavior during the full moon? I don’t suppose you have a solution for that?”

“I have a few thoughts on the matter, but I’ll discuss those with you alone when return to the castle.”

Harry snuck a peek over at Morgan, who was so quiet and still it was easy to forget he was there. Morgan looked back steadily, but there were no clues to figuring out what they were all going to do in his blank face.

“If all of this is settled already, then what are we doing out here?” he asked, looking out the window. They didn’t really seem to be going anywhere. Instead of taking the road to Hogsmeade, they were now driving along the edge of the Forbidden Forest without any road in sight. The day was unreasonably warm and sunny for the season, and the snow from the weekend blizzard was wet and slushy.

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.”

After a few minutes, the car turned and entered the forest through the slimmest of openings in the trees. The forest here was different than what it had been in the barrier. Here everything came and went as it pleased, and there was air of foreboding at a level beyond what Harry had previously experienced. He was starting to become nervous.

The ground was without a path and even the charmed car was having trouble giving them a smooth ride. It shook and jerked randomly for a few more minutes, until they entered a clearing and smoothed out again. Harry looked out and felt his heart jump into his throat.

This was definitely their destination.

Some thirty to forty Sentinels encircled the clearing, some facing out into woods to watch for danger, but most of them facing a small herd of centaurs gathered together in the middle. There were a little over twenty, but half of them were too young to be considered adults and seven of them were mares, one an old man, and the rest strapping but clearly overwhelmed stallions. Among the stallions he recognized Firenze and Ulaithur.

He turned back to Voldemort and Morgan, who were staring back at him, but neither’s expressions had changed. The car came to a stop, and Victoria opened the door for them. They climbed out. The centaurs all turned towards them, seeming to know who their fate rested with. A Sentinel came over to meet them.

“Is this all of them?” Morgan asked.

“Most of them. I think half a dozen mares got away, but it didn’t seem worth the effort to go after them. You said we were looking for stallions, yeah?”

Morgan didn’t reply, instead turning to Harry.

“Do you recognize the ones who attacked the champions?”

“What?” Harry turned to Voldemort who stared at him expectantly.

“We must put this to rest. Diggory’s parents and the people of Britain demand justice, and for that someone must be punished. Now tell us, who here is responsible for Diggory’s near death.”

Harry could only blink at him in horror, than stare out at the centaurs. They were all terrified, particularly the children, and more than a few were injured and bleeding. Firenze stood at the edge of the herd, positioning himself between the foals and the Sentinels. Ulaithur had a mare tucked protectively under his arm and she in turn held a wobbly legged colt. Harry was careful not to let his gaze linger on any of them.

“No. I don’t see them. They were probably bachelors without a herd.”

“Harry,” Voldemort admonished. “I know you are lying. We found a crossbow in a cave around where Krum was kept. The arrow and the poison on it both match the arrow used to shoot Diggory. The crossbow was also engraved with the herdmark of this herd. We did not make a mistake. One more time, who is responsible?”

Harry looked down at his shoes rather the centaurs.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Kill him of course. He tried and very nearly succeeded in trying to kill not just one wizard child but four. How could you possibly justify defending him, Harry? He deserves to be punished.”

“So do you, I don’t see you with a wand pointed at your head.”

“Crucio!”

Harry collapsed under the pain of the curse, and screamed. It only lasted a few seconds, but that was long enough to leave him gasping and boneless in the snow. A hard cold hand fisted in his hair and pulled him up to his knees, forcing him to look back at the centaurs, who were looking as horrified for him as he did for them.

“This isn’t the time for your stubborn games, Harry. Tell me who shot Diggory or I’ll kill every stallion, mare, and foal here just to be sure.”

“You’re a monster,” he hissed in parseltongue, “You’re only worried about covering your own mistakes.”

Voldemort sneered. “Don’t get self-righteous. A child-murderer deserves to die, and you’re letting your own weakness get in the way of that.”

“He nearly died because of what you did. He wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s not like the situation will ever repeat itself.”

“I’m not pandering to your asinine notions of right and wrong,” Voldemort continued in English. “You have to till the count of three or they are all dead, and you have the blood of the innocent as well as the guilty on your conscious. One…”

“Wait!”

“Two…”

Harry looked back towards the centaurs, his gaze immediately finding Ulatithur, who seemed to suddenly understand what was happening and detached himself from his mare.

“Thr-”

“Here!” Ulaither shouted, stepping forward. The gathered Sentinels all swung their wands towards him, stopping him in his tracks. He glared at all of them, before he turned his eyes to the Dark Lord. “I am the one you are looking for.”

Voldemort stared back at him evenly, then turned to Harry. “Is this the one?”

The boy closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

The Dark Lord turned to Ulaithur. “There were two of you.”

“I was the only one who fired a bow to kill. He tried to stop me. He is not at fault.”

“Who is the other?”

Ulaithur said nothing. Voldemort turned to Harry. “I want them both.”

Harry glared up at his hatefully. “I doubt you care about the other’s innocence, but Viktor will. If you kill the centaur that carried him to safety, this whole stupid thing will blow up in your face.”

Voldemort’s eyes hardened, and Harry flinched back in preparation for another crucio or even a good old fashioned back hand, but instead received a demeaning little pat on the head.

“Much better. Manipulation is more affective than preaching, isn’t it?” Voldemort pulled away and addressed his Sentinels. “Take him, scatter the rest.”

The Sentinels moved in, conjuring ropes and whips. The ones with ropes surrounded Ulaithur, who moved forward to meet them, while those with whips began to crack them threateningly, driving the rest of the heard back and forcing them to break off one by one in different directions. Ulaithur’s mare cried out and reached out to her mate, but a Sentinel intercepted her with a savage strike to her stomach with his whip. She screamed, and Ulaithur who hadn’t moved to resisted at all as they steadily started to tie him with ropes, spun around, pulling Sentinels off their feet as he went. The Sentinel who had struck the mare didn’t even have time to scream as two massive hooves came down on him, stomping him into the ground with a sickening crunch.

“Run, Natiyana! Take Umari and run!” was all Ulaithur managed to get out before a half dozen stunning spells threw him to the ground.

“Ulaithur!” she cried out in anguish, but moved back to her colt, who stood too frightened and shocked to move as his whole world began to unravel before his eyes. She took him by the shoulders and pulled him away, reluctantly, snarling and kicking her hooved feet at any who dared approach, threatening a death as horrible as their compatriot’s.

Harry watched them go, overwhelmed by it all. By death, by the tearing apart of a family, by the ruthless casualness with which these people’s lives were being destroyed. As the herd disappeared into the trees, and Ulaithur was finally portkeyed away, Harry turned to the Dark Lord who was watching him curiously.

“I hate you.”

Voldemort snorted. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“General! I wasn’t expecting you,” the young sergeant said, then remembered himself, and stepped briskly into a salute.

“That is the thing about surprise inspections, they’re a surprise. At ease,” Lucius said with wave of his hand. They were in London headquarters, set in a courtyard surrounded on all sides by high walls. Some fifty wizards and witches (one barely distinguishable from the other in their unisex uniforms) practiced drills, learning to move together fluidly and break apart fluidly and come back together again. “I wanted to see how the advance guard is progressing.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, and gestured out onto the courtyard. “Their running drills now on how to keep organized even when they have to duck and cover. We suspect it will be good practice when we’re fighting in actual cities.”

Lucius nodded and watched the drill for a while, noting the ease of their movements, the coordination. This was very unlike the days when he was a Death Eater, where every man and woman was in it for themselves and if you lived or died it was do to your own ability and not the ability of your partner.

He would always prefer the old method better, but for simple common stock like this, thoughtlessly obeying the command of the superior intellect of the group was probably best.

“Very good. But put them through narrow obstacle courses. There are a lot of narrow streets in the old cities.”

The Sergeant saluted. “Yes, sir!”

Lucius walked away, he still had twelve other units he wanted to inspect and then he would have to prepare for a holiday party at one of his associates’ home. Gilderoy Lockhart, was not by any means one of Lucius’ favorite people, but what he lacked in intelligence, wit, and insight, he made up for in usefulness and unquestioning self importance. The man was a fool, but he was a handsome fool who looked good in a uniform and could quite charmingly convince most other fools that the military might some how make them equally good looking and successful. Lockhart was at the heart of the Brass Cult recruitment campaign, which so far had been widely successful, and Lucius was willing to put up with a few hours of his company every couple of weeks if he kept the ranks full and the public admiring.

With nothing more concerning than controlling his temper long enough not to strangle his future host, he made his way to his next stop, not realizing he carried on him a hidden passenger who was carefully taking note of everything seen and heard for an enemy that wasn’t yet an enemy. And his little observer was gathering enough information to expose the resources and training of every level of command of Britain’s forces from its chief commander to the lowliest recruit.

And if Germany had its way, it would be having a nice long chat with Lucius’ BUG very soon.

“You really should know better,” Voldemort said as Victoria drove them away from the now empty clearing. Morgan was not with them, and really Harry wished the Dark Lord wasn’t there either at the moment. He was angry and disgusted and scared by everything that had happened, and wanted nothing more than to be alone and somewhere he felt safe. Voldemort wasn’t being at all helpful. “I can’t have you acting defiantly in front of my Sentinels. It sends the wrong message. If a child could get away with such arrogance, then they would assume they could as well. It would get tedious correcting them all one-by-one.”

“Mm.”

There was a long silence, and Harry kept his eyes glued to the window, hoping that was the end of their conversation.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure I can for more than fifteen minutes,” he snipped, still not looking at him.

“Touché. But when the heat of the moment has cooled, I hope you will understand that everything that happened here was necessary.”

“When the heat of the moment has cooled, then so will Ulaithur’s corpse and I will have yet another thing to hate you for.”

“He tried to kill you. He tried to kill your friends, and I guarantee he felt no regret for that. You saw how quickly he killed that Sentinel, yet I hear no outrage for his demise. That man may also have had a wife and child, parents and siblings, friends and neighbors.”

Harry grit his teeth. “I know that, but we shouldn’t have ever come here. This isn’t our territory. We started the fight, and then we got angry when they fought back? It’s arrogant and stupid, and you’re so damn intent on making sure it looks good that you don’t even care about that. You don’t care about those centaurs, or about Diggory or that Sentinel. It’s just a twisted game to you, and you’ve dragged me into it.”

“Ah,” Voldemort said, as if he understood, but Harry doubted that he really did. Chances were he was incapable of that sort of empathy. It wasn’t even his fault. Harry had seen his soul before, seen how magic held it together, and knew certain parts of it were still missing. Parts that would make it impossible for him to understand the full range of human emotions or bond in the same way others did. It was sad, but right now all Harry felt was resentment and frustration. He was too angry for pity right now. They rode the rest of the way to the castle in silence, but when the car finally pulled up the keep, Voldemort spoke again.

“I know this all must seem unbearably cruel to you, but I assure you in the scheme of things it is best for Britain. To rule this land, I was made to be able to make these decision which someone of a kinder disposition would find spiritually crippling. You understand better than anyone that this is my purpose, handed down to me from the Earth herself. I am not going to change. Not for you or anyone else. I am incapable. You understand that as well. However, you also have a destiny, and it is linked to mine, how pleasantly or painfully that destiny unravels itself will depend greatly on your ability to overlook the more savage aspects of my rule and appreciate the generosity I can and do extend to you. I do not expect you not to be angry, but I do expect you accept me as I am and to obey me as your ruler and your teacher.”

Harry listened as the car door was opened on the other side and then shut. A moment later, Victoria opened his door and Voldemort was standing right in front of it, staring down at him with his cold red eyes. The Dark Lord extend his hand to Harry, leaving the Gryffindor to make his decision then and there.

Harry stared blankly at it for a long time, weighing his choices and what they would represent now and in the future. In the end, he really didn’t see any other option. He reached out and accepted his hand. Voldemort’s hand closed around his, and Harry jerked away instinctively, but could no longer break free. He was firmly, but carefully, pulled from the car.

“A wise choice. Come, I have a bit of generosity to extend in lieu of my cruelty.”

Voldemort walked him into the castle, still gripping his hand. Harry struggled after him, his stride shorter and still weak from the crucio and his own turbulent emotions. There were not a lot of people in the halls, but the few that were stared at them shamelessly as they passed, more than a little baffled. He felt his ears burn and tried to take back his hand, but the Dark Lord wouldn’t let go.

They finally arrived at the office, where Voldemort released him and walked over to his desk. On top of it was a chest, about the size of Harry’s school trunk, made of dark lacquered wood and decorated with glyphs and runes in solid gold. Voldemort ran his hand over the top of the box, closed his eyes and sighed, then looked to Harry.

“Do you know what is inside here.”

Should I?Harry wanted to snap, but settled for shaking his head.

“The heart of the dragon, whole and perfect. A vessel of undiluted power just waiting to be opened, which is your right as the the one who slew it.”

Harry couldn’t think of what to say, it was too unexpected after everything else. It was a generous gift indeed as a dragon’s heart was worth well over five hundred gallons, but one earned through killing. He didn’t know how he should feel about it. He was too filled with emotion over other things.

“I… thank you,” he tried uncertainly, “But how… what am I to do with it… precisely?”

Voldemort sighed, a bit disappointed by his apprentice’s lack of excitement.

“A small part of it, you will eat, raw. It is good for the health of your heart, lungs, and liver and it is said to extend one’s health by twenty years. It also helps to strengthen your magical core. The rest of it you will use as a sacrifice to the god or goddess of your choice, to gain both their favor and their protection. Choose wisely, and you may be granted the ability to push aside your moon madness and protect yourself against the malignant magics of spirits and fae.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Oh, bollocks! He hadn’t a clue which deity to choose! He had been so busy with other things, he’d barely skimmed a few pages of The Book of a Thousand Gods. Voldemort took one look at him and seemed to understand. He sighed.

“It seems you work best when under pressure. You have until the Winter Solstice to pick your god and prepare your alter. Teacher Brennan will assist you in the actual ritual, as I will be Ireland. Go. You haven’t much time.”

Harry left, but once free of the office he collapsed to his knees, and found himself shaking uncontrollably. His heart began to pound and his breathing became erratic.

Too much, too much. Too much to handle now at this moment. Too much blood on his hands, too many mistakes, too many decisions. He couldn’t breath. He could only sit there, leaning against the wall, trying not to faint as his world began crushing down on him.

Merlin, he was going to die from thinking too much.

1. In case, you’re wondering, Hermione can’t kiss Viktor on the mouth due to a Chastity Contract. Snape mentioned it before. If she did kiss Viktor, he’d have the rather unpleasant experience of a severe rash… on and in his mouth. It’s a method to discourage rape as well as consensual infidelity and underage sex and ‘snogging’.↩

2. A wizarding world movie star, yes they have movies although not as prevalent as with muggles, who specializes in action films. Like Jet Li, Jean Claude Van Dame, or Arnold Schwarzenegger in the muggle world. Imagine any of these people playing in the Triwizard Tournament. I did and kept laughing all day at random moments.↩

Treason I

“Relax,” McGunny said, appearing out of nowhere to sit beside Harry. He pushed him further against the wall for more support. “You are having a panic attack. Cup your hands over your mouth and breath slowly.”

Harry did as he said, but he felt even more smothered than before and almost immediately pulled his hands away again. McGunny grabbed his hands and put them back.

“You’re hyperventilating. You have too much oxygen not too little. Keep them there.”

This time he did as he was told, the older boy’s authoritative voice was so much easier to follow than his own hopelessly scattered thoughts. It helped that he kept commanding him, ‘Breath slower’, ‘Look at me’, ‘You’ll be fine in a minute’. And gradually, he could breath on his own again, his limbs still trembled but he could think clearly. Which meant he realized how ridiculous he was acting.

“Don’t…” he tried, but his throat closed up on him and he looked away.

“Don’t what?” McGunny asked, his voice still as commanding as before.

“Don’t tell anyone… please.”

“… You should at least see the nurse. This could happen again.”

“No! She’ll tell… if it’s about me, she’ll tell Voldemort or Snape, and I can’t… I can’t be…”

“Calm down, you’re going give yourself another fit. I won’t tell any one. I promise.”

Harry nodded his thanks, and slowly got to his feet. McGunny kept a hand on his arm to hold him steady but let go when Harry moved away from him. His thoughts began to organize themselves, and he realized there was something wrong with the situation.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard Voldemort had come and got you and that you came back looking ill. I was worried. Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

Harry looked away. “Yeah.”

“Come on, we both better get out of here.”

They walked away, heading no where in particular but taking the least used route to do so.

“Do you want to talk about it?” McGunny said after awhile. Harry shook his head.

“Not right now… maybe after dinner I can…”

“We could talk about something else. Something that doesn’t have anything to do with the tournament.”

“You mean, like for the biography?”

“Sure, maybe now would be a good time. You did promise me three sessions and it’s been three weeks already.”

Harry ducked his head guiltily. It was true, he hadn’t spared much time for McGunny, and as busy as the Ravenclaw seemed to be he hadn’t felt rude in doing so. He was being polite, he had quite happily lied to himself. He really needed to stop doing that.

“Okay.”

They found themselves an empty classroom and transfigured some old desks into an overstuffed reading chair and a small sofa. Harry curled himself onto the sofa, while McGunny sat in the chair with the KeepSafe book and the magic quill. It smacked of muggled therapy, but Harry was careful not to laugh. After the panic attack, McGunny would probably skip Madam Pomfrey and take him straight to St. Mungo’s.

“Is there anything specific you would like to tell me about yourself or some event in your life?” McGunny began. Harry shook his head. He wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Then you don’t mind if I just start things off?”

Harry shook his head again.

“Alright. Would you tell me… what was life like before you knew you were a wizard?”

“Before I was…? I don’t know what you mean.”

“You lived in Germany for half your life, believing you weren’t magical in the least. What was that like for you? What was school like? Were your parents close? Did you have any friends there?”

Harry thought for a moment. It had been a very long time since he had thought of his life in Germany, except for a few random moments of nostalgia when he visited the Durmstang students or when Christmas rolled around.

“I was happy. I lived in Cologne with both my parents, in this tiny little studio, and we didn’t have car so we had to walked everywhere.”

“What was the studio like?”

“We used curtains in the place of walls so there wasn’t any privacy for anything except the bathroom which was minuscule. And we had big, big windows, like warehouses sometimes have, to let in light. That’s why they say they got the place. All that light to do their art in, and a view of the entire neighborhood…”

Once he got started, Harry found he couldn’t stop, the memories came out in perfect detail. He talked about the noise from the little cars honking at each other as they passed on too narrow streets, the daily drama of Claudia, the neighbor next door who had more lovers than she had common sense, and how the planes rattled the entire studio when they flew overhead.

He talked of the walks to school, his mother’s hand in his, and walks to the market and to the park and to the museums and to tiny little stores where everything is made by hand right in front of you. He talked about his father’s inability to follow a manual and the half a dozen mishaps with the kitchen sink, Harry’s first bike, and the cassette player.

He talked about football games, school plays, sledding, his first and last goldfish, art lessons, and a dozen other tiny things, of places seen, of lessons learned, and the inexplicable moments that just stuck with him. And when he had run out of things to talk about before it all ended in a moment of pointless violence, he just sort of trailed off. He looked to McGunny, who was leaning on one arm, just looking at him, smiling a bit amusedly.

“For someone who didn’t think he’d get anything out of this, you certainly displayed a lot of enthusiasm.”

Harry turned away, pulling out his watch to hide his embarrassment. “How long have I been talking?”

He read his watch and gaped.

“Impossible.”

“Isn’t that your specialty?”

“I’m sorry. I promised you an interview and all I did was rambling about nothing.”

“Quite the contrary, you paint a beautiful and vivid picture. You must have loved that place very much.”

Harry nodded, smiling a bit as he recalled it. Life wasn’t perfect, but looking back on it, it was the happiest and most care free time of his life. He hadn’t been special to anyone but his parents, who were the only people who really matter at the time, and acts of heroism were acted out with swords made from cardboard and the dragons were dangerous only in his imagination.

“Do you think you would ever like to return there?” McGunny asked.

“To Cologne?” Harry asked.

“Yes, to Germany in general perhaps.”

“Maybe… yes. I want to return someday. I’ve wondered what it’s like now. The studio would be gone, the Dursley’s sold it, but the neighborhood probably isn’t that different. I’d like to lay some flowers on my parents’ graves, at the very least.”

“Maybe you’ll have the chance here soon. Relations between Germany and Britain seem to have improved over the last year.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

He let out a yawn, and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, physically and emotionally. The interview had served as a good distraction, but he needed to rest. He had exams tomorrow and essays, but there was no point in doing them when he knew he wouldn’t remember a single thing and truthfully it seemed pretty trivial in comparison with other things he had to deal with. This once, he would let it go and hope for the best.

“I’m going to bed.”

McGunny nodded. “That is a good idea.” He snatched the enchanted quill from the page, where it had continue to write everything they were saying, and closed the book. “Here.” He handed the book to him, which Harry accepted. It was surprisingly lite, but still sturdy in his hands.

“Thanks for… well, everything pretty much covers it.”

The Ravenclaw gave him a business-like smile. “Think of it as a down payment.”

“I’d rather think of it as you being my friend.”

McGunny blinked at him, stunned. Friend? So suddenly? It wasn’t something Harry had ever offered lightly. Those few he had, he kept close, but no one could figure out how he chose them. McGunny had secretly hoped for it, but hadn’t counted on it. After all, he had approached him not as a friend but as a scholar. But that was Harry. How he chose his friendships and his loyalties was as strange and mysterious as everything else about him.

“I… I would like that.”

The younger boy nodded. “Goodnight then. And good luck with exams[1] tomorrow.”

“You as well.”

And Harry left for Gryffindor tower, while McGunny sat there and ruminated over what had just happened. A delightful turn of events, and he would be enjoying it immensely if it weren’t for his god awful headache.

“You are excused from exams, Mr. Potter,” Professor Vector said, handing him a hall pass. Everyone turned to him, but none were as surprised as Harry himself.

“What?”

“As the new school champion you are exempt from exams. No one told you?”

Harry’s expression clearly said that no one had, and a few people broke out into snickers, even as other glared at him jealously. The announcement had been made during dinner the previous night, but he had missed it, talking with McGunny and was rather glad that he had. It was bad enough trying get to his bed with his entire house congratulating him and cheering him and just generally sucking out all the energy he had left in him. Hermione, his angel, had been the one to send the Weasley twins, his devils, to escort him to his dorm. He couldn’t remember what happened after he’d collapsed onto his bed, but his boots were by his trunk, his glasses on his bedside table, and a blanket had been thrown over him when Clyde woke him up the next morning.

“Well, you can always take the exam if you want to,” Vector offered cheerfully, causing even more giggles.

“Er… no thanks.”

“That’s what I thought. Here’s your hall pass, though I doubt anyone is going to stop you. Enjoy the day.”

“… while you still can,” someone called from the back, and everyone laughed, except of course for Hermione.

“That isn’t funny!”

It sort of was, Harry thought, in macabre sort of way. He shrugged it off, took his pass, gathered his things, and headed towards the library. This was one thing off the list of a hundred and twenty-seven he didn’t have to worry about, and he wasn’t going to question it. He still had the other hundred and twenty-six things left to do.

At the library, he received yet another surprise from Madam Pince. As he entered, she looked up from a stack of books she was checking back in as if she were expecting him.

“Headmistress Lestrange sent your pass already. I just need you to read and sign the Risks and Responsibilities form and I can give you a key.”

“I’m sorry?”

She looked him for a long moment, to see if he was being intentionally daft.

“No one told you?”

“It seems to have slipped everyone’s mind. Now, what are you talking about?”

“You’ve been granted access to the Restricted Section.”

“Oh.”

The day was just full of surprises, and not knowing what to do about it at the moment, he decide to leave it be. He accepted the release form to go over later, and went in search of comfortable place to read. It didn’t take long, as there was no one to compete with for seating. He settled in an overstuffed chair in direct sunlight, brought out The Book of a Thousand Godsfrom his bag, and started where he had left off. Exactly two pages from where he had started. Each god had exactly one page dedicated to them, which made his current progress rather sad.

A’achua. Goddess of Butterflies.

No.

Ababanon. God of Elm Trees.

Eh.

Adsullata. Goddess of Underground Springs.

Better. Slightly. Kind of.

Five pages done. Only nine hundred and ninety-five to go. He let out a huff. He should have taken that stupid Arithmancy exam.

He was woken from a deep slumber by a hand gently shaking his shoulder, and he blinked blearily up at McGonagall who was looking at him with more than a little amusement. He looked at his lap to see how far he had gotten.

Cait’wain. God of Adolescent Girls.

God? What was He doing with all those adolescent girls?

“Sorry to disturb you, but you have visitors,” the Transfiguration teacher said. This sounded rather dubious to Harry, and he must not have hidden his thoughts well enough for she noticed. “I think you’ll like these ones. I promise no one from the press will be stepping into this castle any time soon.”

“Then who? I don’t really know a lot of people outside of the castle,” he said, putting away his book. With any luck his visitors would turn into an adequate distraction.

“I am not entirely sure who they are, but since they are a part of your approved mailing list I assume you are on good terms with them. Their last names are Reicher, two men and two young girls.”

Harry nearly dropped his bag. This was a surprise! He certainly wasn’t expecting them to travel all the way from London to Scotland just to say hi.

“Perhaps you would like to get out of the castle for a while, and go down to Hogsmeade for lunch,” she offered.

“Can I? I mean, it isn’t even a Hogsmeade weekend…”

She gave a dismissive shrug. “You’ll be under the supervision of two adults.” There was a lot about the situation that made him think she was breaking at least half a dozen rules for him, and he was reminded that she was in fact a Gryffindor, and not just his teacher.

The Reichers had been placed in a room near the castle entrance designated as a waiting room, with lots of stuffy chairs, extra portraits, twenty year old magazines, and a few children’s toys that Alyssa and Morgana were happily ignoring in favor of pestering their fathers about castles and Harry and dragons. They ran up to him the moment he arrived, and surprised him by stopping to curtsy before they jumped all over him. He shook hands with Robert and Kyle, made small pleasantries, and then conceded to the girl’s pleads to go out.

“Please, tell us about the dragon! Was it scary? Did it breath fire at you?” Morgana asked as they took to the road. It was sunny, without wind, and unusually warm still so they had all agreed to walk to Hogsmeade, hoping it would take away some of the girls’ excess energy.

“Yes. Very scary. She blew fire all over the place. Set part of the castle on fire,” Harry said idly. “Her tail was worse though. Covered in spines and one swing could have sent an elephant flying.”

This unexpected detail set off a whole knew set of fantasies and set off after Alyssa, who squealed and ran ahead to escape her. When they were far enough away, Robert set his hand on his shoulder to gain his attention.

“Are you alright?”

Harry gave him a wry smile. “Yes. Why? Did I lose a limb and everyone neglect to mention it to me?” He made a show of counting all his fingers and touching his ears and nose to make sure everything was still there. Kyle bopped him upside the head.

“That’s not what we meant. It’s hard to believe, I know, but lawyers and even their dashing assistants, know a thing or two about people put into extremely stressful situations. It can cause problems that have nothing to do with the body.”

Harry thought about his panic attack and the latest rounds of nightmares robing him of sleep, but didn’t see the point in telling them about it. What could they do? They weren’t psychologists, and after today who knew when he would see them again? In any event, they weren’t ready to hear about the centaurs or his religious quandaries.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already talked with the school councilor. They’re making sure I don’t go crazy.”

Of course, the school didn’t actually have a councilor but they didn’t need to know that. He was talking to McGunny who seemed to have some inkling of what he was doing. Push came to shove, he could talk to Pomfrey and get some calming draughts and anti-anxiety potions. Come to think of it, he could probably make those himself.

“That’s good,” Robert said skeptically. “But if you need to talk…”

“I’ll show up on your doorstep completely unannounced. I promise.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Kyle said, and that was the end of the conversation, because Alyssa had run back to them and jumped into Harry’s arms for protection. He hefted her onto his back and pulled out an imaginary sword and pointed it at Morgana, who was still growling and roaring at them like a dragon.

“Cease, foul beast!” Harry cried out dramatically, “Thou shalt not harm thy fair damsel!”

He charged after her and Morgana turned and ran away, laughing while Alyssa giggled into his ear. The trip to Hogsmeade was a pleasant change of routine. The entire village was decked out in Christmas decorations, and with the new dormitories and houses there were many more people and many more decorations and festivities than usual. Dozens of people stopped to wave hello to Harry, including Ambassador Schwartzmann, who was taking a stroll, and a Sentinel, who asked for his autograph. No one seemed to quite know what to make of Harry’s companions, but since they seemed to be there by Harry’s own inclination, no one questioned them.

The Three Broomsticks was busy, but Madam Rosemerta got them all a seat immediately and was at her most charming, going so far as to give them all some complimentary chocolate mint cookies and a free round of drinks. It was vaguely awkward for Harry, but Robert and Kyle made jokes about similar incidents they’d had while working for loftier clients, and some of their stories were down right hilarious.

They talked and talked, and when food arrived they talked between bites of foods (and in Harry’s case used his potpie as a handy demonstration of basic dissection techniques that would come in handy in potion’s class, which Morgana and Alyssa were less than pleased to discover was even worse than they had heard), and talked some more, ordered a round of drinks, talked, took turns to the loo, ordered desert, talked more quietly as the girls began to nod off, and finally said their goodbyes in whispered tones as Robert and Kyle hoisted up one daughter each and made their way to the floo. Harry checked his watch and found they had spent almost four hours together.

He made his way back to the castle, feeling a sense of privilege being welcomed to spend the afternoon in the company of a family so thoroughly loved by one another that all the complimentary cookies and handshakes in the world would never compare to it. His thoughts turned to Voldemort, as they frequently did lately, and he felt a strange mix of anger and pity. The Dark Lord did not care about people like the Reichers, and would as casually and callously have destroyed them as he did Ulaithur and his family. The reason for that was because he was missing a part of himself that allowed him to empathize or even appreciate the special bonds that composed any relationship that wasn’t steeped in personal ambition.

Voldemort was an incomplete being.

This conclusion struck him suddenly and powerfully, dancing around in his head as he made his way back to the castle alone.

He’s incomplete.

Incomplete.

What was he missing? Why? How? And it stuck with him for several minutes before it made a sudden leap to the real question he needed to be asking himself.

What did he need to do to make him complete?

Viktor found McGunny after semester exams were over. It wasn’t the Durmstang champion’s way of being considerate of the other boy’s academic pursuits, but merely the longest he could delay giving him an answer. He didn’t know if McGunny was taking the train home like almost everybody else or not, and two weeks was pushing his luck if he were.

“For a spy, you really aren’t very discreet. Anyone could have seen you there and wondered what you were up to,” McGunny said as Viktor stepped out from behind a pillar. The champion didn’t dignify him with a reply.

“I have spoken vith him. He is villing to help… if you can prove dat help is necessary. Dat shouldn’t be difficult for someone vith your supposed skill.”

McGunny’s expression was bland. He wasn’t rising to meet his antagonism. “It won’t be. His medical records should have more than enough evidence to prove abuse and extreme personal danger. Pomfrey’s filling cabinet is no Gringotts.”

Viktor didn’t recognize the reference, but he got the point.

“Even dough I say he’ll help… I zink I should add he’ll only help if it doesn’t interfere vith da prime directive. Ve’re not here to start a fight, believe it or not.”

McGunny’s expression remained bland, but Viktor didn’t think he believed him.

“I understand. It shouldn’t take long for the Dark Lord’s true intentions to rear their ugly heads.”

“And vat are you going to do now? He has offered to help you as vell, if you vant it.”

The Ravenclaw shook his head. “I’m not Potter. I have family here vulnerable to the Dark Lord if my treason is discovered. Once I give you the proof you need, we will not speak of this again. I’m leaving it in your hands.”

Viktor nodded. That he could understand, and it made his complete manipulation of Viktor and his country somewhat more forgivable. They walked away from each other, neither looking back.

“What a horrifying and fabulous idea.”

Harry sat across the fire from Brennan, their handmade lodge was almost half a mile from the castle and a few extra silencing spells insured their privacy. He clutched The Book of a Thousand Gods, anxiously waiting for the man’s answer. The idea he had formed on the road remained firmly planted in his mind, and no amount of distraction, be it friends, homework, or his many troubles were enough to dislodge it for even a moment. Even the many known and unknown dangers that surrounded it, dangers to himself and to others, could make abandon the thought.

“Is it possible?” he asked the old man. “Is there any way?”

“If you are looking for a specific ritual, then no. If you’re looking for a specific god, I know just the one. Here, give me the book.”

Harry came around the fire, and sat beside him, handing him the book. Brennan opened it and flipped through it briefly before settling on one page. He pointed out a name and handed it back to him.

“Her. She is the one you need.”

Harry read, and the more he read the more confused he became. He looked up at Brennan.

“I don’t understand… how can She help?”

“She is one of the very strongest goddesses you will ever encounter, and She is far less likely to do you wrong than Her male counterpart. If She cannot help you Herself, than there will be some other god or goddess in Her retinue that can.”

“But there is no ritual…”

“The ritual can be created by anyone, so long as it incorporates the four basic elements of a ritual. The Protection, simply put the preparation needed to protect the supplicant from disruption by human or inhuman interference, the Call, the part of the ritual designated to gain the attention of the specific god or goddess and make it known that your offering is dedicated to them only, the Sacrifice or Offering, which is self explanatory, and the Request, which should also be fairly obvious. It would not be difficult to do this, but whether She would accept your request is the problem.”

“You don’t think the dragon’s heart will be enough?”

“More than enough, but even She can not defy the Earth. If the Earth will not allow it, it cannot be done.”

“And the Earth would not allow this…”

Brennan let out a sad little laugh, and lifted his hands in supplication to some unseen thing. “She may. For all we know, this idea is really Her idea, and we are therefore obligated to carry it out.”

“Is there any way to know?” the Gryffindor asked, feeling his frustration and uncertainty mounting. He had come to Brennan because he had to. He had neither the skill nor the knowledge to carry out this task on his own, but rather than simplifying matters, the old man only seemed to complicate them.

“She will find a means to stop us if we are in the wrong. The ritual will fail. An interruption will occur. There will be some sort of sign.”

Harry nodded, and they fell into a long silence, staring into the fire together.

“There are other dangers,” Harry said at last. “If we’re discovered… what we intend to do to him would be considered an attack on Britain’s ruler. Treason, whether we succeed or not. They won’t simply throw us to the werewolves.”

“Torture,” Brennan agreed, “Then death if we’re lucky, Askaban if we’re not. If this works, I will consider it well worth the price, but I am an old man, and my time in this body is limited. You on the other hand, have your entire life ahead of you. A future that is bright and full of promise.”

Harry shook his head. “Not if things stay as they are… Voldemort… he’ll… I don’t know. I just feel like if he continues as he has… I’ll go completely mad. I’m part way there already.”

A comforting hand landed on his shoulder, and Brennan gave him a reassuring smile.

“I will help you, and am most honored to be allowed the opportunity. I will do some research tonight and complete an outline for the ritual. Come back tomorrow after the other students have boarded the train, and we can begin a protection circle and gather supplies for the alter. If anyone asks who you picked try not to answer, but if pushed tell them you have selected Condatis, a powerful water god.”

Harry nodded. A course had been set, and now there was nothing to do but let it carry him along. He should have felt relieved, but he felt even more anxious than before. Was he wrong? Did it matter? This was self preservation at its most bizarre.

Weakly, he thanked Brennan, and left the lodge. The sky had turned gray, and the days were settling back into winter, cold and dreary. He stood for a long time just outside of the door, always just hair’s breadth from turning back and telling Brennan he had changed his mind. A sudden icy wind enveloped him, causing him to cringe and pull up the hood of his cloak. The wind didn’t die down, and he found himself making a sprint for the castle and the shelter it provided.

It wasn’t until he was safely and warmly inside, that he realized he could have more easily just have turned around and gone back inside the lodge. He hadn’t thought of that though. Hadn’t thought of turning back to find sanctuary, rather he had gone forward.

Perhaps that was the sign Brennan had been talking about.

Or maybe it was an ill portent of things to come.

“Ooh.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Don’t worry, I will not make you buy it for me,” Fleur reassured him, smiling mischievously. They were making their way through the upper class section of one of London’s finer shopping districts, on a ‘not-date’, filling their Christmas shopping list quota. She had been given permission to visit London for a day on the condition that she took someone who knew the city so she wouldn’t get lost. Bill had been handily available. He had gotten what he needed within the first hour and between two shops, but Fleur viewed shopping as a cultural immersion and would not be rushed.

They visited bakeries, novelty shops, antique shops, clothing stores, sporting goods stores, a weapon’s smith, two galleries, and where now passing through a street dedicated solely to jewelry. The one that had caught her eye specialized in restored jewelry five hundred years or older, and their display was quite impressive. Manikins dressed as princesses and pagan warriors adorned in massive pieces of golden jewelry, Celtic knots, ancient crests, and ancient scenes of hunts and battles, wound their way around bodies in regal sophistication which would otherwise seem garish by modern fashion.

“It iz funny,” Fleur said, “Paris is considered ze ’ight of fashion nowadays, but I would give my left foot for any one of zese pieces.”

“I think they’d settle for half your bank account,” Bill laughed. “I know these people. I worked to remove curses on their stuff before. They fund university expeditions to Ireland and Scotland to unearth old burial mounds, and rob the dead. The universities keep the corpses and pottery, but they get to keep anything really valuable.”

“Zat iz awful.”

“Yeah, but I doubt they’ll be in business much longer. The Dark Lord is already proposing a ban on the practice.”

“No, I mean zat it iz awful zat you would burst my romantic bubble. You are a boor.”

Bill looked scandalized.

“Moi? A bore? Well excuse me, but it’s harder than is sounds rustling up dragons and centaur assassination plots. They’re all very busy during the holiday season you know. We had to book the last ones six months in advance!”

She giggled, and wrapped herself around his arm. They continued down the street until the jewelry stores gave way to more novel stores, like the rare plants store and an exotic apparel shop. They wandered into a rare books store, and were greeted by what appeared to be a librarian who had more money than fashion sense.

“Welcome, welcome! I am Bernard Wittlesmith, the owner of this establishment,” he greeted them, removing his purple artist’s cap from his bald head. “Now which of you is interested in purchasing a book?”

Bill shrugged and gestured towards Fleur. He honestly didn’t know why she had chosen this particular shop. There were several other book stores they had skipped altogether with a wider selection and probably cheaper prices as well, but then she probably had a lot more experience with fancier shops like these than he did.

“I was ’oping you ’ad some books on ’Ogwarts,” she said, smiling at him in her most charming way. “And perhaps ze Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah! You must be Fleur Delacour! I have read about your exploits in the paper. It is an honor to meet you,” he exclaimed happily, and reached out to shake her hand.

“You are too kind.”

“Not at all. Please wait here just a moment, I have just the book for you!”

He scuttled off and disappeared behind a row of shelves. He hummed to himself as he went, and when his humming was no longer audible, they both turned to each other. Bill was annoyed.

“Isn’t it the customer’s decision what they buy?”

She shrugged. She was used to strange shop owners. The best shops tended to have eccentrics running them, and it was often best to let them do what they did. They had a special magic of their own that could not be understood by anyone else.

Ten minutes later, Wittlesmith returned with not one, but two books. He handed the smaller one to her first. It was dark purple and titled in gold print. It wasn’t about Hogwarts or the Forbidden Forest, instead it seemed to be about…

“‘The Fall of the British Monarchy’?”

“Excellent book. It has a little of everything. Ambitious men and women, knights and princesses and nobodies turned somebodies, love, betrayal, honor, battles, political intrigue, prophecy… just lots and lots of things. You’ll love it.”

“Hmm…” She admitted, she was intrigued. It helped that when she opened it, the first things she saw was a young woman, a Queen it appeared, dressed in armor and carrying a sword. She looked back at him. “I’ll take it. What about zat other one?”

“This one? This one I would like to ask you to deliver to Mr. Harold James Potter. I’ll give you a ten percent discount on your book if you do.”

“He ordered a book from here?” Bill asked, immediately suspicious.

“If I wanted to take orders I would have become an employee rather than an owner. I don’t do orders. I tried to send this book out to him months ago, but it kept being returned without being received. Security measures, I suppose.”

Bill’s suspicions rose considerably. “They are there for a reason and we’re not going to go around them for someone we don’t know anything about.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very practical. But this is important. He needs this book.”

“Let me examine it first,” Bill said, holding out his hand. Wittlesmith looked reluctant, but as he realized this was the only way to get what he wanted, he relinquished the book. Twenty-three spells later, even the eldest Weasley child had to admit it appeared nothing more than a very simple albeit boring book. The bookkeeper, seeing that he was finally done, snatched it back, and all but hissed at him, then gave it to Fleur. She looked it over.

“‘Encyclopedia of Centaurian Prophecy Techniques and Philosophies: Volume 3 The Celestial Naming System.’ What about volume 1 and 2?”

“He doesn’t require volume 1 and 2. Only 3. Now then, if you’ll come with me, you can pay and I can wrap up your parcels.”

For all the anguish filled days that crawled by, the arrival of the Solstice seemed to come out of nowhere for Harry. Excused from exams, he had more time to himself and his thoughts than he was comfortable with, and when at last he reunited with his friends at mealtimes and the end of the day, he couldn’t push away his pointless worrying. This seemed to make his friends worry about him, and he had guilt to deal with as well.

There was a distance forming between them, particularly he and Hermione, and it had been for quite some time he realized. Where once they would have spent hours talking to each other or going on small adventures, now there were long silences and forced smiles. Harry grieved it, but he didn’t have enough of himself left to spare to re-affirm it. Not enough time. Not enough energy. If things turned ugly after tonight it would all be pointless anyway. She had made him promise to talk to her when she came back from the holidays, but didn’t honestly know if what he could or even should tell her when she did.

McGunny was starting to take over her role, and that was frightening, because as much as he liked the boy, he didn’t trust him or care for him like he did her. They had another interview after coming back from seeing their classmates off at the Hogwart’s express. Harry had skipped over the death of his parents, still not ready to face that, and his life with his relatives, that was too humiliating in many ways, and went right to the night he had come back to the Dursley’s and found Snape waiting for him and his stay at WYRA. He had dug out his first wizarding book for the occasion, the pages between filled with sketches of those boys he had met. The sketches weren’t nearly as good as he remembered them, but they did bring to mind those days of disorientation as he adjusted to the idea of being a wizard.

He felt as disoriented now as he had then. His world was shifting, but he didn’t know how or in what ways it would change. Forward was the only way to go, and he marched with the determination of a soldier to the lodge house, where Brennan was waiting for him.

The previous day they had laid down the wards that would protect them, runes painted in a mixture of ashes and wine on the walls, and burned sage in the fire pit, which left the entire place uniquely fragrant. That morning he had gone into the woods to cut down a young holly tree that had been bent and broken by the harsh winter wind and the weight of too much snow, and brought back the pieces to build an altar Brennan used his magic to weave the goddess’ special symbol, a bull and a dog bowing to each other, into a swatch of cloth, so that the bright gold thread shown clearly against the green silk.

When he walked through the door at sunset, it looked completely unfamiliar. He remembered the runes, and the beginnings of the altar, but the atmosphere was different. The altar had been completed, the silk cloth laid over the holly shrine, a bushel of wheat, a scattering of apples, and some walnuts, had been strung around it in a circle, and there were pitchers of milk, wine, and honey on the right. A sword, a scythe, and spear rested on the left. The fire in the pit was enormous, and if it weren’t for magic it would have set the entire place on fire. The chest containing the dragon’s heart rested on top of the altar.

Brennan was dressed in robes of white with no shoes, a staff similar to the one he had seen Voldemort carry to the werewolf colony was in his hand, and a line of ash was smeared across his forehead. They looked to one another briefly, but nothing was said. They both knew their parts.

Harry removed his shoes, socks, and cloak and set them aside. The fire insured it was warm enough for him not to be cold, but even a little too warm. Brennan stood by the altar, a bowl in his hand, and when Harry approached him, he dipped his thumb into it, took it out, and ran a line across his boy’s forehead. Harry could feel and smell the ash against his skin.

“Are you ready, my Pupil?”

No, he wasn’t. He would never be ready for this. Not in a thousand years. But his tongue spoke the opposite of what his mind was screaming.

“Yes.”

Brennan stepped back, and he stepped forward, then knelt before the altar, closed his eyes and began to pray.

“Madris[2], Goddess of the Scythe, of the Field, of the Chalice and the Blade[3], I call to you and beg thy indulgence…”

He continued on for several minutes, calling out Madris’ many names and euphemism, praising her, cajoling her, begging her attention. Slowly, the air began to thicken with magic. The fire grew larger, roaring like a lion and turned bright yellow with licks of blue. The urns holding the wine, milk, and honey burst, and the walnuts all snapped open like popping corn.

He had Her attention.

Voldemort stood at the peak of the hill, staring down into the glen where Druids in white robes gathered to perform their sacred rites by torchlight. He was not welcome there, and in his way he respected them, so he did not demand it. They were not honoring the gods or goddess that were his patrons anyway.

He turned back to the hill, where a horde of fae were already celebrating, dancing and drunk, and chasing their females in and out of the invisible hollows. They were not his folk, but they were mediums to those he honored, so he tolerated their antics as they mucked about the shrines he had created, eating and drinking the offerings.

They offered him their own drinks, winter wine and winter meade, smelling sweet and warm and he was tempted. They offered him their food, spiced apples, honey glazed meat, breads soft and hot and he was tempted. Women, naked and pale as death, touches his cheek with blue tinted finger tips, chilling his skin and boiling his blood and he was tempted. Hobgoblins, the wild kin of the more familiar banking goblins, offered him weapons the likes of which would put Gryffindor’s to shame and he was tempted.

Their purpose was to tempt him after all, but he wisely refrained from partaking of any of their offerings. He would become one of them, a fairy folk, bound to the ephemeral aspects of nature, vulgar and beautiful at once. They would make him a king, a general to their Oberon, or some master among the Unseelie Court if he let them, but his ambitions remained with wizards.

Gently, but sternly, he turned them all away, fixing the shrines and refilling the offerings with wave after wave of his wand. They would continue to destroy his shrines, but that was their right, and come morning the offerings they had tempted him with tonight would be left on the shrines, and he would gather them up without fear of becoming one of them. The food would not taste as good nor the drink, and the women would be gone altogether, but the weapons and the other gifts would still be there, as powerful as ever and rightfully his.

“Do you feel Them stirring, Lord Wizard?” a nymph crooned in his ear, delicately touching his hair, his cheek, his lips. Her brilliant red hair stood out against her white skin like blood, her gray eyes were clouded with drink and desire, desire she directed solely at him. “Andraste and Toutatis and Ogmios[4] and Madris, all reaching out to you. Can you feel them touch you? Feel them touch you like I do?”

He smiled grimly, and took her hands, pulling them away. She was a delight, but not for him, and it was only her words he would allow himself to take interest in, not her desires.

“Who is Madris? Not one of mine,” he said, knowing the first three gods well, as they were some of those he had built his shrines to. The last one was not familiar to him, at least not by that name.

She scowled petulantly as he pulled her hands away, and was even more dissatisfied when her affections were turned aside for inquires. Like a spoiled child she pouted and retributed with sullen snappishness.

“Great sorcerer! Hah! Does not even know when a Goddess means to kill him! Great fool instead, me thinks!” she snarled and tore away from him. His strength was great, but hers was greater and she escaped. He went after her, to demand an explanation, but the crowd was thick and here no one moved aside for him.

He cursed under his breath and went in search of a crone.

Harry had been in the presence of gods before, but each was unique. The Earth left him overwhelmed, open, and without boundaries. The Moon left him fearless, energetic, and uninhibited. The Storm God made him feel formless, pulled in by and a part of a great rush that could not be destroyed except by its own exhaustion.

Madris made him feel like a Master.

Master of what, he didn’t entirely understand, but he felt an undeniable strength and protectiveness that was, as of yet, directed at no one and nothing. He felt the power to build up his world with his own hands, nurture it with perfect tenderness of a mother and protect it with a dragon’s savagery. The self-doubt and confusion of the last few days melted away, leaving him with an absolute certainty that his course was true.

He opened the chest, and inside rested the dragon’s heart, bloody and plump as if it had only been removed moments ago. The heart was still warm as he pulled it out, and he waited briefly, expectantly, to see if it wouldn’t start beating in his hands. It did not move, but being nearly ten pounds and slippery, he was challenged enough keeping his grip. He carried it like an infant, cradled in his arms, towards the fire.

“Madris, Queen of a Hundred Gods, Ruler of the Hearth, I bring an offering of flesh and magic to honor thee. Please accept this tribute from your humble servant.”

Taking the heart in both hands, he gently tossed it into the roaring fire. His hands were still stretched out to it when the magic dispersed into the air, igniting it all in blue flames. The force of it shoved the flames into his lungs, and threw him to the ground. Behind him, the shrine was set alight and Brennan let out a cry of surprised terror.

Harry laid on the floor, staring up at the dance of flames above him, watching it set the roof on fire. He, himself, felt little pain. The fire that touched his skin and filled him inside was like the touch of slightly too hot water, strangely pleasant and slightly painful at the same time. Slowly, he breathed out the magic, and with it came his wish, bathed with so much intention and passion that it could leave nothing to misinterpretation.

Consciousness began to slip away from him, but he kept his mind open long enough to sense the retreat of the goddess, bearing away the spell that would likely change his world forever.

The crone he found wasn’t as old or as ugly as he would have liked (the older and uglier a crone the wiser she was, at least when it came to the fae), being only a few centuries and having more than five teeth and both eyes, but she told him what he needed to know without the annoying tendency to speak in riddles first.

“Madris isn’t coming to kill you. She just wants to give you something,” she said, then took a bite of cheese he had given her in payment. It was sour, but that was the preferred flavor for those of her ilk.

Voldemort felt relieved. He doubted the Earth would allow him to die, but that didn’t mean She wouldn’t let him suffer. She did not coddle Her children, even those important to Her.

“A gift?” he asked, because sometimes gods gave him less pleasant things, like warnings or tasks or rotted gnome heads (although that last one could have just been a Goodfellow[5], who despite their names really weren’t very good at all).

She continued to chew her cheese slowly, savoring it, and didn’t speak until she was done.

“Yes… of course, it will likely kill you, so I understand how Firwyne might have been confused.”

He tried to ask what he was to be given and how to refuse it, but it was too late. A horde of new fairies suddenly landed in the clearing, signaling the arrival of their patroness, Madris, and though the other folk welcomed these new arrivals with much enthusiasm, Voldemort felt a deep sense of dread come over him.

The fairy horde split up, carrying their food and drink among their fellow revelers and playing their pipes and their strings to replace the drunken musicians, and as they scatter their goddess was revealed from the crowd. She was beautiful, as goddesses tended to be, but in an older more regal way than the fertility or love goddesses he was more familiar with, with hair black as ink and skin darkened by sun, and draped all in a purple tunic with a sword strapped to her side. Beside Her stood a boy god, naked with a face the same as Hers, and a white hound with red ears leashed in His hand. Voldemort didn’t know what to make of Her. She was not a nature goddess, no single element composed Her being, but he did not recognize Her from the pantheon of warrior gods and goddesses nor those associated with fertility.

She turned to him, and he rose to meet Her. There was no point in trying to run away. That was why She had brought the boy god with the dog. A spirit dog would find him anywhere. The boy would find the dog anywhere.

He bowed to her respectfully. She tilted Her head in acknowledgement.

“I have something for you,” she said. Her voice was that of authority. Not military or social authority, but maternal authority. A Goddess of Mothers, maybe?

“Would you take offense if I refused it? I’m told this gift will likely kill me,” he asked, trying to sound polite. Gods could be reasoned with more often than not, if one were respectful about it. As long as love or revenge wasn’t involved at least.

“It doesn’t matter,” She said. “It is the dearest wish of one of my Children for you to have it.”

She lifted her hand, and he stepped away. He found himself stopped by the boy child, His hand rested on his leg, cherubic face smiling sweetly at him even as He stole the use of his limbs. Madris’ hand found his chest. Something wet and red was in Her hand and she gently pushed it into him.

His eyes widen. The thing She had shoved into him was beating, like a heart, but rather than blood it pumped magic, excruciatingly painful magic, tearing at his own magical core. He started to tremble, and when the boy god removed his hand, he fell to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he snarled out a call to his own gods, offering a reward of blood if they would but pull out the poison She had sown, but none appeared. She was more powerful than Them, or perhaps They lacked Her skill. He had never offered prayer to a god of healing before.

He tried to expel it with his own magic, but the thing welcomed it, weaving itself into his power, making them one and the same, infecting him so thoroughly he would have to tear out all his own magic to be rid of it. Pointless, because then he would be dead anyway.

He clawed at his chest, where the pain was the sharpest, as if it were snapping a rib with every steady beat, but there was nothing to grab hold of. Then the blood came up, and he vomited it out onto the ground. Fairy folk, still quite happily enjoying themselves, skittered away but then moved back in to taunt him. This wouldn’t have happened if he were one of them, they laughed and he was offered some wine. He lifted his head just long enough to spit blood into it, and snarl his defiance.

Their offer was useless now. He had already been infected with her wicked spell. He turned to her, to make her an offer, but she was already shaking her head in anticipation of what he would say.

“It is useless. The deed is done,” She said, and walked away, Her son and His dog following obediently behind Her. Blood was coming from other places now. His nose, his ears, possibly other orifices he didn’t want to contemplate, and with every new bleed came a new origin of suffering.

He hissed and snarled, trying to climb back to his feet, to walk it off, to defy fate, but his body betrayed him, refusing to do little more than twitch and spasm. The more jovial of the fae just laughed and kept offering him things he wasn’t even physically able to accept, while the less savory kin gathered up his toxic blood for evil purposes.

For nearly an hour, he fought against the pain and the foreign magical intrusion, focusing on the glory he had been promised and revenge he would exact for this humiliation, but magic greater than his won out and tore him from the world into a dark and quiet place.

1. Mid-term exams, include final exams for single semester courses such as Europeon History of Magic, and also regular exams for two semester courses that always seem to have exams at that time. I hate those.↩

2. Madris is not in fact a real goddess. I created her simply because I could not find ‘real’ deities that would fulfill the role I required. I am sort of going to tell you what she’s goddess of and sort of not. I’d like to hear your theories on the matter. Cause I like all your guys’ theories. It’s fun to discover the different ways people think of a single situation.↩

3. The ‘Chalice and the Blade’ are rip offs from The Di Vinci Code representing womanhood and manhood, but it was such a damn good symbolism I stole it, and shamelessly, because I’m a fanfiction writer and that what we do. Mwa ha ha.↩

4. Andraste and Toutatis are war gods. The Celts had many of them. Ogmios is the god of persuasive speech, the only I’ve heard of. It sort of suggests that Celts tended to fight rather arbitrate their disputes.↩

5. A Goodfellow, such as Robin Goodfellow a.k.a Puck as seen in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, are fairly harmless breed of satyr-like fae but take delight in scaring and tricking people. They’re also commonly known for stealing babies to make into fairies and replacing them with Changelings, but then most fairies and fae breeds do that. Goodfellows are just particularly good at getting through magical protections to do it.↩

Treason II

Harry woke up in his bed, which was not the place he remembered leaving consciousness. That was probably a good thing, since that particular place had been set on fire last he recalled. However, all was not right here either, mostly due to the fact that Snape was scowling down at him like he knew Harry was a budding arsonist. He blinked sleepily, closed his eyes again, hoping he was simply dreaming.

“Potter, wake up. Are you dying?” the potion’s master demanded, shaking him awake again.

Harry groaned, and rolled away from him. “Yee~eesss, now let me die in peace.”

“If only. Get up, we’re going to Dublin.” Harry was tired enough that he thought he might be able to ignore him for a good ten minutes, but also tired enough that he didn’t realize that was a bad idea. His warm blankets were snatched away, and not waiting for him to come to his senses, Snape muttered a spell so that Harry’s clothes jumped out of his trunk and hurled themselves at him, including a change of underwear and his rather heavy boots.

“Agh! Alright, fine! I’m getting up, just knock it off!”

Thank Merlin, no one else was there to see him get a face full of skivvies. Snape smirked and strode away, leaving Harry to dress. The sky was still dark outside, and his bedside lamp flared to life as he climbed out of bed. He was still bone tired, and desperately wanted sleep, but he forced himself through his morning routine. Slowly, his mind began to start waking up, even though his body remained sluggish and uncooperative.

He remembered his spell, in the middle of brushing his teeth and nearly choked on his toothbrush. Earth, Sun, and Sky what happened? What had he done? He hadn’t a clue what his spell would do, only that it was too late to stop it.

They were going to Dublin. That was what Snape had said. That was in Ireland, where Voldemort said he would be for the Solstice.

Well, shit.

He could only hope that because it was only the snarky potions master that came and got him and not a platoon of Sentinels, nothing too horrible had happened. Or at least, that no one suspected him of being responsible.

He found Snape waiting for him in the Gryffindor common room, staring out a window and deep in thought.

“Has something happened?” Harry asked reluctantly, afraid to know the answer, afraid to think asking would make him look guilty. Snape turned to him, looking him up and down, making the him even more uncomfortable.

“The Dark Lord was attacked last night, and might be dying. He has demanded our presence immediately.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he reached out to the nearest wall, incredulity stealing away what strength the exhaustion hadn’t. Impossible. That wasn’t the purpose of the spell. It wasn’t suppose to hurt him.

Even though he had known it probably would to some extent.

“Dying?” His voice was so weak, it would have been inaudible if the common room weren’t so overwhelmingly quiet already. For once, Snape didn’t mock him for it, merely nodded.

“It is not for certain yet, but you need to be prepared for that possible eventuality. Come, we need to hurry.”

The older man turned to lead the way to the exit, his massive strides forcing Harry to scramble after him to keep up. The castle was dark and Harry disoriented, unable to grasp that the same night he had summoned a Goddess he would face the consequences of his actions. His wand was up his sleeve, more out of habit than practicality, as he didn’t even have the energy or the concentration to cast so much as a simple lighting spell.

Lestrange was waiting for them both at the entrance, her expression tight with irritation and worry.

“What took you so long?” she snapped.

“Potter sleeps like the dead,” Snape muttered back and moved right passed her towards the door. She glared at him briefly, but the majority of her vitriol was reserved for Harry. He didn’t look at her, instead following Snape closely. He was far too vulnerable to feel comfortable alone with her, but he couldn’t afford to let her know how much. Especially not now.

Voldemort’s black car was parked outside, and in addition to Victoria there were over a dozen heavily armored Sentinels standing around with brooms and wands in hand. Victoria’s face was ashen as she opened the door for them, even in the feeble light of the torches. She was terrified, and when he caught her gaze he knew it wasn’t entirely for herself that she feared.

Another surprise awaited him inside the car. Lucius Malfoy was there, his back to the driver’s seat, looking dangerous in a uniform vaguely reminiscent of a Sentinel or a Brass Cult Cadet. His uniform was black, close cut to highlight the body of a man who hadn’t let a life of luxury destroy his military physique. The buttons and fixings were gold, and the half dozen medals he wore at his breast were modeled after fearsome things: skulls, serpents, blades.

Harry had the rather dubious privilege of sitting directly across from him. Lucius gave him one, long accessing look, as if determining the chances of getting away with strangling him right then and there. Snape caught him..

“For Merlin’s sake, Lucius, he’s not your competition. Knock it off.”

This earned the potions master a glare from everyone, but he ignored them completely. After that, no one said anything. They each stared out their own window, lost in thoughts and schemes and worries of their own. This could be the end of the world as they knew it.

For better or worse.

There were Sentinels at the door when Viktor got up that morning. At the sight of them, he nearly panicked and blasted them both, but luckily Jophery had been with him and grabbed his arm before he did anything so foolish.

“Vat is dis?” his friend asked congenially, to the nearest Sentinel, a middle aged woman with a scar on her lip. She gave him a half-hearted shrug.

“Orders. A Red Alert has been posted, meaning every available Sentinel and Brass Cult recruit is being called to every Red Facility in Britain. Hogwarts is a Red Facility. Number 27, no less.”

“Red Facility?” Viktor prodded.

“Strategic attack appoint. Government buildings, supply warehouses, private residences of Court Officials,… Hogwarts has had several attacks over the last couple of years so it’s 27, even if most of the students are safely at home.”

Viktor and Jophery shared a concerned look.

“So vy is dere a Red Alert? Has somezing happened?”

Here, the woman seemed a bit reluctant. “Nothing you need to worry about. You just need to stay in the castle until it’s over. Hardly a imposition in this weather. Now go on, I’m sure you boys have other things to do.”

They walked away, casting brief glances to see if the Sentinels were looking at them suspiciously or were preparing to follow. The Sentinels paid them no mind, turning to each other instead for conversation.

“Vat do you zink?” Jophery asked once they were out of ear shot. Viktor just shook his head. There was no way to know what was going on.

“I’ll try vriting Hermione if ve don’t hear anything more dis morning. Her foster father is a commander in ze Brass Cult, she might know somezing.”

They didn’t speak on the subject again once they reached the Great Hall, where they encountered other Sentinels scouting the corridors. They tried again to glean some information from them, but again they were told it was just a safety precaution and not to worry about it. Other students arrived for breakfast, equally confused and unhelpful about what was happening. Having no where else to go, Viktor remained in the Great Hall after breakfast, playing card games with his classmates as he waited for some new information to re-emerge. It came with Fleur, who had been in and out of the Great Hall several times that morning already.

“’Ave you zeen, ’Arry?” she asked. Viktor suddenly realized he had not, even though he knew Harry was spending the holidays at the school.

“No.”

She frowned. “No one ’as. I noticed ’e didn’t come down zis morning, zo I went to is dorm, but ’e iz not zere. Ze other Gryffindors ’ave not zeen ’im eizer. I tried ze library and Dueling ’All too. Nozing.”

“Vill help you look,” Jophery said. “But lets find a teacher first. Dey vould know if he is suppose to be here or not.”

Finding a teacher took almost as much work as finding Harry, but they did at last locate McGonagall speaking with a Sentinel near the castle entrance. Their discussion looked extremely heated, but they broke it off immediately when they saw them approach. She gave them a cautious look.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“I vould like to know dat myself,” Jophery quipped, but Viktor elbowed him in the shoulder before he said anything else..

“Ve vere vondering vhere Harry vas. He hasn’t shown up for breakfast and no vone has seen him.”

“… and because of all the extra security you were worried?” she guessed. “No need. Mr. Potter is on an errand with Professor Snape. They should be back sometime this afternoon.”

Fleur let out a sigh of relief. “Zank goodness. Please, Professor, do you know what all zis-” she gestured at the Sentinel, “- iz about? It iz very zudden.”

She gave a sympathetic smile, but shook her head. “I am afraid I am as much in the dark as you are. Anything I told you would be mere speculation, and that’s worse than useless.”

They split up after that, Fleur to her rooms, Jophery to amuse himself by exploring the castle, and Viktor to write a letter to Hermione. He nearly made it to the owlry with his missive, when he met someone along the way that gave him pause.

“I zought you said you vould never approach me again.”

McGunny ignored that. “I just got back from the infirmary. It’s worse than I thought.”

He handed Viktor a roll of papers, which he opened and skimmed through and immediately felt the blood drain from his face. It was Harry’s medical records. There were records of beatings, of crucios, a broken bones, magical exhaustion, cuts, a life-threatening poisoning, Blue Pox, and a condition resulting from an unknown Dark Arts ritual that left the boy with permanent physical and mental abnormalities. He looked to McGunny, and by the tension around his eyes, Viktor could tell he was as outraged by this as he himself was.

“That’s just what we have records of. There is no telling how many injuries he’s self treated or were covered up by Snape.”

“You zink Snape is involved in dis?”

“He’s aware of it, at the very least. He’s Voldemort’s man and Harry’s guardian. I can’t see how he wouldn’t know.”

Viktor nodded. It wasn’t unreasonable. What little he knew of Snape suggested he wouldn’t be adverse to hurting a child if the Dark Lord commanded it or perhaps even if he didn’t. He had a mean streak a mile wide.

“I don’t suppose you know vat’s going on vith all za Sentinels?”

“The Red Alert? No… I…” he started, then shook his head. “I’m looking into it.”

“Vould you mind telling me ven you find somezing?”

“I will if it’s relevant, otherwise you’re on your own,” McGunny said, and walked away, having nothing else to say. Viktor glared at his back, but didn’t push the matter. Two could play this game. He continued on his way to the owlry to send out his letter.

Harry fell asleep in the car. Despite all his worries, his guilt, and his company, he was still tired and the car was quiet. He woke up when the car stopped, as everyone moved to get up and stepped out. The sun was just starting to rise, the dark silhouette of a castle and slanting rooves against a bright pink and golden sky.

The moment Harry’s feet touched the Irish soil, he felt his magic stir, the fine hairs on his arms and neck stood on end.

“Come on,” Snape said, regaining his attention. They had stopped in front of a large building made of red brick and white columns, a bronze statue of a medi-wizard patching up a man who looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a troll and lost badly. A plaque by the door, read ‘St. Victivius Hospital for Magical Maladies’. A hospital?

Harry’s mind boggled at the thought. Did anyone here really think a hospital was going to have what the Dark Lord needed? Any medi-wizard worth their salt would realize within five minutes that Voldemort’s body resembled a human’s body about as much as it did a wheel of cheese. It was just stupid.

Or desperate.

A line of Sentinels and Brass Cult soldiers lines the walkway and the hall and all the entrance ways, ramrod straight and saluting Lucius as he passed them. Harry trailed behind the party, wanting very much to turn around and leave, and the closer they seemed to draw to their destination the stronger his reluctance became. A nurse, looking terribly nervous and even more tired than Harry, led them through the maze of corridors that seemed to define a hospital to a single corridor. Every hall leading to it had been filled with guards, but this hall was completely empty. They all gave the nurse a suspicious look, and she looked ready to cry.

“He really really doesn’t like people around him when he’s unwell,” she lamented, and scurried off.

They all gave each other a questioning look, then the Slytherins came together in a rare display of cooperation and turned to Harry.

“You go first. He likes you,” Lucius said.

“Oh, screw you, Captain Courageous,” Harry snapped.

The Malfoy patriarch drew himself out and looked ready to snarl out a command, but a small explosion down the hall drew their attentions. A half second later, a man, his hair and clothes smoking, bolted out the door as if his life depended on it, which it probably did.

“Don’t touch me, you filth! Leech! Hashhh ssshnicth sssil wesssk!”

Harry actually blushed at the remainder of Voldemort’s parseltongue insult. He had no idea a wand could be used for that.

“He seems pretty feisty for being on his death bed,” Snape noted.

Lestrange hissed at him, “Show some respect!”

Despite his defiance to Lucius, Harry did in fact ‘go first’. Slowly, uncertainly, he made his way down the hall, terrified of what he might have done to the other man and that he might know it. He stopped a short distance from the door, half off its hinges from when the medi-wizard had been thrown out.

“My Lord?” he called, “May I come in?”

There was a moment of silence, then. “Enter.”

Cautiously, he peeked his head inside first. Voldemort reclined in a small hospital bed, defiantly propped upright against his pillows, his hand still clutched his wand as if daring anyone to tear it from his cold, dead hands. And he did look very near dead. His skin was pale and sweat slick, reminding Harry of cave salamanders turned white in the darkness. In contrast, his eyes were blood shot, not helped by the fact that his eyes were already red to begin with. And he was bleeding. Not badly, but it trickled from his eyes, his nose, the corners of his mouth. His hands were smeared with it.

It was what Harry thought a vampire might look like if it were to die from a disease. Voldemort seemed to sense his thoughts and grinned, his teeth pink with still more blood.

“I hate to tell you this, but you don’t look much better,” Voldemort chuckled darkly. It was pitched just a little too high, indicative of the pain he was still suffering and the strain he he felt trying to hide it. What had he done to him?

“What a scary thought,” Harry said, feebly trying to smile back, and came into the room.

There were sitting chairs in the room, but they had all been destroyed, and he was feeling too timid to draw attention to this fact by actually fixing one. Voldemort’s red eyes tracked him closely. He stopped at the foot of his bed, afraid to approach any closer.

“I will not die,” Voldemort informed him, studying his reaction. Harry nodded, but he didn’t feel relieved. The Dark Lord might not die, but that didn’t mean he would return to what he had been. That had been the point of the ritual, but this couldn’t have been farther from what he had wanted.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, because he had to. He caused this, and he needed to know he could fix it somehow.

“My gods could do nothing for me, what do you think you can do?” the Dark Lord hissed.

“I don’t know… but I do know your gods aren’t the sort you turn to for healing.”

Voldemort’s expression smoothed, and he rested further back into his pillows. Something of his former smugness returned. “True. While we’re on the subject of gods, how did your sacrifice go? Was your god pleased with your gift?”

Harry felt a spike of fear. Dare he say Her name? Would he know Her and what Harry had Her do? But he couldn’t not answer. It was a surer sign of guilt than anything else.

“Ah… I… I don’t know. I think She burned down the lodge house.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Perhaps She mistook the whole thing for Her shrine. They can be rather presumptuous.”

That was a very good possibility. Harry quickly tried to change the subject before it got any further into the fact he might have killed or crippled his own mentor.

“How did this happen? Can anything be done?”

Voldemort ignored the question, and flung out his wand. Harry flinched. He ignored that too, and simply began fixing up the room. It appeared whatever was wrong with him hadn’t affected his magic any.

“No, or if there is, no one here has the skills for it. Why the bloody hell they don’t hire some half-blooded elven folk in an Irish [1] hospital is beyond me. I’ve already sent for Diana, Fenrir’s little moon goddess. If I don’t have a cure, I will at least have answers. This was done with old magic. Who ever it was used the Solstice as a means to boost their power, just as we did. I think I will have them explain the entire ritual to me in detailed before I have them boiled alive.”

Harry’s mouth went very dry. Voldemort saw his expression, but luckily misinterpreted it.

“Do you feel sympathy for everyone?” he asked, annoyed. “I suppose you have forgotten that you hate me already?”

The Gryffindor floundered for a reply and caught himself twice from blurting out something incriminating, and finally settled on, “I have not!”

And stalked out. Voldemort called after him.
“Send in Malfoy while your out there.”

He was shaking as he left, and he couldn’t hide it from the other Slytherins. Their reproving stares were palpable, but he didn’t care. He had gone first, knowing what he knew, and he still he had gone first.

“Your turn,” he said to Malfoy, and then just kept walking. To keep Snape from stopping him he added, “I’ll be in the car.”

Hermione received Viktor’s letter shortly after lunch. She was alone with Draco in the mansion, their father having left before they woke up that morning and their mother leaving immediately after she had woken them for breakfast with instructions not to leave the house. They were both more than a little unnerved to find two Brass Cult cadets at both the foyer and in the kitchen, but Dobby had reassured them they were there per the Malfoy patriarch’s orders.

“Who is it from?” Draco asked, looking up from the game of chess they had been playing.

“Viktor,” she said, her expression softening ever so slightly. Her brother scowled.

“What does he want?”

She opened the letter and skimmed through, her expression gradually darkening.

“There are Sentinels at the school, as well. They’ve been told we’re under a Red Alert. Why didn’t mother mention that before she left?”

Draco frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want us to worry. Does it say anything else?”

She read through the rest of the letter, and by the time she was done Draco could tell there was definitely something troubling her.

“What?”

She looked at him, uncertainly. “He says that he was told both Uncle Severus and Harry left the castle together on an errand.”

“So?”

“Draco, the castle is on lock-down. Uncle Severus can’tleave the castle without a Court exemption, and neither can Harry. They never would have gotten one so quickly if it were just an errand. I think they both may have been summoned.”

“What? Like by the Dark Lord?”

“I don’t know who else would have the authority or the inclination to summon them both.”

“Very good, my dear. It appears sending you to Hogwarts wasn’t a complete waste of money,” drawled an arrogant voice from the doorway. They both spun around to see Malfoy Sr. standing behind them, his black uniform making him even more imposing than usual.

“W-welcome home,” Hermione managed, setting aside the letter and hoping he would forget about it. It was futile. He ignored her greeting completely, and snatched up the letter. Skimming through it, his face remained arrogant and condescending, and she felt her cheeks burn. When he was done, he folded the letter, and placed it in his pocket.

“Your little tryst with Mr. Krum is over. You will not write to him, speak to him, or so much as look at him from now on. Is that clear?” he said evenly, addressing her with all the familiarity and affection he did his house elves. Her heart constricted. He wasn’t ever suppose to know. When ever he found something or someone she cared about, he tried to take it away from her. The only exceptions had been Draco (who could hardly be sent away), Hogwarts (Narcissa had demanded her husband to let her attend), and Harry (who was a political morsel Lucius wasn’t stupid enough to throw away just yet). Now he wanted to take away Viktor, but she wasn’t ready to let him go without a fight.

“He is only a friend. You have made very sure that I can’t have anything more than that from anyone,” she said, adopting an air of arrogant sophistication. The more emotion she showed, the worse he would make it for her, and she had become adept at maintaining this mask in front of him.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Come now, father. This is unreasonable. He’s my friend too, and I make sure they are never alone together. It will hardly hurt her reputation,” Draco jumped in, lying easily. He despised Viktor, but what he despised more was his father tormenting his sister, and when it came to choosing sides on that particular battlefield he knew were his loyalty lay.

“You will also avoid him,” Lucius snapped, his previous reserve disappearing in an instant. Both children flinched away. That had been unexpected. He never yelled at Draco unless he was genuinely worried about him. He recovered quickly, but it was too late. Both were wondering what was going on, because now it was obvious this didn’t just have to do with preserving Hermione’s honor. “Mr. Krum and his associates are currently under investigation for attacking the Dark Lord. I will not have my children associating with potential criminals.”

“Attacking the… are you serious? Someone attacked the Dark Lord?” Draco said, as if it were the most incredible thing he had ever heard. It probably was. “That’s why we’re under a Red Alert? Is it serious?”

Lucius seemed to consider the matter, and grimaced.

“He is not going to die… but he is not well. This is a matter of national security, so neither of you will repeat it to anyone else. The Foreign visitors are officially under investigation and you will stay out of the way. Is that understood?”

They both nodded, and for the moment he had to be satisfied with that.

“I must return to London to organize my men in order to help keep the peace once the news is finally released. Businesses have all been closed today in the expectation of riots, but we are prepared to handle the situation. I have spoken with your godfather, and he will be coming to stay here until the matter is settled as I won’t be able to return for some time and your mother will be out more often than not.”

“Is he bringing Harry, then?” Draco asked, knowing it was better if he asked rather than Hermione. His father tended to clam up when she tried questioning him. His father looked annoyed.

“He will. Draco, you will be responsible for him. If he gets into trouble, you will be the one to pay for it.”

This didn’t make the Malfoy heir too happy, but in a way it was a compliment. It was Lucius’ way of saying he was confident enough of his abilities to entrust him with this responsibility. Or something like that. He nodded.

“Good. They will arrive this evening. Make sure they are made comfortable.”

With that, he left to do what he had originally come to do. It was true that the foreigners were under investigation, but then so were nearly two dozen other factions per the Dark Lord’s orders. Lucius could not help but allow his respect for the man to grow. He had spoken with him for nearly an hour, and it was perfectly clear that he was in excruciating pain, but he still had control of his thoughts and his magic, as he outlined his plans and suspicions. Lucius would organize the army in case this assassination attempt was the forerunner of a larger attack, and even if the fear turned out to be unfounded they would have a clearer understanding of their army’s strengths and weaknesses. Only a few Sentinels and Court officials would be used to keep track of possible suspects, while the Dark Lord worked his own magic to discover the culprits. What exactly was wrong with Voldemort was anyone’s guess, as the man didn’t know himself and refused to let any of the doctors examine him. Lucius admired his paranoid secrecy too.

With things settled on the home front, he went to his office to gather some things and leave additional instructions with the house elves, confident that his orders would be obeyed by servant and child alike.

He completely forgot, in his usual disregard for muggleborns, that Hermione was a Gryffindor.

McGunny felt sick. Worse than sick, in fact. He felt as if he were dying. The headache potion he had taken as an excuse to be in the infirmary, was useless. He had managed to sneak into Pomfrey’s files and make copies of Harry’s record, and then deliver them to Krum, but now he felt too exhausted to move. His thoughts were scattered and slow, his limbs sluggish, and a fever left him swimming in his own sweat. He climbed into his bed, buried himself in his blankets, and prayed he wouldn’t die as he drifted to sleep.

Almost an hour later, Tom opened his bright green eyes and got to work.

Harry said nothing on the drive back to the castle. Part of it was the presence of Lestrange, but mostly he didn’t want to acknowledge the white elephant. He listened as Lucius and Snape discussed his staying at the Malfoy Estate until they could be certain the danger had passed and Lestrange sneered at them both, but he had nothing to add to the conversation. He didn’t want to lie, but anything honest that came out of him at this point would lead to them killing him where he sat.

He fell asleep again at some point, and when he woke up Lucius was gone.

“How long have I slept?” he asked, turning to Snape who was already studying him.

“Apparently, not long enough. Go back to sleep.”

Still tired, he decided to comply and closed his eyes. Before he was truly asleep again, however, he heard Lestrange address the potions master.

“Today, I’ll have to mark my calendar as the day Snivelus Snape finally resorted to molly-coddling. He’s made you weak.”

There was a moment of silence, and then.

“You do realize the irony of you saying that he has made me weak. After all, you traveled all this way, but in the end you were the only one the Dark Lord didn’t call upon.”

She let out an evil hiss, but to Harry’s parseltongue ears what he heard was ‘there is water up my mouse’ and barely managed to keep himself from smiling. Remembering that at any moment the Dark Lord might find out the truth and boil him alive helped.

Hermione told Draco she was going to go take a bath before their guests arrived and not to disturb her. In Hermione-speak this was translated as a polite ‘I need to be alone so I can vent all my feelings without anyone watching so could you bugger off for a while?’ This gave Hermione approximately two hours to do what she needed to do. Sneaking out of the Malfoy mansion and passed the guards was simple enough with Dobby’s help, as was apparating to Hogsmeade. Getting from Hogsmeade to the castle without being noticed was a bit trickier, but once there Draco’s broom proved invaluable in getting her straight into Gryffindor tower. She ended up in the seventh year boys’ room, but luckily none of them were there for the holiday. The rest of the tower appeared empty as well, and passing Harry’s bed revealed his trunk still sitting at the end, which meant Snape and Harry probably hadn’t arrived yet or at least weren’t ready to leave for Malfoy manor.

She went to her room and created a charmed note, then sent it soaring. She couldn’t afford to be recognized as she wandered the halls, so she would need Viktor to come to her. However, if he were under surveillance, neither of them could afford the note being intercepted. She had to get clever.

Colin Creevey received something of a surprise while he was developing pictures for the next edition of The Hogwarts’ Herald, when a paper airplane flew straight into his developing solution. He fished it out with his gloved hand and read it.

Colin. Get this to Viktor Krum, swiftly.

There was no signature and he didn’t recognize the writing, but the writer obviously knew who he was and that he was staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. Why they wanted him to play messenger boy, he had no idea. Should he comply? For that matter, why was he getting a note to Krum that only said he had to get a note to Krum?

Well, it was an adventure, he supposed, and he was a Gryffindor. So he finished up with his pictures, hung them up to dry, and went in search of Durmstang’s champion.

Getting weird notes delivered to him by Creevey was not the strangest thing to happen to him that day, but it was the most suspicious, particularly when Creevey had no answer as to where it came from or what it meant. The young Gryffindor looked genuinely disappointed when Viktor said he didn’t know either and sent him away. After a few minutes, he finally decided it had to be McGunny again. Perhaps he had learned something relevant, but didn’t want to risk contacting him directly again.

A Revealing charm caused the letters to rearrange themselves.

k mlt

Viktor. Get to history Class now. Y

uif

He cast a few few spells to check for spies and to prevent himself from being noticed and went to find Professor Toure’s classroom. He saw no one on the way there and no one when he arrived. For a moment he thought he had been the victim of a prank, yet once he left the class he found Hermione standing in front of him. She nearly had him jumping out of his skin.

“Viktor.”

“Hermione? Vat are you doing here?”

She looked around as if she expected someone was following her, and pushed him back into the classroom.

“Viktor, you have to tell me right now, and be completely honest, did you or anyone from Durmstang attack Voldemort last night?”

He blinked at her stupidly, then shook his head.

“Vat? Vat are you talking about?”

“You swear you didn’t know?!” she demanded, her voice cracking, her entire expression strained.

“I swear I didn’t know he vas attacked until you just said it! Is dat vat all dese Sentinels are here for? Is a var starting?”

She let out a shaky breath, relief washing through her. She shook her head.

“I don’t know. The Dark Lord was hurt, but I don’t know how or how badly. Lucius says you and everyone else in your party is being investigated for the attack. He said I couldn’t reply to your letter or even speak to you, but I had to know for myself. You swear you had nothing to do with it?”

“I svear. I svear on de blood of my ancestors, I had nothing to do vith it and don’t know who did.”

She nodded. “I believe you. Oh Viktor, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you should do. I don’t think you’re guilty, but I don’t know if that will be enough. I think Lucius wants you to be guilty, and with the Dark Lord hospitalized he may have the power to manipulate it so it looks that way. If you tried to leave now though, it could make things worse.”

Viktor said nothing for a long moment, and as Hermione watched him she saw a sort of resolve come over him. She had seen similar looks on Harry, and knew enough to scared.

“Hermione, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Tom stepped away from the classroom door. So, his elder half was attacked and weakened? That was good. Very good, except for the fact he wasn’t in any position to take advantage of it. He didn’t even know where the other was.

More importantly, it appeared as if time was running out for the Durmstang students and for him to get Harry safely out of Britain. He had chaos and opportunity in equal measure. He needed to take advantage of this opportunity before it was lost in the chaos. He only had a few hours before he exhausted his control over McGunny’s body and the boy woke up, and he didn’t know if he had enough time. Harry wasn’t even here, and if he forced the Germans to leave now, the Gryffindor would be left behind.

Should he abandon his plan and come up with a new one?

It was still a bit early to throw in the towel. He would prepare things just in case. When Harry showed up, he would see if he had the time to take advantage of this rare opportunity. He needed to write a letter.

Harry trailed beside Snape as they walked towards the castle. The car hadn’t been allowed passed the village without Lucius’ there to order it, so they had been forced to get out and walk the rest of the way. Lestrange had stalked on ahead of them, her determination to seem superior to them having the opposite effect, but Harry was glad she was no longer near by. He was still exhausted, which was perhaps the only thing keeping him from breaking down into an anxious mess, and if it weren’t for the man’s hand on his shoulder he probably would have nodded off and pitched himself into a ditch. The silence stretched between them.

“Professor.”

“Yes?” he replied curtly.

“I…” his words died. He didn’t have the courage to speak them. He didn’t have the strength for the kind of confrontation it would cause. “Never mind.”

“Are you ill, Potter?”

Harry looked up at him, but the man was watching the road to make sure neither of them wandered through one of hundreds of sloshy pools that littered their course.

“No. I’m just tired.”

There was a thoughtful moment of silence.

“Does it take a lot of your magic… to do what you do…”

“You mean… the rituals?”

“Yes.”

“… Depends on the ritual. Sometimes I feel really strong afterwards. Other times, I can barely move. This last one… it was hard.”

They walked a little further in silence, and then, out of the blue, and out of character, Snape said, “He’s going to be fine. You’re both going to be just fine.”

Harry stiffened under his hands, and suddenly stopped moving. His bright green eyes found Snape’s black ones, and there was such maelstrom of emotions there that the man couldn’t identify even one. Was it hope? Horror? Disbelief? Anger? He couldn’t tell, and if tried legilimens to find out, he was sure his own mind would be bashed to pieces. Then Harry turned away, and just nodded.

“I hope so.”

They continued up the road towards the castle.

From Voldemort’s office, Tom watched the road as Snape and Harry slowly made their way to the castle. Their timing was perfect. He had just finished his letter. Turnis was waiting impatiently on the Dark Lord’s desk, shuffling from foot to foot. Tom had chosen him specifically, know he was the most talented of the Hogwart’s owls.

“Take this…” he said, tying the letter to the bird’s leg. “… to Lucius Malfoy.”

And with that, he opened a window and the owl flew through it before the creepy boy simply tossed him out. He flew straight to Hogsmeade, and if he had been a less experienced bird he would have simply followed the railroad tracks from there straight to London, but instead he flew straight to the Sentinel’s station and through the window, which, like with most wizarding building, popped open just long enough to let him in.

A young Sentinel was monitoring the coming and goings of their floo (official Court floos were the only ones that worked during a Red Alert and were strictly regulated), and gave him an annoyed glance. There had been almost fifty Sentinels and a dozen Brass Culties that had come in through his particular floo and he was having a hell of a time keeping track of it all without dealing with the mail as well.

He stomped over to it, and took a peek at the letter on it’s leg. What he saw made him pale. The envelope was black and on it there was a large golden V. It was an official letter from the Dark Lord himself. But how? Last he had been told the Dark Lord recovering from injuries somewhere… but then, perhaps he had returned to the castle without anyone knowing? Hogwarts was the man’s home away from home after all. He looked the letter over and cast a few charms to see if it was legit. It checked out, and more importantly it was addressed to Chief Commander Malfoy.

No way in hell was he going to be held responsible for holding up the Dark Lord’s instructions to the commander of the entire British army.

“Fine,” he muttered and tossed some floo powder into the fire place. It immediately changed color. “Go on then.”

Turnis flew past him, straight into the fire. He did not like floos, but he liked flying in winter even less and this was certainly the most expedient route. A bit of floundering and a lot of soot later, and he was spat out straight into Lucius Malfoy’s office. And immediately was hit by a Stunning Hex.

He really hated wizards.

1. Ireland is thick with Fairy Folk. In my universe, Ireland was basically pulled out of the sea specifically by the Fae so they could live on it and claim the land their own. People eventually moved in, and gradually so did wizards, but it’s a very dangerous place for them. If a witch or wizard isn’t careful and doesn’t protect themselves or their children well enough, they can get snatched away or cursed or killed by Fae who are still the dominant race. Mixed-bloods are common, usually conceived through trickery or rape, and are persecuted as untrustworthy, unstable, and even evil but in other ways greatly admired for their power and often times for their beauty and charm.↩

Treason III

Lucius stared down at the owl currently trying to right itself on his office floor. It was not one he recognized, though even if he had he would still have stunned it. Owls did not come into his office. They dropped their letters off with his secretaries or some random lieutenant, who in turn checked his mail (without opening it) for curses, jinxes, poisons, portkeys, and various other potential hazards.

Now was not the time for his security to become spotty.

“Cooper!”

His office door swung open, and slightly chubby little lieutenant rushed inside, simultaneously saluting and looking for danger.

“Sir!”

“This thing just came through my floo. My restricted floo. Find out who sent it.”

“Yes, sir!”

And like the lemming that he was, Cooper went straight to the fire place, cast a back-tracking spell, and threw himself inside without thought to the potential danger he had jumped straight into. Lucius sneered.

“Moron.”

He cast a few more spells on the bird, to see if it posed a threat, but it was perfectly ordinary owl with a less than ordinary letter. More spells, and he was getting quite bored of casting them at this point, and finally he snatched up the letter. Now wasn’t this a curiosity? It was definitely written on Voldemort’s personal stationary, but the Dark Lord had no reason to write him after their meeting. Who would have access to it, or even know how to use it? It was rumored you couldn’t even write on it without special ink made of Dark Lord’s own blood.

The handwriting was not Voldemort’s and did not even make an attempt to disguise itself as such. Quite the contrary it was written to conceal identity, little more than well spelled out chicken scratch. What it lacked in elegance it made up for in content. After the first three sentences, he was spurred into action.

“Nixon!”

Another lieutenant lemming shot into the room as briskly as the first.

“Si-”

“Get me a physician.”

“Are you ill-”

“Now!”

“This place reeks ,” Greyback grumbled as he stalked into Voldemort’s room. He was agitated, being summoned like some sort of pet dog from his forest and his pack, but he knew the situation was too grave for him to stand on pride. It didn’t make him any happier about it though. “And you look like shit.”

Voldemort managed a sickly grin, shining white teeth bared against his presumption. He had finally stopped bleeding an hour ago, but he knew the werewolf couldn’t smell it over the sinus burning stink of antiseptic. There was no need to inform the dog just how sick his master had truly been, or perhaps might still be.

“Poor baby,” he mocked, reclining as if on a chaise rather than a hospital bed. “Did you not get your nap today?”

Greyback let out a warning growl, but it did nothing against the dark wizard. The alpha gave up with an annoyed snort and walked to the nearest window. Diana, who had remained hidden behind his massive bulk came to the Dark Lord’s bedside. She was dressed completely in white rabbit furs, her curly brown hair held up in white bone pins, rough and magnificent all at once. They stared at each other for a long moment, no need for words between them just yet. He didn’t need to speak for her to know his questions.

“It is quite remarkable…” Diana said at last, “I have never seen a spell like this before, but then… I’ve never seen a soul as damaged as yours before either.”

“What do you see?” he asked, barely restraining his impatience. He could not rush her if she didn’t want to be rushed, but he could hope for her indulgence. She tilted her head from side to side, looking him up and down.

“You are… stable now.”

“I know I am not going to die, but-”

“Not your body. Your flesh is meaningless. You are complete… more so anyway.”

He still didn’t understand what she meant, and his frustration was growing. He was tired and still in pain, bed ridden and anxious about letting Lucius run his country. If his body was still broken then what was she talking about?

“What precisely was done to me, who is responsible, and can it be fixed is all I want to know.”

Diana’s blank expression suddenly became vaguely amused.

“Fixed? Too late, it’s already been done. Your soul has been mended.”

Voldemort’s frustration melted away into disbelief. Impossible. The Earth would never allow such a thing. He had been made incomplete for a reason and sacrificed too much for it simply to be undone. Who would do it? Who would have the capability? His first thought was Dumbledore, the old coot was loony enough to try something so indirectly devastating, but then he realized the man didn’t have the capability to summon a goddess at that level of power. He had turned from the Old Magics a long time ago. A druid of some kind must have been responsible, perhaps even one of those he had seen in the glen?

“Who?”

Diana’s amusement melted away, and she said nothing. Unease crawled into Voldemort’s gut.

“Who?”

She looked towards Greyback, who was looking at her just as expectantly.

“He did not mean you harm.”

The Dark Lord felt his world tilt. No… it was inconceivable. Harry would never have raised a hand against him, out of fear or respect or a warped sense of attachment or even patriotism, and if he had the will he didn’t have the means. He was just a child, fourteen, and his skills and knowledge were rudimentary at best, not even near the level necessary to summon a goddess such as Madris, whatever sort of goddess she was, and certainly not without hurting himself.

But…

Diana did say Harry hadn’t meant to harm him, that the spell had been intended to heal his soul. It was a reckless and naive, and a very Gryffindor thing to do. Brennan had been there though, surely he would have stopped… now he was being naive if he didn’t think the man wouldn’t go along with such a plot or even come up with it himself. Harry had to have had some sort of idea of what he was doing since he was one who would have sacrificed the dragon’s heart and requested the spell, but was he truly aware of the consequences? Brennan had to have designed the ritual, so perhaps he had tricked Harry or neglected to mention the dangers? Did it even matter? What right did that boy have to meddle in the very essence of his being?

And he had lied to him. He had stood right beside him, and had the audacity to ask what he could do to make it better, when he should have been on his hands and knees begging forgiveness.

Anger and betrayal began to simmer in his gut, his magic stirring under his skin felt like pins and needles, the only form of release being to hex someone. There were two meddling wizards that came to ming.

“Do not be hasty.”

His red eyes flashed to Diana, but even he wasn’t foolish enough to lash out against her. Not the Daughter of the Moon, and certainly not with Greyback tense and ready to defend them her.

“He has betrayed me…”

“You deserved to be betrayed. Were you not the first to meddle in another’s soul?”

“He made that decision himself.”

“You made the situation in which the decision had to be made, and there were instances even before that. Even now you force his hand.”

“I never tried to kill him!”

“Nor he you, but you are both guilty of carelessness. As things stand, you are equals in this regard.”

To Voldemort that was hardly the case. He had protected Harry as best he could, nurtured him, taught him powerful magics, and taken him into his confidence, and how had he been repaid? Had magic carelessly cast against him. Magic that changed him in a way he had never asked for or wanted and which very nearly killed him more effectively than any curse sent his way before it. Did this little mock-goddess really think things even between them?

He was ready to argue his case, but Lucius’ sudden appearance forced him to stay his tongue.

“My Lord!”

“What is it?!” he snapped, his dark magic pulsing with irritation and barely contained rage, making the Malfoy patriarch flinch away.

“I-I have uncovered a plot, My Lord. A plot orchestrated by the Germans.”

Voldemort was still irritated, but it was far easier to deal with wizards than it was with goddesses, and turned his full attention to the other man.

“Details?” he asked, refining his voice to something more welcoming.

Lucius pulled a vile out of his pocket, and after an awkward moment of trying to move around Diana with out touching her or coming in between her and a glowering Greyback, managed to get close enough to hand it to his master. Voldemort took it. The vile was empty but for a tiny insect, wiggling its legs, uselessly trying to climb up the slick glass prison.

“What is it?”

“It’s some sort of surveillance insect. This one was pulled out of the flesh behind my left ear.”

Voldemort looked up at him quickly, understanding perfectly what sort of trouble they could be in if any number of Lucius’ duties had been uncovered.

“It’s worse. I have reason to believe I am not the only who has been infected with one of these things. They were delivered during the first challenge of the Triwizard Tournament, when several important and minor officials, yourself included, were exposed to them. I am having my men draw up the guest list for that day, and track down everyone in attendance for an emergency examination. I’ve contacted Coventry College for an entomologist to uncover exactly what these things are and how they work.”

“Good, but how did you uncover all this?”

Here Lucius’ expression became closed, and Voldemort knew he was revealing something he had grave suspicions about. He reached into his robes and pulled out a letter, written on familiar black paper and gold ink.

“I received this about an hour ago. An owl came through my restricted floo caring it. When I sent one of my men through the floo to track down its origins, they returned few minutes later and said it came from Hogsmeade. It is likely the owl’s origins is from Hogwarts as well, and the materials here were taken from your office.”

“Snape? Lestrange?”

“Maybe, but I doubt either would bother to conceal their identity. We can’t afford to guess at this point. I have already sent two squardrons of Culties and two squardrons of Sentinels to Hogsmeade to capture the suspects, one set of each for the village and the school, but I can’t order the arrest of foreign dignitaries without your approval.”

“You have it. I want them all alive for interrogation, unless the resistance becomes too violent. Detain the French dignitaries as well, and every man, woman, and child in the castle. I want to know where this letter came from and how long this information was kept hidden.”

“As you command, my Lord!”

Lucius turned sharply to go, eager to begin the first steps of a long awaited war. If the letter was truthful, and the Germans really had intended to illegally spy on them, they would be more than justified to retaliate and no other country would try to interfere. Germany was the first step to claiming Europe.

“And Lucius…”

He stopped sharply, tensing.

“… I want you to find Harry. I will need to speak with him as quickly as possible.”

There was threat in Voldemort’s words, but whether it was directed at him or at Potter, Lucius was unable to discern.

“Oh Merlin…” She slowly sank into a nearby chair, unable to believe what she was hearing. Viktor was a spy? Harry was in danger? From Voldemortand not Dumbledore? “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible. Harry would have told me.”

Viktor shook his head. “Even if it put you danger? Vat if he can’t talk about it? Zere are a lot of vays to force silence.”

Hermione’s expression twisted in anguish, thinking on it now she knew things hadn’t been right with Harry since the first challenge. She had assumed it was stress, and it probably was, but had that stress been a result of his increased publicity and school work or the anxiety of knowing too many secrets and trying to keep people safe?

“You don’t have any proof.”

“I do,” he insisted, relentless in his pursuit to make her understand. “I have copies of his medical records. Zey are a nightmare.”

“A lot of that is from being attacked by Moody or accidents.”

“Dere’s a lot of it dat’s completely unexplained and vorse zere are some notes dat lead me to believe he vas being experimented on.”

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to muffle the whimper that escaped. Horrible images sprang into her mind, pieces of nightmares she’d had from overhearing Lucius and his cronies speak of the war, and interposed was Harry’s face, determined and kind and suffering it all as quietly as he could. Tears formed and fell, even the possibility of it being true was too heartbreaking.

“No…”

He knelt down in front of her, taking her fisted hands into his, and looked up at her beseechingly.

“Listen to me,” he begged, “I am going to try and take him out of here, to somevere he can be safe and happy. I vant to know if… vould…. vould come vith us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you vant to come too? To Germany? To Europe? Zere is so much zere for someone like you, Hermione. You can go to school anyvere you vant, vork anyvere you vant, date and marry anyone you vant, travel, and study, and just live how ever you like. Please, come vith me. Dis place vill tear you down before it lets you free.”

Hermione could feel her heart begin to race. Was he really asking her this? To run away with him? Well, him and Harry, but to run away nonetheless? To some unknown place where she knew no one and didn’t even speak the language? Abandoning her brother and Narcissa and almost all of her friends and country?

“I can’t… This is my home.”

“You can have better home,” he pleaded, but she shook her head, her tears falling even harder.

“That’s not how it works, Viktor. This isn’t a perfect place, but this is where my heart is. I can’t just abandon it, and I don’t think Harry could either. Have you even asked him?”

“I…”

Well, shit. He had forgotten to do that. He hadn’t wanted to even ask Harry until he knew he could actually take him to Germany, and then Harry had all but disappeared. There simply hadn’t been any opportunity to ask.

“I’ll ask him ven he returns. As soon as I see him, I promise. Please, don’t give up on the idea just yet? If he agrees, von’t you at least consider it?”

She looked at him so sadly that when she opened her mouth he knew whatever she said, she wasn’t going to change her mind. Hermione was a kind and loyal person, be it to friend or country, and she would not simply abandon it. He felt like a fool for ever thinking she would.

“Viktor!”

Viktor and Hermione’s wands were both in their hands and ready for attack at the first sound of intrusion, but both were taken back by McGunny sudden appearance. The Ravenclaw was deathly pale and sweating heavily, as if he had suffered under Cruciatus. He looked taken back when he saw Hermione there, but not so much by her wand.

“Granger, what are you… forget it. It’s not important,” he said, and turned to Viktor. “You have to get Harry and get out of here, RIGHT NOW!”

“Vat are you-”

“They know.They know, and they’re going to arrest you and everyone else, unless you can get out of here now.”

Viktor and Hermione shared a panicked look. He had to try at least once more.

“Please come with me…”

“I’m sorry, Viktor, I can’t!”

“Somnebus!”

Hermione went limp, slumping bonelessly over her desk. Viktor snarled at McGunny, but he snarled right back.

“You don’t have time for this! You have minutes at the most. Do you understand that you could die if you stay any longer? That all of your friends could die?”

Viktor turned away, down at Hermione fast asleep and helpless. She was beautiful, her expression serene and her eyelashes glittering with her tears. Should he just take her with him now? This would likely be the last time she would ever be presented with opportunity again. Could he let her turn it away without truly knowing what she was losing?

“Come on, damn you!” McGunny shouted, breaking him from his trance. “I’ll make sure she gets out safely, so just come on already?!”

Viktor let out a scream of frustration, physically throwing one of the desks across the room before storming towards the door. He couldn’t force this decision on Hermione. It was her decision and she would never forgive him if took it away from her. So he ran, his heart grieving with every step he took, but he knew what he had to do. He had to get his classmates and Harry out safely.

“How did they find out? How do you even know about it?”

McGunny shook his head, his entire body trembling, and it was amazing he could even stay upright let alone run. Viktor had never seen McGunny anything other than cool and composed, and annoying as that was this was definitely worse. The other boy had seen something or done something traumatizing to end up in such a state.

“I have sources. Old classmates who joined the Court or who have parents there. We like to keep track of what really happens behind closed doors. The alert is over an hour old. They’re just positioning themselves to catch you all unaware. No, wait, there are Sentinels down there. They don’t know what’s happening yet, but I can’t afford for them to spot us together. We’ll take a secret passage.”

They ducked into the shadow of a column which turned out to be a hidden corridor with narrow stone steps leading to the upper levels.

“My friends-”

“Are all in their dormitory. They got tired of being gawked at by the Sentinels. You have to get Harry before you get the others.”

“Vere is he?”

“He just returned. He’s in his dorm.”

They exited the passage two corridors from Gryffindor Tower, and McGunny looked both ways before speaking.

“I can’t go any further. If I’m caught, I’m dead. Just go to the tower and get him. The password for the portrait is ‘Tannenbaum’.”

“Fine. You go back and make sure Hermione gets out of here safely, or so help me I’ll find you and all ze sources in ze vorld von’t keep you safe, do you understand?”

“Whatever. Just go!”

Viktor ran the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower, barely taking time to make sure no one was behind or ahead of him. The Fat Lady was in her portrait gossiping with the Shepherdess, and barely so much as rolled her eyes as he bit out the password, and pulled it open. The common room was empty and leading from it were two sets of stairs. He tried to recall which one was the girls and which was boys, knowing if Hogwarts was anything like Durmstang there would be an alarm in the girl’s dorm. He made his best guest, and took the left, jumping the stairs three at a time. When he heard voices he stopped. There were two and one of them definitely wasn’t Harry.

“I didn’t want that to happen. He nearly died!” Harry was shouting.

“But he did not, and you have what you wanted,” another voice, this one older but not one Viktor recognized.

“He’s going to kill me.”

“You knew that might happen too.”

“Oh Madris, what am I going to do?”

“That’s a good start. The gods are surprisingly generous to those who pray to them, and she was particularly generous last night.”

“This isn’t funny. I don’t know what to do.”

Viktor wasn’t exactly sure what he was hearing, but it was highly suspicious. Harry had obvious done something last night, and he was in trouble… well, they were both in trouble right now, and he didn’t have the time to wait for either of them to sort things out. They both had to get out of there and quick.

He stepped through the doorway and into the room. Harry turned to him, his eyes widening with terror. Beside him was a man Viktor only vaguely recognized a teacher, gray haired and dressed in white robes, the only sign of his surprise his silence. At least, they seemed too startled to have hurled a hex at him.

“Harry, I’m leaving for Germany. Right now. Do you vant to come?”

The Gryffindor simply stood there like a stunned deer.

“If someone is trying to hurt you, don’t you zink you should come vith me? To Germany? Ve can protect you zere.”

Harry blinked. “Huh?”

Brennan let out a small laugh. “Well, there you go. Prayers really do work. Come on, I’ll shrink your trunk, you grab your schoolbag.”

The boy only looked more lost, and Viktor certainly didn’t envy him. He was feeling confused himself, and he had expected this to happen eventually.

“Wait! What is going on? Why are you leaving? Why do you want me to come along?”

“Reducio!,” Brennan went on about his task, the most prepared of all them it seemed.

“The Dark Lord is going to come here and arrest me and all of my classmates if ve don’t leave here soon, and I need to know right now vether you vant to come vith me to Germany or not.”

Harry just blinked at him again, and Viktor despaired of him ever reaching a decision. They were both spared the act, but Brennan who pointed his wand at Harry.

“Imperio!”

Viktor flinched away at the spell, his own wand raised to ward off the perceived attack, but Brennan was already pocketing his wand again. He turned to Viktor, his expression grave.

“It is too much to ask a child to give up everything and everyone they have ever known in an instant. As an adult and as his teacher, I am making the decision for him. To save his life and possibly his very soul, I am entrusting him to you Mr. Krum and your associates. I will tell no one what I have witnessed here, but I recommend you hurry,” then he turned to Harry, who was staring dazedly out into space. Placing the shrunken trunk in Harry’s robe and his school bag over his shoulder, he continued, “Follow Krum, do as he tells you until you are safe, then wake up.”

Viktor’s first instinct was to argue, but he really didn’t know how much time he had left. He headed for the door.

“Come on, follow me.”

McGunny stared down at Hermione’s unconscious form for a long time, alien feelings of hatred and disgust fighting to regain control over him. He couldn’t let it happen again. Already, he had put the lives of dozens of people at risk including someone who had come to trust him and called him friend. Insanity wasn’t the issue. He was well read, he knew the basics of abnormal psychology; split personality disorder, schizophrenia, sleep walking… and knew none of these fit.

Something was inside him, and it was trying to take him over. A spirit? A demon? He had never taken metaphysics, and incidents of possession were so rare he had not thought it relevant to read up on. What ever it was it was smart and powerful, and had been oh so subtle until it had seized control a few hours ago. It was exhausted now, but how long before it regained its strength?

So much damage had been done already, and now he felt murder in his veins whenever he looked to Hermione. He didn’t dare touch her for fear that his hand might slip and he’d strangle her. He couldn’t leave her here either, as that might have the same result if anyone found her and believed she had warned Viktor. Or if she were interrogated, the Court and the Dark Lord would learn of his involvement and come for him.

Kill it. That’s the only logical solution. We can make it look like Viktor did it. Used and discarded it like the muggleborn trash it is.

McGunny snorted, and muttered aloud, “Logical? Like making up convenient excuses to have Harry kidnapped? Like feeding me paranoid delusions so I’d go along with it? Go away, whatever you are. Go torment some other fool.”

He moved away from Hermione and headed for the exit.

Where are you going?

“To get Snape. I can get him to take care of her. He’s her godfather, he won’t let anything happen to her.”

You’re stupid if you think that’s true. He’ll sell her out in an instant, just like he did Harry.

McGunny paused in the doorway. “Don’t call him ‘Harry’, you parasite. He isn’t your friend.”

There was an amused chuckle that made the back of his neck itch.

Obliviate it. Save yourself, at least.

He honestly didn’t even know what he meant, but it sounded painful. There was another annoying chuckle.

And you call yourself a Ravenclaw? It means ‘erase her memory’.

“I don’t know that spell.”

I know… soweknow.

And there it was. The words, the wand movement, the effects, and effectiveness of the spell, all there as clearly as if he had known it all along.

“How did you do that?”

Do it, and I’ll tell you how.

“Why should I trust you? For all I know this spell will kill her.”

I need your cooperation more than I need itdead. I am proposing a truce.

“To hell with you! This is my body.”

And you can have it, but I am not leaving until I have a place to go. Give me what I want… or I’ll find the means to take it.

“I’ll kill us both before I let you control me!”

He spun around, looking for any sort of weapon he could find. He had never considered himself particularly brave or tolerant of pain, but if necessary he thought he might be able to inflict it on himself, perhaps just enough to convince the thing inside him that he was serious.

Don’t be such a melodramatic Gryffindor. Obliviate it, and then let us negotiate. You’re a logical person and I am not unreasonable. I am certain we can find a compromise.

He turned back to Hermione, uncertainly. She lay there helplessly, but instead of violence he felt only severe irritation. It had given up trying to take control and kill the girl, which meant he still retained enough will to over power it. He just needed to figure out how to get it out of him, and that required time… which he was running out of.

“Fine. Don’t try anything fishy or I’ll… I’ll obliviate us both!”

The chuckle of before burst out into all out laughter.

“Stupify!” Viktor shouted, flinging out his wand. The spell was a direct hit and the first Sentinel fell to the ground, but the second Sentinel’s reflexes were faster than Viktor’s recovery time.

“Stupify.”

The second Sentinel fell to his knees. The Durmstang champion looked behind him at Harry, who remained as blank faced as before but his wand was up and ready. Was he waking up already? He had told the boy to follow him, not help subdue the guards. He waited a moment, but the boy just stood there and stared off into space.

“Come on.” He entered his common room and the boy followed obediently behind him. Inside, all of the boys and even some of the girls seemed to be gathered, talking excitedly to each other about something. Everyone turned when they stepped into the room, and Jophery pulled away from the group address.

“Did you hear? Oblitz says the Dark Lord was att-”

“Everyone has exactly one minute to get what they need. We’ve been found out. We’re leaving NOW!”

“Wait- what? Fuck!You heard him! Let’s go! Is anyone missing?”

“Elsa and Sabrina are in their own room. I’ll get them!” one boy shouted, and rushed out.

“I’ll get your trunk!” another called after him. “Reducto!”

“Oblitz isn’t here!”

“He can handle himself.”

“But who’ll manage the ship? Does the Ambassador even know?”

“Worry about yourselves first. Is everyone ready?”

“Shit, where’s Hugo?Here kitty, kitty.”

“I have him… where’s my rat?”

“What’s Potter doing here? What’s wrong with him?”

“Forget it! Time’s up!” Viktor ordered, and their chaos dissolved as quickly as it had formed, and they fell into two perfect lines and followed Viktor out into the hall, wand in one hand, brooms in the other, and all their belongings carefully stored in the folds of their robes.. “Jophery, take care of Harry.”

“On it.” Jophery broke ranks to herd Harry along behind the others. There was obviously some sort of spellwork done on him, but he didn’t have time to question it or risk taking it off, or even question why exactly they were taking the boy with them. Judging by the unconscious Sentinels and the pace at which Viktor was leading them towards the tower, they had already run out of time. Cautiously, he peeked behind them, expecting men and women in black robes and leather to come bursting out into the hall, shouting at them to stop.

It was ironic then the first sign of resistance wasn’t from behind, but from within. As they made their way up the tower stairs, Harry suddenly stopped. Jophery nearly fell on top of him.

“What is it?” he asked, but Harry said nothing and his face remained blank.

“Jophery! Hurry up!”

“Coming!”

A little more nudging and the Gryffindor started moving again, albeit with some sort of reluctance. Was he waking up? If he didn’t want to come willingly, should he just leave him here? Viktor would kill him, but what was Viktor up to anyway?

They reached the top of the turret and exited out into the cold, open air. Winter wind whipping at them. Everyone remained towards the center as Viktor went to the edge to check for danger.

“Shit. They’re starting to surround the school. Fifty at least. Wait for my word and we’ll all make a fly for it. Spread out as soon as you’re in the air and keep high. When we land, keep alert. They may have already sent some people ahead to secure the ship. Understand?”

“Yes!” they all barked in unison.

“Yes,” Harry said evenly right after, earning him an unnerved look from the others, who still had no idea what was going on.

“Harry, ride with Jophery.”

“Yes.”

Jophery didn’t like the situation. If he put the smaller boy in front of him, he’d have a harder time maneuvering but if he put him in back, he was afraid he’d fall off the back. There was nothing for it. They didn’t have time to figure out something better.

“You’re riding at my back. Hold on tight and move as my body does. Don’t try keeping balanced, that’s my job. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I like about you, Harry. You’re a real go-getter.”

“Hurry up, Jophery!”

“Yes, mum. On we go, my little baby monkey.”

It was an awkward fit. The boy fit against his back just fine, but there was nowhere for either of them to tuck up their legs. And since he hadn’t planned on flying today, he hadn’t worn a cup. Erk. At least the grip on his back seemed firm.

“Alright, now!”

Everyone moved forward in a burst of speed, except for Jophery, who opted to fly straight up first making them a harder target even though he knew he’d be the slowest and largest, and then hurried after the others. They had all gotten far ahead of them, but angling the broom down again gained them enough speed to close the distance. Behind them they could hear the faint sounds of shouting, but the cold wind swallow up most of it. They made it to the edge of the lake before they were fired upon.

Streaks of red and yellow shot out at them, and everyone began to spread out for more room to dodge. A large white streak shot right in front of Jophery and exploded in a blinding light, shooting sparks at them. There were screams of surprise and one of pain and then fear. Jophery was blind but unhurt, and unable to see ahead of him, he moved straight upwards again. There was another scream and it sounded as if someone had fallen.

“Wingardiam leviosa!” Jophery nearly dropped out of the sky himself when he heard the spell shouted right behind him.

“You awake back there?” he called, still unable to open his eyes to look behind him, but he could feel one of the boy’s arms had left his waist and must have been holding his wand. Around them now, he could hear counter curses and blocking spells being thrown up by his classmates, and the occasional sizzle and snap of spells going off too close to him. It sound as if they were falling behind again.

“I got her! Keep going!” he heard Viktor shout. “Harry, fly for Jophery. He can’t see.”

The arm returned, but both the hands shifted from his waist to the broom handle, and the broom shot forward as if from a cannon. His own hands flew to the handle to steady himself, the fear of flying very fast and very blind causing him to shout.

“AAAAAAaaaahhhhhhhh!!!! OH SHIT CAN YOU EVEN SEE BACK THERE?!!”

And suddenly they started to slow, and he gradually forced his watery eyes to open to star-speckled reality. The Durmstang ship stood before them, a looming refuge of heavily warded wood and steel and magic. They dropped onto the deck, and Jophery’s wand was immediately in hand, prepared for enemies. No one immediately jumped out to stop them. Of course, if anyone had tried to board beside its listed passengers, they likely would have been killed or deposited into one of the tiny cells below deck.

Speaking of which… Jophery had only taken a few steps, when there was a loud ‘click’. He spun around to see Harry falling through a trapdoor. He couldn’t even reach it in time to stop it from closing again.

“Harry? Harry? Are you alright? Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there in a minute. Just sit tight.”

“Move out of the way!”

The warning didn’t come quite quick enough. He managed to move aside a bit, but still caught one of his landing classmates in the shoulder, knocking them both over. All around him, others were only just catching up. How fast had Harry moved them?

“Get the wounded below deck!” Viktor shouted, “Ten of you stay out here and put up the strongest shields you can. The rest of you prep the ship!”

“What about the Ambassador and Oblitz and the others?!” Elsa shouted.

“If they’re not captured already, they’ll be able to portkey into the cargo hold, but only if we can get this boat far enough from the castle’s wards, so hurry it up! Move, move, move!”

Everyone sprinted into action, the defense party casting shield spells and reflection spells around as much of the ships massive bulk as they could while the others pulled up the anchor and lowered the sails and unfroze the rudder. Viktor found Jophery on his way to the pilot cabin.

“Where’s Harry?”

“The ship tossed him in the brig.”

“Good, he’ll be safe there for now. Did he wake up?.”

“I don’t know. What is going on? Why the hell are we kidnapping him to begin with?”

“We’re not kidnapping, we’re- forget it. If we live I’ll tell you all about it. Get below deck and check on the wounded”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

He sharp, mocking salute, he slipped below deck. Although the exterior of the ship was dark and foreboding, the inside was bright and warmly lit with light colored woods and off white paint, portraits of ships and sea creatures hung on the walls, their subject matters moving about from sea to painted sea. The infirmary was at the end of the hall, and once inside Jophery went to work assessing the damage.

He was by no-means a medi-wizard, but if there was one thing that Jophery excelled at it was patching up his friends after duels and quidditch matches. And truthfully, he’d seen worse than what he was seeing now. He just hadn’t seen so muchof it at once.

The infirmary itself looked like any other cabin, except with six pallets instead of four bunkbeds, and large cabinet of medical supplies and books. Usually it smelled like wormwood, but now it smelled like blood and burnt flesh. There were six boys and one Sabrina, and she was definitely the worst off. If he were to guess he would identify her as the one who had been knocked from her broom. The right side of her robes had been burned clean off from arm to shoulder and partway down her side, and what remained was black and blistered skin. She had already passed out from the pain.

The others were minor gashes and bumps, which he treated with the store of antiseptics, salves, potions, gauze, and the odd doo-hicky he could work but not pronounce. With the simple cases taken care of, he turned his attention to Sabrina. If he was quick and careful, he might save her from permanent scars. With medication manuals on potions and counter-curse texts, he sorted out a course of action and went to work. In the midst of his deep concentration and the utter silence of the infirmary, he took for granted that they were in the middle of a life and death battle, and it wasn’t until he felt the ship shift beneath him and begin to sink that he realized they were escaping.

They had done it.

The ship began to rock, and he jumped to Sabrina’s side to secure her from rolling off the table. Things hadn’t even settled yet when more patients arrived.

“Jophery! I’ve three more for you!” someone called, before shoving the door open and dragging in an unconscious person. Two others limped in on their accord. It was getting crowded.

“Alright, anyone who thinks they can rest comfortably in their own room, get out. Unless you want to help, then by all means stay!”

A few shuffled out, but even only a few minutes passed before even more shuffled in. It seemed at least half of his classmates had been hurt in some way. He worked as quickly as possible, but he was more than a little overwhelmed.

At least news circulated quickly. They had managed to submerge the ship below the ice and were moving it out through the lochs and towards the ocean. Viktor was manning the helm, but mostly letting the ship sail itself. Within ten minutes they had moved out of range of the castle wards, and those not actively helping to secure the ship waited anxiously near the cargo hold for those with portkeys to make their appearance… or their enemies so that they could blast them to pieces.

Twenty minutes after they moved out of the wards, Oblitz portkeyed in. He was a bit singed in the corner of his robes, and covered in blood but none of it appeared to be his own. He paid no one any mind and went immediately to find Viktor. A few minutes later Schwartzmann appeared, completely unfazed, but his aide was screaming hysterically, and had to be stunned to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else. After four hours, another aide made it through… but he died before they could even get him to the infirmary. Jophery was secretly relieved. They man had obviously been tortured, and whatever had been done hadn’t been something he could fix or even understand.

And then he remembered Harry was still in the brig.

Voyage

“What is going on, Lucius?”

The Brass Cult General turned away from the lake where the Durmstang ship had disappeared beneath the ice. Sentinels and Brass Culties hovered over the broken ice, trying to track the direction it was heading. It was impossible. The ice was too thick and the tracking charms had bounced of the shields encompassing the ship. There were three lochs leading into this lake, and any of them would eventually lead into the sea. Even if he set his sentinels to guard all three, they probably wouldn’t be able to find them.

If it all wasn’t such a damn nuisance, Lucius might actually have been impressed with the Durmstrang students’ ingenuity and foresight.

Severus had finally shown up, quicker than expected with all of the security now swarming the castle, and didn’t look pleased.

“The Germans have escaped,” Lucius said blandly.

“Yes, I noticed that. Why precisely are they escaping? We’re they some how responsible for the Dark Lord’s condition?” he asked, his impatience blatantly obvious. Lucius was in a bad enough mood, that he saw no reason to indulge him.

“Maybe. Probably. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Do I have ask you a questions for every answer I want? Do you really want to waste both our time with that?”

“I received a letter informing me the Germans were spies, and there was enough evidence presented to convince both myself and the Dark Lord. Obviously, the information was legitimate,” he said, then began walking back towards the castle. He still had men there who would need instructions for the arrest of the French students and Madam Maxime. Snape followed him. “I’ll be honest, though, Potter caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to be involved in this scheme.”

Snape tensed, but he was disappointingly inexpressive.

“Now what are you talking about?”

“He is with them. I thought he had been captured at first, but then he helped fight off my men and rescued one of the little saboteurs. Some how they must have convinced him to join their cause. And after all our Lord has done for him. The little ingrate.”

Snape said nothing, and when Lucius looked back at him he was surprised by how pale he had become. And for Snape, who was pale to begin with, that was something.

“Are you alright, my friend?”

For a moment the potions master said nothing, and it wasn’t until they entered the castle that he finally shook his head. “No, I am not. Potter was my responsibility. If he had thoughts of defecting I should have noticed, but his moods and behaviors have been so erratic lately with the tournament I hadn’t thought anything suspicious about it.”

“Yes, well, I fear I am in a worse position than you. Lord Voldemort seemed to know Potter was up to something last I spoke to him. He ordered me to take him into custody with the rest of the Germans. Now, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to discuss this later. I have to try and salvage this whole mess.”

Lucius moved away to the Great Hall. Snape wasn’t sorry to see him go. His mind was buzzing with this latest information, and fear was starting to sink its fangs into him. He needed to find a quiet place to think everything through before he faced Lucius or the Dark Lord or even Bellatrix.

He headed towards his private quarters. There were Sentinels searching the dungeons, which was rather foolish, since at lease half of them would likely be hopelessly lost before they were through, but no one stopped him.

His rooms would be exactly as he had left them, which seemed the only thing at the moment that hadn’t changed. Harry, his ward, had run away after supposedly conspiring against Britain… that sounded completely ridiculous. The boy wouldn’t have run away. He loved his friends, his school, his godfathers, and possibly even cared for Lord Voldemort, though why Snape hadn’t the foggiest. Yet, Lucius had said even the Dark Lord had suspected his defection. Should he believe him?

“Aminitas,” he muttered, the door to his room popped open noiselessly to allow him entry and immediately closed behind him. His wand jumped into his hand. It appeared he had assumed too quickly that even his rooms could provide him sanctuary. Someone was there.

His living room was exactly the same, dark furniture and glinting silver in the candlelight, but he sensed a presence amongst the shadows and after all these years he knew to trust his instincts.

“Come out with your hands in the air, or I will kill just to be safe.”

“Please, don’t fire,” came a familiar, feminine voice. “I swear I only hid because I thought you might be a Sentinel.”

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

She moved out from the shadows of a book case, her notice-me-not spell slipping away from her like a discarded cloak. Head-to-toe she looked the frightened rabbit, pale and shivering and large eyes wet with tears. He lowered his wand. What was happening now?

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Severus, I swear I am, but I had to come. I had to ask him myself. Please, please, don’t tell Lucius I’m here. He’ll kill me.”

He could tell she truly believed that, and he suspected she was right, or at least that Lucius might find some way to shove his failure to catch the Germans and Harry on to Hermione, and let the Dark Lord find a suitably deadly punishment. He shuddered at the thought.

“Calm down. I won’t tell Lucius if you tell me what happened and why you are here. If I sense even a single falsehood, by lie or omission, I will drag you before your foster father myself, is that understood?”

She nodded, sniffled, and wrung her hands nervously. He wondered if she had come to confront Harry about his defection. Had that been what brought her so quickly? If she had answers, he wanted them.

“Go sit down. I will make us some tea.”

“But if I’m found-”

“The only reason you managed to get into my rooms is because I have given you the passwords and set my wards to accept you and Draco. Anyone else, and that includes Lucius, who tried to enter uninvited would find themselves in a rather nasty little room on the other side of the dungeons. If you’re honest, I will find the means to take you home undetected. Now is not the time. The school is swarming with his men.”

She nodded, but didn’t look any less nervous. He thought she must be as nervous to be noticed missing from home as she was about being found here, and decided he should probably make this quick. He set a kettle on the stove and added some chamomile tea to the water, thinking of how he should conduct his interrogation before leaving it all and entering the living room. He found Hermione anxiously chewing her thumbnail.

He sat directly across from her, and crossed his arms.

“Firstly, is your brother here?”

“No! He doesn’t even know I left the house… at least he didn’t. He might have noticed I’m gone by now.”

He nodded. Good. Draco’s lack of involvement was one less thing to worry about.

“Now, tell me, from the very beginning how you ended up here and what exactly you have done.”

“I… It started when I got a letter from Viktor…”

She told him everything. The letter, Lucius’ threat, her escape to Hogwarts, and confronting Viktor, his confession of being a spy, his invitation to leave. He stopped her briefly to asked, “Did he extend this offer to Harry?”

She was silent for a long moment, then said, “He hadn’t offered, but he said he would. He said… he said the Dark Lord was experimenting on Harry…” Here she wiped the tears from her eyes, and sniffled again before she could continue, “… and he wanted to take him somewhere safe. But he hadn’t asked yet.”

So Lucius had been wrong. There was no conspiracy. That or Krum had lied to her.

He gestured for her to continue, and she went on to tell him about denying his offer and then being hit with a spell. Here she seemed a bit confused. She didn’t remember Viktor casting the spell, but she also knew no one else had been with them up to that point. The next thing she knew she woke up on the floor of the classroom. She had tried to sneak out again, but found there were Sentinels everywhere. She was afraid, and ran into the dungeons and hid in Severus’ rooms. And that was when he had found her.

“Did he find out?” she asked when she was done. “Did he find out about me coming to find Viktor? Is that why all those people are out there?”

“No-” The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle, and he stood and when to take care of it. He came back with one cup of tea for her only, as he didn’t want anything deadening is wits at this point. She took a few tentative sips, and watched him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“No. He found out your friend Krum was a spy and ordered a raid. You may be relieved to know that as far as I can tell, both he and his classmates all escaped.”

She was definitely relieved, if the tension flowing out of her was anything to by.

“… You will be less pleased to know that they took Potter with them.”

Luckily, he had the foresight to levitate her tea cup before she dropped it on herself.

“…No…”

He sighed. He still didn’t know the truth about Harry, and perhaps that was less important than what was going be done about it. Harry was practically a prince in the eyes of Britain, and to have him runaway or be kidnapped… he had no idea what might happen, but war seemed mixed in there somewhere.

In the meantime, he had to figure out what he was going to do about his misadventurous goddaughter before she picked up Harry’s bad habits.

“Are we under arrest?” Fleur demanded, snapping at Lucius Malfoy who stood blocking the door, staring down at her imperiously. She, along with her headmistress and classmates, had all been herded into their common room at wand point by some of the very same witches and wizards who had been telling them not worry only half an hour ago. Their wands had also been taken, and that was by the far the greatest violation they had performed so far.

“No, my dear, not yet,” he said, as if it were inevitable that they would be.

“What iz all zis about?” Madam Maxime said evenly, doing a stunning job appearing unaffected by the whole ordeal. Commander Malfoy gave her a polite nod, but it came off as mocking.

“We have uncovered a plot to kill Lord Voldemort and sabotage our country’s defense infrastructure. It appears this plot originates from Hogwarts itself, no less. I am sure you understand why I must be extremely cautious. Several conspirators have already escaped and taken one our students with them already.”

Fleur and the headmistress turned to one another, sharing looks of mutual concern, before turning back to Malfoy.

“I ’ope none of your people were ’urt, Commander,” Madam Maxime said, “and zat you recover your student quickly and unharmed. My students and I will do anyzing zat we can to assist you. May I ask who it was zat was taken?”

The man’s smile was utterly serpentine, a little too wide and with eyes stone cold.

“On behalf of the people of Britain, I extend our appreciation for your concern and even more so your cooperation. Mr. Potter was… taken. Rest assured we will exercise every possible resource to bring him home. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have some of my people ask all of you some questions. It maybe that you unwittingly came across some information that will help us and of course, clear you of any wrong doing.”

There was a moment of utter silence.

“… Very well,” Madam Maxime conceded.

“Excellent. Any volunteers?”

“I don’t see why we should let him out,” Oblitz grumbled, as he followed Ambassador Schwartzmann below deck, Krum following at his heels. “I’d feel a lot safer if he remained where he was. Won’t do him any harm either.”

Schwartzmann shook his head.

“Absolutely not. Herr Potter is our guest, not our prisoner. It’s bad enough that we left him here as long as we have.”

Viktor felt a pang of guilt at that. He had been so busy trying to run the ship, he had assumed Jophery would take care of Harry, forgetting that Jophery would be even busier than himself. His guilt only grew worse as they entered the underbelly of the ship, and the air cooled so that their breath misted in the air. It had been hours since they had launched the ship, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how betrayed and terrified Harry might be feeling right then.

The hallways were dark and narrow below deck, as gloomy as any dungeon. There were six cells, each one numbered. The numbers above each cell two through six were glowing white. Cell one glowed red. Schwartzmann knocked.

“Herr Potter, this is Ambassador Schwartzmann. I’ve come to let you out. Please step away from the door.”

Oblitz tapped his shoulder. “Perhaps I should go first… in case he’s a bit upset.”

“And greet him with a Stunning Hex? I don’t think so.”

“I should go in first,” Viktor said. “I’m the one he’s most familiar with.”

“That is probably a good idea,” the ambassador agreed.

There wasn’t enough room to switch positions so the two adults moved a little further down the hall to give him some room.

“It’s Viktor, Harry. Hold on just a second,” he called, and unlocked the door. Carefully, he pushed it open. The cell was tiny, only four by five feet, with nothing but straw and a bucket by way of comforts.

Harry had tucked himself into tight little ball in the far corner, his black cloak wrapped tightly around him to fight the cold. Bright green eyes watched him cautiously.

“Harry.” He knelt before the frightened boy and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. The ship’s defense system didn’t recognize you, so you were sent here. In the chaos of escape, I completely forgot about you. I am very sorry. Come with me. I’ll get you something warm to eat and drink, and find a room for you to sleep in.”

Harry’s wide eyes remained fixed on him, but it wasn’t distrust he saw in them, but disbelief and outrage.

“Viktor… what have you done?”

There were riots in London, Glasgow, Aberdeen, Coventry, and Edinburgh that afternoon when news broke that the Dark Lord had been hospitalized and the Germans had fled, the papers passing their escape off as a confession of guilt. Harry’s defection hadn’t been released to the press yet, as much to prevent further outrage as the fact that everyone lacked any real information about why he ran. The Brass Cult had been dispatch to aid the overwhelmed Sentinels with crowd disbursement and arrests, testing their mettle against British citizens rather than foreign invaders for their first engagement. There had been looting, fires, assaults, and nearly a dozen deaths.

Lucius desperately wished he could be at any one of those rioting cities, rather than standing in subdued little Hogsmeade as the Dark Lord arrived. His physical recovery was remarkable, his foul mood was more pervasive than ever.

Voldemort stepped through the floo, pale as death and just as sinister in his black robes and glowing red eyes. The soldiers guarding the floo all flinched away from him, and Lucius didn’t blame them one bit. The Dark Lord glanced briefly at Lucius, then moved passed him without saying a word. There was a carriage waiting for him just outside, but he ignored it in favor of a one the Sentinel’s horses, immediately spurring it into a hard gallop. Lucius was forced into a rather undignified rush to find a horse of his own and chase after the man. He had been summoned with that glance, and he was already in enough trouble as it was without making his master wait.

They both abandoned their horses at the castle keep, and made their way towards Voldemort’s office.

“Where is Morgan?” the Dark Lord asked, his voice clipped.

“London. He and his men are protecting th Court offices from rioters.”

“Severus?”

“On his way. He left earlier to check on my son and foster daughter, and to ask them if they had noticed anything odd in Potter’s behavior lately.”

“What have you learned so far?”

“All of the Germans were in on it. Every single one, including the students. They were very well prepared to escape in an emergency. Nothing important was left in their rooms, and they carried at least two portkeys on themselves at all times. We’ve tried using the portkeys of the suspects we captured, but they won’t activate for anyone but their owners. We sent the body of one of our prisoners on ahead. As a message.”

“The French dignitaries?”

“So far, nothing, but I haven’t employed the more…effective methods. I wanted to wait for your approval first.”

“Denied. They weren’t involved, and persecuting them would be counterproductive. Right now we have the political benefit of being the victimized country, but it won’t mean anything if we torture uninvolved bystanders. When we’re done here, cut them loose.”

Lucius wanted to argue, pointing out they could simply blame both countries, and take credit for capturing the French, while the cowardly Germans ran away, abandoning their allies. He didn’t dare protest though. His Master’s tempter was already short.

They stepped into the Dark Lord’s office.

“Crucio!”

Lucius fell to the floor, clenching his teeth against the agony that ripped through him, but he couldn’t smother his moan. It seemed to last for eternity, but then it always had.

“You failed Lucius. You failed miserably. If it weren’t for that anonymous letter, they would have succeeded in taking away knowledge of our entire military force! As it is, they’ve almost all escaped, and with my protégé no less! Crucio!”

This time he couldn’t clamp his teeth shut fast enough, and pain forced him to cry out.

“Oh, do shut up. Harry didn’t make such a racket when he was a First Year. Crucio!”

He clenched his teeth again, pride aching almost as much as his body. At last it stopped, but he didn’t dare climb to his feet, knowing his Master might take it as a sign of defiance and start up all over again. He didn’t even know if had the strength to rise. It had been a long time since he had to endure this particular punishment.

There was a knock at the door. Afraid to let anyone see him so reduced, Lucius forced himself to rise with wobbly legs, half expecting another curse. Voldemort ignored him entirely, his attention focused on one of the baubles on his desk, checking to see who had disturbed them.

“Get out. Come back when Severus has arrived. And send for Morgan.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, bowing stiffly.

His worst fear was that it was Lestrange at the door, there to gloat and further enrage Voldemort against him with exaggerations of his failure, but his fear was unfounded. Instead he found a man in white robes, one he didn’t recognize. He regarded him coolly for a moment, but the man’s sole focus was on the Dark Lord. He left without being acknowledged.

Brennan turned to Voldemort, lifting a brow.

“I see even with a complete soul you are still quite monstrous. A pity.”

“You have a lot of nerve to mock me, the one who is going to kill you.”

Brennan shrugged. “I knew this was inevitable once I had made my decision to go through with it.”

“So you came to me on your own accord. No denials? No excuses?”

“Do I need an excuse? Did you not provoke this with every act of murder, torment, and cruelty?”

“When have I ever been cruel to you, Brennan? Have I ever been anything other than indulgent and generous?” he asked, staring over his locked fingers, his red eyes burning with accusation.

“And there is where you lack your basic humanity, believing that justice is only sought by the victim of a crime. Empathy for a victim, hatred for an injustice on principle, and love were all things you never did understand, and at least one of them will be your undoing. Unless you learn of course. You are capable of it now.”

“You fool… do you think it makes any difference? That I might somehow weaken or die? Or did you think this stunt would suddenly make me a kinder, gentler person? A firm scolding and some cookies and milk when we were all done? My hatred is as strong as ever and if anything you have made me more powerful. Worse than your betrayal and your stupidity however is the fact you deluded my pupil into going along with this futile mission.”

Brennan chuckled at that.

“It’s funny that you should say that… it was his idea after all. Not the killing you part, of course, that was just wishful thinking on my part.”

“He was naïve, and I will delight in relieving him of that particular failing when he returns. You, however, knew exactly what you were doing.”

Voldemort stood, drawing his wand. Brennan watched him quietly, folding his hands in his lap and waiting. This wasn’t how he wanted to go, but he could face it with some level of peace. He had sworn on his teacher’s grave that he would see Tom Riddle complete or see him dead, and though it had taken nearly fifty years it was finally done. The rest was up to time and Voldemort himself.

“Oh, no you don’t. This isn’t going to end with a simple Killing Curse,” the Dark Lord growled. “You made me bleed. I intend to return the favor. Serpensortia!”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Harry shouted, his angry voice filling the tiny cabin, amplified by its inability to escape through the Silencing Charm he had erected over the space. “We held out our hand to you and you accept it with a knife hidden behind your back? How could you possibly justify that?”

Viktor scowled. This wasn’t how he pictured things turning out. Harry was suppose to be grateful he was rescued, not fuming mad about the whole spying bit. He was being ridiculous.

“We had to know. We didn’t come to start a fight, be we had to know what the Dark Lord’s real intentions are, not we he says they are.”

“That’s bollocks! You wanted the information so you could go to war!”

“In case he started one! And you know he’s perfectly capable of it! He’s been building a formal army for the last year and raised taxes twice in the last three! He’s been preparing for war. He wants it.”

“But you started it, Viktor. Spin it all you want, but you struck the first blow.”

Viktor fumed under the accusation. How could Harry be so closed-minded? Hadn’t he seen the evidence himself first hand of what Voldemort’s intentions were, and he still he had the nerve to wag his finger at them. Germany wasn’t prepared for war, not like the Dark Lord. They had needed the information their mission would have provided, a way to fight smarter when they couldn’t fighter harder.

“For someone who was just rescued from death,” he ground out, “You sure are damn critical of the people who saved you.”

That shut Harry up fast. In fact, it looked like he had swallowed Viktor’s words and they settled badly in his stomach. He looked ill, and he turned away from Viktor to stare out the porthole. Beyond it he could see schools of shimmering silver fish dash by his window before they disappeared into the murky gloom of ocean. Or were they in the Channel by now?

“… Those are two different things.”

There was guilt in Harry’s expression now, and Viktor was suddenly reminded of what he had overheard in the Gryffindor dormitory. Everything had been so chaotic he hadn’t had time to think of it before.

“I didn’t want that to happen. He nearly died!”

“But he did not, and you have what you wanted,”

“He’s going to kill me.”

“You knew that might happen too.”

“Oh Merlin, you did it,” Viktor blurted, realizing now exactly what they had been talking about. “You’re the one who attacked the Dark Lord! Jesus, Harry are you really snarking at me for a little surveillance after that?”

“I didn’t attack him,” he said, but it sounded weak, a plea to be believed rather than a demand for it. “It was an accident. The magic… it didn’t do what I thought it would… well it did, but Brennan never told be that it would hurt him!”

“What did you do, Harry?” Because it was inconceivable that the boy before him, small and kind and so very young could possibly have come closer to killing the Dark Lord than anyone else since his rise to power. The fact that the Gryffindor actually looked guilty about it was mind-boggling.

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s not the sort of thing they teach you in school or in books. I shouldn’t have messed with it. I didn’t understand it either.”

“Dark Arts?”

Harry shook his head but didn’t elaborate. He moved to the farthest bed and sat down, his previous anger slipping away as he dropped his head into his hands.

“Please… you can’t tell anyone about this. Not Jophery or Oblitz, but especially not Ambassador Schwartzmann.”

“Why not? Harry, do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve done what most people thought were impossible. You proved the Dark Lord isn’t invulnerable. You’ll be hailed a hero.”

The words did nothing to comfort Harry, and in fact his expression only became more pained.

“A hero? For what? He’s not…he wasn’t my enemy. He was my mentor and my teacher… my friend. He could be cruel and selfish, but what I did was reckless and selfish too. I nearly killed my friend, Viktor, and if you tell anyone they might try to make me do it again.”

The older boy was stunned into silence, and slowly he sat down on the bunk across from Harry, trying to grasp at everything that was being said. Harry had the power to kill the Dark Lord, and he was right that if it was discovered he could do this others might try and force him. Force him to rid the world of murdering warmonger and tyrant… to make Harry a murderer in the process.

“Does the Dark Lord know this?” he asked.

“… I don’t know. If he doesn’t yet, he probably will soon.”

“If you don’t kill him, he’ll kill you. He can’t risk letting you run free with that kind of ability.”

Harry shook his head. “Please, don’t tell anyone. You owe me this, Viktor.”

“I’ve already repaid that life debt,” he said stiffly, the opportunity Harry presented was not something he wanted to so easily slip by, even as his insides squirmed at the moral implications of it.

“Yes,” Harry bit out, and Viktor flinched at the venom behind. “… and stole my will away to do it.”

“That was the old man…”

“You could have ended that spell at any time. You took me away from everything and everyone I cared about without so much as a by-your-leave.. My home, my family, my friends, all gone, and now you want to force me to help you kill someone? I’d rather die than let you turn me into your assassin.”

“He’s a monster, and he’s going to kill you!” he snarled back, jumping to his feet.

Harry looked away.

“Just don’t tell anyone. Whatever I choose to do, I deserve to be able to make that decision myself. Please Viktor. You said you did this to help me. Prove it.”

The older boy clenched his fists and his teeth, trying to reign in control of his frustration. Why was he defending the Dark Lord? Why was he going out of his way to protect that monster, after everything he had done and would do? He didn’t understand, especially when he knew Harry wasn’t a coward.

“Fine…” he bit out, “But one of these days you’re going tell me why.”

He stalked out of the tiny cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Left alone, Harry fell back onto his bunk. It had been less than one day, and he had managed to nearly kill the ruler of wizarding Britain, been kidnapped by German spies, escaped almost certain death and also everyone and everything that held meaning in his life, and was now heading to another country and another school and another life completely.

How was he supposed to feel about that?

At the moment, all he felt was tired. He tried to think of what his life would be like. He tried to think of Durmstang, the massive fortress in a frozen wasteland, but his mind drifted to Hogwarts during Christmas time, snow balls fights with the Weasley twins, and Elsbeth. He tried to think of life with a foster family in the country… but ended up with memories of summers with Snape, snipping at one another all the time and random visits from Hermione and Draco. Life with a foster family in the city… he thought of the Reichers, gathered together in the family room, reading story books to Alyssa and Morgana, Kyle reading the newspaper over Robert’s shoulder.

Finally he gave up on predicting his future, and wondered what everyone was doing right now. How many people even knew he was missing? Snape and Voldemort definitely would. Did they know about him nearly killing the Dark Lord, or had they passed the blame off onto Viktor and his cohorts? Did they hate him now, thinking he ran away with the enemy? McGunny would also know, but he didn’t honestly know the Ravenclaw well enough to know how he would react. Hermione… she had to know by now too, and she would have told Draco.

Everyone else… they would hear of it through the papers. No doubt they’d be screaming bloody murder, calling him a traitor and a coward and maybe even an attempted murderer. He was so stupid! Hadn’t he promised he would be there for them the way they had been there for him? He’d broken that promise, to himself and to them and for what? To make the cruelest, most arrogant, and inhuman man in the world…

Less cruel. Less conceited. More human.

He sighed. He couldn’t regret that. He didn’t know if it would work, but what if it did? How many lives would be spared by sudden moments of compassion? How much suffering avoided with the ability to empathize? He didn’t expect to be forgiven, but at least he knew Voldemort was capable of forgiveness.

Then again, if he never saw the man again, would it really matter?

Finding the answer to that was way too depressing. Things were out of his control right now, so he’d take advantage of that and try to stop worrying or thinking in general. He kicked off his boots, stripped down to his pants and undershirt and slipped beneath the covers of the bed he had been sitting on. He closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts, and listened to the soft creaks and groans of the ship and the muffled putter of footsteps in the hall. As sleep began to descend upon him, a new sound came to him, a familiar ticking sound. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his watch. Even in the low light of the cabin, he could clearly see the Hogwarts’ coat of arms. Impulsively, he flipped it open.

To Harry

Hope this keeps you on time and on track

-Hermione

If only.

Gently, he closed it and hugged it to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. It couldn’t be over. Not without so much as a goodbye. Not again.

He didn’t know how or when, but some day he would see his friends and his godfathers again. If he had to slay another dragon and make another sacrifice to Madris to make it so, he would. She was the Goddess of the Hearth, of home and family, and with her favor he knew it was possible.

“Please,” he prayed, “Look after them, keep them safe for me, until I can find my way back to them. Please, look after them, keep them safe for me, until I can find my way back to them. Please, look after them…”

He repeated his prayer, over and over again until at last he fell asleep.

Snape re-entered Hogwarts with a sigh of relief. He had safely smuggled his goddaughter out of the castle in his luggage and taken her home, and no one the wiser. Even Draco didn’t seem to realize his sister had been missing, but he did seem suspicious when she barely reacted to the news that Harry had been taken by the Durmstang students. Snape thought he probably shouldn’t have added quite so much chamomile to her tea. The foster siblings would likely argue about her oddness while he was away, but whether she decided to trust Draco with her secret or not he would leave up to her.

Now he just had a Dark Lord to contend with.

Fun.

“You took your sweet time,” Lucius muttered, appearing beside him from seemingly out of no where. He was unusually pale, and Snape watched him from the corner of his eye carefully, trying to see if his hands were shaking from the after affects of a pain curse or if he had been subjected to some other form of torture.

“The children were understandably upset. It took some time to reassure them,” he said, not sounding or really feeling the least bit guilty.

“Reassure them of what? Potter ran away. The world isn’t ending.”

“He didn’t run away.”

“I was there. He helped them escape. He was with them. He ran away.”

Snape said nothing more. He didn’t have any evidence to present to the contrary that wasn’t self-incrementing and even if he did Lucius would only call him a fool for believing it.

“Commander!”

They both turned to see a young Brass Cultie scurrying towards them. He stopped only long enough to salute.

“What is it?” Lucius demanded impatiently.

“Sir, Chief Sentinel Morgan has arrived and is heading for Lord Voldemort’s office.”

“Dismissed.”

The cadet hurried off again to do whatever it was every other soldier was doing in lieu of a battle that was never finished.

“Come with me. Our Lord has requested our presence once you arrived.”

That didn’t sound particularly promising, but the potion’s master had no say in the matter. He followed Lucius to the highest tower and into the Dark Lord’s domain. He had expected Morgan to be there, but he hadn’t factored in Professor Brennan.

What was left of him, anyway.

Even Lucius looked taken back by the sheer amount of blood. Every step they took made the carpet squish beneath their feet, and they dared not touch any wall or surface for the lines of sticky redness that stripped the entire room. The only part that made the man at all recognizable was the tiny patches of clean white robes the hints of beard beneath the gore.

Snape took a deep breath, and turned the Dark Lord sitting quietly at his desk, writing rapidly on some plain white (and red speckled) parchment. One side of his face was splashed with blood, but he didn’t appear to notice it, and continued as if the body was nothing more than an extra piece of furniture.

He felt a well of pity for Brennan, whose crime he couldn’t imagine warranted such a fate, but most of that pity was overshadowed with the very real fear that he might be facing a similar fate himself. Potter had been his responsibility after all.

“He tried to kill me,” Voldemort said by way of greeting, not looking up from his parchment. “They both did.”

“My Lord?”

“Professor Brennan and Harry,” he clarified. “They performed a ritual, the result of which you saw this morning.”

Lucius and Snape shared a look of surprise. Neither of them had conceived of Harry being responsible. Aware, possibly, but not responsible. It was completely out of character. They looked to Morgan, but he remained as blank faced as ever, taking it all in. Voldemort continued.

“He came straight to my office to confess. Very upright of him, if I do say so myself. Saved me the trouble of tracking him down. It is a pity Harry couldn’t be so obliging.”

Snape felt his heart sink at the thought. If Harry had not escaped, it could have been his blood staining Snape’s boots. It still might. Suddenly, Hermione’s revelation that Harry didn’t know about Germany’s plot seemed completely irrelevant.

“What would you have of us, my Lord?” Lucius said, cautiously. Voldemort appeared much calmer after having exerted his vengeance on Brennan, but a calm Dark Lord was craftier and therefore harder to predict than an angry one. He set down his quill and sat back in his chair, looking at his three loyal servants.

“I have been thinking… it seems a waste to simply kill Harry just yet. Especially when he’s set up such a wonderful opportunity to exploit his popularity for the good of Britain.”

Severus didn’t have a clue what he meant, but a part of him eased. Assassinating Lily’s son didn’t seem to be a part of the Dark Lord’s immediate plans.

“I think it would be best if we leave out dear Harry’s betrayal when addressing the public. All they need to know is that Harry was taken against his will by Durmstrang after their failed attempt to kill me.”

It suddenly clicked for Severus, and he felt a twinge of admiration for the cleverness of his master’s plan.

“So when the Germans attempt to rationalize their illegal investigation to the nations of Europe, they will also have to justify attempted murder and kidnapping. The people of Britain, who love Potter as their own personal prince, will be outraged and practically demand we go to war with Germany.”

“Yes,” Voldemort said, smiling darkly.

“But if Harry tells the Germans what he has done…” Lucius started, then realized the most obvious solution. “We can say he is being forced to lie by his kidnappers. After all, who would believe a child capable of trying to assassinate the ruler of Britain?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have to demand his safe return,” the potions master continued. “If they refuse we’ll use it to further our cause and incite anger against them by both Britain and the other nations. France is already fond of him for saving Delacour, and even the German public might become suspicious of their own ministry’s agenda. If they return Potter…”

Here, Snape couldn’t conceive of what would happen. He would definitely be punished, but how? He couldn’t be killed or the public would question it, and torture would likewise be obvious. He looked to Voldemort, who was staring directly at him now, measuring his reactions. Snape felt an inkling of fear. Did the Dark Lord suspect his loyalty might some how lean in Harry’s favor?

“I made him a prince, my student, my…” Voldemort faltered here, his eyes sliding shut as his expression turned to a grimace, the closest to true pain they had seen since that morning. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and continued., “If he is returned… he will suffer as my slave until the day his usefulness to me ends.”

Well… that was better than being killed instantly… maybe… hopefully.

“In the mean time,” Voldemort said, his tone changing with the topic to something less sinister. “Severus, I don’t know what Lucius told you already, but we received an anonymous tip about the German’s scheme in the form of a letter originating from my office.”

Snape frowned. “I was not made aware of this.”

“Lucius will give you the full details as he was the one to initially receive it. I want you to track down who in the school sent it. It shouldn’t be too difficult with the limited number of students and teachers who were actually present at the time.”

“It will be done, my Lord.”

He turned to carry out his orders, barely believing that he was getting out of there with all as parts. Lucius was had actually managed to escape out the door, before Voldemort called him back.

“Oh, before I forget, Severus…”

The potions master froze, his hopes of escape dashed. Reluctantly, he turned around.

“…in regards to keeping track of my protégé, you have greatly disappointed me. Crucio.”

Optimism really was for idiots.

It took two days to sail around Britain, during which Harry spent most of his time primarily trying to sleep and watching fish swimming passed his cabin window. Viktor or Jophery usually came to deliver his meals and tried to engage him in conversation, but it was awkward at best and just plain frustrating more often than not. Schwartzmann too had come to talk to him about what he should expect when he arrived in Germany and the process of granting him political asylum. He was told political asylum was granted to those who were being persecuted, and if he had any readily available evidence of being mistreated or a specific event he was willing to describe under veritaserum, it would make the process much quicker. The idea of it left Harry feeling unclean.

There were dozens of incidents he could describe where he had been threatened, hurt, manipulated, and harassed, but as far as he was concerned that wasn’t Schwartzmann’s or Germany’s business. He wasn’t a victim. He had fought back, the result of which was his being forced to flee. As long as Voldemort lived, he thought of things as even between them, slandering the other’s name wasn’t the sort of petty game he wanted to play. He had to tell them something though, and he wasn’t entirely sure what would satisfy their definition of ‘persecution’. He told Schwartzmann to give him time to think it over.

As much as he tried to sleep, he found true rest elusive. His dreams were plagued with nightmares of being hunted by Voldemort, of Voldemort killing his friends, of his friends accusing him of being a traitor. Late at night, when the other three boys he shared the cabin with were fast asleep and his nightmares had woken him, he would open his watch and lay it beside him, listening to it ticking away through the night and thought of home.

On the final morning aboard the ship, Viktor came to wake him.

“Viktor?” he asked sleepily, as the older boy gently shook him awake. It had been a bad night, and he must have only drifted back to sleep an hour or so ago. Nevertheless, he put on his glasses and sat up.

“We are almost to Durmstrang. Some of the other guys pitched in to get you something suitable to wear. Most of what you have won’t be warm enough, but your fur cloak should work and your boots if you wear an extra pair of socks.” He placed a folded pile of clothes in Harry’s lap. “Come to the galley when you’re dressed.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The clothes were a typical Durmstrang uniform, which was just about as warm as full winter ensemble back at Hogwarts. It was light brown and militaristic, stuffed with goose down and lined in wolf fur. It was also too big in the shoulders and too long in the pants. He put on his boots, and carried his cloak in his arms on his way to the galley.

He tensed when he saw Oblitz coming towards him. Harry hadn’t seen the man since he had been taken from the cell, but that had been more than enough time to figure out that the Dark Arts’ professor thought of him as the enemy amongst them and would happily have thrown him off the ship and straight into the mouth of a hungry shark if he’d had his way.

“Potter,” he snapped.

“Professor.”

Oblitz stepped closer, invading his personal space so that he might loom over him. Harry recognized it as an intimidation tactic, and forced himself not to back up and to look directly up into the man’s eyes. Eyes that narrowed angrily at his defiance.

“You may have the others fooled, but I know what you really are. You won’t be able to hide behind Krum and Schwartzmann forever. Once in the school, you will be in my territory,” he growled.

That was indeed a bit scary, but nearly as much as the man thought it was and Harry let him know it. He glared right back at him.

“I have faced murders, madmen, werewolves, grindylows, a dragon, and monsters you’ve probably never even heard of. I have had tea with the Dark Lord himself, and stood toe-to-toe with his Death Eaters, and lived with Severus bloody Snape for the last two years. If you honestly think you could intimidate me then you need to go back to school for a little more educating. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He stepped around him, but Oblitz lashed out and grabbed his arm in an iron grip. Harry flinched, then glared up at the man, who glared back just as fiercely.

“Beasts and wizards are not the same thing, and standing beside a wizard is a lot different than standing against them.”

Harry’s grabbed Oblitz’s wrist with his free hand and squeezed. The man grimaced, tried to maintain his own grip, but ultimately failed as Harry tore his hand free. Harry leaned in close, Oblitz grimaced but held his ground. He had made the mistake of grabbing Harry with his wand hand and now had nothing to defend himself with.

“It is the exact same thing where I come from.”

He shoved the man away, and watched as he backed away, his eyes glaring pure hatred at him. It was a display of an uncommon strength on Harry’s part, and one he had not had to use since he had held Larousse’s lifeless body on the castle roof. How far it extended, he had never tested, but he suspected it came and went as necessity dictated, as yet another form of wandless magic. Apparently, it had been necessary now. He wondered if Durmstrang would be any different from Hogwarts in regards to the inordinate number of people who wanted to kill him.

In the galley, he found Viktor and several other boys having breakfast. They all looked up to greet him as he sat down.

“We’ll arrive in about an hour. The Minster of Magic will probably be there to greet us, along with some aurors. They’ll want to ask you some questions, and they might get a bit… intense, but don’t worry. You’re protected under the Turner Act, which means they can’t send you back to Britain if you request asylum,” Viktor stated, the undertone being that he should be careful, and not just because of his secret.

“What can they do?”

“Since you’re a minor? Not much. They have to have a legal guardian present or the permission of a legal guardian in order to interrogate you, which you don’t have yet and since you have committed no crime they can’t hold you for more than twenty-four hours. The worst they can do is drag their heels with the foster care process, which doesn’t mean anything since you’ll be at Durmstrang anyway. Listen, I don’t want you to worry about it. I just wanted you to be aware of your rights.”

“Which are what exactly?”

Jophery threw in his own view on things. “They can’t send you back to Britain. They can’t threaten you with much of anything but twenty four hours of boredom. You’re entitled to an education per governmental law, as well as food, shelter, clothes, and basic health care until you are the age of majority and then you can get a job and pay the government back with a twenty percent income tax over the next one hundred years. Sucks, I know, but there it is.”

“… I think I can live with that,” Harry said, because frankly it seemed he didn’t have any other choice.

1.

Distant Lands

As far as travel went, magical ship was one of the best, aside from the magical car. It was smooth, quiet, and aside from being rather dark under the water, generally a pleasant atmosphere. Surfacing, however, was one of the most nauseating experiences not related to poisoning Harry had the misfortune of experiencing, not unlike riding a fast moving elevator for way too long.

“Oh hell,” he groaned, leaning back against the wall. He was sitting on his bunk, like the rest of his roommates, holding onto the edge of their beds to keep their balance as the ship crashed through several feet of ice and then landed heavily on top of it.

“Don’t you dare spew, Potter,” the largest boy in the room threatened. “I’m not meeting the Minister of Magic smelling like your vomit.”

“Your objections are noted. I’ll take them under consideration,” he sniped back. Really he was in an all around bad mood. He was tired, depressed, anxious, and now sea sick. The only thing that could make the day any worse was the possible interrogation by some German aurors once he was on dry land.

“All hands on deck!” rang through the ship, and everyone got up and put on their cloaks and gloves and went out into the hall, lining up with everyone else there. Viktor and Jophery were up ahead with the ambassador and the rest of the adults, and gave him a nod.

The door leading out onto the deck was opened, and a blast of icy wind rushed into cabin, popping his ears and biting his nose with its chill. Instantly, Harry started to shiver.

“Just wait,” the boy behind him said. “It gets worse.”

Swell.

They filed out onto the deck, and Harry quickly learned that the boy had been right. It was frigid cold, hovering well below freezing and with a nasty wind. It was near blinding white, stretching the entire length of the lake and eating away at the edges of the sky, so only the lightest shade of blue shown directly above them. They had broken through the ice near what had to be the shore. The lake itself rested inside of a crater, surrounded on all sides by towers peaks of snow capped rock. As far as Harry could see there was no way in or out that could have been connected to the sea, but that was the sort of magic Harry was familiar with. At the nearest shore was a road, black and shiny with melted snow, winding its way further up the stone walls of the crater, and at the very top Harry could see Durmstrang.

The fortress was black and glassy and composed of hundreds of thin towers and walkways and floating buttresses, a dark fairytale castle made entirely out of obsidian glass. It stood in stark relief, its size and grandeur in perfect silhouette against the surrounding white. The only sign it was not merely an elaborate two-dimensional shadow was the faint glow of light that could be seen emanating from inside, hinting at the dozens of different structures that composed the fortress.

“Wow,” Harry breathed out. He had never thought he would ever see a place that rivaled Hogwarts in beauty or magnificence, but this certainly came close.

No one wanted to stay out in the cold any more than Harry, so they worked quickly to lower the gang plank and get everyone off the ship and onto the road. The road itself was warm, and Harry could feel the heat of it rising up into his cloak, fighting against the surrounding arctic chill. There was a line of carriages waiting for them, pulled by animals with white hair so thick Harry couldn’t tell if they were equine or bovine or something else altogether. They squeezed in six to a carriage, glad for the extra body heat rather than annoyed, and the beasts guided themselves up the steep sloping road to Durmstrang.

“Welcome home!”

There was a thundering rush of applause, and Harry felt himself flinch away. The entire party had been dropped off in the stables which was connected to the castle itself and Oblitz had lead them straight to what must have been Durmstang’s equivalent to the Great Hall. It was an amphitheater, divided by four sets of stairs and twelve tiers of tables and chairs from floor to ceiling, every railing and table leg and chair back decorated with medieval representations of the fiercest beasts and monsters. The ceiling was slightly domed and fully mirrored, making the hundreds of floating candles above them appear like thousands.

The amphitheater was full to overflowing with students, and government officials, and reporters who were flashing their cameras unceasingly. Harry turned away from reporters and tried to ignore the speech from what was probably the Minister of Magic, and looked to his future classmates, trying to get a feel for what life was going to be like there.

They were mostly boys he noted, with short cropped hair and serious faces. The girls looked the same, their long hair pulled back into tight braids or buns and nothing soft or particularly feminine about their expressions. They did look genuinely pleased that their classmates had returned safely, but he felt his heart sink at the lack of variation.

“- and we extend our hospitality to Herr Potter, who at great personal risk aided our Champion and all of Durmstrang in returning home safely.”

At the mention of his name, he turned to the minister even as the other students burst into another round of applause. He got a full face of camera flash for his effort. Someone put their hand on his arm, and he turned to see a man he didn’t recognize in some sort of dark gray uniform. Harry thought he must be a German auror.

“I’m Auror Grantz. If you would come with me, please?” he asked politely, but his hand was all firm authority. It made Harry nervous.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, you just need to be debriefed and sign some papers. Legalities and what not.”

“… Okay.”

He felt a little better when other students began to follow other aurors, but not much. His situation was not the same as theirs and everyone there knew it. They left the amphitheater and moved deeper into the school. The entire fortress seemed to be made of obsidian like material, and as they made their way through the halls, Harry could see vague shapes and lights through the walls, but rather than reveal anything it made everything that much more mysterious. What was that moving there? Was that a person or a suit of armor? Why was that room completely dark when the rest had at least one candle?

The amphitheater had been warm, as warm as Hogwarts in winter at least, but the hallways seemed to hover just above freezing. The echo of their footsteps against the high vaulted ceiling and a constant chill gave the place an air of abandonment despite the presence of people.

Mausoleum, Harry decided, it was like a beautiful mausoleum where people were very quiet and serious when they visited.

Or maybe he just missed home.

“Where are we going, sir?” Harry asked, after nearly four minutes of walking and no destination in sight.

“Here.” Grantz pointed at a door, large and adorned with bronze fixture like everything else. He opened it and stepped inside. Harry made a mental note of his wand being securely up his sleeve, and cautiously followed behind him. There was a medi-witch with gray hair and a bony face inside, along with a much younger assistant standing by her.

“Good day, Herr Potter,” she said pleasantly, her tone kindly despite her prickly expression.

“Good day to you, Madam?”

“Madam Wells. I’m going to perform a routine examination and ask you a few health related questions, if that is alright.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure that it was. The last routine examination he’d had was when he was ten, which had been bad enough when he didn’t have anything to hide. But then, what would she do if he said no? She seemed to sense his hesitation.

“It is all strictly confidential,” she assured him. “The only people who will have access to this information will be yourself and your personal physician, who just happens to be me.”

Harry nodded, but turned a questioning look to the auror standing nearby. He took the hint as well.

“I’ll just wait outside.”

“Thank you.”

He was glad for the his cooperation, because the first thing they did was have him take off his clothes. The room was warm, but it was embarrassing and intimidating having two people hover over him with their instruments and their questions. It didn’t help that they seemed particularly interested in his moon tattoo.

“Is this scar from a curse?” she asked, pulling out a small orb from her medical satchel. The orb was clouded white, but it turned dark blue when she placed it near his mark. “That’s strange. It’s never done that before. Never dark blue at least.”

“What does that mean? Dark blue?” he asked, to avoid her first question more than out of curiosity. He knew what the tattoo meant.

“It’s saturated in magic, but not regular wizarding magic. Curse scars usually turn it red or black. Tell me, have you had any run ins with fairies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you remember where you got this?”

“…”

“It’s alright, you can tell me.”

“… I’d rather not…” … because I don’t know that I can trust you. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s not the same as being harmless. If this is the result of a dark spell, there are any number of things it could be doing to you, physically, mentally, or magically. It would be best to remove it if at all possible.”

Harry shook his head, placing his hand protectively over the mark. It had caused him a great deal of trouble, but it was tied into his body and soul and he couldn’t risk anyone tampering with it. “Leave it alone. It’s not a curse.”

He wasn’t going to tell her what it was though. Unless she was a pagan herself, she would never understand the difference between a goddess’ blessing and a Dark Arts spell. With power of this sort, it was often hard to tell the difference. She looked ready to argue, but he cut her off.

“Can I get dressed now?”

She sighed, but nodded. He scurried back into his clothes. She gave him some paperwork to fill out, some potions to help fight off pneumonia (a necessity in Durmstang) and ordered him to eat more red meat and whole grains to help bulk up, but said he was otherwise in perfect health.

She called the auror back in, who escorted Harry to yet another room, where additional paperwork waited for him to fill out and sign. Most of it had to do with either his admission into Durmstrang and his previous course work or his application for political asylum. It was the other forms that left him hesitant.

They were written in tiny print, but were several pages long by themselves, the only legible sections were the places where it asked for his signature. Having had bad experiences with magically binding contracts, he set them aside for last.

“What are these?” he asked Grantz, once the regular forms were out of the way. The auror shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done a political asylum case before. Most of them were done before I ever graduated from the academy.”

Harry cast a quick charm on his glasses so he could actually read the tiny gray print, and as he did he understood that they had definitely wanted him to sign without reading them. They were waivers. Waivers of his rights of asylum, of medical privacy, of his civil rights for interrogation purposes. He looked back to the auror, but the man didn’t seem to think anything was wrong.

Harry tore the waivers in half. Grantz looked vaguely amused.

“That bad, huh? I wondered if Seibligg wouldn’t try something.”

“Why?”

The man shrugged. “The minister is in a tight spot. He is up for re-election this fall, and since he is pretty much responsible for provoking a fight with the Dark Lord, he needs a way to justify it or he might find himself the scapegoat for the next electoral candidate. Your his best option? Everyone knows you were the closest person the Dark Lord has to an heir, but you still ran away. If he can get you to vouch for his decisions, then he stands a good chance at re-elections. It helps that you’re pretty popular over here after you helped save Krum’s life. Getting your support can only help him, but if you don’t cooperate he has no legal recourse.”

“So he can’t make me?”

“… I don’t know. I am sure he can make you damn uncomfortable if you don’t.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had hoped that, at the very least, he had left his life of politics behind in Britain. Yet here it was dogging his every move, only here he had few allies to call upon.

“You’re awfully forthcoming about all of this,” he said.

Grantz shrugged.

“I voted for the other guy.”

Harry smiled at that. “I’ll keep that secret, at least.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

They dragged their feet for as long as possible, chatting about Quidditch mostly, but were eventually interrupted by a prim little witch summoning them to meet the Minister of Magic. She didn’t look happy to find Harry had torn up some of his paperwork.

“That was uncalled for,” she chided.

“That goes both ways, lady.”

She huffed, and stalked ahead. She lead them to one of the towers, up a ridiculous number of tightly winding stairs. It opened up into solarium, surrounded by exotic ferns and large tropical flowers, and dome of glass held up by metal cage. It reminded Harry of the the indoor exhibits at the zoo he used to go to as a child.

The Minister sat directly in the center of the room, a small garden table with a coffee set placed on it, seeming to admire his surroundings. Six of his aids and two guards stood out of the way, waiting to fulfill his smallest whim. Harry hadn’t gotten a good look at him before, but he was struck at how… unimpressive he looked in comparison to Voldemort. For one, he was a little short and on the hefty side, and he held an air of perpetual disinterest and boredom like some spoiled aristocrat. Very unlike the Dark Lord who looked ready for anything, ready to fight, ready to negotiate, ready lead a nation, and ready to enjoy a moment to himself.

And he really needed to stop comparing this place with home.

And to stop calling it home, since it wasn’t anymore.

“Good day, Herr Potter.

“Good day, Minister Seibligg.”

“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the only other chair available, directly across from him. Harry did as suggested. The witch that had escorted them, came up and whispered something in the minister’s ear that he couldn’t hear, but could guess at by the frown on the man’s face. When she finally moved away to join the others, the minister turned to him.

“Do you doubt my hospitality, Herr Potter?”

There was an accusation in his tone, but Harry knew it for a manipulation. He was good at spotting them these days. The minister was expecting him to want to be helpful and polite as any guest should. He either hadn’t been informed or forgotten that Harry hadn’t chosen to come here.

“I do when you try cheap tricks like you did with the paperwork… and the medi-witch. What did she tell you?”

He honestly didn’t know if the medi-witch had been set up to betray his confidence or not, but this seemed like a good time to find out. The minister’s eyes regarded him appraisingly, and he looked him over like something new and shiny whose worth he had underestimated. His slow smile left Harry feeling unclean in ways, Voldemort’s leering never had.

“Interesting things. Of course, your school medical records were far more informative. Tampering in some of the more interesting Dark Arts, have we?”

Harry tensed. When had they gotten those? Had Viktor taken them? Why hadn’t he said anything? He forced himself to lean back in his chair.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I most certainly would. I’d like to know every little dark secret that dark man taught you behind closed doors. Every dark thing he did in front of you, to you, for you in lurid detail. However, that would probably take a few days, so I would be satisfied with a brief outline of two or three of his more heinous acts.”

Bile rose up in his throat, the feeling of uncleanliness spread. The minister was a sicko freak, and worse he was a sicko freak who seemed to feel confident enough unload his perversion on him, a fourteen year old boy with no where to go. This could go very bad, very quickly.

“You would be disappointed,” Harry said evenly, looking away from him and up at the blue sky above them. “The only thing he ever taught me was how to defend myself… from a variety of unsavory and powerful things.”

A bluff, but he hoped the man believed it.

“Except for himself,” the minister said knowingly.

“No… but I’ve learned a thing or two on my own.”

The man chuckled darkly. “You’re a fascinating young man, Herr Potter. I can see why Lord Voldemort took such an… interest in you. You’re versatile. Charming when you want to be, ruthless when you must be, and you don’t back down. I could use someone like you in my service.”

“No.”

“I’m giving you a choice now, but don’t think I can’t make you, help me. You undoubtedly have more than your fair share of Britain’s national secrets and secrets about the Dark Lord himself just swimming around in your head, and I need it. Our mission failed to give the necessary information we needed, and war with Britain is inevitable now. You can either cooperate and earn the gratitude of both myself and Germany… or I can make your life a living hell and take what I want.”

“No.”

Now more than ever Harry was unwilling to give up his secrets. It wasn’t just about him and Voldemort anymore, it was about Britain. If it was true that Germany was going to war with his home country he wouldn’t help them do it. If anything he gave up lead to any of his friends or classmates being hurt or killed, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“I can charge you with spying you know. Lock you away in some little concrete box with no light and only a hole to shit in.”

Harry stood up. “This isn’t Britain. You’re not a dictator. You are held accountable by your voters for what you do, and I am told they like me more than you at the moment. Isn’t it about time for your re-election, Minister Seibligg?”

Harry didn’t look at the man. He didn’t think he could stand making eye contact with him without gagging or without his fear giving him away. It was a struggle to keep from running out of the room and his presence, but he had to control himself. His hold on the situation was as tenuous as spider silk, and all the man had to do was order any one of his aids or guards to stop him and Harry couldn’t afford to defend himself unless things became truly desperate. What if the minister accused Harry of attacking him? What if he really were accused of being a spy?

The long tense silence that hung in the air was broken by an abrupt round of clapping. Harry couldn’t hold back his initial flinch.

“Bravo, Herr Potter, bravo. Very well done. You got me. I can’t do anything to you… not yet, but wait for it. When people start to die, they are going to demand your cooperation. Your publicity will make you a target for their frustration, and the longer you dilly-dally the more they will take out their anger on you.”

Harry swallowed thickly. Was that true? He was vulnerable and he knew it, but could the man only be bluffing in an attempt to force his hand? Yes, but he could just as easily telling the truth.

Sensing his uncertainty, the minister continued.

“You have until July 1st. It would be better for you if you just gave in now, and worked to gain yourself a little more-”

“Why July 1st?” he interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest.

“That’s the date given on Voldemort’s ultimatum.”

“What ultimatum?”

Here Seibligg tone became congenial.

“The ultimatum to the German public to have me turned over to him to be tried and executed or face his considerable wraith.”

The Weasley farm house spelled like cinnamon, and for that alone, Draco was willing to overlook the fact that it was little more than a dilapidated shack out in the boonies. It was everything his own home was not. Small, crowded, and warm. He might very well have gone his entire life without ever realizing it existed if it were not for Hermione dragging him and Uncle Severus there on New Year’s Eve, the day all the Weasley siblings gathered together at their ancestral home to celebrate with their blood family.

The entire Malfoy line was probably rolling in their graves, and if his father knew exactly where they were he probably would have sent all three of them to join his ancestors.

The entire Weasley family, sans the still imprisoned Arthur Weasley of course, plus their aunt and cousin, were gathered around the table. Those who couldn’t find a chair, sat on the available counter tops or on the nearby stairs or leaned in a doorway. Snape was with Molly Weasley, playing the polite guest and keeping himself from boredom by helping her peel vegetables, although their was an underlying tension between them that was hard to miss. No one was speaking. For Draco, it was all too surreal.

“Someone say something,” he bit out at last, tired of the quiet and tired of their blank faces.

“I don’t believe it. Why would they do that?” Ginny said first, her expression twisted into fear and anger and confusion all at once. “He even saved Krum. Why would they kidnap him?”

Percy chipped in. “Well, he is the Dark Lord’s protégé. As far as hostages go, he’s ideal.”

“So, they might send him back once the Durmstang students get back home safely?” Ginny said hopefully.

“More likely in exchange for the prisoners father did manage to catch,” Draco said.

Charlie shook his head. “They won’t just send him back. He’s the only source of valuable information they have on the Dark Lord.”

“They won’t hurt him, will they?” Ginny asked. There was a silence, which was surprisingly enough broken by Snape.

“They will not hurt him. According to my sources, the papers are reporting Potter as being ‘rescued’, not kidnapped, which makes good explanations for torture a little bit hard to come by.”

“Rescued?” Fred laughed humorlessly. “Who do they think they’re kidding?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You give him too much credit. I bet he went with them willingly. He probably even asked them.”

“What the fuck Ron?”

“Watch your language, Fred! And mind your words, Ronald,” Molly warned from the kitchen, pointing her peeling knife right at the both of them.

“I’m just saying,” the youngest son protested, “… Merlin, you think he’d want to stick around after all the shi- stuff he’s been through? Every other week he’s in the infirmary, his foster mother gets killed right in front of him, his ex-girlfriend treats him like the plague, he’s stuck at the beck and call of the Dark Lord, and he’s got summers with Snape to look forward to … no offense, Professor.”

“Detention the Monday you get back.”

“I’m just saying… hey, maybe he saw a way out and he took it.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Hermione said. “He wouldn’t have left everything. His life wasn’t perfect, but he wouldn’t have run away.”

Ron shrugged. “Everyone has their breaking point. Being roped into a life or death tournament was probably his.”

Bill shook his head and sighed. “That doesn’t matter now. The tournament is canceled. I had to break the magical contract myself, and it was an ugly one. That could actually be the reason they took him. Both Krum and Harry would have died if we hadn’t destroyed the contract before the end of the school year. The Dark Lord probably would have been fine with offing Krum, but Harry is another matter altogether.”

“That’s right… I am sorry to hear about Fleur,” Molly said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I would have loved to have met her before she had to go home.”

“Yeah…”

Ron snorted. He still was no fan of Fleur Delacour or his brother’s infatuation with her, even now that she was being sent back to France with the rest of her classmates and political representatives. There was an awkward silence.

“Do you think,” Ginny said at last, “That he could get back on his own? I mean, escape from Germany and get back to Britain? Or maybe the Dark Lord could mount a rescue mission?”

There were mixed expressions of hope and skepticism. In truth, though they were all worried for Harry in varying degrees and wanted him to be returned safely and unharmed, they were also avoiding a more serious issue than Harry’s disappearance.

Britain was now in a cold war with Germany, and at any moment it could erupt into a full scale war. Preparations were already being made for the rationing of supplies, and papers were already listing precautionary measures to defending home and family, a call for the extension of the Brass Cult’s authority in assisting national defense and local law enforcement, and rumors of a curfew to come into affect as early as mid-spring.

They were young, but they remembered enough to know sorrow and the heartache a war would bring. It had torn apart their country, widowed and orphaned friends and neighbors, and left them poverty ridden for nearly six years afterwards. They didn’t want to face it again, but it seemed their was no way for them to avoid it. As afraid as the nation was of war, they were equally outraged by how they had been treated.

Snape in particular didn’t want to get involved. Unlike the others, he had been a soldier, an assassin, and he might still be called upon yet again by his master to perform those tasks which still sometimes woke him up at night in a cold sweat.

He also didn’t want Harry to return. He didn’t delve too deeply in his reasoning for this, only accepted that he dreaded the possibility of the boy caught in his master’s cold, merciless hands. He would feel the same way for any child caught in such a situation he figured. Years of teaching had made him soft.

“Mr. Potter,” he said, “Will no doubt make the most of his situation. I recommend all of you doing the same.”

There was a depressed silence, until after a moment Draco looked up. “…Since the tournament is canceled does this mean Quidditch season is back on again?”

“Draco!”

Durmstrang was not Hogwarts, and the days that followed Harry’s enrollment were wrought with rude awakenings and prolonged disorientation. The easy academic atmosphere he was used to was replaced with extreme discipline and barely controlled aggression. Everyone followed a tight schedule, waking up at five in the morning, eating at six, study hall from six-thirty to eight and then classes until one, followed by lunch, and then another two hours of study hall. By three thirty no-one could stand another minutes of books, and everyone usually dispersed to exert their energy on the variety of sports the fortress offered. It was too cold to play outside, but the school provided a variety of enormous empty rooms and corridors in which to play, including a quidditch pitch and pool twice as large any Harry had ever seen.

Dinner was at six-thirty, afterwards they had until nine to perform the variety of chores Harry had been used to leaving to the house elves. Laundry was a major one. He had learned the hard way to be careful to remember where he washed his school uniform in the student laundry room. He had accidentally run off with someone else’s once and hadn’t realized it until the next morning when he got dressed and discovered he had shrunk three inches. Ironing was tedious. Polishing his boots had never even occurred to him until his dorm captain had snapped at him about it. And every day the list seemed to grow.

Lights out was at nine. Harry didn’t sleep well, the sound of wind against the windows gave him bad dreams of ice demons calling him out into the wasteland beyond the glassy fortress walls. And on those rare nights the air was still, he dreamed he was drowning, pulled down into the cold darkness by things unseen.

This routine repeated itself six days out of the week. There were no weekend visits to local villages, no dances or balls, and no special events except for the monthly quidditch matches between the school’s four teams. There were also no houses and no point system, and whoever you ended up studying with or rooming with was a product of chance rather than personality. The only things that separated any of the students was grade level and gender.

The girls studied, ate, roomed, and played sports by themselves. The only time a girl and boy might meet was in passing on the way to class or on Sundays. Sundays were their own, and Harry coveted them fiercely.

What Durmstang lacked in flexibility, it made up for in novelty. Harry had never encountered a place like it, and he spent his Sundays exploring. At first glance the entire fortressed seemed uniformly colored, changing from black, to gray, to dark grayish-blue, and back to gray and black again as the sun rose and set, but Harry found splashes of color in the most peculiar of places. The bathrooms on the highest floor of the Eastern wing were tiled in dark red and orange glass so that when sun hit just right the room looked as if it were on fire. The corridor on the lowest floor of the Southern end had stain glass windows of a Norwegian Ridgeback stretched out across a grassy meadow, its emerald skin reflected against the walls and the floor, shifting as the sun moved and the dragon changed its position to get more comfortable. The astronomy tower was alive with illusions of stars and planets and galaxies, whirling around the room in sparkling masses of every shape and size.

Harry hunted the school for these little treasures, taking his sketchbook with him where ever he went. It was the first time he had drawn anything in months.

“It’s not that bad,” Viktor said, his expression disapproving as he watched Harry sulk over his dinner. He had been given soup… again, for failing to follow some rule or other. Un-shined boots or doodling in study hall or something equally trivial. It was a first year’s error, and understandable really, but Harry was taking it too personally.

“I haven’t had anything but soup in three days,” Harry sighed. “It wasn’t even my fault. How was I suppose to know the West wing was restricted for teachers?”

“It was in your student manual…”

“It’s over a hundred pages long! Besides, I was trying to get away from the Oblitz’s snoop squad.” At this, Harry threw a mutinous look over his shoulder, and several boys a few tiers up the amphitheater quickly turned away. “Is there a rule in there about follow people around?”

“… there is… but that’s for boys following girls around.”

“Think if I accused one of them of being gay it would work in my favor?”

“Harry,” Viktor warned.

“Viktor,” he sniped back, tossing his spoon into his bowl. He ran a hand through his hair, his short hair. They’d cut it, like everyone else’s, but his hair was unmanagable and the only thing they had accomplished was making the nap of his neck look a little more tidy. They had gotten him his own uniform and boots too, the sort he had to iron and polish every night in the castle’s absence of house elves. A five in the morning wake up call and a nine o’clock lights out were other things he was still struggling to adjust to.

“Sorry…” he said after a moment. “I’m just tired.”

Viktor nodded. He understood where Harry was coming from. Every first year went through the same period of adjustment and homesickness, and Harry was facing other things that were weighing on his mind. After a week, a little crabbiness was hardly unexpected.

“It’s fine. How is your homework coming?”

Harry shrugged. “Alright. Trying to figure out what ingredients the potion’s master is talking about is giving me a headache, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“They’re not giving you any grief, are they?”

“Not really. Frau Jetter treats me like I’ll implode her head if she looks at me directly, and Herr Von Wargon seems to think I was taught history of magic by a nitwit and acts surprised whenever I answer correctly, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Of course, I think I avoided serious injury electing to go into Curse Breaking instead of Dark Arts class.”

The older boy grimaced. The entire school knew the Dark Arts professor had it out for Potter, and lines were being drawn to keep out of their way. Aside from Viktor and Jophery and a few of the older students who had been in Britain, everyone tended to avoid one Harry Potter, refugee and virtual unknown. Some seemed to believe Harry really was a spy, like those who followed him around in shifts, relentless in their pursuit to protect the school from him. Most just didn’t want to be caught in between them. Harry already had a reputation from the Tri-wizard tournament that everyone was cautious about testing it. Oblitz was an old danger they were familiar with.

“You should join a quidditch team. The reserves, at least. The exercise helps fight off the fatigue.”

“I’ll think about it. I don’t know if can handle anything else at the moment.” If anything, Viktor thought Harry had an over abundance of free time. It wasn’t uncommon to find him sitting alone in the library, scribbling in his sketchpad or wandering around the fortress, but Viktor wasn’t going to push it. The former Gryffindor was still upset with him, even if he didn’t say it directly, he blamed him for taking him away from his home. Worse, Harry was too afraid to chase him away. He had no one else to turn to at Durmstrang.

“Hey! Look what my dad sent me! We’re infamous!” Jophery said, coming out of nowhere, to sit beside Harry. He had a newspaper in his hand, which he proudly displayed to them. On the cover in giant letters flashed;

Durmstrang Student Rescues Rescuer!

There was a picture at the bottom with Harry looking around the very same hall they were eating in, Viktor near by looking directly at the minister. The younger boy blushed. He looked like a lost little kid next to Viktor, which was no doubt their intention.

“Dare I ask?” Harry said, about as enthusiastic to read a German newspaper as he was a British one.

“You dare, you know you do,” Jophery laughed. “It’s not too bad. Just loads about how you rescued Viktor from centaurs and he rescues you from a creepy Dark Lord. Apparently, you’re both best of friends, which I have to say I resent. I saw him first.”

Viktor sighed.

“But I’m in there too! Look- ’The rescue was an organized and well orchestrated effort by all of the students. Viktor Krum lead all the students to safety, while Jophery Hughes flew Potter himself to the sanctuary of the ship, and everyone- blah blah saved the ship from being blow up by angry Sentinels blah.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling even though he didn’t find it the least bit funny. He had heard the stories circulating around the school, and while he still had some serious misgivings about being imperio-ed and the German plot to spy on Britain, he wasn’t going shout it out to anyone. Especially not after his talk with Minister Spieligg. It was so damn frustrating not to be able to say it out right.

“I would have thought this was old news by now,” Harry said, instead.

“Oh, it is. This printed the day after we got back. Dad’s finally run out of people he can show it off too.”

That caught Harry’s attention. The paper was from the beginning of this entire fiasco. It might still have the information he needed about Voldemort’s ultimatum.

“Can I borrow it?”

Jophery looked a bit surprised, but just shrugged and handed it over to him. “Sure. Not like everyone here doesn’t know how fabulous I am already.”

Viktor smacked him upside the head. Harry took his newspaper and wandered off, as the two started to quibble over something or other. As he expected, some of the other students from before got up to follow him. He waited until he was in the Eastern end of the castle, just outside of the teacher’s corridor and briefly out of sight before he caste the Sticking Charm Fred and George had taught him on the floor, then hurried around another corner to wait.

Sure enough the sound of footsteps abruptly halting and then a series of non-magical curses. He smirked to himself and hurried on to the Quidditch Pitch. The Quidditch Pitch was similar to the Hogwart’s pitch except enclosed in a giant dome. It was sunny and open, and the closest to ‘outside’ any of them got until summer break. It was also deserted during lunch, which left him just ten minutes to find what he was looking for.

He didn’t have to look far. There was a brief reference to the Ultimatum in the headline, but the real information came on page three.

“… with the students and their guest safely behind the Durmstrang fortress, the Dark Lord of Britain appears more desperate than before, launching his threats not against the students but the Minister of Magic himself, stating that if he does not hand over those responsible for the mission and his former protégé Harold Potter to the British Authorities, he will take violent and extreme actions against both Minister and Germany itself.’

“’We will not be intimidated by terroristic threats, not from a foreign dictator or anyone else. We will protect our children, and that includes young Potter, from the heavy hand of tyrants…”

Harry stopped and took a deep breath.

“He wants me back…” he thought. “But for what?”

He found out two days later, when Jophery brought him yet another article, this one four days old.

Britain Accuses Durmstrang of Kidnapping!

Morgana skulked into the living room, tossed herself onto the couch and let out an enormous sigh. Robert looked up from his ledger just as Alyssa followed her sister’s example and slumped into a chair with a dramatic flair. He looked around in hopes of finding Kyle, who usually handled the girls’ little melodramas. Alas, he was at the grocer’s, he remembered. He tried ignoring them.

There was another loud sigh, shortly there after echoed by the younger.

He tried to calculate the cost of the mortgage and whether they should make a smaller payment in lieu of of yet another overdone Christmas.

Another sigh. Another echo.

“Is something the matter?” he ventured, not looking up from his ledger.

“Papa…” Morgana said, “Do you think Prince Harry will ever come back?”

Here Robert had to fight against a sigh of his own. They had learned of Harry’s kidnapping the day after Christmas from Wizarding Weekly, and like so many others had been outraged and terrified for him. They had to keep their calm with the children though, reassuring them that their prince would be fine. He was just on another amazing adventure. Kidnapped by pirates in a great black ship, but he was clever and brave and would escape or defeat them or teach them the error of their ways.

When the children were at school though, he talked with Kyle about what might really happen to Harry and what that meant for the rest of them. All they knew at the moment was that Harry was at Durmstrang Institute, an enchanted fortress perched atop a mountain in a place cursed with perpetual snow and cold. The school was as secure as any prison, and no one came or went without passing through a gauntlet of security checks and wards, creating such a hassle that the students couldn’t even return home for the holidays.

Harry could not be rescued so long as he was there, and the more time that passed the more damage that could be done. He was the Dark Lord’s protégé, after all. He would be interrogated and for someone as brave and loyal as Harry they would have to employ more severe tactics to gain any results. It gave him nightmares to think about it. He refused to give his daughters nightmares by telling them the truth.

“Of course. Do you doubt him?”

“No…” her tone contrary to her words. “But… he’s been gone a long time. What if he likes it where he is?”

Robert looked up and smiled at her.

“Likes it there? You do know they kidnapped him and stuck him in an ice fortress. What is there to like about that?”

She twiddled her thumbs, thinking about it, still unconvinced.

“But it’s a really nice fortress, isn’t it? That’s what Joel says. It’s like Hogwarts, only it’s made out of crystals and everyone wears furs and they’re really good at quidditch. Harry likes quidditch.”

“Yes, Harry likes quidditch, and I’m sure the Durmstrang knights and ladies are all trying very hard to convince him to stay and become one of them, but I know that he won’t. Durmstrang isn’t his kingdom. He’ll come home to protect his homeland.”

Morgana fell silent and considered this, and finally nodded.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t leave us. His daddy’s the king, so he has to help protect us.”

Robert nearly choked at the mere notion of Voldemort being anyone’s ‘daddy’ let alone Harry’s, however similar their appearances might be. Alyssa turned out to be more skeptical.

“But…” the littlest Reicher began, “Why did they take him away? He’s not their prince. It was a bad thing to do.”

He nodded. “Yes, it was very bad. It’s wrong to steal, especially people.”

“So why did they?”

He had to think about that. Telling them he had been taken so they could torture him for information just wasn’t going to cut it.

“They were jealous. Durmstrang doesn’t have any princes, only knights and ladies and a very stupid Minister, so they decided to steal ours.”

Alyssa huffed at the notion. “That’s dumb.”

He shrugged. “People do dumb things sometimes. We just have to wait for them to realize their mistake. It may take a long time, but Prince Harry will find his way home eventually.”

“He better. My birthday is coming up and he promised he’d come. I even told Joel, but he said I was lying.”

“No worries, poppet, I’m sure he’ll be back by then,” he assured her, but inside he ached.

What would he do when her birthday came and there was no Harry? Would she finally realize things were much worse than he had told her? Alyssa already seemed to suspect, but she trusted him. He was digging himself into a hole with these fairy tales, and it just kept getting deeper.

But he still he refused to give them nightmares.

“Where were you when the Durmstrang students fled?” Snape asked, his tone deceptively bored as he stared across his desk at Horace McGunny, who was also looking deceptively bored right back at him.

“I was in my room, sleeping. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Why not the nurses office?”

“I didn’t want to spend my ENTIRE holiday break in the infirmary just because I drank too much hot chocolate. No offense, but Madam Pomfrey is a bit of an alarmist.”

“Was anyone there to confirm you were there?”

“Maybe. Some of the time at least. Colin came and woke me up.”

Snape nodded, and wrote a note on his parchment. McGunny watched him, and subtly leaned forward.

“Can I ask what this is all about?”

“Information gathering for the case against Durmstrang. If you recall anything that sticks out in your mind, now would be the time say it.”

“Why not a Sentinel? It’s their job, isn’t it?”

Snape’s expression hardened, twisting his parchment out of reading range. “A Sentinel doesn’t know the students of Hogwarts like I do. Underestimating you would be a serious mistake.”

The Ravenclaw settled back into his chair and looked away, warned and chastise all at once. He rubbed his hands against his robes, the only sign of how nervous he really was to be stuck in Snape’s office completely alone.

“I can’t think of anything relevant. They kept to themselves, except for Harry but he was also their liaison, so I can’t even begin to guess if they planned to take Harry or if it was just a matter of opportunity.”

“It was planned,” Snape said, but didn’t elaborate. “One more question. Do you know where the Dark Lord’s office is?”

McGunny tensed. “Why?”

Black eyes narrowed.

The boy relented and nodded. “Yes. I’ve been by there once or twice.”

“What could possibly have led you to that particular section of the castle? Surely not to question the Dark Lord.”

“No. I followed Harry there once. I wanted to ask him some questions for an article.”

“Did you ever go inside?”

“No. I don’t even know how Harry got inside and I never asked. Why?”

“You keep calling him Harry.”

There was sudden deep and pervading silence, and Snape stared intently at the Ravenclaw’s blank face and clenched fists.

“Am I not allowed to call him that?”

“It does seem inappropriate. The first name is usually reserved for friends and family, which I wasn’t aware of you being either.”

“We’re friends.”

“Also inappropriate. You run the school newspaper, and Mr. Potter is regularly featured. Isn’t a certain level of professional detachment required in order to remain objective?”

“What are you implying, Professor?”

“Obviously, I’m implying that you’re behaving inappropriately.”

McGunny eyes widened..

“Sir?”

“You are dismissed.”

Confused and somewhat flustered, McGunny stood and hurried out. Snape watched him go, his eyes like a hawk following his every move until he had disappeared. Once the boy was gone, he opened one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a list of names. On it was everyone who had been in the castle the day the Durmstrang students fled, including all the foreigners and Harry himself. All the Beaubaxton students and headmistress and teacher’s names had been crossed out, along with most of the students and Minerva McGonagall’s. Beside McGunny’s name he placed a little star.

The boy had been his most likely candidate so far. The Hogwarts’ Herald editor and chief had a veritable legion of information gatherers and was himself highly resourceful and motivated. That he knew nothing or had no legitimate theories about what happened was highly suspect, and finding a way to enter the Dark Lord’s office did not seem like such a mean feat with enough time and some inside information.

Like from Harry. Harry who apparently was friends with him, and never told anyone.

The only other name with a star beside it on the list was that of the infamous Gryffindor himself. Snape didn’t understand the logic entirely, but Harry had access to Voldemort’s office and it wasn’t impossible that he may have uncovered the German’s plot. Could he have sent that warning as a sort of apology for trying to kill the Dark Lord?

It was a theory full of holes, and he didn’t put much stock in it. McGunny seemed more likely, but even that theory was pretty weak. His motivations were equally unclear. In fact, the more time he spent investigating the less convinced he was of the involvement of anyone in the castle. It was only a Hogwarts owl that had them concluding it was from Hogwarts. The paper could have come from any number of the Dark Lord’s offices, the bird itself could have been stolen and used for the sole purpose of misleading investigators. The tipster obviously didn’t want his or her identity known.

It wasn’t the sort of answer he could give the Dark Lord and still walk away in one piece.

“Potter, I’m not sure how, but I know this entire thing is your fault.”

The full moon rose over Durmstrang, the first of the New Year and in the new life of Harry Potter. Strange energy welled up in him slowly, like a tide, washing away his fear and his uncertainty as the night settled over the school. It was a strong as ever. Madris had done nothing to lessen the Moon’s influence over him, but then he had never asked her to. There hadn’t been time or opportunity.

“Are you alright?” Jophery asked, eying him oddly. They were gathered in the amphitheater, eating dinner. For once, Harry had managed to earn something other than soup to eat, noodles and cream sauce with marble bread on the side, but he hadn’t touched it except to move it around on his plate.

“Great,” Harry said, his tone skating the edge of a snarl. “How are you?”

For once the full moon had not brought giddiness or detachment, but instead a powerful aggression he was struggling every second to contain. He was angry, the angriest he had been since his argument with Viktor on the ship, but now his inhibitions were failing and if he didn’t find someplace to vent he knew he would end up hurting someone. In an hour two, when the moon was at its zenith, he doubted he would care.

“Great,” Jophery replied a bit more uncertainly. “… Has something happened?”

Harry gave him a look.

“… I mean aside from the obvious.”

“No.”

“… Then why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”

Because I left the set I use for the full moon in my nightstand at Hogwarts, he thought testily, but didn’t say. He was still aware of the students behind him, watching his every move and listening to his every word.

“New spell I’m trying.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence fell. Harry made an attempt at his dinner but quickly gave up. Food wouldn’t satisfy him right now.

“Harry.”

He looked up to see Viktor. The older boy tensed, recognizing the look in Harry’s eyes as the affects of the supposed curse he had read about and experienced first hand.

“What?”

“The Ministry sent someone to speak with you about your living arrangements for the summer.”

“They couldn’t have just sent a letter?”

“…”

“Fine.” Harry got up, abandoning his food to follow after him. He made a point to cast a glare over his shoulder at the boys who looked ready to get up and follow, warning without a word how bad of an idea that would be with his sharp green eyes alone. Wisely, they reseated themselves. They moved through the cold hallways, Viktor pulling his cloak tight around him while Harry let his own billow open, unaffected. The sconces had been lit for the evening, making the interior of the castle glow like the inside of a lantern, firelight reflecting off of the glassy walls.

They moved to the higher floors, up tightly winding stairs and down through corridors where the ceiling rose several stories above them and chandeliers coated in candle tallow dripped down like stalactites from some ancient cave. They were near the Headmaster’s office now, a place Harry had only seen once, but they turned right before they reached it and entered one of the many domed rooms of Durmstrang. The room was filled with trophies and plaques, some of them centuries old and others only a few months. Plaques covered every inch of the walls, but additional columns and display cases had been erected randomly around the room to accommodate the extra wards, turning the space into a forest of magical acknowledgments, shadows all around and unseen things lurking behind the cover of steel and glass and wood.

The setting was ominous, but Harry felt more at ease in this vaguely sylvan atmosphere, where his senses acclimated to things most wizards would never know. Viktor, who had said nothing and hadn’t looked back at him since leaving the amphitheater, finally turned around to face him. He was silent for a moment, his tense expression telling Harry that he must be wondering at the torchlight reflecting off his eyes like the night shine of some nocturnal animal.

“You’ve seen it before,” Harry reminded him, smirking at the older boy’s obvious nervousness.

“He’s waiting for you at the center,” was all Viktor said before turning back around and leaving. Harry felt a suspicion rise in him at his retreat, and he drew his wand and took a circuitous route towards the center, carefully muffling his footsteps as he approached.

The center of the trophy room had kept a twenty foot diameter free of obstruction, allowing for a moderately sized circular table at its center, a small tea set on top of it. An elderly wizard sat there, his robes a garish blue with neon stars and moons dotting it all over and a long gray beard reaching down to his knees. Harry was used to odd fashions among wizards, but usually they were civilians. Court and Ministry witches and wizards had always been fairly conservative.

The wizard cleared his through and took a sip of tea, then slowly turned his entire body towards his observer. His eyes were bright blue and twinkled behind his wire-rim glasses.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” the old wizard greeted in perfect English, his accent swallow in the gentle rasp of his age. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Would you care to join me for some tea?”

“I’m fine where I am,” he said, feeling the beginnings of a game coming on. This wizard had instincts. He was interested in testing them against his own. He pulled back a little further into the column forest and began to circle. The old wizard turned back to his tea set, but he followed Harry with his eyes.

“Are you sure? I have lemon drops.”

“Mother taught me not to accept candy from strangers.”

“Yes, I suppose Lily would never skip over such an important lesson.”

Harry paused. The wizard’s eyes remained fixed on him, though Harry knew the shadows too deep to actually see him.

“You knew my mother?”

“And your father. Your godfathers, as well.”

“You seem to know a lot of people, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.” He turned and began walking back in the direction he had come. The ruse did not work, the man still followed his movements perfectly.

“Ah, my apologies. My name is Albus Dumbledore, an old friend of your family.”

Harry drew a sharp breath and instinctively drew even further back. This was Dumbledore? He did not fit the mental picture he had made of him. In his mind’s eye, Dumbledore was similar to Voldemort, tall and regal with vitality that belied his years, ready to face dangerous enemies and conjure the sort of magic only found in legend. He certainly hadn’t expected this grandfatherly figure, his entire countenance softened by age and gentle mirth. Could this really be the man that sent Moody to kill him only last year?

“What do you want?” he asked sharply.

“I wanted to speak with you before the end of term. I thought you should known as much information as possible in advance to better prepare yourself,” the wizard said, his tone soft and soothing, cajoling him to calmness and enticing him out of the shadows. Harry wasn’t bitting.

“Prepare for what?”

“I have applied for guardianship of you with the Ministry, and given the circumstances of your stay in Germany I dare say I am one of the very few applicants qualified for it.”

The moon’s influence was beginning to strengthen, depriving him of any fear that he knew he should be feeling at this statement, but in fear’s absence, defensiveness was taking root.

“You tried to have me killed.”

“Never. That is a lie spread by Voldemort to further his political agenda and blacken my name. You must know him better than most. Does this not sound like something he would do?”

Harry thought about it. “Yes… but it could just as easily be the truth. Why should I trust you?”

“Your parents did.”

“So did my godfathers, so did hundreds of other people and you left them behind in Britain while the Dark Lord tore through the country.”

“Touché.”

They were silent for awhile, each gaging the other but neither able to come to any conclusions. Harry broke the silence first.

“What do you want with me?”

“I want to protect you. Voldemort will surely attempt to kill you while here in Germany so that he may blame the Germans and further incite a war. Additionally, having nearly succeeded in killing Voldemort, he can not possible allow you to exist. You are too much of a threat to him,” Dumbledore said plainly.

Harry felt an upwelling of anger, but most of it was directed at Viktor rather than the man before him.

“He told you? Viktor told you about what happened?”

Dumbledore took a sip of his tea. “He told me what he believes happened. I would really like to hear your version of the event.”

“No. I won’t help you. Forget it.”

“Harry-”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t you dare pretend we’re familiar. You just want to use me like the Minister does to kill him, but I won’t do it. The first time was just an accident.”

“Mr. Potter, please calm down. You misinterpret my intentions. I would never ask you to murder anyone. I am not protecting you for that purpose, but as recompense for my own sins.”

Harry was skeptical, but he hesitated denouncing him for the moment and let him continue.

“You were correct when you said I abandon my friends and allies, and it was a decision that has haunted me for many years. At the time, I saw it as the only means by which I could continue to lead the resistance, but now I live in shame of it, though my reasoning remains the same. You are one of those who were left behind, perhaps not in the traditional sense, but in all the ways that matter. More than that I see Voldemort’s attempt to corrupt you, and your own attempts to remain untainted as failing. Please, I know that I can help you.”

“Liar! If you were really sorry about what you had done you would have tried to save me before you knew I could hurt him, when I was still just one of hundreds of orphans with no special privileges or protections. You would have saved me from the Dursley’s and that miserable existence. Just leave me alone. I don’t believe you and I don’t need your help!”

He made a break for the exit, not wanting to stay any longer and uncertain of what would happen if he did. He could feel his anger rising, magic shimmering against his skin like the heat of a fever. He hadn’t made it far, however, when he was met with resistance. He ran straight into a column that he hadn’t seen. He bounced off of it and onto the floor. Cursing, he climbed shakily to his feet, feeling like an idiot. His supposed foolishness was soon disproved as he tried to step around the column and a display case moved soundless to block him. Shocked, he could only stare as more columns and trophy cases began to rearrange themselves to block his retreat.

“What the…?”

“My apologies, yet again.”

Harry spun around to find that the barriers behind him and moved aside completely, leaving him open and in the direct line of sight of the old wizard, whose wand was now in his hand and his tea forgotten. His eyes were still twinkling though.

Harry tightened the grip on his wand.

“You have no reason to trust me,” Dumbledore continued, “and I have no right to ask it of you, but time will reveal my intentions to be sincere. I have told no one what you have told Viktor in confidence, not the Minister or the press or even my own supporters. This is the first gesture I have made. Any others must occur after your release from Durmstrang this summer. I understand your reluctance, but I assure you it is for your own good.”

“What if I say no?” Harry challenged, spinning around to face him, but careful not to look him directly in the eyes. If Voldemort were a legilimens then Dumbledore could possibly be as well.

“You are still a minor, Mr. Potter, however mature you believe yourself to be and in the middle of several dangerous situations you only partly understand. You need help, however reluctant you are to receive it.”

With a snarl, Harry swung out his wand, “Don’t underestimate me! Irritum facio!”

The old wizard had raised his wand to throw up a spell of his own, but stopped the moment he realized what the boy had cast. The Gryffindor spun away from him and back towards the barrier before him and unleashed the brunt of his rage.

“REDUCTO!”

There was a deafening roar and an explosion; glass, stone, and metal trophies and plates raining down and with it a cloud of dust. Dumbledore quickly moved himself beneath the table, fragments from the blasting spell pelting the barrier above him. When all the rubble had fallen and only a gray dust cloud remained, the only thing that remained of Harry was the sound of his retreating footsteps. The old wizard let out a wry chuckle, and dragged himself out.

He was impressed. He had come mainly to observe the affects of the Full Moon Curse that Viktor had described, and uncover the true nature of the Dark Lord’s protégé in the absence of his inhibitions and truly the child was something remarkable. Untrusting, yes, angry, sure, and with some seriously misplaced loyalty, definitely, but he wasn’t cruel and he wasn’t murderous and at least he had loyalty to someone other than himself.

The Nullification Charm had been particularly clever, summoning a invisible bubble around Dumbledore so that the wizard could send out no spells towards the boy but also making it nearly impossible for the boy to send any spells at him, giving Harry just enough time to escape. If the boy had simply thrown the Blasting Hex at him, he might have actually been in trouble, but Harry wasn’t another Tom, thank goodness, even if he had just shown himself a force to be reckoned with.

The sound of footsteps running closer warned Dumbledore of someone’s approach, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised when Viktor came rushing through the haze of dust, staring around him in complete befuddlement. He looked to the elder wizard curiously, then around what remained of the trophy hall.

“Did Harry do this?”

“Indeed he did. Remarkable for someone his age,” he chuckled, looking at the utter carnage. “And rather unfortunate for the two of us. I’m afraid I’m going to need your help cleaning up before the Headmaster returns. Getting our young friend sent to detention for the rest of the semester is probably not the best way to endear him to me.”

Viktor looked around and sighed. This is what he got for telling Dumbledore the truth, he supposed. The man just had to test it.

“I take it things didn’t go well?”

“About as well as I expected… though I have to say I’m glad they uphold the ‘no wand policy’ for summer breaks in Germany. Would you like a lemon drop? Harry didn’t want any so I have plenty of extra.”

“Er… no, thank you, Professor.”

“Suit yourself. We had better get started, then. Reparo!”