Black Luminary

By: YakAge

The war against the Dark Lord was the last straw. The oppressed, fed up with oligarchy, corruption, and injustice, sharpened their knives, rallying behind those who promised change. They won. Today, Magical Britain is a changed country - for the better. Hail and praise to our saviours! Finally, all is well. But listen! Can't you hear the grindstone turning still…?

Status: ongoing

Published: 2016-08-29

Updated: 2019-08-23

Words: 553505

Chapters: 66

Rated: Fiction M - Language: English - Genre: Adventure/Mystery - Characters: Harry P., Hermione G., Daphne G., Arcturus B. - Reviews: 1,221 - Favs: 2,347 - Follows: 2,941

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12125300/1/Black-Luminary

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

HD: Of things remembered part I

Black Luminary.

Book one: Houses divided (chapter 1 - chapter 25)

Of things remembered part I

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A certain raven-haired boy lay on his bed, brooding over an absurdly large tome he had procured from the family library: Master Nentray's Complete Guide to Barriers and Wardings seemed very keen on upholding its promise of completion, as it held a staggering 12,000 pages. He carefully opened the formidable work and was surprised to find that what he had considered to be a fairly recent guide to protective charms turned out to be the unpublished magnum opus of a renowned charms master from the 18th century. With reverence, he turned the softly rustling vacat pages and stumbled upon a small handwritten note. The immaculate script in black ink read:

'Weight reduction and compression charms added at my personal leisure, along with a few private observations and recent discoveries for the reader's benefit. Before you start ranting about how I befouled our book, be grateful you don't have to sneakily drag thirty pounds full of charms from the library to your bed in the dead of the night, smart ass. With best wishes to the family - D. Black'

Harry chortled softly. He had indeed snuck into the library to… borrow this particular book, but he doubted his grandfather would be very cross with him. In fact, he had encouraged Harry to show interest in this particular branch of magic. Thinking about generations of young Blacks covertly trying to fool their parents, who in turn must have done the very same, amused him deeply before he plunged into the art of warding.

Hours later he gently stored his new treasure under his bed and conceded that he might as well get at least a few hours of sleep. A look towards the window told him that dawn was not far off. Still thinking about his new project, he mused that the only reason Nentray was not on some kind of black list was that he had apparently already grossed out the publisher, who had refused to go public. Not that the tome contained any kind of malevolent magic, but the author seemed to take vindictive pleasure in describing the consequences suffered by would-be intruders. Harry was mostly interested in the deeper theory though, so the somewhat disturbingly graphic descriptions did not irk him. In fact, to Harry it seemed that Nentray had been an incredible genius and only failed to get recognition due to his somewhat vile personality. With one last look at his bedside table, he remembered the big envelope that resided well-hidden and deep within. Smiling to himself, he turned around, falling asleep within a few minutes.

Breakfast was always a quiet affair. Arcturus, Harry's grandfather, was as usual deeply engrossed in the Prophet, tea seeming to be his only concession to the occasion. Harry did not mind though. He was always distinctly irritated in the morning and the quiet company was most agreeable to him. Even the house elves had picked up on their habits and silently placed a bowl of porridge in front of Harry. Fifteen minutes later, the latest scion of the house felt measurably more content. As if picking up on this, his grandfather spoke up without setting aside his newspaper, 'Had a good read last night? Surely you remember our talk of library books and where they belong, dearest Grandson?'

Harry's first instinct was to dispute the accusation but, remembering whom he was talking to, he refrained from doing so. A more careful response was needed here.

'I think so. Though I have as yet reserved judgement on the tome's quality, it seemed most promising when I had a look at it in the library.' Harry carefully examined his sentences and silently congratulated himself. He had indeed had a look at Nentray's opus in the library. What he had done next was better left unmentioned.

Arcturus' head appeared from behind the Daily Prophet and gave him a calculating look.

'Surely, Harry, you dutifully withheld yourself from sneaking off with said book then?'

Harry winced. 'Eh - no, sorry.'

To his surprise, his grandfather chuckled. 'It's alright this one time. Do be careful though. That book is a unique.'

'A what?' Harry quickly blurted out before correcting himself. 'Sorry. What is a unique, Grandfather?'

'A unicum, Harry. I am quite sure neither the Ministry nor Hogwarts has a transcribed copy.'

Harry was baffled. Usually, Arcturus was quite strict where the library was concerned.

Apparently noticing the flabbergasted look on his grandson, Arcturus added, 'My own grandfather once told me how he was apprehended smuggling the very same book out of the library by his own grandsire. In any case, it is indeed a very good reference book and you will do well studying it. I had Cranky do a preservation charm on it, in any case. Please note that our rule still stands regarding any other book. Do we have an understanding?'

In spite of the reproof, Harry smiled brightly, 'Thank you, Grandfather.'

'It is quite alright. Why don't you show me some of what you have learned, and we can later talk about your understanding of the theory before our evening lesson?'

Harry smiled. 'I'd like that. Thanks!'

Seeing the smug look of his grandfather, he thought he could get away with what he had in mind. 'Say, Grandfather,' his voice drawled. 'How did it come to pass that your very own grandsire told you about his apprehension with that tome?'

His eyes danced roguishly in amusement as Arcturus twitched slightly.

'Ah well, Harry. Let me just say that said occasion was not at all as amusing as I may have made it out to be.'

The old house elf, who had not uttered a single word all morning, took Harry's empty tableware and added with a look of playful malice, 'Oh, Master Harry! Cranky remembers very well. Cranky had to supply old Master Phineas Niggelus with a most potent calming draught, after he had finished screaming at the top of his lungs for nearly two hours. Even though Mistress Black had ordered Cranky to do preservation charms on any books young Master Arcturus might fetch out of the library, in any case.'

Harry looked in wonder and glee at the ancient house elf and said eagerly, 'I think we should have a talk about some more old stories, Cranky.'

The elf seemed to enjoy the prospect and nodded contently, 'It would be Cranky's pleasure, Master Harry.'

Arcturus had retreated behind the Daily Prophet, but the slightly irregular rustling of the paper told Harry his grandfather might not be altogether comfortable with the topic.

~BLHD~

True to his promise, Arcturus offered him insight into, and helped him comprehend some of the more obscure concepts of wards that evening. He even directed Harry to practice a basic ward that repelled vermin, as well as the Protego shield. The first was easy enough, as it was one of the easiest wards to cast. In general, the difficulty of a ward derives from several factors: subject, object, permanency and reaction were the most tangible pillars of wards. What is to be defended, against whom, in which way, for how long . A ward against non-sentient, non-magical creatures which was only meant to repel the creatures from a small area and would not have to hold up for very long was no real challenge. The weaving of the ward became infinitely more complex once the application evolved, as even a slight misstep might undo the ward, or even worse, make it faulty. Thus, truly complex wards were often in the form of runes, as you could make a written plan of the string of runes in advance and avoid the chance of failure. Runes themselves had weaknesses though; a woven ward existed only through bare magic, a runic ward, however, was anchored, and the script itself had to be protected, lest it in turn be targeted. In general, only people with either eidetic memory or prodigious instinct could weave complex wards, which is why Ancient Runes were taught, facultatively, in the second year at Hogwarts, and wards never before sixth year.

Shield Charms, on the other hand, were of broader application, though their drain and power were heavily contingent upon the caster's own magical prowess. Since Harry still did not have his own wand, he was using a Black heirloom which was, to his own and his grandfather's surprise, unnervingly compatible. Arcturus had nevertheless anticipated this particular charm, which was only due to being taught in fourth year at Hogwarts, to be a crisp challenge for a thirteen-year-old. To their mutual astonishment, however, Harry found the casting of the shield so easy, it seemed to spring from the tip of his wand almost by itself. Arcturus was even more baffled that his grandson's shield seemed to practically radiate power and hummed menacingly. He carefully lifted his wand and threw a silent Disarming Charm towards the wall of light. The moment it impacted the softly flowing magic, it rebounded and accelerated to shocking velocity, flew in less than half a second sixteen yards across the dining room, only to finally smash into the wall where the house elves would later find several fissures in the stone. After a brief pause, Arcturus eventually coughed delicately and muttered, 'Maybe you and your wand should tone it down a bit, Harry.'

~BLHD~

Harry remembered well that day a few years ago when he had been taken into Gringotts.

He had been there several times before, of course, as his grandfather was very open with him about the whole family business, but that day had been quite special. After the Ministry had rearranged the Hogwarts curriculum following Grindelwald's defeat, they had decided that children of eleven years were much too impressionable, especially towards political drifts. Thus, Hogwarts changed their age of enrolment to fourteen. O.W.L.s would be tested at the end of fourth year and N.E.W.T.s at the end of the sixth. Seventh year was only accessible to students who qualified and intended to take on an apprenticeship.

It had become customary for children to get their wands directly before starting Hogwarts, so if their parents wished to give them a basic understanding in magic before school - as was encouraged by the Ministry - they had to make do with family or heirloom wands.

After a lot of subtle prodding, his grandfather had finally agreed to have him try some of the Black wands stored away deep in Gringotts. He had originally been reluctant to do so and had told Harry of his reasons; wands could be very picky with whom they bonded and, as far as Arcturus knew, never had a Black wand allowed someone who was not of the family to wield them. It had been a very dreary discussion since Arcturus was extremely serious about making Harry part of the family, as was Harry. The possibility that the wands might object had been a very grim prospect for the both of them.

Harry had always enjoyed the long and winding trips down the labyrinth beneath Gringotts, but that day they'd arrived before he had steeled himself. His grandfather had put both of his hands on his shoulders and said very quietly, 'Harry, you are family, no matter if some wooden stick muses otherwise; as far as I am concerned you are, at the very least, my grandson.'

Harry had drawn comfort from Arcturus' words and did not stifle his relief. He had taken a step forward and then another and had finally come to stand in a dank cavern which was lit by numerous ancient torches. This was the oldest of the Black vaults, the heirloom chamber. Hundreds upon hundreds of items stood on pedestals, hung from the ceiling or lay on shelves, and once he strained his eyes a touch, a slight blueish shimmer around them had told Harry they were well protected and preserved.

He had-quite innocently-asked his grandfather, whom he then still had not felt comfortable addressing as such back then, 'Uncle Arcturus, how come these blue casings never go out?'

His grandfather had looked upon him in stunned silence, as had the goblin, who normally would have stood respectfully behind the head of House Black.

'Whatever do you mean, Harry?'

'I mean this blueish stuff that coats the items. Here,' he had taken a small medallion of pure unblemished silver from a nearby stand and held it loosely in his hand, a small prickling sensation creeping up his arm. 'See? It's difficult to see, but easy enough to feel if you hold it.'

He'd observed their reactions: Arcturus looked ashen and a rare expression of undiluted surprise on his face; the goblin just looked thunderstruck. Their silence had made him uncomfortable, so he added exasperatedly, 'It tickles!'

'Please place the medallion back on the shelf, Harry.' His grandfather had looked oddly restrained.

After he had done as asked, Arcturus had questioned him if he was feeling alright. That had only confused him further. And made him feel as if he had done something wrong, so he'd tried, most foolishly in hindsight, to explain.

'Eh, yes, I'm alright? I just recognised the blue light. Same as in the library on some books, right? It's somewhat hard to get close to these things, but if you know where to push back a bit, it only prickles and you can pick the stuff up. I can even change the colour of the light, see…'

'NO!' both Arcturus and the goblin had screamed. So he had stopped with one hand frozen over the medallion and looked at their miens once again. It had been strange to see Arcturus so riled up in public, and that, finally, had served to drive home the point just how serious the problem at hand had been.

'Listen and listen well, Harry!' Arcturus had explained with forced calm. 'What you say you see are protective enchantments that are hundreds of years old, but usually they are invisible to the eye. What you describe as colour is quite possibly the composite configuration of the ward. Do not change anything like this again, ever, until I myself am sure that you have a sufficient understanding of these matters, am I clear?'

He had only nodded meekly, which in turn had caused his grandfather to pause and calm himself. Slightly softer, the head of House Black had added, 'Harry, wards can be dangerous and are quite advanced magic. These wards here,' he had indicated the shelf from which he had picked up the medallion, 'are extremely harmful. In fact, I would not dare touch them, if I were not the head of my family.' He had exhaled softly.

'Most astonishing, Harry. But do not speak of this outside of the house again. I promise I will tell you what you need to know. Now, we had business, remember, young man?'

Business they had had, and to Harry's and Arcturus' enormous astonishment and satisfaction, nearly every Black wand had some kind of reaction for Harry. After trying nearly 20 wands that lay, still in pristine condition, on a shelf clad in soft velvet, Harry had settled for a very dark and shiny wand his grandfather had identified as a tropical wood of some sort. The previous owner had been so long dead that the small insignia that bore his name was too faded to read. Harry had thought it strange that every object in the vault looked as good as new, but the descriptions and plaques did not appear equally protected.

Nevertheless, he had been unbelievably happy with his find and a comforting warmth had spread from the wand as he held it. It had taken quite some time for Arcturus to convince Harry to store it in his robes for their walk outside. The feeling the wand emitted had been very much addictive.

Harry also remembered that Arcturus had given the goblin a small bag with what he had estimated to be at least 500 Galleons, though - at the time - he had not understood that confusing action.

Three things had come of that day. Firstly, he had had to endure some very uncomfortable questions regarding certain books in the library. Secondly, Arcturus had taken a much more proactive stance in teaching Harry magic. In addition to their general lessons in the early evening, Arcturus had assured his adoptive grandson that he was very proud and would do what he could to hone Harry's talents. Thirdly, Harry had his wand and he was remarkably happy with it. As a matter of fact, it had taken Arcturus six weeks to make Harry at least part from it while taking a shower. He had not been able to explain himself properly, but when his grandfather had asked, he had answered thus:

'I don't know, but it feels good to hold it. It feels right somehow, and it's like I'm all better.' He had not added his nagging suspicion that somehow even the wand seemed pleased when he was holding it. While he felt inexplicably proud that his wand appeared to have taken to him quite decidedly, he still found that somewhat odd.

It would end up taking another three years for young Harry to understand that it had been necessary to bribe the goblin. Gringotts was serious about the protection of their vaults, though, like humans, some individuals had a slightly more flexible approach to work ethic when confronted with a bag full of shiny gold.

~BLHD~

The next day dawned brightly and, once Harry had descended into their informal dining room, seemed willing to uphold its promise of glory. To Harry's great delight, a big brown owl landed on their windowsill, clutching a big brown envelope addressed to him and bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. Excited, he grabbed the envelope, to the slight annoyance of the dignified owl that hooted in outrage. Paying it no further attention, he crumpled the envelope and read the thick parchment and shortly thereafter handed it to Arcturus, who looked amused at the excessive antics of his grandson. While he in turn read the letter, and Harry watched his guardian's expression turn into a slight smile, the owl stealthily grabbed two slices of bacon and flew out of the window.

'Well, Harry, it seems we should arrange for a visit to Diagon Alley. We may also be able to pick up some things you might wish for your birthday tomorrow. Though I have had some ideas on the matter, you may still voice one wish that has occurred to you.'

'Let's get going then!' said Harry eagerly and to Arcturus' amusement.

'Alright, young man. Make yourself presentable, and be careful to act your part in public.'

It had always been thus, so this thought did not bother Harry. At home, Arcturus encouraged him to be completely open and returned the gesture, but in public things were different. Indeed, Harry was very wary of strangers, and the distance his formal upbringing usually created helped him bridge the feelings of discomfort that plagued him around people he did not know.

Not one hour later, the Blacks emerged from the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. Arcturus wore a very conservative dark robe of silk and a formal travelling cloak, whereas Harry had dressed in one of his favourite black robes with emerald green contrasts that, while slightly more casual than his grandfather's, still would be readily acceptable to a grand ball. Heads turned upon their arrival, and Harry heard the usual chatter turn to muttering and pointed looks, but he showed no outward sign of discomfort. Arcturus nodded and led Harry towards Flourish and Blotts. As usual, Harry noted the crowds parting before them, while the witches and wizards looked either slightly off-put and embarrassed by their formal attire, or downright angry at their appearance. Even some of the well-dressed people seemed oddly hostile towards the Blacks. Harry, however, was unfazed, all too used to that particular behaviour by now.

The book store was nearly empty, only one family was doing their shopping there and had entered mere seconds before them. A plump, motherly-looking woman had her daughter on hand, while the slightly older son examined some of the more exotic books without enthusiasm.

The shopkeeper soon appeared from some corner in the back and made a very courteous bow to the woman, 'Mrs Weasley, a great pleasure to have you in my store, as always. How may I be of assistance to you today?' The woman seemed slightly annoyed by the exuberant greeting, but nevertheless answered without reluctance.

'Thank you. We need some sets for Hogwarts and a small other matter…' A small bit of parchment was handed to the proprietor whose eyes widened for a moment.

'Of course, ma'am. The book sets come at 5 Galleons a piece, 11 for the first years, and I will be happy to oblige your request free of charge.'

Harry tuned the rest of the conversation out and made his way to the charms section. After several minutes, he came upon a particular find in a polished showcase. F orgotten Masters at Charmswork: Waldufin, Chzem, Nentray and many more . Immediately interested, Harry took a look at the small label on the lower left corner of the vitrine. Price on request. The next showcase, which was not nearly as polished, held a book that was priced at the insane amount of 21,000 Galleons. He was reluctant to even ask about the first one.

Dejectedly, he made his way back to the front to find the Weasleys packing up and leaving. He took notice of the hate both children seemed to show his grandfather, who held himself in polite indifference. The shopkeeper bowed them out in an extreme show of hospitality and only turned to Arcturus once the Weasleys were well out of sight.

'Well, what do you want,' he nearly spat out. 'Sir.'

Arcturus replied evenly. 'One set of Hogwarts first year books. That will be all.'

'Sure, sure, that's 18 Galleons.'

Arcturus only raised an eyebrow, but Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Excuse me, sir! Did you not just…'

Arcturus, however, simply grasped his shoulder. 'It is quite alright, 18 Galleons it is.'

The other man seemed almost disappointed that he didn't get to argue, quickly provided the book set and did not so much as say another word after receiving his payment.

Harry was furious, though this time he didn't allow his feelings to reveal themselves. And even if none of the other shops tried to overcharge them, it seemed to him that they were barely tolerated in most of them anyway. Not one person saluted them, which struck him as strange, considering Arcturus had been a politician for nearly his entire life. Only in the late morning did one person exchange hasty greetings with Arcturus, and said person aroused his suspicion immediately. His robings were simple, but he carried himself with an air of self-importance that reminded him of Arcturus and some of his acquaintances. The exchange of pleasantries was short, though they seemed sincere enough. At midday, they finally entered Ollivanders, to Harry's inner excitement; after all, he knew all about the shop and the supposedly strange Ollivander. In his mind, an aura of mystique surrounded this shop. A nice change was the greeting.

'Ah. Lord Black. Welcome, sir, welcome! It is a great pleasure. Birch and dragon heartstring. Very unusual combination. Still satisfactory to your needs, I hope, sir?'

Harry marvelled at the show of mnemonic prowess but remained quiet.

'Indeed it is, Mr Ollivander. Today, however, I am not here for my own reasons,' said Arcturus primly and gestured for Harry to come forward. Ollivander's huge eyes widened even further, and for some reason, a small frown appeared on his lips, though it did only appear to stem from apparent wonderment.

'Ah yes. Mr… Would it be acceptable if I addressed you as Harry, young Master? I feel this may make matters easier.' His small smile made Harry look uneasily towards his grandfather, who in turn seemed slightly puzzled.

'Of course, sir,' Harry offered. Immediately, numerous tape measures flew towards Harry and began measuring him up. The wand maker still had a thoughtful look on his face.

'May I assume that this would not be your first wand in use, Harry? It is not unusual nowadays and I wonder…'

'I do have another one, sir,' replied Harry who, as per usual, felt defensive in the matter of his wand.

Arcturus swiftly picked up on this and prodded Harry gently. 'Perhaps you might show Mr Ollivander your wand, Harry? I am sure he can at least identify it for us?'

Harry had been curious, of course. But the thought of parting with his wand made his stomach squirm.

Arcturus allowed a small smile to appear and spoke soothingly to his ward, 'Harry, no one will take that wand from you. But we may still find you a better fit. I am sure Mr Ollivander will be most careful.'

Harry sighed, but offered Ollivander his wand nonetheless. 'It's not that! I just do not like parting with it, as I have stated a hundred times before,' he added in a tone that was somewhat unfit for the public ear.

Ollivander took the wand and examined it carefully. His eyebrows seemed to rise constantly for at least five seconds.

'Am I to understand that you do not like to part with your wand, Harry? How do you feel about it if you allow me asking so boldly?'

'My grandson is very… protective of his wand. It is an old family wand, of course, but he has never had any trouble wielding it,' said Arcturus with a hint of pride.

Ollivander looked astonished, 'Indeed? Well, let's have a closer look.' He moved one finger slightly above the wood and muttered something that sounded strange to Harry's ears. Afterwards, he revolved the wand slowly in his hand until finally taking hold of it and shooting a minuscule shower of silver sparks in the air. His look of concentration quickly gave way to a deep frown.

'And you say you have no problem at all performing magic with this wand, sir?'

As Harry nodded his head, the wandmaker looked twice between the wand and Harry.

'Extraordinary!' he offered simply. 'Well, this is a… rare wand, to put it simply. Eight and a half inches, African Blackwood with a shrunken sphinx heart at its core. I would venture a guess that this wand is at least 300 years old, as it has been quite some time since any wandmaker used a sphinx component, much less the entire heart… It is not that they make cores of inferior quality, quite the opposite. But they have fallen out of favour due to their intricate personalities. It often takes decades or centuries before a suitable match is found. We still have two sphinx wands in stock, even though we stopped crafting those 450 years ago. There is also the small matter of people having views on the matter of sphinx wands. It is maybe not something to spread around.' He paused shortly before adding, 'Would you mind demonstrating to me your connection to the wand? I find myself… curious.'

He offered Harry his wand, and Harry gleefully took it back. The wand, for its inexplicable reasons, seemed equally pleased and produced a giant shower of silver sparks, the same colour as those Ollivander had produced. Where the wandmaker had only produced two or three sad sparkles, Harry shot forth hundreds of lights that did not immediately disappear but continuously bounced harmlessly off the walls and bathed the shop for 20 seconds in a nearly blinding light of warm silver.

'Remarkable! Truly wondrous…' This was all Ollivander had to say for at least another minute, before he returned to his professional demeanour. 'Very well, to me it seems like a nigh heavenly match. Do you really wish to procure another wand?'

Harry looked unsure and Arcturus made a small gesture to placate his grandson, who already seemed upset at the prospect of parting with his wand.

'How about you try a few wands, Harry. And if you don't stumble upon any you find yourself more comfortable with, we shall keep your sphinx wand.'

Harry did not wish to argue and nodded slowly, personally not keen on trading his wand at all. 'If that's what you think would be best, alright.'

What followed were 40 minutes of agony to Harry. Where his own wand, which he kept in his left, felt like excitement and rightness, the others felt like sticks of wood, nothing more than dead branches with a feeble imitation of life. He did not voice his discomfort, though he did not doubt that Arcturus noticed. Ollivander, however, seemed oddly pleased to have found a challenge. The boxes he zoomed towards Harry had gotten older or downright stranger. After waving a 28-inch wand that already felt more like a staff, Ollivander looked thoughtfully at Harry and placed another box delicately on the counter. Inside, Harry found a handsome wand of some lighter wood. As he made to grab it, a slight sense of expectation that he had not felt since trying the other Black wands filled him. Half an inch before he would have placed his fingers on the wand, small red stars started to leak from the tip of the wood. Harry felt sudden excitement at this good sign and made to finally grab it, but at that exact moment, his other hand spun around.

Startled at this involuntary movement, he found himself looking down at his sphinx wand that for some reason had a bit of smoke circling around its tip and felt quite warm. Puzzled, he looked towards the other wand he was about to take hold of, only to find it cleanly snapped in the middle with some sort of broken feather visible in the middle. Sudden panic grabbed his heart, and when he looked up to asseverate his innocence, he found his grandfather wearing a slight frown and, to his huge surprise, a look of great delight on Ollivander's face. One moment later, he was not altogether sure whether he had only imagined this, as the wandmaker stated in a tone of pronounced dolour, 'I think, sir, it would be - ah - safest if you were to stick with your remarkable sphinx wand.'

~BLHD~

The matter of foreign property and its accidental destruction did not come up for discussion that day, for which Harry felt grateful. True, he was slightly irked at what had happened, but it was not like he had ever intended to use another wand to begin with. His only regret was that in all the turmoil he had quite forgotten to voice his birthday wish and had only remembered once they were at home. After a small sigh, he put that matter to rest. While his gifts were not always very costly, his grandfather had an unprecedented knack for picking out exactly what he wanted. Never had he been truly disappointed with his gifts. Arcturus seemed deep in thought, and they shared a rather silent meal that evening. Harry did not mind, as the silence between him and his family was never heavy, but more of a respectful kind. He felt comfortable thinking about his own and that other wand, which his grandfather had later identified as 'probably holly'.

Deep in thought, he had not realised that his grandfather had been looking at him for several moments, which is why he reacted rather alarmed when Arcturus spoke.

'Harry, about your birthday - do you wish for me to invite our family?'

Harry fought hard to force his face not to show an expression of pain. His grandfather, however, looked slightly amused.

'Do not worry, Harry. I have already anticipated this and spread the word that you - ah - preferred private celebrations. Though I must say that one particular cousin of yours was most vexed.'

Harry winced slightly. He knew exactly which 'cousin' this was; of course he was not blood-related to any of this family, at least not too closely, but he never brought this up, and in turn, he was treated as one of their own. Even his close relatives, who reasonably might have held a grudge against him for usurping their inheritance, were in fact very friendly and protective of the up and coming Lord Black. Their adoration, however, always made him slightly uncomfortable. He simply did not like the attention. And she was the worst. In a way. It's not like she was bad, but she was just so excessively bold and possessive.

'I think I shall write to her that we will be able to see each other at Hogwarts. Maybe I can defuse the situation a bit.' Harry was not entirely sure if this was a good idea, but common courtesy made it a matter of necessity.

'That seems like a splendid idea, young man. From a tactical viewpoint, I also think you should avoid a big drama before your Sorting.' Arcturus chuckled slightly but soon settled his expression into a rather stern frown.

'Once you are comfortable, we shall adjourn to the study. For today's course, I have some rather important things to say.'

Harry nodded and began to wonder just what topic this might be.

~BLHD~

'Sit down, Harry!' called the deep and soft-spoken voice of his adopted grandfather. Harry obliged, albeit slightly nervously so. This was one of their routines. Arcturus always challenged Harry to come up with questions pertaining to anything he could imagine and would always divulge answers in great detail. But, from then on, these subjects were part of the revision he would always put before the queries - and he would always be most displeased if Harry could not remember an acceptable portion.

'Do you recall our conversation about Grindelwald?'

He observed Harry shifting nervously in his chair, nodding eventually.

'Tell me about his fall,' Arcturus probed.

'Eh - Once the government forced Dumbledore into action, Grindelwald fell relatively fast, didn't he? In a matter of some years, at least. In the aftermath, our Ministry, along with several continental ministries, put down some reforms to better battle upcoming threats.'

'Quite,' returned Arcturus, seemingly content so far. 'What do you think denotes the term Darkers, Harry?'

Harry grimaced, 'That's us, right? I mean that is what others call certain families.'

Arcturus brightened up a bit, even though the topic was indeed pretty dark. Harry's implication that he considered himself to be a Black was, even after all these years, still balm for a weary heart.

'Harry, you may not believe me, but that term is fairly common nowadays. You have only ever been in the company of those who arguably also fall prey to this indignation. I assure you, there will be those using it at Hogwarts, and they mean to hurt you.'

Arcturus elected to pause for a bit. Harry's sheltered upbringing may not have prepared him for what actually awaited him out there…

'Listen, Harry. Darkers is a derogatory term stemming from the aftermath of Grindelwald's defeat. Most Muggle-borns and half-bloods were severely displeased with the notional financial and personal support many pure-bloods had allegedly offered the Dark Lord at the beginning of his campaign. Thus, the term was coined as a reprimand meant to exclude many old families from political businesses in the foreseeable future. Sadly, this stigma persists till present day.'

His adopted grandson looked thoughtful. 'So,' Harry said carefully, 'so you might say that we were set up? And that even today old families suffer because they were unjustly accused of supporting the Dark Lord?'

Arcturus hesitated ever so slightly but steeled himself for what he believed to be the only fair course of action. 'No. There were indeed some families that supported Grindelwald. But remember that while those were not nearly in the majority, the indignity of the term encompasses many families very much not guilty.'

He observed Harry's reaction. The boy seemed deep in thought, and it was obvious that the question was on his lips. But he held it in.

'Harry, I told you eight years ago that we would speak openly and plainly during these sessions. If you find my answer dissatisfactory, I urge you to voice your complaints.' After a brief pause, he added, 'We are family, Harry. No secrets, no lies.'

The boy's posture changed, and he looked in his eyes with deep appreciation. The question, however, seemed to pain him still. 'Were the Blacks involved in Grindelwald's support?'

Silence thundered for a few aching moments. Both were highly uncomfortable, though the boy allowed it to be more obvious.

'Yes. My father most foolishly wasted considerable financial assets in an attempt to gain influence over Grindelwald. As expected, however, Grindelwald recognised him for what he was and took all the money he would offer, while holding him at arm's length. In fact, since Grindelwald played his part so well, our family was - as it seems - the last of the British families to cut ties, long after our Ministry passed laws against these precise actions and not very long at all before the Dark Lord's fall.'

Harry looked dejectedly at his feet and muttered, 'Shameful.'

'Indeed.' His own admission managed to put a small smile back into place. Arcturus continued, keeping his voice dreary, 'Harry, this happened before I assumed headship over our house. My own father never had the courage to tell his son about these matters. In fact, I myself assumed them to be false accusations until I made extensive investigations. My father had many faults and few talents. To this day, I am not sure how I should feel about the fact that my own genitor would have been better off an artificer of fraud than a scion of a noble house.' Arcturus had difficulties holding in his temper. Even though he knew his expression remained calm he had the impression that Harry saw through his mask. The boy was unnaturally good at reading him. He would have been worried that a thirteen-year-old could read a retired politician so easily if he was not so proud .

'Listen, Harry. It was not my fault, and it is not yours that our ancestors may have done wrong. We have to live with this knowledge, and we should not forget. There are lessons to be learned in remembering the past. But you must not let your heart succumb to guilt. Guilty is only he who acts or fails to do so, though never can one be guilty by inheritance. You should think about this. In the future, you may even tell some of your friends who earn your complete trust. But you should not feel defensive about this or let your heart be tied down.'

After a small pause, he added, 'I know this is a difficult lesson, but it is critical you understand this. I know for a fact that only two other families had connections as deeply rooted as ours towards Grindelwald's camp; and still, there are about two dozen families suffering under the stigma that was levelled upon us. This is not justice. They are not guilty and neither are we now. My father should have been sent to trial for his actions, as should have been his counterparts, and I tell you this: If I had known these things during his lifetime, I would have been the first to make him stand before the Wizengamot, so that his sentence might have redeemed the rest of our family and a lot of other innocents of the public doubt. Alas - that man was not even fit for that final duty and died not too long after the war, as you are aware.'

It took Arcturus enormous effort to collect himself, but once he did, he looked his grandson in his startling green eyes and held his gaze for several seconds before he softly added, 'I apologise for this most sombre of lessons. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow. Have a good night, Harry.'

His grandfather still looked very unnerved, as Harry - deep in thought himself - stood up. It had indeed been a most sombre lesson. Even so, he did not blame Arcturus, whom he had always known as an individual of candour. Slowly striding forwards, he was almost at the first landing when the voice of his grandfather trailed after him. 'Harry!' he heard the old man calling him softly. He turned slowly towards the sunken figure and answered hesitantly, unsure what to expect, 'Yes, Grandfather?'

Arcturus looked at him, and Harry felt his gaze holding nothing of the stern blankness he always wore in public.

'I am proud of you for asking the difficult questions, son.'

Their eyes met, pearlescent grey and gleaming green. But to Harry, the only colour that mattered was of a darker shade.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN:

1) Hi there! I am not a big fan of ANs, so I will definitely try to keep this short. This is the first chapter of my new fiction "Black Luminary". I expect the finished work to encompass several hundred thousand words, but I will only post one chapter per week after the initial three. I am currently more than a dozen chapters ahead of schedule, so you may be put at ease; the project will not suddenly dry up.

2) Warning: This story intentionally plays with the expectations of the reader. Usually, I will not give many hints about plotlines that may continue to be relevant for a LONG time. All years of Hogwarts are equally important for me; the whole story should therefore continue to evolve from the start to the end. Don't expect answers to questions I myself may raise in the story; I will never use the ANs to give away the plot.

3) Romantic pairings… will be complicated. Romance is not exactly the focus of this work, but I will give it due space where needed.

4) English isn't my first language, not even my second. So please do excuse the occasional error that may slip through.

5) While we are on the subject, a mighty thanks to my awesome and patient betas. Your work is very appreciated.

6) Of course, Harry Potter and all associated names, stories, works etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. Please support her official releases.

7) Also, please feel free to tell me what you think. Your suggestions and impressions will help me improve the story.

8) The things that makes my story an AU are mostly history-related. Everything else is just a direct or indirect result of those events. There is one exception, though: Harry's biological grandfather is Charlus Potter in my story. Just keep it in mind.

Best regards

-YakAge

HD: Of presents and vows

Of presents and vows

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Harry awoke wearing an amused expression. The dream he had had was closer to a memory than imagination, but it was a dear, if slightly embarrassing, one. It was his recollection of the very first evening lesson he had ever had with Arcturus. He was somewhat ashamed in hindsight: the six-year-old Harry had been insecure and vulnerable; not to mention hasty and boisterous.

~BLHD~

'Alright, Harry,' Arcturus had said, a kind expression on his face. 'I know this must be irritating to you, but I wish to get to know you better. As I know you must be having trouble coming to terms with all of this, I offer that you may ask whatever you wish. About me or my family, which, as it were, is now your family as well. So,' he finished lightly, 'ask away, young man.'

Harry had been very reluctant; all the recent changes to his life had left him quite irritated. 'Why do you always frown in public, Uncle Arcturus?'

To his great surprise, Arcturus had laughed softly. 'We do not wear our emotions on our sleeves in public, Harry. It is a show of great intimacy to be as open as we wish. This is mostly reserved for family and very close friends.'

'What is intimacy?' Harry had asked.

'Ah! Well, intimacy is the contentment you feel in a close relationship with your friends or family, for example.' Arcturus had smirked slightly. 'Among other things.'

Harry had not understood but had begun to comprehend that he could indeed ask whatever he wanted. While he did not really dislike this peculiar uncle of his (though he had been encouraged to call him grandfather) he was still slightly annoyed about this whole mess that was his childhood. Mostly to annoy his counterpart and to check out the boundaries set for him, he had tried to upset Arcturus.

'Why do you sometimes speak so strangely?'

'The art of words is the art of mankind, Harry.' That had been the altogether unsatisfactory answer he had received and not understood.

'What?'

'In broad terms, Harry, I mean talking is not only a means. It is as much art as it is war. It most certainly is a game if you want it to be.'

'A game?' Harry had wondered.

'Certainly. As an example, if I wanted to avoid your questions, I could easily answer you all day without lying, but still refrain from stating what you perceive as the truth.'

'That is so strange.' Harry had been beginning to feel a bit angry. These personal questions did not yield the expected result, so he had tried to be more aggressive with his approach to unnerving Arcturus.

'Why am I here?'

'Because I would like you to live with me.'

The simple and honest answer had caught him slightly off-guard and deflated his temper ever so slightly. 'Where is Sirius?'

For the first time, a pained expression had been clearly visible on Arcturus' face. 'He will be gone for a while. Do not worry, he will be back - in some years to come.'

'Yes, you said so, but where is he?' He had not wanted to yield so easily.

'On an island quite far from here. He will not be able to leave for quite some time.'

Even to Harry, it had been obvious that this train of thought would only bring pain to both of them, so he relented. After thinking for a while and reverting to his original plan of punishing the old man, though unsure for what exactly, he had had an idea.

'How old are you? You look ancient, old man.'

Arcturus' eyes had danced merrily. At that point, Harry somehow had gotten the idea that this feeble geezer must have been on to him. Impossible, right?

'Why, thank you, young man. I am 84 years of age.'

Since the old man had not risen to Harry's bait, he had tried to find a truly uncomfortable topic. Something to truly shatter his opponent's defences. His very young brain had come up with something that would have embarrassed himself very much. 'How many girls have you kissed?' he had demanded, sure of his triumph.

The old man had given a surprisingly hearty laugh. 'My very own wife Melania of course,' he added a slight pause, resuming shortly afterwards, looking smug and strangely lively, 'and some dozen more, I venture.'

Harry had looked in awe at the old man before him and had grudgingly conceded defeat. He had some honest questions anyway. 'Will I be able to learn magic? Will someone teach me? Is there something to read here? Where are we anyway? What is the name of that house elf who tries to be sneaky about eyeballing me, and why does he do that?'

Arcturus' smile had grown even more. But he had not immediately commented. As if remembering something, he had kept still for a moment, but shortly thereafter he had looked at Harry and started answering.

'Yes, you will most certainly be able to learn magic, Harry. You are as much a wizard as I am, and I see no reason why we should not start your education a bit early if you are truly interested. We will only be doing what I deem safe and worth knowing, though. Some things are better left till later and others better discussed at school, lest you spend some boring and cold years in Scotland. I shall, therefore, teach you maybe twice a week about magic. On the other hand, I would very much like to impart knowledge of a broader kind every other day of the week - if you find yourself agreeable?'

He had given him a questioning look that Harry had answered with a nod, keen on the opportunity to learn something more useful - finally.

'Very good. I think you might find this old man an adequate teacher. In your free time, you may also have a look at the library, though I would like to be present for the first few of those library sessions if you have an interest in such things. There are certain rules for you, for everyone of this household for that matter, to heed.'

Harry's eyes had shone brightly at the prospect of a private library. Though he had not expected much, he would at least have a good look.

Arcturus seemed to have read his thoughts again, as he then had added, 'I think you may find yourself not overly disappointed. I am told our library in total is the second most extensive private collection of magical tomes in Britain.'

Harry had realised that Arcturus seemed quite pleased about that as well. If the old man loved books, maybe this would not be so bad.

'As to your other questions, we are currently in London, Grimmauld Place. This is one of our more modest lodgings, though there may still be some places to explore for an adventurous young man and - I feel compelled to say - there will be some places to best stay away from, for now at least. And, as for your last question,' he had snapped his fingers and called in a sterner, louder voice, 'Cranky! Kreacher! Minnie!' To Harry's surprise, two nervous-looking house elves and one very old but calm house elf had popped up before them. He had suddenly remembered the blue eyes that shone with a strange sense of confidence for an elf.

'It's you!' He had jumped and pointed an accusatory finger at the old creature. 'You were snooping around my room.'

'Indeed Cranky has, sir. We are to take care of your wishes, sir, and Cranky was worried you may have trouble fitting in. Cranky did not wish to cause distress. It is not necessary for Master Harry to continue pointing his finger at old, sneaky Cranky.' With a smug look, the elf had added, 'Or to keep gawking at a poor old elf.'

Harry had shot a bewildered look at Arcturus after closing his mouth. He had had some experience with house elves of course, yet the casual attitude of this one seemed somewhat distressing to him.

Arcturus had grinned slightly and explained, 'Ah yes, Cranky may be one of a kind. But you may rest assured; he does as he is told. And I do not think I have ever had reason to complain about his work.'

Cranky had turned towards Arcturus, his smug look still in place. The other elves, on the other hand, had seemed unable to settle on either reverence or outrage, but this had not deterred Cranky.

'Master is too kind. If only Cranky could truthfully return the compliment, he would gladly do so. Sadly, Cranky seems to remember the episodes of youthful trouble good Master Arcturus always so abundantly seemed to find himself in when he was younger.'

For the first time, the expression of benign serenity had broken on Arcturus' face, and Harry had immediately decided that he rather liked this old elf. Or at least would not like the consequences of failing to befriend him.

~BLHD~

Still chuckling about those days, Harry got up and started dressing casually, or at least what passed for casually in the Black household. While his cousins often complained (and some even preferred Muggle attire), he himself did not mind in the slightest. There was simple finesse in these things and much more than met the eye at first glance. He deeply appreciated the austere look. One of his cousins - she - had once asked him why he always dressed as if he had some kind of formal meeting. He had only shrugged and tried to explain that he preferred the seemingly modest style of robes to muggle clothing. Hinting always won over swanking in his books.

Once Harry was dressed, Cranky opened the door and presented himself with a low bow. 'Master Harry looks very spiffing today. May Cranky offer his congratulations?'

'Thanks, Cranky.' Harry smiled. He had never once met a house elf odder than Cranky. He was fiercely independent, yet loyal to the extreme. This was made very clear to Harry when he had seen Cranky get into a shouting match with a guest of the house a few years ago. That person had somehow offended the family in Cranky's eyes, and the elf did not relent until a slightly amused Arcturus had made him escort the guest to the door. That person, some Bullstrode if Harry remembered correctly, was completely baffled that an elf had the nerve to shout down a wizard and even to threaten him, but was perhaps even more offended that Arcturus had actually chosen to believe the elf over his own words.

Vaguely, he remembered that one of his first orders to Cranky had been to smuggle some protected books out of the library for him when he was six. To this day, Cranky somehow had evaded answering Arcturus' questions regarding his complicity in these events.

Harry made his way down the stairs and was pleased that most portraits of the household seemed eager to offer their felicitations to their young scion. Some of them had initially been rather reluctant to treat him as family but - over time - had come around. It would have been very hard to find a child his age that was more interested in old wizarding customs and family history anyway. There was not a single portrait in the house of which Harry could not rave about for at least half an hour.

He entered the small dining room and found it empty. Perplexed, he turned around and found Cranky pointing in the direction of the official dining hall, which could easily seat 40 people. Slightly nervous, he made his way towards the heavily decorated door and slowly turned the knob. The room was flooded with light and the long table was thankfully only set for two. At least two dozen parcels and cards floated a few inches above the heavy wooden piece of art. He slowly made his way towards the table, very much aware how his shoes echoed on the parquet. With a gentle smile, he beheld the mass of well-wishes and gifts. He took the card that was attached to the biggest parcel, which was about five feet tall, and recognised an altogether too familiar handwriting:

'Happy birthday, Harry. I'm slightly miffed that you want to have "quiet celebrations" away from your dear family and me, but I shall settle for taking up all your time at Hogwarts and inviting you over for two weeks next summer when you shall have the honour of celebrating mine. And don't you dare shut yourself away all the time to snuggle with your wand again. Thus, I shall graciously await your affirmation, and don't even think to be smart with me, dearest cousin of mine. Uncle Arcturus knows and has, after some very kind persuasion from me, reassured me that nothing is or will be planned at that time for you. See you at Hogwarts. Much love - D.'

Involuntarily, Harry grinned. Why does she still call him Uncle Arcturus after all those years?

He had not heard Arcturus enter the room, but as he finished reading, he found his grandfather standing beside him. 'She is indeed very persuasive. I fear you may have no chance to evade her next summer, Harry. I had the distinct impression she and her sister may try to hex me, were I to refuse letting you go.'

Harry looked dejected, but could not quite disagree that this was a definite possibility. His grandfather, however, embraced Harry and ruffled his hair in a rare show of open affection.

'Happy fourteenth birthday, Harry. I hope you will have a good day. But before you have to open the probably slightly embarrassing presents your family has bestowed upon you, how about we sit down and have a look what Cranky has cooked up for you this morning? I know for a fact that he had Kreacher and Minnie working till late last night so that everything would be to your utmost satisfaction. I would be very much surprised if you miss out on even one of your favourites today.'

Cranky, who was hovering by the door, looked slightly cross. 'There is no way that Cranky missed any of Master Harry's favourite dishes today, Master Arcturus. Cranky has taken the utmost care to study Master Harry's eating habits. And in fact, Master Arcturus, Cranky had Kreacher working till one hour ago, until Kreacher had finally finished the cakes in a presentable manner, for once.'

Harry shuddered slightly and was very happy not to be a house elf under Cranky's iron regime, but smiled guiltily at the old elf nonetheless. Cranky bowed deeply and smirked back.

Breakfast was a feast, for eyes and stomach. Seldom had he been so impressed, not only with the dishes themselves but even more so with their presentation. That being said, he was not exactly surprised; Cranky doted on him very much indeed. His grandfather wore a look of amused distress as Minnie popped into being behind his grandson, obviously instructed to take care of whatever wish he had. Harry was entertained himself; his cup did not contain the usual pumpkin juice but as spiked with butterbeer.

After their ample repast, Harry started opening his presents. To his deep embarrassment, he found the large package of hers containing a four-and-a-half foot tall picture of himself with her and her sister. Even his counterpart seemed eager to escape the frame, but the sisters were all too happy to hold him very close indeed. His grandfather smiled but did, thank Merlin, not comment. Apart from the big picture, which Arcturus shrank into a more presentable yet still intimidating size, he received several books that he inspected at once with glowing enthusiasm: a classy silver pocket watch adorned with emeralds; an elegant red quill, which Harry disbelievingly identified as a phoenix feather; a small automatically refilling workstation to mix your own ink colour; and, for some inexplicable reason, a very large and very deadly looking bushwhacker.

'Ah! Have a look, Master Harry! Someone seems to have picked up on your problems with the other sex,' offered Cranky. Harry flinched and shot a pleading look at the elf, who smiled and took the cutlass. 'Maybe Cranky shall rather put this away safely? Maybe on a weapon plaque in Master Harry's bedroom?'

'That would be much appreciated. Thank you, Cranky.'

The elf nodded eagerly, took the blade and disapparated. Arcturus shook his head and read the card that came with this most unusual of presents.

'It seems the Lestrange family is rather worried about your safety at Hogwarts. They claim to have personally tested the blade on wild griffins. If only I could not believe that. Their sense of humour is nearly as nasty as Cranky's. Nevertheless, a suspiciously good haul, if you may permit me to say so? While the fob watch and the quill seem obvious choices, you might not guess that the ink set is actually one of the most expensive gifts you have received yet.' He sniffed slightly at some colours and swiftly shut the case again. 'Some of those are very rare and several highly magical. Most can be used to draw permanent runes. There are not many people up to enchanting these things, and you should remember to thank your aunt most amicably for this thoughtful present.'

'I will,' returned Harry with a nod and put his gifts away reverently (even the huge picture, though he treated that one with visible trepidation). Afterwards, his grandfather waited for him to settle down and, once he had done so, presented him three other gifts: one of big, one of small, and one of tiny proportions. Harry looked eagerly into his grandfather's eyes, who nodded serenely. To Arcturus' amusement, Harry started with the parcel in the middle. Once unpacked, a book came into view. Master Nentray's Complete Guide to Barriers and Wardings, only this copy seemed to be much smaller and only contain a hundred pages. But once he had opened it, he found all twelve thousand pages present, though only the next few dozen in either direction were ever visible. The first blank page sported another note in the neat, cursive handwriting of his grandfather:

'We shall not yield to the ignorance of man. In loving gratitude, Arcturus Black III for his grandson Harry. London, 31. July 1994.'

Harry gawped at the devotement and opened his mouth, only to close it several moments later. Some time passed before he finally turned towards his grandfather and muttered softly, 'Thank you…'

'It was my pleasure, Harry. But do keep it safe! As I told you, the original you have found upstairs is a unique. Now, I doubt Nentray will complain that we doubled the number of his published works, but it would not be a very good idea to flaunt it. While it is charmed to only be readable by our family, you should take great care. Others, especially some teachers at Hogwarts, may find certain passages of this book… distasteful. I would not wish your present confiscated.'

It was obvious, however, that Harry would not let this thing out of his sight more often than strictly necessary. Arcturus seemed very pleased with the visible effusiveness his gift had elicited in Harry and continued in his gentle and low voice, 'I have also indexed most subjects and topics inside the book with Cranky's help. I cannot help but wonder how many wizards are less able than him. You should certainly strive to be your best, as to not disappoint Cranky.' He added good-naturedly, 'I doubt he would ever let it rest if he thought he knew more magic than you. But how about you open the bigger parcel. I think you will like it very much, and it may even compliment Nentray.'

Unlikely conjectures cavorting in his head, Harry looked at the bigger parcel with reverence. Slowly and very carefully, he unwrapped the hardcover of F orgotten Masters at Charmswork: Waldufin, Chzem, Nentray and many more .

Harry stared at the imposing book for three full seconds. 'What… How?'

'I had an associate of mine buy it for me anonymously yesterday evening. I felt it would be better, in the interest of keeping your inheritance intact, if it were bought by someone with a different name, as the shopkeeper did not seem very complaisant towards Blacks. I spotted you sneaking a glance, of course. You seemed to have taken an interest.'

'Yes, I have taken an interest, alright. Incredible! Thank you so much!'

Arcturus could see that Harry wished nothing more than to have good look at his new acquisition in the library. So as to not torture him any longer, he indicated the smallest package. 'Have a look at your last parcel, then. It is nothing grand, but I think you may appreciate it for what it is.'

Wordlessly, Harry unfolded the last package and soon held in his hands a small inconspicuous silver chain that held an equally unimposing, ancient-looking emerald signet ring which displayed the Black coat of arms. He knew these rings were only to be given to the legal heir of a noble house and never to outsiders, not even for safekeeping. In fact, only he and Arcturus now held signet rings of House Black. And while this present may have been the least costly, it was easily his dearest.

'Thank you,' he muttered feebly, all too aware that his eyes were becoming somewhat moist.

Arcturus stood up and embraced him yet again, as - for once - words seemed unnecessary right now.

~BLHD~

Harry spent most of his day in the library, marvelling at his new treasures. True to his word, Nentray's magnum opus was now charmed to instantly flip to the page of a given subject. Or even highlight the relevant pages with a temporary marker, in case there were several. This was highly convenient, as searching for a subject in the ponderous tome could otherwise take hours, if not days. Most of the time, however, Harry had spent reading his new book of forgotten charms masters. Even better than he had originally thought, the book not only made a study of unearthing long-lost authors and descriptions of their achievements, it even tried to recreate some of the forgotten research and listed all relevant books that may either help to decipher this old lore, or may possibly have been used by those old warlocks themselves. Harry had excitedly skimmed through Nentray's chapter and was delighted to find that the author had managed to replicate a very respectable amount of experiments and charms that were believed to be lost. How the author, a certain Professor Mandus, had managed this, when he himself had stated that Nentray's works had disappeared, was beyond Harry. In a sudden fit of suspicion, he had even searched for Mandus and his wife on the Black family tapestry, but was relieved when he did not find them there.

He dared not think about the price his grandfather had undoubtedly paid for this work of a genius, but - in all honesty - he could not imagine money better spent. After making sure Mandus had not been a fraud, he had insisted that Cranky put a preservation charm on every page of the book and the cover. The elf had happily obliged and advised Harry to take the time to answer his birthday cards, as he resolutely refused to tolerate owls in the library.

Later, it took Cranky coming personally to take Harry to dinner, as Minny had been very depressed and returned to the kitchens in tears to report that she could not get his attention. Harry was in a most excellent mood, and Arcturus was visibly enjoying himself as well. Dinner was simply fabulous, and for once even Cranky took their compliments without further comment. Once their plates had vanished, the Blacks adjourned to the lounge. And while they would not hold their usual classes tonight, there was nevertheless much to discuss. After Harry had happily described the genius of Mandus and even his suspicions to Arcturus, the old man laughed knowingly.

'I know of this man, Harry. Otherwise, I would not have paid the price for that tome of yours. That man was a fanatic in the truest sense of the word. As far as I gathered, he collected snippets of parchment and paid horrendous sums for even scraps of school works of his research subjects. His family was not very grateful, however, as he spent most of his family fortune for his private research. But it must be said that he achieved much indeed. Though, as is often the case with such driven men, he had a rather peculiar personality, and as if to honour his own profession, he only ever created five copies of his own research. One for his family, two for sale and another two in private ownership. One is since lost and you just secured another one. The Mandus family is all but gone today, and I know nothing of the other exemplars. You should also take note that Mandus, in his quirky sense of humour, enchanted his works to not only be unenchantable but also placed certain runes in the script so that it is not even possible to transcribe them by hand. They are truly one-of-a-kind.'

Harry smiled, unperturbed. Somehow he was able to understand the author. If something was to be truly cherished, it should not be mass produced.

'You know, Harry, I am curious. You know of Hogwarts' houses. Do you have any preferences or aversions? Please indulge this old man.'

Harry chuckled somewhat embarrassedly. Arcturus only brought up 'old man' as a playful barb and reminder of Harry's spiteful beginnings in good mood and light conversations.

'In all honesty, Grandfather, I somehow cannot help but feel that people put too much emphasis on the whole matter of houses. Surely, there is some truth to be found there; but on the other hand, people obviously believe that once you are sorted you may never change again. The ridiculous prejudices that have spawned around the houses do not help the matter.'

'Indeed, Harry, I do agree with you. But the question still stands, as the procedure is unlikely to change until next month, so you may have to endure the indignity of being judged for six or possibly seven years in an instant.'

'Well,' Harry replied cautiously, 'I think I could contentedly live with three choices and be abysmally disappointed with the other.'

'I suppose you would not wish to be in Slytherin then, Harry?'

'What? No! I think I would even prefer to be sorted there. I have thought about this, Grandfather, and I have come to the conclusion that I will be ostracised no matter where I will be sorted. The rancour may be the most bitter, should I find myself in the House of Slytherin, but if I plan to ever overturn this bias, I think victory will also be the sweetest there. As for the other houses, there does appear to be nothing wrong with Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Only Ravenclaw seems worthless to me. Knowledge for its own sake just feels a bit lacking. Enlightenment is not a bad thing, but I have too many urgent problems to sit on a mountain of wisdom and be content with my own cleverness. Also, I somewhat doubt there will be many people willing to associate with me in Ravenclaw if they feel their academical achievements may suffer as a result.'

Arcturus listened closely as it was quite rare for his grandson to casually divulge much of his thoughts. Eventually, he smiled sadly and tried to offer Harry a piece of wisdom.

'That is a most laudable course of action, Harry. But you do remember that this is not your burden alone to bear? There are others who will have to shoulder the preconceptions that society has seen fit to lay on us. I do not wish to frighten you - truly - but you should know that there will maybe even be some within Slytherin who will not be amendable in their ways, even towards a Black. For some, blood is everything. And while those may hate you for their own reasons, I fear others outside your common room would see nothing but the young scion of the darkest of noble houses.'

Harry's jaw was set and a rare sense of determination shone from his eyes. Even though Harry held few beliefs and found near everything a matter of discussion, perception or perspective, he held this one firm conviction not to suffer punishment for this family that had taken him as their son and for which he felt nothing but gratitude and love.

'Let them. I swear to you, I will engrave the Black crest on my robes, and if my classmates do not accept me for who I am, I, in turn, will reject the lot of them!'

Arcturus looked at Harry with wide eyes and no small measure of pride. He did, however, not wish to hold a discussion so serious and bleak on his cherished grandson's birthday, so he made an easy attempt to lighten the mood. 'I do not think your dear cousin will let you make a lonely stand in any case. I would be very surprised if you managed to keep her at bay. Even with Black coat of arms and public displays of truly vile magic .'

Harry instantly assumed a facial expression of severe physical pain, though his eyes held none of it.

'Yes, I guess that may be true. But it's not likely I'll ever use that stuff at school. You know why I studied the family magic…'

Arcturus smiled inwardly. It was true that those skills that were publicly coined the Dark Arts were not inherently more evil than most other forms of magic. A severing charm was no dark magic but was still one of the nastiest forms of magic children learned early on. Blood magic, by stark contrast, was truly not very pretty, but offered (contrary to its infamy and legal status) many benevolent magics such as warding spells and shields, even healing. The root of the problem lay elsewhere, as Harry had implied. The true Dark Arts were only learned and taught in certain families, and all of them in Britain Darkers, though not every family suffering the stigma knew of those arts. Most other families knew next to nothing about them and held all manners of preconceptions. But if one heir, for whatever reason, refused to learn those skills only passed down through the generations, he would inevitably condemn this knowledge to be lost. And for all his disdainful talk about knowledge 'for knowledge's sake', Arcturus knew that his grandson would never suffer the indignity of dooming such lore to oblivion. As remarkable as Harry was to Arcturus' eyes, he was a true enigma. Contradiction personified.

'Grandfather, I have something for you. I would like you to know that I very much enjoyed your presents today, and I, in turn, have something I wish to impart.'

The formal tone struck Arcturus as foreboding. He had truly no idea what Harry meant. He gestured for him to continue, but not before speaking his mind. 'Harry, you need not give me anything, I assure you, I have been given enough gifts for the both of us in my life. And you owe me nothing, neither back then nor now. We are family, Harry. I truly wish for you to be able to accept some heartfelt tokens of our esteem for you.'

He had laid it on pretty thick, but the ways of a politician died slowly - and in any case, he meant every word. He felt an incredible sense of gratitude for the chance to raise another child. The direct lines of Blacks had nearly died out, even his first grandchildren had been taken by them… Never had he hoped to find Harry so open-minded and fair in his judgement; it was truly more than this family could have wished for. And to their astonished delight, Harry had relatively quickly begun to deeply embrace their ways and, apart from himself, he very much doubted anyone today was as much a Black as this adopted grandson of his.

To his surprise, Harry procured a very heavy-looking envelope that hinted at official documents.

Frowning and not altogether sure what this crafty grandson of his had come up with, he slowly took the thick parchment and looked into Harry's eyes. There, however, he found nothing but warmness, gratitude and adoration. With a lurch in his stomach, Arcturus slowly opened the letter.

' I, Harry Potter, heir apparent to the ancient House Potter, hereby declare my irrevocable determination to renounce all claims to the heritage and name of House Potter for myself and all my descendants… '

The official document that was graced by the Potter coat of arms continued in a distinctively formal way and was subscribed by four witnesses, one of which was, to Arcturus' immense incredulity, the Minister for Magic himself.

It took a while for Arcturus to comprehend what he had read, and immediately, he reread the whole thing, just to be sure. As with the first time, however, he found the document completely ironclad. With a pang of guilt, he turned to his grandson.

'You did not have to do this, Harry. Do you even realise the magnitude of this document? You are not even allowed to wield your birth name anymore.'

To his astonishment, defiance and pride erupted in Harry's eyes like fire over a volcano. 'I know of this full well, old man. Do not take me for the child I used to be.'

The harsh tone surprised Arcturus even more, but he chose to let it go, looking at his grandson in silent wonderment.

'This document legally integrates me fully into the Black family. As a direct result of my abdication, I am no longer merely your adopted grandson or ward with a Potter background - just a Black. There is no further conflict of interest, no further doubt anyone can ever raise. I do not need a secondary family; this one is the only one I want. I spit on the prejudice! I cannot wait to look at the faces of all those at Hogwarts that will think me shamed by my upbringing.'

Harry seemed to collect himself before he added in a softer tone, 'You yourself said we are family, and I could not agree more. This,' he pulled forth his new signet ring that hung from his neck, 'is everything I want and need.'

Arcturus could not have looked more overcome with emotion as he said in a slow voice that seemed to try to make sense of the world, as he was wont to do, 'Ollivander. He refused to address you as Potter in my presence.'

Harry nodded and offered a small smile. 'At that time, this was already signed and the ink dry. Merlin knows how he came to know. I don't think you would understand how paranoid I was about you finding out. Anyway, Black it is from now on.'

Harry looked into his grandfather's eyes and was quite distressed to see them full of tears for the first time in close to nine years. Yet, as he stood up and walked towards his family, he could not help but feel very content that, this first time, he had been given the opportunity to repay them all a small bit of their goodwill.

AN : For those who are already protesting; yes, there is a reason why he doesn't keep both names, combines them into a new house or whatever fancies your imagination. Chapter 8 and 18 will make it clear why such an act, not even considering its feasibility, would not be in Harry's interest.

HD: Shown and hidden

Shown and hidden

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The direct aftermath of his abdication had been slightly embarrassing, but Harry and Arcturus were in high spirits for days. How proud Arcturus really must have been, Harry only realised when his grandfather had told him that some of his associates and the Malfoys had asked why he was so spirited these days. While the Malfoys were (to an extent) family, and Arcturus trusted Narcissa implicitly, he nevertheless held reservations about Lucius. The slight mishap of being too open had to be explained away. Arcturus had also gathered that some parts of the family had to have been in on Harry's plan, as it would have been impossible to garner the attention of the Minister with such a matter otherwise.

'Now at least I comprehend why you were practically showered in presents this year, Harry. Not that I doubt how much they all adore their little prince, but to practically deluge you with gifts worth thousands of galleons seems a bit out of the ordinary, even for them.'

Harry shifted nervously in his chair, not willing to try and play his grandfather. 'Yeah, they were most pleased, as you may imagine. I don't think I have ever seen Auntie Bella break down in happiness before.'

Arcturus let out an involuntary grunt and hastily set his cup back down on the saucer. 'Indeed, neither have I for that matter. Truly, it must have been a memorable occasion. Though, to be completely honest with you, I am somewhat glad to have missed it. I doubt I could have seen her in the same light thereafter.'

Harry would not have been able to suppress his laughter, so he made no attempt. 'Yeah, the memory seems somewhat irreconcilable with her. I do appreciate the black touch of her humour, but - in all honesty - she can be a bit scary. Like that machete? Any possible doubts about the "offensive value of the blade" I might have had have been kindly put to rest. Which is why I am even more impressed that Amy was audacious enough to take a picture of her crying mother in an attempt to blackmail her later.'

'Amadina did that?' Arcturus lifted an eyebrow, and Harry thought he saw a glint of grudging respect. 'Well, let us hope she is equally quick on her feet as she was with her camera then.'

~BLHD~

The rest of August flew by. Harry was keen to get as much out of the library as he was allowed to. Though he was sure that Hogwarts had an even more magnificent collection of ancient texts, he had known for some time that most of the more interesting and controversial texts were kept in a restricted section. While his grandfather was, most unusually, away for business, Cranky respectfully opened the door to the library and slouched towards Harry. It was quite rare to see the old elf hold a demeanour other than casual elegance, however strange that was for an elf. Therefore, he immediately put his studies out of his mind and turned towards the small creature. Cranky seemed relieved that he did not have to disturb his work and immediately began to gush, his voice laced with sombre regret.

'Cranky is sorry, Master Harry. Cranky must bring grave tidings indeed.'

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. Surely nothing had happened to Arcturus? Or anyone else of their family? 'What is it, Cranky?' he croaked feebly.

'Master Arcturus has given all elves explicit commands to not be complicit in any kind of smuggling of Black family books or their contents to you or anyone else while you stay in Hogwarts. Cranky has been thinking about his orders for two days now, but - most vexingly - it seems the instructions left no direct loophole to exploit this time.'

The only reason Harry mastered his urge to laugh was that he was indeed rather annoyed with this turn of events. Most intriguing, however, the elf seemed to rearrange his look of honest dismay into a look of mischievous playfulness before too long. Harry had seen this look often enough to know that Cranky knew something he did not. Cranky would always help Harry however possible but - strangely enough - would sometimes refrain from acting unless given specific commands. The young man had often reflected on this and had come to the bizarre conclusion that this was Cranky's sarcastic way of dealing with his enslavement: if his master was unworthy of his help, he would do no more than strictly necessary.

Harry thought about Arcturus' instructions to the elves. He knew that Cranky had repeated them in a way that summarised them to his benefit, so the answer had to be in there somehow…

A sudden look of gleeful triumph overcame his face, and he turned to Cranky, his eyes twinkling an equal dance of foolhardiness. 'Say, Cranky, would it be possible for you, Minnie and Kreacher to help me copy some books for the benefit of my personal studies at Hogwarts right now ?'

The old elf gave a nasty cackle and answered promptly, 'How curious Master Harry should mention this. For some strange reason all kitchen work has been done early, and Minnie and Kreacher have nothing to do at all until Master Arcturus returns.'

No sooner had he spoken than the other two elves popped into the library, both visibly more uncomfortable with their assignment than Cranky. Harry felt equally happy with overcoming the challenge and with the prospect of a few dozen objects of personal study, and immediately set the elves and himself to work, but only after he had given them instructions to never speak of this ever again. He knew there were ways to circumvent these particular commands, but Kreacher and Minnie were not quite as bold as Cranky, who relished in his subtle victories over Arcturus and would gladly keep this from his ultimate master.

In their four hours of time, Harry was completely amazed at the extent of magic the house elves were capable of once they were set to a task. While many of the more magical books had to be copied page by page, Minnie and Kreacher rose to the task with a speed that was probably superior to the average wizard's. Cranky, on the other hand, was like a small ball of magic and, to Harry's astonishment, was able to cast the Geminio charm with both hands simultaneously and at blurring speed. Even the other elves looked slightly alarmed by this extreme showing. Cranky, however, once he noted Harry's incredulous looks, just smirked as he usually did on such occasions. The moment Arcturus' footsteps echoed in the entrance hall, both Minnie and Kreacher disapparated, and Cranky immediately snapped his fingers, and the respectable heap of books at their feet disappeared, presumably under Harry's bed. Harry was still giving Cranky looks of deep interest and could not refrain from asking.

'Cranky, how much magic do you know, anyway?'

To his unexpected discomfort, Cranky slowly turned towards him and looked him straight in the eyes for several seconds, while his demeanour was devoid of his usual pretence of servility. 'Some, Master Harry. Likely some more than most and most definitely more than you. At least for the time being. There may be hope for you yet, Master Harry.'

Cranky's voice had a steely undercurrent, and Harry was not sure it would be wise to continue this particular line of questioning, but he was intrigued. So he tried to settle for a compromise. 'Cranky, I do not mean to pry, but do you think it would be agreeable for you to - eh - disclose some of your abilities at any point in the future?' Harry nervously watched the elf formulate a measured response.

'It could indeed come to pass that Cranky has to unbosom some of what he knows, though Cranky is not sure Master Harry would like that all too much.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and wondered if he had just been threatened by his own house elf. It was not completely beyond what he could imagine. And while every other elf he had known had never tried to go against their master's orders, this one seemed to take a very casual approach to his enslavement indeed. Cranky's loyalty to the house was beyond questioning, but then again, his approach to personal allegiance appeared very loose by comparison. Harry decided to play it safe, as Cranky had never given him any reason to doubt before. While he figured there must be more to this, the old elf had been a fiercely loyal friend for more than eight years, and he did not wish to force the issue.

'I feel like I have offended, Cranky, sorry. I will not speak of this again.'

'Master Harry may put the matter out of his mind. Cranky will not think anything of it.' The elf seemed placated as well. The small frown on his face slowly returned to his accustomed grimace of mischief. 'Cranky shall leave Master Harry for now. Cranky will have to place some protections on Master Harry's new collection at some time - just to be safe!'

After a small pause, his grimace became even more pronounced, and Harry had the strange impression that something like defiance shone from his eyes, though his tone was again very respectful.

'By the by, Cranky has wondered if Master Harry has said his appropriate farewells yet to the noble ancestors of House Black. As far as he knows, there are only two portraits of Blacks in Hogwarts, and the other company may prove to be very dull.'

Cranky's eyes shone again with that foreboding grin that left Harry pondering. If his assessment of elf's character was not very far off, it seemed that he had just given him some kind of hint as a token of goodwill…

~BLHD~

Harry had decided not to ask Arcturus about the whole matter of elven magic. Somehow he did not feel like Cranky would appreciate this very much. For some inexplicable reason, the elf seemed to have revealed more than was necessary. Harry would have to be careful not to betray this trust. Yet he was intrigued, without a doubt. His interest had taken another fierce upturn when Cranky had come to him in a quiet moment and revealed that he had cast 'some protection' on Harry's books. He made it clear that he would consider it a failing in his duty if those books fell into the hands of someone not a Black. While Harry was pleased, he could not help his thoughts from straying again. Usually, he was highly sensitive to magic, much more so than even his grandfather knew. He would often wake at night when he felt a comfortable tingle in the air, which he had in time come to realise was Arcturus at work or study. By now he could differentiate subtle patterns or 'scents' in the air which identified the wielder - or even their family - granted he recognised it.

The night Cranky had allegedly cast his protections, however, Harry had felt nothing - absolutely nothing at all. He was paranoid enough to check if he had been dosed with Sleeping Draught or charmed in any way, but found no traces at all, even after extensive testing. He knew his trunk had not been moved, as he had spent at least three years stacking ward upon ward on his hoard. Arcturus knew how ferociously he guarded his treasures, so he had felt no reason to hold back. The wards had become increasingly more hostile over time; the current state of its protection made him feel quite safe indeed. As he had examined his own work, he had come to the conclusion that the wards were all intact, and - as far as he could tell - had not been disturbed at all. He also recognised his own style of weaving, so there was little doubt on the matter. To his utter amazement, however, all recently copied books that had been stored inside his shut trunk had been layered with several powerful wards and enchantments. Some to prevent removal by anyone not of Black descent, others to discourage copying and, lastly, there seemed to be something Harry failed to place, to his complete astonishment.

Harry did consider himself reasonably knowledgeable in matters of wards nowadays and had only resorted to pilfering the more dangerous parts of the library because all conventional texts on the matter had been exhausted. After hours of testing, though he did not dare directly disturb the weaving, he felt reasonably sure that all the books had been enchanted to vanish after a specific time or maybe under certain conditions. None of the enchantments seemed permanent, except the last, which only gave him more reasons to goggle at the books, feeling like a five-year-old all over again. All research he had done till now indicated that warding not only got more intricate with the number of layers of protection on an item (he was fully aware of that thanks to his trunk project) but especially if some sort of semi-permanency or actual permanency was involved through bare weaving. Chzem had originally focused on the aspect of permanency in the art of warding. Sadly, his ravings were so diffuse that Harry had not yet managed to absorb them. But it was made painfully clear to him that even a single layer of permanent wards or enchantments achieved through bare weaving would immediately qualify for a Master in charms and most Masters never even got there.

During his examination, he had felt Cranky's eyes on him but had managed to refrain from turning around. He knew this was another gesture and likely another test from the wily old creature, and he was bent on solving this himself. Once he was satisfied with his understanding - for the time being - he finally gave a solemn nod to the elf to let him know he accepted the challenge, though he himself was actually not sure what that might encompass. Cranky seemed satisfied enough and disapparated with only the slightest of smirks.

If he really cast the wards himself, I will be hard-pressed to solve this particular mystery in the next few years. Do all elves know that much magic? But Kreacher and Minnie seemed just as much in awe at his display in the library…

Harry had also made an effort to crack the hint about the portraits. He would have spent time with them in any case, so he did not consider this to be work. The stories some portraits were only too willing to divulge to an eager listener were a source of great blithesomeness for him. None of them seemed to be able to help him though, or maybe he asked the wrong questions. Of elven magic, charms or wards they knew nothing more than Harry was aware of. None of them had heard of a second Black at Hogwarts. Even Phineas Niggelus, whom he knew to pick up all manner of strange things at Hogwarts, could not really help in the matter at hand, though he was most eager to try. Sadly, most portraits outside of Hogwarts or the Ministry had some restrictions on their recollections in any case. Even though they were less than shadow and ghost in substance, they had enough personality to chat - true - but they could theorise as well about magic as Uncle Marius. Probably significantly worse, amended Harry, seeing as his Squib uncle (whom they usually didn't talk about) was at least familiar with some concepts of magic. He had had a look at the enchantments needed to create such portraits in an effort to understand Cranky's hint, but soon closed the relevant book, his face green. Who would go to such lengths…?

He was specifically affronted by his own lack of knowledge; he had grown up thinking Phineas was the only headmaster of Black descent ever to grace Hogwarts, after all. There were precious few portraits of Blacks outside their estates, and he was surprised there was one he did not know about. Harry was very proud of his knowledge about the family; not everyone could recreate his family tree at least 350 years in his head without a second thought, after all. Of course, he knew every portrait in their estates by name and history. The identity of this mysterious second Black tortured him to no end.

~BLHD~

All in all, he was completely stuck, and this grated on his nerves, as he was not used to losing in matters of intellect. He was pretty sure Arcturus could still trick him any day, but Harry had come to realise that, while Arcturus was a particularly powerful and knowledgeable wizard, his true genius lay in socialising. And while he might yet hope to eventually reach his magical heights, he did no longer hold to the illusion he would ever be as good with people as his grandfather. Unexpectedly, Arcturus seemed to have noticed how something was preoccupying Harry's mind, but he did not comment for many days. Their last lesson before he would leave for Hogwarts had been rather short. Harry knew that his grandfather had many things on his mind. Their relationship had become even closer in the last month, and Harry knew that, though both of them often complained how overprotective their relatives were, Arcturus was at least as worried as the rest of them combined. Harry would never mention this, of course. He knew how hard the loss of practically a whole generation of his family had hit the man and, for all his obvious show of integrating Harry as a Black, he knew a man could never forget his first grandchildren so easily. Thus he was not exactly surprised by the subject of their following discussion.

'Harry, I would like to establish certain rules for your stay at Hogwarts. I know you to be a young man of good judgement, but I would wish for you to heed my wishes in this matter.'

Guilt crept like heat through his guts, and he knew he would never be able to deny whatever request followed now. His face must have shown his discomfort, as Arcturus hastily returned a consoling smile.

'Not to worry, Harry. I did not mean this in reference to past deeds. My line of thinking was about your remarkable acts of determination you allow yourself to be wrapped up in now and then. I think you may find the contents of my restrictions bearable.'

Harry relaxed slightly, though he still felt quite hot and uncomfortable. 'What is it?'

'I would like you to treat your entire stay at Hogwarts as a matter of House Black for the time being. I am sure we understand one another.'

The young heir did indeed understand. In short, he would have to set personal struggles aside for the most part and act on the behalf of House Black. In extreme cases, he might be able to circumvent this rule, but he would have to be careful with his methods. It was a small thing, however; he had always anticipated this. What came next left him slightly perplexed by contrast.

'I would also like you to keep up your Occlumency while in the castle. Especially during lessons, in the Great Hall, and all your public dealings when you are not exclusively in the company of those you consider friends.'

Harry frowned slightly. Arcturus always put a great deal of thought behind every word he said. What many would not have gathered from his little speech was how this effectively meant that Harry would not drop his Occlumency for at least many months to come in the company of anyone but his cousin. Being a 'friend' to a noble House was no recognition easily given. It also meant that he suspected foul play or at least some form of trouble.

'I understand, Grandfather,' was his eventual answer. Arcturus nodded curtly.

'Also, though I feel you may not need much convincing in the matter, you should keep the topic or at least the origin of your wand to yourself. I have already informed the family of this decision. You may have to divulge some information eventually if you cannot shift attention from the subject, but I trust your judgement in this.'

Harry saw no problem with this request. The only person he had ever talked about his wand with sat opposite him. He nodded.

'Next, I would like you to keep an eye on the staff at Hogwarts. I do not wish for you to spy on them, merely observe them carefully. You need not report your observations, but I will stress the point that I do not have faith in some of the recent appointments. Or some of those that happened long ago, to be honest. In a good effort, it has been ensured that the educational standard of Hogwarts is now better than in recent centuries, so you will have no complaints there. I will not restrain myself from telling you, however, that the personal loyalty of several Professors stands in question.'

Harry wondered if he read the situation correctly. From his understanding, Arcturus had used what connections he had left to secure some dismissals in recent years. He was obviously not able to prevent other political factions from appointing their candidates. This was made worse by the fact that nowadays there were many political camps that tried to stay in the shadows. It was hard to prepare for antagonism if you were not only unsure who the enemy was, but also if there was an enemy to begin with. All in all, a pyrrhic victory at best.

'Lastly,' he added with a genuine smile, 'I shall leave the matter of revealing your magical abilities to your discretion. I think you may see the wisdom in not revealing how proficient you really are in matters of Charms. You will have to learn Transfiguration from the beginning with your classmates, same with Potions and Astronomy. I would also not advise you to flaunt most of what you know about Defence, or for that matter, the Dark Arts. But we have talked about this, and you have a free reign.'

After a second of consideration, he nodded. 'I understand, Grandfather. In fact, besides your advice regarding Occlumency, I would likely have taken a similar approach in any case.'

'I know, Harry.' Arcturus seemed to relax, and let Harry know that the official House Black business had been dealt with. Shortly thereafter, Cranky offered both of them refreshments. Arcturus ordered a specific elven wine, while Harry accepted a butterbeer, which he casually drank right from the bottle.

Arcturus good-naturedly lifted an eyebrow, causing Harry to chuckle.

'Sorry! Couldn't resist, seeing as I shall have to refrain from doing this in the foreseeable future.'

They shared small laughs, and the conversation soon turned to matters of little importance, but Harry always enjoyed the time he spent with his grandfather, especially if there was no business at hand. He was glad for the opportunity to relax without having to guard himself in any way, and he knew his grandfather felt the same way. Besides Harry, there was probably only the rest of the Black family with which he could share some rare moments of inconsequential bliss, as being vulnerable in the presence of political allies or friends of House Black, authentic or pretended made little difference in this matter, was unthinkable. And even the matter of whom to really consider family was not always completely clear…

Harry was absent-mindedly changing the colour of the label on his butterbeer with every tap of his wand when Arcturus finally brought up the matter of his research.

'You have been quite busy lately, Harry. I am pleased, of course, with your vigour in matters of study. What slightly concerns me is the lack of sleep you seem to have had for some time, not to mention your driven expression.'

Harry paused his wand play and thought about what to say for a second. Lies were not tolerated here.

'Yes, some matters were recently brought to my attention. They are more of a personal concern, though. What really drives me up the wall is my slow progress in the matter.'

Arcturus examined his expression for a moment before he spoke slowly in an attempt to hide his amusement. 'You are stuck, dear Grandson?'

'A temporary deceleration of progress would have been my preferred phrasing…' mumbled Harry, and he knew this was immature, but he could not help himself. Arcturus seemed highly entertained in any case.

'So I take it this is no matter of concern for the family?'

The question was light, but Harry knew what this was about. His grandfather was very lax in most things, especially considering their positions, but the bottom line was always to never undermine the family. There was no need for a reminder though, as Harry's priorities had been headed by the interests of House Black for quite some time now.

'No, it is more a personal challenge, I guess. As much as I enjoy the task, I guess I am not used to slow progress.'

'How could you be?' mused his grandfather. 'I do not think I remember you brooding over any problem, magical or otherwise, for very long before coming up with an acceptable solution. In this regard, I think it is high time you make your way to Hogwarts. That place brims with the unknowable. I think you will enjoy your stay there very much. As much as you repeat that you hate your slow progress, I know you to enjoy unravelling these things thoroughly. Also, you may find someone at school who may be fit to hold a candle to yourself, in certain areas at least.'

'We'll see,' Harry responded cockily, though he was definitely excited at the prospect of worthy competition. Seeing the restored mood of his grandson, Arcturus chuckled.

'Also, I think you should use your stay there to confront your issues with the fairer sex, Harry.'

Harry shot him a betrayed look, which only added to his grandfather's entertainment. It was clear who was on both of their minds.

~BLHD~

That night, Harry had slight problems falling asleep. His talk with his grandfather had indeed put his mind to rest - to some extent at least - but now he found himself very much impatiently awaiting his term at Hogwarts. For that reason, it may have been best that he was not awake when all three house elves silently entered his room in the middle of the night.

Cranky threw a calculating look towards Harry that, for all the apparent strangeness of this situation, revealed the deep conflict in the ancient creature. The other two stood near the door, their uneasiness palpable, exchanging nervous glances between Cranky and Harry. Cranky, however, seemed to finally have come to some kind of decision, as he, after some hesitation, purposefully strode towards Harry…

HD: Nefarious Black

Nefarious Black

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn had finally come. Harry jumped every second step on his way down to the informal dining room. His grandfather stood at the bottom of the staircase, chuckling at Harry's obvious eagerness.

'You know, Harry, your family would be very much set at ease if you allowed yourself to be seen like this by anyone but me. They keep telling me how they fear your obsession with books and studies may turn you into a studious house-elf. If only they knew of your feisty beginnings…'

Harry returned a smile but looked slightly sheepish nevertheless.

'Aw, come on, Grandfather. Don't mock me on this fine day. Especially since it was you who talked me into this.' Arcturus returned the smile and led his grandson to breakfast. Cranky seemed to have done his utmost to impress him upon his departure, in alarmingly unexpected ways.

'Is… is that Fugu, Cranky?' Harry eventually managed to stutter. Arcturus, meanwhile, seeing Harry's expression, was having trouble suppressing a laugh.

'It is indeed, Master Harry,' replied the smug elf with a note of self-satisfaction. Upon seeing Harry's apparent lack of comprehension, he explained a bit more. 'Cranky had Kreacher and Minny supply him with a specimen of adequate quality, which took them long enough. Cranky personally then prepared the meal for Master Harry's culinary pleasure, and because it seemed like a challenge, Cranky abstained from doing it the simple way and did not use one bit of magic.'

Harry was slightly wary, as he had heard that pufferfish was highly toxic, but he did not want to affront Cranky. Arcturus was even more hesitant, but both eventually braved the dish, finding its unusual taste and the slightest tingling sensation a welcome if strange experience.

'Harry, before I forget it: In contrast to our previous arrangements, we may not be able to celebrate winter solstice as privately as we are both accustomed to. Due to some circumstances, it will be unavoidable to hold a formal ball this year, and yes,' he added, seeing the look of annoyance on Harry's face, 'you have to attend as well, I fear. You may, of course, invite any new acquaintances you make at Hogwarts this term, and I know Cranky will be all too happy to accommodate them.'

The elf shone with alacrity and added with an evil grin, 'Cranky will be most pleased! Cranky may even enlarge Master Harry's bed if his new friends prove to be the female sort.'

Harry tried to ignore the jibe but failed to keep the embarrassment from his face.

'No worries, Harry. If you fail to bewitch any young ladies this year, I am all too sure your cousin will gladly take their place,' Arcturus added smartly.

'Oh, please! Will the two of you shut up! Why must you torture me so?'

~BLHD~

King's Cross was simply incredible. Harry only wished he could somehow improve it further by removing all the people - or gagging them all at the very least. People nearly jumped out of his way in an effort to distance themselves, and then there was the buzzing of only slightly veiled insults. He was used to the muttering of course, but it did not help his temper that parents kept pointing at him, obviously warning their offspring to stay away from the Blacks. Others threw occasional glances of envy towards him, though he highly suspected they, in fact, merely applied to his wardrobe. He had dressed in his favourite black and green robes and additionally wore a light velvet shawl. Truthfully, he had not paid any particular attention to his clothing today, but by the looks he received, he was sure other people thought him a braggart of some sort.

'Do not let it bother you, Harry. I am sure there will be people who are amendable in their way of thinking. If you have any problems whatsoever, do send me an owl, or simply call Cranky. He does not wish me to tell you this, but he was most worried. I do think you would please him very much should you decide to summon him once or twice in the castle. You would put my mind to rest as well, as I know the little tot will do his best to keep your problems at arm's length, or even the length of your new cutlass, possibly.'

Harry could not help but smile, trying his best to reassure his grandfather. 'Please do not worry, Grandfather! I promise I will make you proud.'

Arcturus took a long moment gazing into his eyes, and Harry realised that this man, for all his outward calm, would probably blast away half the castle if he thought him in trouble. His grandfather grabbed his shoulder and revealed a minuscule but honest smile.

'You always do, son.'

Harry had trouble mastering his emotions and was still visibly bleary-eyed when he finally settled for a compartment far in the back of the train. He instantly buried himself in one of his books and tried to persuade himself that there was nothing wrong with a fourteen-year-old showing some slightly embarrassing puffy eyes. Not too long after the train had started rolling, the door swung open and a girl with curly brown hair entered.

~BLHD~

Hermione Granger had been incredibly excited for over a year now. Since she had gotten her letter last year, she had dragged her parents all over Diagon Alley at least three dozen times. She had marvelled at the strangeness of the magical world and was extremely grateful to be able to prepare for school all year long. Her parents had been slightly disinclined towards this whole magic business, but in the end, Hermione's youthful enthusiasm had won them over.

Though she was indeed quite eager to learn as much as she could, she could not help but feel like she was leaving something behind once the train started running. She breathed deeply a few times and made her way along the compartments. She had heard the chatter of course; some kind of incredibly dangerous family called Black had placed their youngest scion on the train. It was said that an entire generation of their main family (whatever that was) had been sentenced to Azkaban, all of them for murder. She had also heard how one of them had died in a fight, trying to kill the Aurors that were sent to apprehend him, so she could not be entirely sure what to believe. It did sound pretty bad, anyway. How could they let someone like that loose on the train? If she was honest with herself, all the murmur had left her feeling quite unsafe and wary.

As she had no way of knowing whom to avoid, she glanced nervously into the compartments she passed but found most of them full of boisterous laughter, talk, or students much older than her. Finally, she found one that was completely empty except for a rather frail-looking boy in elegant robes of black and green who sat by the window and was deeply immersed in his reading.

'Hello, my name is Hermione. May I sit here?' she asked politely.

To her great surprise, the boy nearly jumped as she spoke, and - now that she had a better look - seemed rather red-eyed.

'Sure…'

That seemed to be everything he was willing to say, so she sat down at his side. Soon, she realised that he seemed keen on retreating even further into the depths of his seat with what she speculated to be embarrassment. She tried to ease the mood.

'What's that you're reading?' she asked with pronounced cheerfulness.

'Malagoch's s-second theorem on the permanency of charms in hazardous environments,' he eventually divulged, sounding highly reluctant. Apparently, this boy was rather shy. He was barely able to hold a coherent conversation with a girl, by the looks of it. She suppressed a giggle and a pang of guilt both, as curiosity easily won over any other emotions.

'I've never heard of that one before… It is not part of the first year curriculum, is it? I've read those, of course.'

Her voice had betrayed only sincere interest and perhaps a slight worry that she did not know of Malagoch. Maybe this caused the boy to look her in the eye for the first time, if only for the briefest of moments.

'It… is not p-part of the Hogwarts course of instruction. I think the basics will be covered in fourth or fifth year Charms, though.'

Panic reared its ugly head, sniffing the air. Had Hermione failed already?!

'Is… Is it expected of us to read that far ahead? I had initially thought I'd done an acceptable job preparing. But in hindsight, my efforts were pretty feeble, after all. Oh no. OH NO! What have I done, loitering away, watering the plants!' She had a hard time calming herself, aware how she flailed her hands around hysterically. Hermione knew she must look like a neurotic, but her entire stomach seemed to disintegrate with unwelcome feelings of insecurity.

The boy observed her silently - as if to decide whether or not she was taking the mickey. After a moment, he offered a tiny smile and muttered softly, 'I doubt that very much. A good deal of people do not even bother opening the books that are set for the term, never mind actually reading ahead.'

He did not say anything more, but she managed to calm herself after several more moments anyway. 'Oh! Uh, thanks! I guess I'm really nervous about this whole thing. I mean, I tried to prepare myself, of course, but there is so much I don't know.'

'You are Muggle-born, then?' She might not have heard him speak at all if she had not become somewhat used to his gentle and hushed voice by now. At least he seemed to have calmed down enough to stop stuttering. She really felt for the boy. He might have an even harder time than her once they were at Hogwarts and the hustle and bustle began.

'Yes, I have had a few opportunities to pose questions to Professor McGonagall, obviously, but this is only my second real conversation with someone from the magical world.' She smiled brightly and tried to ignore that the gesture seemed to put him further on guard. 'Do you think I will be at a great disadvantage? The professor seemed keen to assuage my worries. I would appreciate another opinion - if you don't mind?'

The boy seemed bashful at being asked so many questions, and she kind of had to resist the urge to press for more information. It was quite pitiful to see him squirm, but for now, she needed answers, and he seemed to know a lot (or, at least, reasonably more than she herself did) about the magical world.

It took a while. Finally, he answered, speaking as if every word had been chosen with great care. 'I doubt that. Hogwarts has gone to great lengths to ensure Muggle-borns are not placed in an uncomfortable position in recent years. Receiving the book list and letter of acceptance more than a year in advance, for example, is such a measure. You also seem quite keen to learn, so I would not worry overmuch. You may want to know, however, that there may be those who will hold your upbringing against you.'

Feeling worried and relieved at once, she hurriedly tried to keep the chat alive. 'You mean that I'm Muggle-born? I've heard about that, but is it really so bad?'

At her question, he looked somewhat conflicted. In the end, he closed his book and seemed to force himself to answer nonetheless.

'Once, magical Britain was more or less divided into about seventy families who ruled supreme.' Hermione looked startled at the small boy, who now sounded as if he was citing an essay from the top of his head. 'Family in those times was as much a clan as it was a political affiliation. There were Muggle-borns too, of course, but they were of little consequence to the existing governmental structures. In time, the influence of those families waned, however, and today only a few of them still hold any real semblance of power, while many are gone entirely. Thus, some of them frown upon what they consider a "dilution of magical blood", meaning bonds between old families and newer ones, Muggles or Muggle-borns; they fear for the continued existence of their bloodlines. While said old families regard themselves as keepers of time-honoured traditions, many others see them as frumpy conservatives who hate to let go of their influence. Grindelwald's campaign brought the old families nearly to their knees, as they were blamed for the rise of the most dangerous Dark Lord in a thousand years. So, in summary: you should be fine.' As an afterthought, he added glumly, 'In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were better off than others.'

Hermione had followed the small voice with rapt attention. His formal and educated way of speaking was unexpected, but she found it quite endearing. She had read about some of what he had said, of course, especially about Grindelwald. But somehow the whole story was never presented in the manner in which this coy boy had described it, even though he had been brief. He did not seem excessively partial to her either. She decided to put his story on the back of her mind. She had other questions, and she somehow doubted that this soft-spoken lad would have the spunk to refuse her.

'Is the Black family one of those old families you mentioned?' she asked excitedly.

'Yes.' That was all again. He seemed oddly reluctant, but she just needed to know all about it.

'I have heard some terrible rumours, you know? How a young scion of the Black family was on this very train, and how we should all keep away from him? He has supposedly learned evil magic starting from a young age. Apparently, the Blacks are all really horrible people. There are several of them in prison for murder and…'

Before she could continue, however, the compartment door was yanked open, and she was alarmed to realise how fast the frail boy had his wand in his hand. Or maybe he had had it in his sleeve all the time?

In the frame of the door stood a tall and elegantly dressed blond boy, behind him two mountains of fat and muscle. Their faces seemed friendly enough, though.

'Merlin, Harry! I've looked for you all over the place. Was it really necessary to hide in the very back of the train?'

The skinny boy, Harry she supposed, relaxed visibly and sunk back into his seat. To her amazement, his attitude seemed completely casual all of a sudden. Was he just terribly bad with girls?

'Hello, Draco. Yeah… I'm not exactly in the mood right now. How about we catch up in the hall?'

The other boy laughed loudly. That one certainly didn't seem to lack confidence. 'Yeah, sure, mate. Who is this, by the way? I don't think I know her.'

Her bashful companion looked slightly troubled but proceeded with introductions nevertheless. He seemed oddly familiar with those and managed without stuttering. 'Draco, this is Hermione…' He cleared his throat to pass the awkward moment. 'Well, Hermione, that would be Draco Malfoy.'

'Granger!' she added suddenly, blushing slightly at the realisation that she had not even told him her full name. As he had not even seen fit to introduce himself, she quickly dropped the guilt. She was surprised that neither boy made any attempt to introduce the gorillas, nor - for that matter - did those two look offended. The other boy seemed deep in thought, and his eyebrows shot upwards.

'But she's a…'

'Be nice, Draco.'

She could not follow their exchange, but the soft words the frail one had uttered managed to sway the other boy quite easily. Strange, given their characters . But then, he seemed quite different as long as she was not involved.

'Haha! Sorry, Harry. We'll see each other later, then. Oh! And have you heard all those rumours about the nefarious Black scion? Please don't butcher any students and bathe in their blood while I'm in a different compartment, promise?' He winked disgustingly at the skinny boy in her company and closed the door.

For a few moments, there was silence and silence only.

Then, the boy got up and, to Hermione's great discomfort, closed the shutters. Afterwards, he tapped the door with his wand. When she heard the door bolted shut, she was starting to panic again. He made his way towards her, and she raised her arms instinctively…

When she opened her eyes ten seconds later, she saw that he had just sat down again, maybe even more shrunken into the back of his seat than ever before.

'I… just wanted to avoid any further visits. Draco can, er, be a bit annoying, but he is comparably harmless.' He picked up his book and began to read again.

Hermione was dumbfounded, but eventually, she found her voice again. 'What? You're that incredibly dangerous lunatic they all go on about?' She could not keep the incredulity from her voice.

He, however, was completely deadpan. Much more so than before, actually, to her slight concern. 'Yes. Sorry to disappoint your fancy imagination.'

She gawked at him for nearly half a minute before she came to her senses, remembering what she had said before they had been interrupted. She cringed, her ears burning with shame. Remembering her own dilemma back then, she immediately pounced to apologise. 'Sorry. That was really immature of me. I can't believe those idiots start this kind of ridiculous rumour. And, of course, I'm actually daft enough to put my foot in…'

His eyes flickered towards her briefly before returning to his book. He let out a breath she assumed he must have been holding for quite some time. 'Doesn't matter. I am used to that phenomenon.'

Hermione felt awful about this whole affair and tried to push her selfish thoughts away. He did seem pretty interested in charms, and that at least was something she could relate to. 'Was that a charm you used on the door? I didn't recognise the movement of your wand from the spell books…'

Her voice trailed away very slowly. She had the distinct impression that he was deciding whether to answer or not. Not wanting to let it end like this, she crept a bit closer to him, and - to her amusement - he clammed up again.

'Co… Colloportus is a bit unsafe, as the, ehh, counter-charm is also found in the Standard Book of Spells Grade I. Therefore, I used something a bit more difficult to undo…'

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Quite amused, she wanted to see how far she could push him. She leant even closer in. 'You-can-find-it-in-the-sixth-grade-book-please-back-off-a-little! Merlin-I-am-no-good-with-this.'

She backed off and could not rein in her laughter. The alleged malicious master of Dark Arts, however, was busy looking away, a rather grumpy frown on his face.

'Sorry, Harry. But that's incredible! How come you're so far ahead…?'

Once she strayed from matters of his family, kept her distance and focused the topics of their talks on charms or magic in general, she found him thawing a bit. He was certainly knowledgeable in some areas. She had read further ahead than him in Potions and Astronomy; both subjects did not really seem to overly excite him. But she was quite surprised when he finally told her that, while his grandfather had taught him some magic, he had actually pushed himself this far ahead in charms, especially in its theory.

Their talks soon strayed from strictly lesson-related subjects, and while he still seemed very guarded to Hermione, Harry did at least seem more willing to participate in their chat. Soon she had told him much of her childhood, and he listened with obvious interest about her take of growing up in the Muggle-world. Several times, people tried to open the door, and twice, Hermione could very clearly hear someone trying the Alohomora charm before swearing loudly. One time, some person hammered on the door for at least three minutes. During this incident, Harry kept shooting the door worried glances, as if afraid of what might lurk beyond. Hermione too made no attempt to answer the knocks. She was sure any interruption in their innocent banter would disrupt their tender connection completely.

Not long before dusk, the topic of houses came up.

'I have read all about them, naturally,' Hermione opened the topic. 'I think Ravenclaw seems by far the best, though I would not mind Gryffindor, I guess. Slytherin seems to have a nasty reputation.'

Harry volunteered a minuscule smile and shook his head. Hermione immediately pounced on even this most demure sign of disagreement.

'You don't agree, Harry? Which house would you pick if you could?'

'Apologies, Hermione, I've had this discussion before. I think we shall have to disagree on this point, as I personally feel Ravenclaw would be the worst fit, for me at least.'

Hermione, completely surprised, immediately shot back, 'Seriously, Harry? You can't try to tell me that you're uninterested in learning or knowledge; even I have picked up on that in only a few hours. And please don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny your own.'

'It's not that!' He waved a hand dismissively. 'But the motivation behind it does not agree with me. I enjoy working on my charms because I do have some uses for them in mind. The concept of hoarding spell lore just for its own sake holds no real lure for me. Advancing the knowledge of wizardkind in general has never been and never will be my goal. And the same goes for you, I think.'

Hermione had not expected to turn on her, but the boy continued as if he did not need her permission to do so.

'You say you have picked up a few things about me, so let me return the favour. I think you are a, er, very bright young witch.' To her amusement, his cheeks coloured subtly, though he did not stop at merely complimenting her.

'But whenever you spoke of your upbringing, you had a definite hardness in your voice, even though you seem to be on good terms with your parents. So my guess would be that you had some problems in school. It isn't particularly difficult to imagine why. People often feel threatened by others they feel inferior to, and children can be brutally honest in their disdain. I do not wish to delve too deeply, but I think it entirely possible that a stand-off or passive isolation might have only further cemented your place outside of your peers, forcing you to devote yourself further to books and studies.'

He paused slightly and added in a softer tone, 'Not that I consider this a bad thing, mind you. I have more or less been living in the library for years. But now you venture into a previously unknown world and find yourself - again - committed to your studies. Would you not, therefore, have to agree with me that you have, at least in part, always put so much fervour into your studies because you wished to prove yourself right? To get a place for yourself that you feel like you deserved? Is this not ambition and resourcefulness? And - please don't slap me - would it be a stretch to say that self-interest or maybe rather self-preservation, the intent to protect yourself from others, was at least part of your upbringing? Those are predominant traits of House Slytherin, as you surely realise.'

Whatever she might have expected, this was not it. She felt angry with and betrayed by this flimsy boy in his expensive robes for exposing her like this. A furtive glance towards the door reassured her, however, that at least no one else had heard this. How had he been able to read her so easily anyway? Were all boys brought up by wizarding parents so scary?! There is no way someone should have been able to get such an accurate impression from only a few minutes of friendly chatter about one's childhood, right? And it actually seemed that he was holding back. Did he not state how he did not want to dig deeper? This is ridiculous .

To her utter astonishment, he grimaced sheepishly. 'It seems I need to apologise, Hermione. I seem to have taken on some bad habits of my grandfather's. He is much worse than me, but I remember clearly how uncomfortable that experience can be.'

'I'm in no hurry to make his acquaintance if that truly is the case, Harry.'

For the first time in hours, Harry gave an honest smile, even if it was small and short-lived. This little discovery calmed her down relatively quickly. She could not really be angry with him anyway, considering her initial ghastly behaviour.

'You may have a point, Harry,' she conceded grudgingly, 'but I really do like studying for what it is, not only for the proving myself aspect. I'd really rather not join Slytherin.'

Harry did not seem to pay her his full attention, however, but before she could become truly cross with him, an unfamiliar look of gleeful trickery that took her aback emerged on his face.

'Say, Hermione. You've asked me a dozen times this past hour what you could do to make me forgive you. How about this: If I get sorted into Slytherin, you will at least honestly consider the option and deeply reflect upon it for, let's say, fifteen minutes, how does that sound? If you make a sincere effort, we'll call it quits. Promise!'

She looked at him, full of doubt. This seemed a bit too easy for the awful things she had said. It was not like she even had to do anything, merely consider an option in case something happened.

'Harry, I don't even know how we are sorted, though you obviously know something. Is this really all right?'

His strangely roguish expression caused her a slight amount of anxiety, but he was just trying to bury the hatchet, right? There was no way this rather demure little boy, who had apparently buried himself in books for years, could belong anywhere but Ravenclaw, right?

'Yeah, it'll be fine, Hermione. If you stay true to our promise, so will I.'

He offered his hand, and - after a brief hesitation - she put that ridiculous notion of some greater plot out of her mind and accepted the handshake.

In hindsight, she should have paid attention to the fact that, for all his prior shyness and aversion to physical contact with her, Harry had been oddly composed and confident at that precise moment.

HD: Possessions and belonging

AN (sigh):

I've been besieged an astonishing amount of times already with questions regarding Harry's background or other things so far not explained in the story. Well - I intend to write this as an authentic novel with people as an audience in mind who know the Harry Potter saga. Therefore, I will intentionally leave information out at times as a way of keeping things interesting. Please don't hate me for this. I have a profound distaste for fictions that try to explain every bit of difference between their plot and the original. Just stick to the story; everything will be unveiled in due time either directly as part of the narration or by you coming to conclusions.

Thanks for all the interest so far!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of possessions and belonging

The rest of their journey seemed to pass in a blur, as both of them were in a good mood. Well, Hermione was, and she tried her very best to share this happy circumstance with Harry. She was glad that he seemed to be coming around. Harry, on the other hand, had his own reasons to play along. After they had heard the announcement of their imminent arrival, they made a grab for their trunks. Hermione could not entirely keep the smile from her lips when Harry positively bolted out of the room the moment she told him that she would like to change.

Leaving their luggage behind, they made their way off the train. Hermione noticed something strange about Harry's robes, and curiosity got the better of her again. 'Harry, what's that embroidery on the front of your robes?'

A strange look seemed to flit across his face, but only for the most fleeting of moments. 'That would be the crest of House Black, Hermione.'

His tone was still light, but she had taken note of how his eyes projected a strange sense of warning. She had learned firsthand that maybe she should keep quiet about these matters until she had gotten a better understanding of them.

'Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!' A giant of a man with a wild look grabbed their attention, and they followed the other fourteen-year-olds.

'All righ',' the colossus finally proclaimed when the big group of students had gathered and no one else seemed to be exiting the train. 'I'm Rubeus Hagrid, and among other things, I am Keeper of Keys and Grounds. Follow me, yer won't be takin' the carriages this time 'round.'

'Why not, sir?' It was truly impossible for Hermione to refrain from asking.

'Ah-course it's tradition, see? Firs' years always cross the lake. I don' think you'll regret it either.' The giant chuckled kindly as he entered a small boat. With each heave of his enormous chest, the small boat lifted and sank a foot.

'N' more than four to a boat. Hurry up, hurry up, or Professor McGonagall'll have my head again.'

Harry had been staying to the back of the crowd, and when he finally entered a boat, no one except Hermione seemed brave enough to follow suit.

'Honestly, it's like they expect you to do them in at any moment.' Hermione seemed deeply disgruntled that she had been no better and continued to mutter 'ridiculous' or 'completely barmy' under her breath for a while.

Harry let it go and enjoyed the smooth journey across the lake. 'Ooohh!' The delighted squeals of the girls echoed from one of the boats in the front. Soon they had their own first look at the ancient castle. The countless lights reflected in the water made it truly a wonderful sight. It was indeed so enchanting that Harry was willing to overlook the slightly embarrassing sounds from some of the girls.

The boats took them along the cliffs and into some kind of cave that had most definitely not been observable before. After they had landed on a small pier, Hagrid led them along a winding path by the side of the castle wall until they eventually stood before the huge and magnificent portal. The giant lifted his hand and knocked three times. His hammering sounded like cannons to Harry's ears.

The gate swung open, and a formidable looking older witch with a stern face and tight expression stood in the doorway. 'Just barely on time, Professor Hagrid.'

The giant shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall.'

'Obviously. I shall take them from here. Do proceed to the Great Hall.'

The giant seemed eager to leave, and Harry thought that maybe he should play nice with this particular witch. Her expression softened somewhat when her gaze fell upon the first years. 'Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall, and you stand on the threshold of the most ancient school of magic that stands till present day in the western world. Follow me, and I shall tell you what is expected of you.'

Most of them seemed eager to follow, but Harry still kept to the back. As he finally set foot over the threshold, however, he was instantly assaulted with a pandemonium of colours, sounds and the all-enveloping presence of magic. It was like hell had broken loose; his head felt like it might explode. He could not even see his own hands in the torrents of swirling magics all around him, and he had to shut his eyes to avoid becoming violently sick. It was too much to bear, and he only just managed to lean against the cold wall of stone in an effort to keep himself standing.

Hermione, who had been standing behind him, let out a loud squeal and rushed to his side. 'Oh my god, Harry, you're bleeding. What happened? Professor! PROFESSOR!'

Harry had just managed to hastily wipe away the trail of blood that gushed down from his nose with his dress handkerchief before the professor approached. It was good luck that he had selected a rather dark one that morning, so it wasn't visible just how much blood the small piece of silk had already absorbed. 'Thank you for your concern, but it is just a headache. I'm alright, Professor.'

The deputy headmistress looked at him incredulously, her lips rather thin. 'You certainly are not! I will escort you to the infirmary, and we shall do our best to restore you before we begin with the Sorting Ceremony, Mr…' She hesitated for a second. 'Mr Black.'

In the meantime, most others had caught on and were shamelessly gaping at Harry, who could hardly remain afoot.

He heard muttering, and someone exclaimed loudly, 'What? That frail-looking spoiled brat with the nosebleed is the feared scion of House Black? Seriously, what a wh…'

Whoever had said this did-oddly enough-not manage to finish his sentence. Harry thought he heard a thud, some rustling of clothes and a few screams of horror and outrage. He did, however, open his eyes just long enough to recognise the long, shiny blond hair and feminine stature of his cousin who, for some reason, was wiping her hand of blood as well.

'I'll escort him to the infirmary, Professor.' After a short pause, she added in a small voice, 'I appear to have injured my hand.'

~BLHD~

'I-I can walk on my own, Daphne, please.'

'Shut up, Harry! You're as white as a blanket, and how can you walk if you keep your eyes shut all the time? Seriously, what happened?'

'Just a bit of pain in the head, no need to make a fuss.'

'Shut your mouth, Black, or I'll write Arcturus about this.'

This did shut him up alright, and Daphne, taking her chance, pulled him even closer to her. He could feel her face right next to his, her arm around his waist supporting him, and could not help but grow increasingly hot and red.

'P-p-please, Daphne!' he pleaded whiningly. 'Don't embarrass me like this.'

He continued to feebly complain, for all the good it did him. Daphne dragged him, not too unkindly, through half the castle. He heard several other pairs of footsteps and assumed them to be faculty of some sort.

The infirmary was a wide and bright open chamber with a good dozen neat and - currently - empty beds. Daphne guided him to a bed at the very back. Only now did it hit him just how difficult it had been to keep standing, and he nearly collapsed before Daphne gently pulled him up and helped him lie down. The effort to stay awake seemed unbearable by this time. Even with his eyes shut, hundreds of streaks of light continued to dance around him, leaving him utterly exhausted and nauseous…

Soon an older-looking lady with prominent blue eyes bent over him and hastily tried to shoo Daphne away. 'Go to hell, lady, I won't leave!' As if to emphasise her intent, she fiercely grabbed Harry's left hand in both of hers.

He heard indignation and shouting but had difficulty concentrating on his surroundings, as he felt himself spinning down a very long slope of encroaching blackness.

~BLHD~

Coming to, there was an older, gentle female voice. 'He is alright. I don't know exactly what happened, but he seems to be getting better. For now, I have given him a Calming Draught, a potion against headache and some other things to stabilise him. He may partake in the Sorting after one last check-up, but I do insist that he spends the night here. I have yet to determine what brought on this fit.'

He heard a small reply that seemed pleased, and the matron continued.

'The other boy, well, I was able to sort him out fast enough. Someone seems to have broken his nose in a rather brutal fashion, but he can leave as well.'

Harry's senses came around, and he slowly opened his eyes. The swirling vortex of impressions was still there, yet it was somehow less overwhelming, hardly more than whispers and shadows in the background. He tried to sit up, and immediately, someone very gently came to his help. He looked around and grinned nervously at Daphne.

'Thanks. Have I missed anything?'

She looked at him, a mix of emotions clearly visible on her face. He thought he discerned worry, annoyance and relief among other things. 'No, Harry, you passed out for five minutes at most. Seriously, what's wrong with you? I know you're not exactly a beater in his prime, but I've never seen you have an attack like this.'

'Later!' he muttered evasively, very aware of how the matron and a professor with a prominent beaker, as well as the deputy headmistress, were watching him most carefully. His cousin seemed somewhat mollified that he did at least intend to fill her in and made no further comment. Harry glanced down and realised that she was still holding his hand, and-in shock-he tried to tear himself away. He was still somewhat weak, to his dismay, and she had no trouble holding on, smirking slightly.

'How are you feeling, Mr Black?' The concerned-looking matron peered into his eyes as if daring him to lie.

Harry decided to go with a bit of honesty. 'Exhausted,' he answered, stealthily continuing his efforts to free himself from Daphne's grasp. 'But better for now. May I please take my leave for the Sorting?'

She threw him a calculating look. He was sure it had been the right idea to go along with parts of the truth. She seemed reluctant enough to let him go anyway. 'You know, you can do an individual Sorting at any later point in time, young man.'

That was not acceptable for several reasons. He had been embarrassed enough, and there was also that other business . Thinking about his scheme, he could not help but let an honest smile shine through. 'Thank you, ma'am, but I would much rather be sorted with my fellow classmates.'

His smile seemed to go a long way in reassuring her, and she finally permitted him to leave. Daphne helped him stand up, and though he squirmed quite a bit and uttered feeble protests, she held on to his hand and accompanied him out of the infirmary. He was feeling too nervous and uncomfortable to notice the nasty look the other boy with blood all over the front of his robes shot at Daphne, though he did notice her return it with interest. Slightly puzzled, he looked at her. His cousin merely smiled serenely, wordlessly indicating the way to the Entrance Hall…

~BLHD~

As they arrived five minutes later, the whole mob of first years stood before a gigantic oaken door which he assumed led to the Great Hall. The mob was buzzing fiercely. It grew even more excited after a few students spotted Harry and Daphne, who were still hand in hand. Seconds later, Hermione fought her way towards them.

'Oh, Harry! How are you? You don't look so pale anymore. There have been some ridiculous rumours again. You probably don't even want to know… But what really happened?' In her eagerness, she had initially failed to notice Daphne, but soon her eyes travelled over his cousin's striking features and their joined hands. 'And who is this?'

Daphne only raised an eyebrow, but Harry could see the fire in her eyes and tried to avert the looming disaster.

'Daphne, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Daphne Greengrass.'

Daphne frowned, looking thoughtful, and Harry remembered with a sense of foreboding that this cousin of his could be quite sharp.

'I don't think I know of you or your name. Yet still, you seem oddly familiar with Harry, considering how he reacts to girls in general.'

Her eyebrows raised, Daphne's voice grew irritated and rather loud. 'I don't believe this. You spurn my own presence, but shut yourself in with someone you hardly know? That was you in the last compartment, wasn't it? Harry, give me one good reason…'

He could see they were approaching dangerous territory, and his instinct and experience in past dealings with his cousin told him he should hastily take the earliest possible exit from this conversation if he fancied any chance of heading off a possible tantrum of epic proportions. With a slight appreciation for the irony, he also remembered Arcturus' words about avoiding big dramas.

'Please calm down, Daphne! I-I was initially alone in that compartment. Hermione joined me by chance, and I only shut the door, uh, because Draco brought his cronies. I was not really in the mood for this whole Bringer-of-Evil thing.' He tried to reason with her, though it did, apparently, little good. He also tried to free himself from her grip one more time.

He might as well have tried to wrestle with the castle.

Daphne angrily poked him in the chest and snarled. 'A likely story.' She took a few deep breaths and drew him much, much closer to her. Harry was still feeling rather faint and did not manage to resist the pull. In a state of increasing discomfort, he realised how her face was now mere inches from his. His chest hurt. He was rather afraid he would need a Blood Replenisher when this was over. Daphne's blue eyes shone with equal measures of anger, neediness and amusement.

'Make it up to me, Black! Tomorrow you will sit every single one of your classes with me, and you will not try to flee when I approach you for a long and good talk between us for the sake of catching up. You will also have the privilege of spending your first Hogsmeade weekend with this beautiful young lady. Promise me now! Else, I will be forced to make your Hogwarts debut very embarrassing indeed, Harry.' She breathed these last words softly to him, and he felt a slight sense of anticipation creep down his spine. He looked around for help. She immediately interjected and gently threw one arm over his shoulder, drawing him in. 'No Cranky here this time, Harry dearest…' He gulped; her eyes now definitely also radiated a scarily burning determination.

'I-I-I promise. Please, Daphne. I beg of you, take a step back.'

His cousin smirked triumphantly and drew back. She even let go of his hand. 'Good choice, Harry. I need to find Tracey, so you're off the hook for tonight. Bye bye!'

Not minding half the first years watching her, she twirled around, blew him a kiss in an exaggerated fashion and winked playfully before she vanished into the crowd.

Harry leaned against the wall. It took him several moments to calm down. Trying to ease his breathing, he told himself that it would probably merely look like an outburst from a bystander's perspective, as Daphne had refrained from shouting out the more delicate parts of her threat. But with a new wave of shame, he remembered how Hermione had observed the whole spectacle and even listened in. Slowly, he turned his eyes towards her and felt rather betrayed when she looked at him in obvious amusement.

'Would she really have snogged you just to embarrass you in front of the whole school?'

Harry suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes. He was fighting with all his might against the rising embarrassment, which is why he did not answer. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall rescued him; demonstrating perfect timing, she reappeared down the corridor with the other boy, whose robes were now free of blood - mostly.

She stalked towards the door. 'We shall keep this short, as there have been enough delays for one evening. You will proceed along the aisle in a single line. I will call your name, and you will sit down on the stool right in front of me before I lower the Sorting Hat upon you. Follow me, and try to not shame us any more than necessary.' She shot a meaningful look towards the direction Harry presumed Daphne must be before she opened the big door and briskly began walking.

There were four long tables packed with students of varying age. For the houses, Harry guessed. At the back of the hall stood one slightly embellished table, and at its centre, surrounded by his teachers, sat the lone man responsible for the Dark Lord's downfall.

As soon as he entered, he felt a small tickling sensation in his head and immediately looked up. As all the teachers and students were looking their way, it was hard to make out who was looking directly at him. He forced himself to relax and immediately concentrated as hard as he could on the serenity of his mind. The attempt had been rather careful and even his passive efforts would have been good enough, but he did not wish to take any chances. The presence retreated immediately, yet the perpetrator remained elusive.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, lay the ancient looking Sorting Hat on the chair, and after a brief silence, the hat began to sing:

Of Hogwarts I shall tell you

- oh young and eager mind -

so listen well, and I will tell

what lodgings you may find.

…

At this point, Harry felt his attention waver already. As excited as he had been this morning, now he could not wait to finally be done with this. It only now dawned on him that he had never been this exposed to others in all his life. His upbringing had indeed been rather sheltered, and (except for some very rare excursions into Diagon Alley with his grandfather) he had only ever been with his family, on private property, that is. He had known the hostility would be bad, but it still was something else completely to bear the angry muttering and pointed looks all day long with no possibility of retreat. He was slightly ashamed that his first instinct was to turn tail and run. But that was still the preferable option, wasn't it? Going completely ballistic and cursing the lot of them would do him no good; such actions would only lead to further trouble down the road. He must not forget that his behaviour reflected on House Black as well, so there was truly only one option: to hold it in. If things really escalated, he would have to do something about specific individuals, but he would prefer it to never come to that.

He suddenly noticed that this was indeed the first time he had ever left the Black estates completely on his own. His grandfather had always insisted on tagging along. And who could fault him after that business with Regulus…

Thinking about this, Harry was suddenly kind of glad that at least Daphne would be at Hogwarts with him. She really knew how to rile him, and he felt completely helpless when faced with her usual methods, but there was at least no doubt that she meant well for him. Draco was alright, but due to his father, Harry could not entirely let his guard down around him. He wondered if anybody else would really consider befriending him in the coming years. Sure, Astoria would come to Hogwarts in two years, and the twins next year, but he was not entirely sure if the Lestranges would make things better. If they thought him bullied and wrote to Bella about it, she would probably come to school in the dead of night and kill the little shits who were accused. Yeah, that wouldn't reflect well on him. He felt he should really try to keep the rest of his family out of Azkaban, if at all possible. He would have to tough it out and play cool, and-if really necessary-possibly intimidate the annoying ones a bit. As long as they were boys, it should be no trouble. Merlin, this headache is getting worse again.

All of a sudden, someone nudged him in the ribs. In bewilderment, he turned around; Draco was sniggering, pointing towards the empty chair and an irritated-looking deputy headmistress. He spun around again and saw the entire hall looking at him. Oh damn!

He walked casually towards the chair and tried his best to act even-tempered, ignoring the hostile muttering his family name must have provoked. He folded himself onto the chair and felt the filthy run-down hat being set on his pate, tuning out the few words he could make out under the low hum that had engulfed the hall. Traitor seemed to be particularly popular. Evil and lunatic were close runners-up.

'Filthy and run-down, ey?' He heard a small chuckle in his head. 'I do agree, I have seen better days, but we shall wait and see how you compare once you've passed your first millennium, Black. But we have the Sorting at hand, so let's get to it.'

The voice paused for some time, to Harry's annoyance. He really wanted to sleep. 'Well, get on with it, will you.'

Some more sniggering told him the hat was quite amused. 'Alright. Well, you are no Gryffindor. But the rest seem to fit, don't they? A most extraordinary mind you have and fierce loyalty to boot, at least to some carefully selected people. But fair play is not really your thing, is it? So maybe we should rule out Hufflepuff for you. Ravenclaw or Slytherin… Hmmm. I feel like Rowena and Salazar would both tear me apart if I did not place you in their respective house… Dear me, this is difficult.'

Harry could not keep a rising sense of irritation out of his mind. So he did as he always did when he was annoyed. The strange colours and feelings that swept across his consciousness really did not help his temper. 'You do realise that I intend to trick a Muggle-born witch into Slytherin later, right? So how about you put me there, and be done with it! I do not wish to sound vain, but I can do better than sitting here for hours with a mouldy rug on my head.'

The hat gave another chuckle. 'Are you sure? By my fabric, you could do well in Ravenclaw! And in any case, I will only sort her where she belongs; I'll be sure to take a good, long look.'

This time, Harry returned a superior grin. 'Oh, you do that. In fact, I'm counting on you. Now get me into Slytherin, or I'll hex you yellow.'

'As you wish!' the hat replied amiably. 'This has been most droll. I do wish there were more people with your practical approach to sorting. But anyway, it shall be SLYTHERIN!'

To Harry's relief, the last words were shouted to the hall, and immediately the angry buzzing seemed to intensify. Supremely unconcerned, at least that was what he hoped he looked like, he put down the hat and strode towards the left side of the hall, sitting down at an empty place with his back to the wall. Several older students were looking at him curiously while the Sorting went on. To his astonishment, he realised that there were markedly less Slytherins than those of other houses. He had initially assumed that the hat might try to balance things out, but now that he thought about it, that was obviously impossible. Since your own will evidently played a big part in the process, the dominant power of opinion seemed to win out over implicit disposition and nature.

Without great interest, he watched Crabbe being sorted into Hufflepuff before he allowed his mind to wander again. He would have to do something about Slytherin. Normally, he really tried to be as open-minded as possible, but the current state of affairs was truly depressing. Most people nowadays did not even remember that Slytherin did have valid reasons to not allow Muggle-borns into Hogwarts in ages past. Kind of. Now things were different of course, but ironically, the only families who did know about these things were those proud to be sorted into Slytherin anyway. How had it come to this?

True, the old families had been shockingly short-sighted in some of their past dealings, but things were not much better on the other side either. He somehow got the distinct impression that some people thought being sorted into Gryffindor automatically meant you were the next hero in line, just waiting to shower the world in the goodness of your golden heart; whereas only psychotic nutters would voluntarily be sorted into the House of Snakes. How was he supposed to keep his temper with those idiots? If there was one thing that agitated him to no end (apart from his wilful cousin, maybe), then it was the foolishness and simplicity with which the public regarded matters of morality. Always, at any point in time, there only seemed to be heavenly good and dastardly evil. If you had some truly thoughtful specimen before you, he would maybe admit that there were also cowards who were too afraid to choose sides.

He needed to calm himself. He couldn't change these simpletons in one fell swoop nor was he entirely convinced that it was even possible, to begin with. It would have been so much easier to simply raze the whole thing to the ground and start anew. No wonder there was always some kind of Dark Lord every century or so. He truly wished muggle philosophy would be taught at Hogwarts; true, those non-magicals had some very strange things going on, but he rather admired how they had tried to decipher a world that was completely beyond them for thousands of years and did not seem ready to give up at any point in time.

Supremely annoyed, he supported his head with his left hand in an effort to ignore the swirling magenta that seemed to be poking at him, assaulting his sanity. In an effort to calm down, he began to play with his wand again.

He would have to do something about Slytherin first. Both about the idiots inside and those even bigger idiots in all the other houses. One step at a time. But how to best get started? He somehow felt like he had forgotten something, as he was sure he had thought about this before. He needed some kind of argument or instrument to truly shock the school and make them waver in their conviction. A grand showing, something better not directly connected to him, as he would always be looked upon with suspicion. He needed a catalyst to initialise change: a weapon .

Suddenly, he became aware that someone was glaring daggers at him. Mildly interested, he raised his head… only to find a certain Hermione Granger sitting opposite him, clearly fuming.

Harry grinned jovially, privately extremely glad that there was a table between them, as she seemed eager to bite his head off. This also had the benefit of enabling him to somewhat keep his cool. So he lifted his hand in a grand greeting and tried to give her a winning smile.

'Oh, hey, Hermione! Fancy meeting you here!'

The whole school was deadly silent. Everyone was still staring at Hermione and now him. Even the other Slytherins seemed much too surprised to even muster a look of disapproval.

HD: The 'Bloody Thursday of Murders'

The Bloody Thursday of Murders Part I and II

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione was continuously giving him nasty looks that promised divine retribution, but stayed silent (at least for the time being). While sound was slowly restored to the hall, Harry made a show of trying to look indifferent, holding back his rampaging desire to laugh.

'Well… as promised, Hermione, I forgive you.'

This, however, might have been a bit too much for Hermione, who violently jerked her head around, looking for something to throw at him. 'Oh for the love of… Shut up, Harry! I can't believe you did this. You'll get yours, I promise!'

Harry turned towards his neighbour, some fifth year whom he had not talked with all this time, but who had looked at their bickering with interest. 'See? Perfect Slytherin. Already she makes ambitious plans for revenge.'

Hermione looked murderous even though some older Slytherins, to Harry's relief, seemed to find the situation rather entertaining. Hermione, in contrast, did apparently not appreciate the ongoing titter; without warning, she promptly made as if to stand, making Harry rather worried she might jump over the table to slap him. But suddenly, a furious shout sliced through the hall:

'DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF SHIT!'

For the third time that evening, the hall was stunned to silence. Even Hermione, who had indeed been in the process of rising, looked around (nobody even noted her conduct). On the chair in the middle of the hall, all gazes concentrated on her, sat a fuming Daphne, ready to start breathing fire at a moment's notice.

A few seconds of incredulous and awe-struck silence muffled the hall completely. Finally, the hat proclaimed in an oddly small and restrained voice: '… Slytherin!'

Daphne flung the hat to the ground and stormed in Harry's direction. Professor McGonagall's lips were so thin Harry was already silently bemoaning his position, hoping to avoid at least one of those three towering tempers tonight.

Daphne thundered to his side and threw herself down without her usual amount of playful elegance. Eventually, she turned to Harry and spoke in a loud voice, completely disregarding the sea of silent onlookers.

'Can you believe that freaking rag of a hat tried to put me into Gryffindor?'

The whole Slytherin table erupted into mirthful screams of laughter and applause, some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joining in, too. Even Hermione sat down and could not help but show a hesitant smile, her earlier outburst all but forgotten. It took several minutes for the staff to calm them down to adequate levels of noise before the Sorting could continue. Harry listened to the amused banter at their table.

'Can't believe I almost faked my way out of this. Best start of the year feast, ever!'

'Hey, Selwyn! Did you see McGonagall's face? Or Professor Snape smirking at Dumbledore? I wish I had a Pensieve to brighten my morning with the memories of that mien every day.'

Harry reaped additional benefits from the continued palaver, as Daphne, for once, seemed out of words. And so the Sorting continued without any further incidents, leaving Harry quite cheerful. Well, at least as long as he successfully ignored the bright colours all around him. Once he accidentally paid them attention, they seemed even more eager to catch his notice. Just as Draco sat down next to Hermione, a long thread of purple seemed to flow into his nose.

'Brilliant, Greengrass! I think even the Lestranges would've been proud.'

'Well, what would you have done?' Daphne demanded hotly. 'The hat was all eager to dig as deep as he could and strangely set to cross me. Apparently, someone had played him or something. Can you even believe that?'

Harry had the sudden urge to inspect the tablecloth in greater detail. Hermione, however, saw her chance for retribution come early and free of charge. 'Oh, that would be because of Harry, I guess. He tricked me into concentrating hard on Slytherin during and before my Sorting and, from what the hat let slip, even gloated how he would be able to have his way with the process no matter what.'

Harry was getting slightly nervous, very much aware of Daphne sitting right next to him. 'Hermione? Did we not have a deal to call it quits?' he asked delicately.

'We did indeed, Harry,' she replied smugly, 'but our agreement only dealt with the subject of your forgiveness.'

Harry was about to protest when he felt Daphne's arm sneak around his side and nearly jumped.

'In that case, I think this seating arrangement suits us just fine, doesn't it, Harry?'

'How did you manage to trick the hat, Harry? Oh, this is so good! I can't wait to write the others about this.' Draco still looked as if his birthday had come early, so Harry recounted his train ride and how he had managed to rope Hermione into concentrating hard on Slytherin while being sorted. The young Muggle-born Slytherin looked slightly bugged out, but Draco was having the time of his life. Harry, meanwhile, did his best (and failed miserably) to ignore Daphne's hand that rested on his waist and played with his robe. Draco eventually commented loudly on his many pauses and the stuttering.

'Aw, come on, Harry. You've seen Greengrass dozens of times. How pathetic is it that you can't even talk straight, just because she's sitting next to you?'

Harry grimaced but did not elaborate any further.

Tracey, whom Harry had not noticed until that point as she sat several places down the table, sniggered loudly and gave Daphne a not overly covert thumbs-up.

Once the ceremony was over and the actual feast had begun, Professor Hooknose made his way to the Slytherin table and gave Daphne a stern and cold look.

'Miss Greengrass, I must tell you that your behaviour at Hogwarts reflects on your house and, to an extent, even me. I would therefore advise you to refrain from such public displays in the future. Do you understand me?'

Daphne looked annoyed, but replied quite respectfully nevertheless. 'Yes, Professor.'

The teacher gave a curt nod. 'Good. Now, Professor McGonagall has also been kind enough to inform me that you were responsible for the incapacitation of a newly selected student of House Gryffindor, prior to the Sorting. As inclined as I am to let that matter rest, Professor McGonagall's personal interest in the matter does leave me little choice.'

Daphne seemed to cave in a bit, and Harry was quite worried himself.

'Therefore: Two points from Slytherin. Do enjoy the feast.'

Daphne looked doubtfully towards a prefect who sat two seats to the right of Harry, and who had obviously been listening in. 'Hey, Fawley! Is that much?'

The prefect chuckled. 'For breaking someone's nose? No! McGonagall would probably have taken at least fifty and added a month of detentions for good measure. Ah - I wish I could've been there.'

Draco was shaking with laughter, banging his goblet on the table in the process. 'You broke some Gryffindor's nose, Greengrass? I want to know everything !'

~BLHD~

After they had satisfied themselves with the feast and the muttering across the hall grew steadily louder, Dumbledore stood up. The noise died down as if he had banished it from the room.

'My welcome, especially to our new additions! I trust you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting your house and enjoy your time at Hogwarts!' After a short pause he added, eyes twinkling, 'From now on, at least. I have a few notifications for you, and if you all would lend me your ears, I promise I shall try to be as short as any old doter can be. First years should be aware that the outer grounds, including the Forbidden Forest, are out of bounds. Our caretaker Mr Filch has also asked me to remind you that several items of new design have been added to the list of restricted goods. You may survey this list in Mr Filch's office-that is, should you feel interested in such matters.'

Raucous laughter broke out from some place down the Gryffindor table.

'As a last thing before I send you off to bed, we have two new appointments to the teaching staff this year. Firstly, as Professor Dillybles has decided to leave Hogwarts in search of further challenges after twenty years of dedication, I would like to introduce Professor Rose, who has kindly agreed to take over Defence against the Dark Arts as a temporary replacement until further notice.'

Dumbledore indicated a remarkably beautiful and fair woman of about twenty years on the end of the staff table-to the enthusiastic applause of the students. Tracey's remark, however, was clearly audible even over the ruckus.

'Seriously? Rose ? Pur-lease!'

Harry was keenly aware of Daphne's watchful look, so he only deigned to bring his hands together twice, earning him a slight nod of approval from his left and a few snickers from the front.

'Also, it is my great regret to tell you that after a life of devotion to the profession and some more years later, Professor Binns shall no longer teach the subject History of Magic. I am very much delighted, however, to announce that his post will be taken over by Professor Prewett.'

Loud screams of rapture answered this announcement from three tables, as a sturdy and prim old gentleman entered the Great Hall from behind the teacher's table.

'No way, Rendall Prewett? You've got to be joking!'

'I didn't even know he was back in Britain! Can't wait to tell my dad!'

Similar outcries of glee were heard from nearly all over the hall. Harry, however, glared at the man coldly. Hermione noticed that both he and Draco greeted this appointment with not much less than open hostility. Clearly, Draco was having a hard time resisting the urge to pull his wand. 'I can't believe that old git! Prewett? Merlin…'

Harry, to Hermione's great surprise, turned to Daphne, and Hermione was startled to see that the girl had tears in her eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Daphne. I really did not know,' Harry muttered.

Hermione watched them exchange a pained look before Daphne took Harry's hand and let her head fall on his shoulder. And, for once, Harry did not object, patting her back awkwardly instead.

They stayed like this for quite some time, long after Dumbledore had dismissed the students.

Tracey-who had promptly joined them-and Draco held their tongues, which struck Hermione as quite odd from her limited experience with the both of them.

Finally, Harry spoke in a soft but strained tone. 'Come on, Daphne. Tracey will get you to our common room, and then you can either have a talk or jump straight into bed.' When she did not react, he added in a hoarse whisper, 'Can you imagine Amy's expression if she saw you like this?'

That seemed to do the trick, and Daphne hesitantly raised her head. It was clear that she had been crying, but she made a valiant effort to look haughtily at Harry through red eyes. 'And who would ever tell her? Malfoy's terrified of her, and you always try to evade her schemes.' She sniffed slightly and added, 'But thanks, anyway. And you know what? I think I'll write her about how much time I spent with you today. And you not being able to run away, just to annoy her!'

Harry grimaced embarrassedly, flashing Tracey a subtle glance. Not long after this, both girls were gone, and Harry turned to Hermione. 'Sorry, but I think it would be better if you left those two alone for tonight. Maybe she'll tell you later.'

'Ahm-alright, Harry. I think I'll turn in too, though. Some of the teachers have been giving us pointed looks for minutes, in case you hadn't noticed.'

When it was only Draco and him, Harry sagged back and took a few deep breaths.

'You okay, mate?'

'Yeah, I'm fine, Draco. But watch over the girls for me, will you? The matron wants me to spend the night in the infirmary, and I don't need some bullshit about Hermione's or Tracey's blood tonight. Scare them off or hex them to bits, have it your way.'

Draco nodded, but inclined his head ever so slightly. 'Why bother with Granger though? I know you had your fun getting a Mudblood into Slytherin, but are you sure you want to play her babysitter for the next six or seven years?'

Harry felt himself weakening by the second. The colours seemed to steadily intensify again. It was also decidedly hard to listen to Draco's voice over the menacing humming all around him. 'No. She will have to fend for herself-eventually. But I think I'll allow her a somewhat fair start. She may be useful later on. She could probably also keep some of the more unfriendly crowd away from me.'

Draco nodded, sudden understanding glinting in his eyes. 'She's your bait.'

'Yeah well, I have enough to worry about without those fools jumping me in my own common room. She'll lure them in, and I will finish them off; Hermione can't complain. Anyway, you know my view on such matters. While I personally am not the biggest fan of Muggle-borns, I recognise that we need some of them to improve our situation.'

Draco nodded again and relaxed a bit. 'You're pretty pale, you know. Sure you're fine?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. See you tomorrow, Draco.'

'Sure. Get better, man! You look like a wet blanket.' Draco turned around and walked towards the exit, but Harry called after him one last time.

'Draco, please make sure no complete half-wit tries to have his way with my trunk tonight. I am not too eager to start my body count on the first night of school.'

'Haha, I'll consider my actions based on who is stupid enough to try it, then. Wouldn't mind a few Notts or Yaxleys less. Have a good night, Harry.'

Harry had, of course, not put any wards on his trunk that might actually kill someone, but he could be sure that Draco would spread the word.

Harry managed to drag his progressively unresponsive body to the infirmary, but he had to pause several times to close his eyes and take a breath. He really needed to get this solved; he was a sitting duck on a silver plate right now. Merlin-he felt like some kind of potion sniffer.

With a humongous effort, he crossed the threshold to the infirmary and tried to act casually. Madame Pomfrey, as he had suspected, was already waiting for him.

'Where have you been, Mr Black? I've waited for nearly an hour now!'

'Sorry, ma'am. Got lost.' It was a pathetic attempt, but he had other troubles right now. Keeping upright for starters.

'Well, sit down then. You look deathly pale, young man. Anything to say?'

' - Eh, blood pressure maybe, ma'am?' Merlin, this is embarrassing. Being unable to even make up some story is the worst of it.

'Very astute, young man. Now, if you are quite done impeding your own treatment, we may actually get you better. Change into that pair of pyjamas while I fetch something to get you some rest.'

She made her way through a door in the back and left Harry alone. He changed and positively fell on the bed. Harry thought he should really solve this issue during the next week, as he doubted he could keep his sanity otherwise. Grimacing, he felt like he was diving into a vortex of strange sounds, shades and other impressions. The maelstrom pulled him away from the lights of the infirmary, far, far away… onwards.

~BLHD~

He awoke early in the morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. The tormenting strands of light were hardly visible at the moment, and he was happy to leave it at that. Madam Pomfrey emerged like a fierce vulture spotting its prey.

'I found you half-conscious only a few minutes after I'd left! In the name of Asklepios, why do you refuse to tell me what's wrong with you?'

Harry shrugged. 'Sorry, ma'am. But I promise I will come to you should it get any worse. I do feel quite good at the moment. Much better than yesterday and certainly better than I had expected.'

Looks of confusion, incredulity and chagrin chased one another on her face, but she only shook her head. 'Mr Black, it is my duty to look after the well-being of our students, and I am more than willing to do so regardless of their wishes. If you do not cooperate with me, I'll be forced to keep you in the infirmary until further notice. Do you understand me?'

Harry deflated and tried his best to pacify her. He did have confidence in her skills, after all. The position of Hogwarts matron was only offered to accomplished masters of their craft. His problem, however, was a bit too personal to share with someone not of the family.

'I am sorry, ma'am, truly. I have great respect for your work, and I do not only say this to spite you. The next time it gets out of control, I should be able to tell you more… maybe.'

Madame Pomfrey looked disappointed, her voice sinking half an octave. 'If that is truly how you think you should handle this matter… The next time you bleed all over the castle, I will keep you here for a handful of days though, rest assured.'

Harry nodded. That was good enough. He would never have to tell her, even if he did bleed all over the place, after all.

'I warn you, Mr Black!' she huffed. 'If you refuse to come to me, I am going to employ the services of Miss Greengrass, as she seemed most anxious to have me look you over.'

That was a very low blow as far as Harry was concerned. He answered in a low voice of resignation, 'Yes, ma'am.'

The matron flashed a small smile and nodded. 'Good. Now off you go, breakfast is being served right now.'

Harry was surprisingly hungry and quickly made his way to the Great Hall. To his relief, he found a chipper Daphne talking animatedly to Tracey. He walked a bit further down the hall and seated himself next to Draco.

'Oh, hey, Harry. You look better.' He grinned and added, 'Almost like some kind of sheltered little prince.'

'Very funny, Draco. Any trouble yesterday?'

'Nah, all fine. The older crowd seemed right amused by Granger's sorting. The smarter ones also realised they would have a bit more room to breathe with her around.' He casually pointed his fork in a direction, and Harry followed his gaze to Theodore Nott and some older students Harry did not recognise, though he suspected one of them to be a Shafiq. 'You may want to be careful around those, though. I think Nott is after the prestige of besting you. He is the fourth son of their house, and he looks eager to rise above his station.'

Harry nodded and thanked Draco. He was his cousin, too, of course, but Harry held a few reservations about that part of the family. He was easy to talk to and always very eager to help him, but Harry knew him to be a slippery piece of work. He did not think it likely that Draco would sell him out or anything, yet it was perfectly within his character to have his own plot in place, which allowed him to somehow benefit from Harry's presence.

'I also heard some Gryffindor shits in the hallway talking about doing the public some good and offing some Darkers, but it was impossible to tell if they were serious. You may want to keep the long-winded, half-dead excursions through the castle down for the time being, mate.'

Harry shot him a look, but Draco only grinned. 'Aw, come on, Harry, don't be mad! Yesterday, you looked worse than at Greengrass junior's last birthday. Remember? The whole business with the pretend-marr…'

'Shut it! Hello, Hermione.'

Hermione looked curious and confused, while Draco grinned broadly. That freaking Malfoy had to have seen her coming…

'Good morning, you two. I've just been to the library. I can't wait to have a better look, you know. There were literally hundreds of rows. Sadly, some seemed off limits. Do you know what classes we have today? I can't wait to get started, this is going to be so exciting…'

Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry did not mind her lengthy descriptions of the library that followed or her speculations towards the curriculum. He himself felt rather inquisitive about these matters.

Hermione droned on, and all Harry had to do was nod a few times to have some peace. Absent-mindedly, he let his wand glide through his fingers, taking comfort from the familiar feeling of warmth that spread up his arm.

Half an hour later, Draco looked to be nearing his breaking point; Hermione had shifted towards him as the designated target of her rant, thanks to Harry's lack of responses. Luckily, Professor Hammernose chose that moment to hand out the timetables, and Harry could not help but groan.

'What kind of torture is this ?'

The little piece of parchment had a nasty surprise for them that day:

Thursday:

Charms: Slytherin - Gryffindor

Transfiguration: Slytherin - Gryffindor

History of Magic: Slytherin - Gryffindor

…

Draco was on the verge of open revolt. 'You've got to be kidding me! Do they actually want to reduce the number of students by Friday? This is the " Bloody Thursday of Murders ", I tell you.'

The professor turned around slowly and addressed Draco, a small smirk on his lips. 'Mr Malfoy, do your best to keep your rage at bay. If one of my students was found to be guilty of wallowing in the entrails of Gryffindors, I should be most displeased.'

Draco waited until their Head of House was out of sight and spoke in a low voice full of malice that didn't reach Hermione. 'Then we will have to do our best not to get caught.'

~BLHD~

After breakfast, Harry, Draco and Hermione made their way to the charms corridor. Unkind whispers buzzed around them like insects drawn to the light, making the Muggle-born witch rather jumpy. 'Some of them look rather determined, Harry. I-I think you should be careful.'

Harry returned a mischievous smile. 'What are you talking about, Hermione? You are one of us now!'

She groaned, but did not reply. When they arrived at the classroom, Harry realised with a feeling of discomfort that there were at least twice as many Gryffindors as Slytherins in their year, even though they were the strongest age group in Slytherin for many a year. Looking around, he spotted Daphne, who patted the seat beside her and smiled brightly at him. Remembering his promise to her, he made his way across the classroom, feeling like a prisoner on his way to the gallows.

'Smile, Harry, smile! I'll do my very best to keep you in fine company on this beautiful day.'

Harry just managed to suppress a sigh, but could not help hearing Tracey and Draco, who seemed to share a table, snigger, obviously set to enjoy a free show during the lesson. Rolling back his sleeve, he loosened the grip on his wand and made a show of pointing it in Draco's direction; the laughter stopped immediately.

Daphne had seen this obviously, and her expression grew concerned. 'Do you still keep your wand in your hand wherever you go, Harry? I thought it had gotten a bit better recently…'

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but kept his face clear of emotions. 'Yeah, well, it helps me calm down, you know.'

While Daphne did keep some measure of distance for now, the seating arrangement did not ease his mind at all. This, combined with the rather intimidating size of unfriendly glares, left him feeling slightly nervous.

'What could you possibly do with that wand anyway, Black? You try to make a big thing out of it, but I bet I could take you on anytime. I've had defence lessons, you know? Real instructions. Not the little family sessions you fucking Darkers need, because nobody wants to teach you loonies.'

Harry looked to his right and saw a freckled face full of disgust. The red hair was a hint, but he had seen this specific Weasley in Flourish & Blotts anyway. It was true that some of the prominent families nowadays received official courses at the leisure of the Ministry. He had heard rumours about how Aurors taught them, though it wasn't clear how much of that gossip was authentic. Only ten families or so directly qualified for this training in any case. The son of a Prewett, however, was likely included.

Before he had even considered his options, Daphne shot a furious and challenging look at her next would-be victim. 'Shut your trap, Spotty! I'm glad your pathetic excuse of a family could get you trained up, so we don't have to suffer your averageness, at least.'

But Weasley did not back off. Instead, he gave Daphne a nasty smirk. 'Speaking of pathetic, why are you sucking up to Black so much, "Greengrass"? Can't settle for one name or the other? It'll take more than getting laid to get back what you so obviously want, you know?'

Daphne looked ready to throttle him and jumped onto her seat, pointing her wand straight at Weasley's face. With a feeling of great regret, Harry realised that behind her livid facade, deep grief sprung from her eyes. Compassion for her situation rose to his mind, and he stood up as well, placing himself between Daphne and Weasley. The little ponce had said something he really shouldn't have…

'That is quite enough. Ten points from Slytherin, and ten points from Gryffindor. This classroom is no stage for impromptu duels!' Professor Flitwick, whom Harry knew of by reputation, had obviously heard more than bode well. He did not comment further, though, and strode towards the blackboard.

Weasley looked triumphant, as he had obviously hit close to home. He smoothly settled down with a nasty grin on his face. Daphne had trouble calming herself, but finally sat down, rather closer to Harry than strictly necessary, as if to spite the red-head's words.

Flitwick took out the register and professionally worked his way towards the end of it without giving anything away. After he had finished, he tapped his wand on the board twice, and the course aims for the next few terms turned up.

'This class will be quite busy without you jumping down each other's throats. I will not tolerate any hostilities, as we are on a very tight schedule. Needless to say, the magic you will be learning here may be of great use to you later, whether you wish to be an Auror, a Healer or take on any other high profile profession. Indeed, charms are the common ground from which many other magical arts can be derived. Many spells you may learn in your defence lessons, for example, are arguably charms. Enchanting and the Healing Arts also have deep roots within the theory of Charms, so you should pay great attention especially when learning the basics of the craft…'

Harry's thoughts drifted away. It wasn't that tiny Flitwick's little speech was uninteresting. In fact, he held deep esteem for the prowess of this wizard. Most unnervingly, however, it seemed the emotional turmoil he had suffered a few minutes ago had loosened his grip on the whole problem of maddening hallucinations. Currently, he was suffering from ethereal visions of a distinct glowing around most people in the room and strange sounds that floated in dozens of variants across the room. He was not easy to freak out in matters of magic, but having to hear nearly forty bodiless voices snarling and hissing in some strange tongue started to creep him out pretty badly. In a truly desperate attempt, he put every ounce of strength he had into his Occlumency. Incredibly and to his great relief, this seemed to dull his perception of these strange events a bit. And while they were still much stronger than when he had awoken, he could at least make out what was happening around the classroom again.

Daphne, to his immediate discomfort, seemed to have noticed that something was wrong and had leaned in, trying to have a look at his eyes. Whatever she had found there did not please her-at all. She painfully grabbed his arm and whispered to him, 'Harry, will you finally tell me what the hell is going on with you? I have only seen you like this once in all the time we have known each other. That one time, you know-the library business, after which you had to lie in bed for weeks. Frankly, you look terrible!'

In an even lower voice she added guiltily, 'And Malfoy told me how you nearly collapsed half a dozen times on your way to the infirmary last night. Merlin, I'm so sorry for not noticing, but will you please, please tell me what's going on?' She paused again, and added fiercely, 'I'll hit on you in front of the whole school at every meal until you tell me, you know?'

'Please don't! I really do not know myself, and stop looking like that, I swear it's the truth.' Harry made sure no one was listening and added in a small voice, 'If you really want to know, I'll tell you. But not in the common room! This has to stay between the both of us for now. No exceptions! We can have our talk in the old storeroom down by the infirmary if you so ardently insist. It's pretty far off the beaten track…'

'Of course I want to know, you stupid prat. Meet you there after dinner, and no excuses! I won't let you get away without telling me this time and you better beli-'

'What seems to be so urgent, Miss Greengrass, Mr Black? That was quite enough chit-chat for one lesson, or do you have any contribution to make towards the actual subject? I should also mention that your continued lack of attention has been noted; maybe you should make an effort lest I be inclined to take measures.' Little Professor Flitwick seemed quite annoyed by now. Harry had somehow completely forgotten-again-that he was not having a discussion on private property. It was embarrassingly clear that he was not used to being in the company of people he didn't know. Daphne had obviously not paid any attention as well, so he was unsure what exactly to say.

'He can't do it anyway, Professor. It seems a bit mean to let him squirm like this.'

'Thank you, Mr Nott, but I did not ask for your personal opinion on the matter either.'

Weasley seemed to revel in their trouble, and Harry took some vigour from that. 'Eh, sorry, Professor. As you probably realised, I have not paid your subject the attention it warranted and have therefore not taken notice of your concrete instructions. I am truly sorry, I meant no disrespect.'

The class laughed, and many Gryffindors were gleefully awaiting Professor Flitwick's boiling point. The small charms master, however, to their general surprise, offered a sincere smile.

'Well, at least you're earnest with your failings. For your personal information, we were discussing levitation charms as an example of applied theory, and while I had planned on making you work on them in private in a few weeks, I will allow you the chance to redeem yourself, and Miss Greengrass I suppose, if you perform the charm at an adequate level right now for the benefit of your classmates.'

Harry hesitated. He was unwilling to reveal too much, especially in front of a member of staff and dozens of Gryffindors. The charm was not very advanced, of course, yet it would take an average student at least some hours to master it completely.

Conflicted, he let his gaze wander and saw Daphne looking at him with a playful smirk on her lips. Under the table, she suddenly laid a hand on his thigh suggestively. Harry panicked instantly, flicking his wand with the spell on his mind, quite forgetting to even mutter the incantation.

After a lightning fast gush of turbulent magic, half the furniture in the class and several Gryffindors rose to the ceiling, to general outcries of disbelief and cursing. 'What the… let me down this instant, you bastard!' 'Did the pampered prince really just do that?' 'Holy hell! That looks dangerous!'

Daphne had a very smug look on her face and stuck out her tongue at him. Hermione looked torn between annoyed surprise and excitement. Professor Flitwick switched from annoyance over honest disbelief to supreme delight; he chuckled merrily before waving his wand to cancel the spell, levitating the Gryffindors gently back to the floor.

'Bravo! Oh, Bravo! No wonder you felt confident enough to ignore the instructions, Mr Black. That was such a good show. I would have been very satisfied had you managed to even levitate your quill, but I do appreciate this most pleasant surprise. Take thirty points to Slytherin!'

The small man looked ecstatic now and rewarded Harry with a very big smile. As an afterthought he added, though clearly good-naturedly and in high spirits, 'Please do keep your chatting down to an acceptable volume though, Mr Black.'

~BLHD~

'Way to show off, fucking half-blood pretender!' Someone bumped very heavily into Harry after the lesson had ended, and he turned around just in time to see Nott stalking away with one of the other first years.

'Cursed Notts. Seriously, they're a blight on Wizardkind. But don't you think you went a bit overboard, mate?' Draco had initially been laughing for minutes, but was now quite businesslike. 'I mean, it was a good show, but I don't think you should draw this kind of attention.'

'Yeah, you are probably right, Draco. I did, eh, not really mean for that to happen either.'

Meanwhile, Daphne walked by, innocently chatting with Tracey, yet he could still make out that she was in a very fine mood indeed. Draco raised a questioning eyebrow, but Hermione interrupted his pondering.

'How did you do that, Harry? You told me you read ahead on the theory of charms, but that was a very powerful application of the levitation spell, wasn't it? And I didn't even hear you say the incantation. On the train, I thought I simply didn't hear your low muttering, but this time I am certain you didn't even open your mouth! How is that even possible?'

Harry felt quite uneasy, being unmasked in his first class already.

'I, eh, truly think the whole thing was a mishap. But if you really want to know, as long as your concentration is good enough, and you have enough power to back it up, it does not matter what kind of targets you choose for charms, or how many for that matter. Casting without uttering the incantation is possible with any branch of magic. It just requires a good deal of discipline. And yeah, well, I did indeed tell you how I read ahead on the theory, but never did I state that I wouldn't be up to the task of making use of them practically. I thought your stay with Slytherins for a day now would have made you a bit more careful with matters of interpretation and indications, Miss Granger.'

Hermione looked grumpy, and she was not to be deterred like that. 'Like you can change the topic so easily. You make it sound like everyone could imitate what you just did, but I know enough of these things that I don't believe you one bit! Just how much do you know about charms? I want to know!'

'Some,' he answered vaguely, reminding himself of someone else who had used the same phrasing to him. 'I would rather not share.'

Hermione was seriously disgruntled by now and stepped into his sphere of privacy. She lifted an accusatory finger and tapped him on the chest. Harry immediately became very tense and could not keep a rising sense of panic out of his mind.

'No, Harry! You landed me in this mess. I won't allow you to back out so easily, that's just not right! Do you know how long it has been since a Muggle-born has been sorted into Slytherin? I checked: nearly 60 years, for your information. I have to live with all the hateful looks, from both Muggle-borns in other houses and the pure-bloods of Slytherin. You can't shoo me away like this!'

~BLHD~

She stepped further in and could see his confidence crumbling.

To her surprise, he roughly pushed her out of the way and ran down another corridor. She blinked and distinctly heard Draco snarl, 'Great! Now you've really done it, Granger. Good job.'

She frowned, but eventually followed the mob of first years down towards the transfiguration department, as she had no way of knowing where he had escaped to and the lecture was about to start in a few minutes.

Hermione entered the classroom deep in thought, just in time to see Draco whisper something into Greengrass' ear. Whatever it was that he said caused the annoyingly gorgeous witch to shoot her an icy look of palpable fury. Confused, she sat down and thought that maybe she was in trouble. It had not seemed like a big deal to her, but Draco did look visibly angry and Greengrass was on the verge of strangling her if her gaze was any indication. Suddenly noting the tabby cat that sat on the desk at the front, she let out a squeak of surprise as it transformed before her eyes into the stern witch that had led the sorting ceremony. Remembering the place Harry had seen fit to throw her into, her earlier doubts faded a bit as she definitely had a rough deal herself. And Harry had not even apologised in any form for his behaviour! That frail milksop really was getting a rise out of her at times. He would switch so regularly between insecurity and pomposity. She'd seen him strut towards the Sorting Hat with a look of ultimate arrogance, as if all the attention didn't faze him at all . Which was the real one? His gleeful expression after seeing his scheme play out was too realistic to be a mere act, but at times his smile looked strangely strained.

Putting the matter out of her mind for now, she concentrated on Professor McGonagall, who tried her best to impart on them just how dangerous transfiguration could be if it was used unwisely. To demonstrate the usefulness of her craft, she conjured a flock of giant tropical birds that were promptly transfigured into a few dozen matchboxes. Hermione could not help but feel elation at this marvel of spellcraft and was eager to put in hard work. With newly emerging annoyance, she remembered how easily Harry had-in the blink of an eye-performed a feat of magic she'd previously considered impossible. Her jaw set, she felt her determination rise to new heights and was eagerly awaiting her chance…

Half an hour later, she was very proud when Professor McGonagall assessed her work as 'Excellent' and awarded Hermione with a thin smile and five points. She seemed to be doing really well compared to the rest of the class too, though by the end of the lesson several more had managed to transfigure the match.

As she was picking up her bag and went to the door, she found it blocked by Greengrass and Tracey. The bubbly half-blood was strangely serious, while Greengrass still emanated cold rage. Looking around, she found the classroom deserted and felt slight apprehension tingling in her gut. Tracey shot her best friend an unreadable glance, went outside and muttered, 'I'll keep a lookout,' before shutting the door softly.

The expression on the other girl's face was really scaring her now. This might have been why she instinctively fumbled for her wand, but in the end, found another stuck to her nose before she could even remember where she'd put her own. She tried to keep her voice calm as she shifted her field of vision, but the classroom was truly empty.

'Where is Harry?' Hermione was aware how awfully subdued and croaky her own voice was. She knew that he would most likely be able to calm her down before something serious happened.

In response to her question, the wand in her face began to radiate a foul red light, and Hermione came to the conclusion that this was evidently not the thing to ask right now.

'Oh, now you remember? Did you even realise he's been missing for the entire lesson, you fucking bitch?'

The other girl spoke quietly, but her dangerous tone made it clear that she wished nothing more than to shout or possibly hex her to goo. Likely both. Hermione delicately licked her lips and asked in honest puzzlement.

'You mean he wasn't here? But he was outside the charms classroom just then…?'

'How freaking stupid can you be, you rancid tramp!? He ran away, you did this to him, and you don't even fucking realise it. If only you knew how I long to beat you to a bleeding pulp right now…'

Hermione, however, didn't have any trouble believing that at all. It didn't take a genius to see Greengrass was quickly losing her cool. 'Er-you mean just because I stepped a bit further in and tried to force the issue with him earlier?'

'If you do that again, I will gut you in your sleep, Granger! How you ever got to be in good standing with him is completely beyond me.'

Hermione paled.

'If you ever try to abuse his weakness to women in that way again, I swear I will mince your body to bits and feed them to the rats in the dungeon.'

The girl seemed beyond fury. Slowly it dawned on Hermione that Greengrass had just very convincingly threatened her life. Tears began to flow down her face, but she tried with all her might to keep a level head and beat the increasingly animalistic instincts taking a hold of her.

'W-What do you mean, I was in "his good standing"?' she breathed.

The other girl roared a cry of hot anger and kicked with all her might at Hermione's knee. A sickening crack! A tenth of a second later, pain erupted down her leg, the world started wobbling violently, and she fell on the floor. Now howling in earnest, she could hardly make out the other voice over her own sobs and screaming, as she held her leg, tossing on the floor.

'How many other girls have you seen him talking to, you pathetic cunt? It took Tracey two years to get him to tolerate her presence. Two years! If you can't behave, STAY - THE - FUCK - AWAY - FROM - HIM!' That last sentence was actually screamed even louder than her own ongoing cries of pain.

Greengrass stormed towards the door, yet stopped in her tracks and turned one last time.

'You should really fix your attitude, Granger. Otherwise, I don't think you'll ever make it home again. Asking too many questions is not always appreciated, especially not about private things like magic, family or the past.'

She opened the door. 'If you so much as breathe a word of this, there is going to be real trouble, Missie.'

Hermione continued to sob, but she did not even dare to stand up for fear of getting violently sick. And as the agony was slowly overwhelming her, she began to scream hysterically-panic of not being found crushing any coherent thought…

~BLHD~

Tracey was throwing her nervous glances every now and then as they made their way towards the dungeons. Merlin-I really lost it in there .

Suddenly, her best friend stood in front of her and pulled her into a deep embrace. Daphne could feel a bit of tension leave her body. 'You alright, Sweetie?' Tracey's golden eyes were full of concern, her voice thick with emotion.

Fuck, now even Tracey's worried.

'Yeah…' She hugged the other girl back. 'Yeah, I'm better now. I really saw red just then. Can't believe that useless sack of flesh didn't even realise he was gone.'

Tracey just continued to hold her tight and stroke her back. 'I was a bit worried there for a while, you know? Being complicit to murder is not exactly how I imagined spending my first day at school.'

The 'soft' scolding helped calm her anger a bit, but with a feeling of despair, she felt hot tears gush down her face. 'I can't believe she made him go through that again, Tracey…'

She couldn't hold back any longer and began to shed tears without restraint. 'You know how long it took to even get him to where he was. Galloping Gorgons, I hope he's not clamming up all over again…'

She could not bear the thought, but deep down she knew how fast things could turn bad with old wounds. This thought only further increased her own anxiety; she could hardly keep standing and howled in misery.

Tracey held her fast and continued to softly pet her back and hair, but she just could not calm herself, thinking back on how bad things truly used to be…

She continued to wail for an eternity, until Tracey gently guided her into an empty classroom and pushed her into a seat.

'I'll be back in a minute, Sweetie, I promise. It'll be all better.'

She had run outside the classroom, and Daphne heard some hastily muttered spells thrown towards the door. Suddenly feeling very exposed and lonely, Daphne could not help but hang her head in shame as she crept towards the back of the room and tried to calm herself, tears still flowing endlessly down her face. She didn't even care any more that she had completely lost it two days in a row. Forcing Harry to comfort her that one time was far beyond forgiving and no doubt the worst of it all. Immersing herself in doubt and disgust, she didn't pay any attention to her surroundings until Tracey kneeled in front of her and offered her something to drink.

Like a lost soul in the desert, she drank clumsily whatever it was Tracey held out for her. After she had finished downing the whole thing, she felt Tracey sit down, putting an arm around her. Daphne just surrendered to her helplessness and drowned herself in the silent company of Tracey.

It took a while, but eventually, she managed to hold in the tears. Looking apologetically at her best friend, Daphne whispered in a cracked voice, 'I'm such a disgrace, Tracey.'

Tracey, however, simply smiled at her warmly. 'Nah-you're not. Holding up for now?'

'Yes, thank you…' She sniffed, truthfully not knowing what else to say. These situations always were highly uncomfortable for her. 'What was that stuff you gave me right now?'

'Right now? Daphne, you've been in here for nearly an hour now. I gave you our family special: Calming Draught spiked with the best Firewhiskey there is. My mother says it takes quite a bit of skill to blend two potions or a potion and any other beverage, but I don't know what the fuss is. Chucking all the stuff into the cauldron wouldn't even tax my cooking skills.'

Daphne couldn't help herself and let out a subdued laugh. 'What should I do now? This is such a mess. If that Granger bod talks, I'm out of school tomorrow!'

'Let bimbos be bygones, Daphy. You should worry about Harry! He wasn't in the common room, and Draco said he hasn't seen him since charms. He's not been to lunch either. Do you have any idea where he may be hiding?'

Daphne gaped, experiencing a flush of shock and shame. Oh shit, he wouldn't be there, would he?

Fighting the newly arising panic, she pushed herself up. 'Oh no… Tracey, I have to go. Thanks! I mean it. I'll tell you later how it went…'

She ran towards the door but stopped short before turning towards her best friend who had a relieved expression and a grin on her face. 'You should be in History of Magic anyway, Tracey!'

She turned around the corner and could hear Tracey's faint snicker. She dashed along the corridor and down the stairs, jumping the last nine steps altogether and landing not very elegantly, but she couldn't have cared less right then. Left - right - right… Thank Merlin her gran had taken her to Hogwarts more often than she could count, so she did not run the danger of getting lost, at least. She tackled a few second years that stood in her way and didn't even bother looking back as someone grunted in pain and several others shouted after her in outrage. Fucking little shits! Keep your head out of your arse, and maybe you could have avoided this .

She ran and ran and ran until she finally arrived at the infirmary. Carefully peeking inside, she realised he wasn't there. Oh no, oh no, please not that! She tried to ease her breathing and slowly walked towards the lonely storeroom. She'd never been inside andonsidering her many exploits during the summers here, that meant something.

With anticipation, she slowly crept closer and-to her dread-found the door knob drenched with blood. Oh shit! Trying to rein in her raging fear, she opened the door…

As the place was completely dark, she remained standing by the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting. After her vision had improved a bit, she saw a trail of blood leading to the corner furthest in the back, where a huddled figure lay-quite still-with his head between his knees. She let out a scream of shock, but the person didn't react or move at all. Freezing emptiness seemed to creep into her head…

It took her a while to focus again on this one messed-up day. Thinking for a few seconds (and noticing tears welling in her eyes again), she turned around and sprinted back into the infirmary, only this time she didn't even try to avoid any racket.

As soon as she had taken twenty steps into the bright room, the matron emerged from her office and looked at her in alarm.

Daphne tried to force her voice into some sort of semblance of calm. And failed spectacularly. 'Get me a Blood Replenisher, a Calming Draught, a potion against headache, something to get someone to warm up, and a pain reliever!' she shouted at the old matron.

'Calm yourself, young lady. Sit down, and we shall talk. This is all completely nat…'

It was too much for Daphne. Not even bothering to try holding back her tears, she screamed in a maniacal fashion at the feather-brained women. 'IT'S NOT FOR ME, YOU SENILE OLD CRONE! Bring it all here, or I swear I'll make you!'

She drew her wand, and the matron gave her a look as if she was truly demented. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly for a few times, and her eyes widened in shock.

Daphne snapped. 'NOW!' she cried in exasperation over the shattering of two windows, as she truly lost control of her rampaging feelings.

The sound of breaking glass seemed to restore the brain of the old hag, and she took a small pouch, hastily adding at least a dozen potions, draughts and some other things. Daphne couldn't care less, as she paced up and down the room and impatiently watched Pomfrey rummaging through the cupboards. After a minute or so, she thrust the thing into her hand, but did not immediately release her hold on it.

'Administer these, heeding the order which I packed them in. If he doesn't wake up within half an hour after dispensation, mere potions will no longer suffice.'

Daphne nodded, and the matron let go.

She flew back to the storeroom, towards the crouched figure she knew to be Harry. She noted the blood that was still trickling down his nose and had completely drenched his robes. Risking a bit of light, she spotted-to her great shock-that there also seemed to be an older trail of blood under his eyes and ears. Sobbing spasmodically, she forced the entire contents of the small bag down his throat, all the while trying to keep her shaking hands from letting go of the different vials.

After she had finished, she gently wiped his face free of his blood and her tears. After a while, his complexion seemed to get a bit better, and the bleeding slowed down, but he still didn't wake until Daphne was nearly desperate enough to get help.

Finally, his eyelids twitched, and she could feel the small body in her arms come alive again. His eyes opened, and, for once, she saw the terror and fright completely undiluted etched on his face. When his emerald eyes found hers, he relaxed ever so slightly, but with what must've been an epic struggle, he still backed away a few paces. It hurt her to see him like this again, yet there was nothing she could do. So she sat down on her heels again and watched him breathing loudly, evidently fighting to master his fears.

She leaned back, as relief and anxiety fought a stormy battle within her. Daphne tried to keep her snivelling to herself, but her emotions were so raw after the last few hours that she wasn't even sure any more how to react to anything.

'Water…'

She gasped at how lean his voice sounded. 'Lobbo!' she commanded to the thin air. A crack, and not a second later the relatively young house elf stood at her side. She wasn't exactly allowed to call him here, but at the moment, that didn't matter. The elf looked at the both of them, his eyebrows raised in an expression of deep worry.

'Mistress called Lobbo?'

'Bring me a carafe of cool water and two glasses. No word to anyone of this!'

The elf snapped his fingers, and an elegant crystal jug with two equally pricey tumblers stood before her. Immediately, she filled one of them with water and slowly pushed it towards Harry. He picked it up and took a sip. She realised he was shaking pretty badly.

'A warm blanket, Lobbo!'

The elf snapped his fingers again, and a finely embroidered dream of cashmere landed over her. She folded it and held it at arm's length. Harry hesitantly took it, but crept back at once. With a flight of grief, she observed him smother himself completely in the piece of wool until only a bit of his face was visible.

'Something light but strengthening to eat and two sets of tableware, Lobbo!'

For the third time, the elf clicked his fingers, and a small assortment of snacks, warm soup, bread and fruit emerged in the middle of the room.

'Thank you, Lobbo. You are not to communicate with anyone about this, and you'll do your best to not arouse suspicion regarding this matter. If you are by strange happenstance busted, you'll tell Gran or my mother that I've forbidden you to speak of this matter, and that I'll personally speak to them about this. Do you understand?'

The eyes of the small creature grew very wide. 'Yes, Mistress!' was all he said before he left.

She began to fill a small bowl with the thin soup and put some peeled apple on a saucer. Once again, she carefully slid both 'dishes' along the floor towards Harry. After she had backed away and sat down again, he took hold of the bowl without any enthusiasm. Shifting her look, she saw his eyes now devoid of any outward emotion at all; they might as well have been dead. She shuddered slightly and felt deep remorse that this whole affair had come to pass, but forced herself to some small helpings of soup and bread, before ultimately leaning back in silence…

~BLHD~

It must have been a bit more than leaning back, for when she suddenly jerked her eyes open again, she realised that she had a familiar blanket wrapped around her. All too well-known dread rose inside of her, and she hastily looked around. Thankfully, she instantly spotted Harry, who still cowered down in the corner of the room, watching her, his emerald eyes glowing in the dark.

She relaxed immediately.

This is so messed up. What to even say in this situation?

'How late is it?' Oh, you're a fucking genius, Greengrass.

'About midnight, I think.'

'WHAT? You let me sleep for half the day in here?'

'You seemed very exhausted. And I needed some time to think.'

'Really! And that's everything, is it?'

'I slept for a few hours, as well.' His voice was still coarse, but at least she didn't have to witness the eerie, emotionless void again.

'How come nobody came looking for us?'

'They did.'

Daphne raised an eyebrow. It seemed best just to keep the conversation going and see where it led them. He, however, only indicated a place a few yards behind her. She turned her head with a sense of foreboding, but could only spot a small old knife lying next to a broken table on the ground. With a shiver, she ignited her wand slightly and nearly screamed when she saw the blade full of dark red stains.

'Holy crap! Harry, what happened?'

He only shook his head and indicated the same place again.

Thinking it best not to argue with him right now, she hesitantly crawled towards the knife. As she came closer, she noticed several small splatters of blood on the floor. Her eyes widened again, and she gave Harry a timid glance before she made her way around the table, not daring to think what she might find there.

Harry's voice trailed softly across the room. 'Be careful where you place your hands, Daphne.'

Drawing slight comfort from him calling her by name, she stopped in her tracks and brought her wand closer to the ground without moving from the spot. With a frown, she recognised that what she had thought to be random blotches of blood did kind of form patterns. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her; if she really, really leaned in, some of them reminded her of very strange images or symbols. Something began to bumble behind her eyes as she studied the blood on the floor. Suddenly, with a jolt of dread, she had the impression that something else was staring back…

She jerked her whole body around and stared in shock at the frail figure in the corner.

'Sweet Morgana! You drew a ward in your own blood, Harry?' Her voice was but the barest of whispers.

'Nothing else to write with in here. Also, I had not tried that particular ward before, and it is quite complex indeed. Sadly, I was very sure that it would be beyond my present abilities, especially in my current state of mind, so I had to resort to… less reputable means to bridge the gap.'

She shuddered, but just managed to not freak out. Her father had once told her a bit about such things. It was hard to remember specifics; that conversation was so far in the past. A happier and more innocent time…

Turning back towards the blood on the floor, she could not keep a sense of wonder out of her voice, while still feeling overwhelmingly repulsed. 'It works?' Daphne beheld the presence of a genius.

'Yes, but only for one or two more hours. It took me a second try, and it was much more taxing than I had anticipated, in any case. I fell unconscious for a few hours and did only wake an hour and some before you came around.' His voice was even and sounded, above all, tired.

She turned around and could not keep the sadness from her eyes. He looked back at her and, as she crept close, did not back off. 'What does it do?'

'Keeps us safe from prying eyes… for now.' he answered calmly.

'Where…?'

Harry seemed to know exactly what she meant, and he rolled up his left sleeve. As he turned over his hand, she saw a long and ugly cut from the root of his thumb to the crook of his arm. Moving as if in trance, she took his hand and slowly brought the repulsive stigma to her forehead, suppressing her sobs and tears.

Between her frantic attempts to force some air down her lungs, she asked in a feeble voice, 'Pomfrey can get rid of this, can't she?'

Harry only calmly shook his head. 'No, I don't think so. There is also the chance that she recognises it for what it is if she is a bit too inquisitive.'

Daphne let out an involuntary wail and pressed his arm against her harder than ever. He winced slightly, but didn't stop her.

After a while, she gently let his arm fall to her side and took his hand in both of hers. Harry, meanwhile, deliberately raised his right hand and, to her amazement, tenderly wiped the blood and grime from her brow. It was very rare for Harry to touch her of his own volition, and a bit of warmth spread throughout her limbs. For what felt like ages, she managed her first small smile.

'How are you?' Way to ask him after all the other stuff, dork.

'Better. But I doubt I can make my way down to the common room within the next few minutes. As I have learned through some rather painful experiences, it would be best if I did not overexert myself.'

She was just glad to have something to do, so she played with his hand a bit. After a while, she braved the question on her mind, albeit very cautiously. 'Does-does this have something to do with your… attacks?'

She was truly afraid he wouldn't tell her, but she somehow got the feeling his extreme exhaustion had left him a bit delirious and approachable. She felt slightly guilty about trying to wriggle it out of him while he was in this condition, but he had promised her. Twice. Regardless, she could not have foreseen this particular 'answer'.

'How is your Occlumency?'

'What? You picking up mind-pilfering now, or what? I warn you, Black, one step into my mind and you'll be very so-'

He waved his right hand, which now held his wand. To her great annoyance, she felt the immediate effect of a silencing charm on her.

'Please, Daphne. I'm not up to arguing right now…' Harry mumbled weakly.

He looked only half-awake. She studied his face and thought he looked so much more vulnerable than when she'd last seen him on Tori's birthday, not so many weeks ago.

She deflated and tightened her grip on his hand.

Harry calmly repeated his question. 'How is your Occlumency?'

And with another wave of his wand, she felt the charm on her lift.

'Not too bad, I hope. Mother told me there would be some no-goods at Hogwarts who could not keep to their own mind, so she hired a tutor. So yeah, I studied it a bit beyond the mandatory stuff.'

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. She got the impression that he was trying to wrap something in words or maybe the other way around. He was truly hard to read sometimes.

His soft and faint voice brought her back to the present. 'I experience magic.'

She stared at him, stupefied. Those three words did not make any sense to her in this sentence. True… every wizard or witch worth their wand could, to some extent, feel when powerful magic was invoked. It was the same, only much, much weaker, as when you touched an enchanted or cursed object. You somehow just felt it. This was as fundamental as magic got.

'What do you mean, you feel it? All magicals can feel it, Harry.'

'No. I see magic and listen to it.' He gesticulated wildly, obviously unsure how to explain himself. He opened his mouth, but shut it again before sheepishly adding, 'I can smell it, too.'

She could not help but snort a bit. 'Smell the magic? Harry, are you sure you're alright? Maybe some of those potions went bad…'

'I myself only completely understood this a few hours ago, Daphne. Please, I am serious here.'

His desperate tone caught her attention. Harry practically never begged. Well, not counting getting her to back off in some cases…

'I still don't understand, Harry. This is weird. Can't you give me an example or something?'

'Eh - yeah, sure. When I was home, I would always wake at night when Arcturus was working in his workshop or study. At the time, it was only colours or slight sounds or maybe a familiar feeling. That was is. Not any more, though…'

He looked like a puppy adrift at sea on a very small piece of wood. With termites.

'When I cast the Silencing Charm a minute ago, I didn't just feel the rush of magic. I saw something white and utterly transparent erupt from my wand and form a bubble of sorts with you at the centre. It had a high pitched sound like a chime, but it was not very loud. It smelled of gooseberries, too.' Seeing her look, he added, 'Please don't ask about that. I don't understand these comparisons any better than you do.'

'How can something be white and transparent? And, for that matter, how can you see something completely transparent, anyway?'

'I really don't know.'

She had a peek into his eyes and only saw complete helplessness. She did have trouble believing him, but there was no trace of that devilish expression that always shone from his eyes when he was up to no good. As much as this bewildered her, there was absolutely no way she could not trust him when he so obviously asked for aid.

'Wow, that's so weird, Harry.'

'You do not know the half of it…' He seemed truly resigned.

With an attempt to lighten the mood she asked, 'Why-what's the weirdest thing you've seen yet? Try me!'

'Wands talking,' was his deadpan answer.

'What? They talk? For that matter, are they alive?' This is unbelievable .

'Eh… I'm not sure, to be honest. I think so, but it is difficult to tell for sure, as I fail to understand their… language? But I can to some extent have a guess at their mood or something like that.'

'What? Really? What's your wand doing right now?'

'Purring, I think.'

'And mine?'

He looked uncomfortable and started squirming a bit. 'I think it wants you to hex me to bits for some reason. That wand has been strangely snarky with me all day.'

Daphne raised an eyebrow. 'We are talking about wands here, are we not, Harry?'

Harry visibly flinched. 'I think so. Please, Daphne! Not too long ago I only thought I heard bodiless voices no one else could hear, and now it's actually worse . I am hardly sure of anything at the moment!'

Daphne couldn't help but laugh. 'But this is incredible, Harry. Think how much this could help in all things spell-related! No wonder you are so proficient with wards, you can actually see them, can't you? I really wish I could see enchantments…'

To her surprise, he looked very grave all of a sudden. 'Do you have any idea how much magic is all around us at Hogwarts?' As if in memory, he suddenly lifted his free hand to cover both of his eyes.

It took her a while to understand, but when she did, she grasped his hand so tightly that he let out a small whimper of pain. 'Holy… ! Harry! Is that why you tried to shut your eyes before the Sorting?'

He only nodded and looked at her like some brat caught pranking. 'That was the first time I was assaulted with all the impressions. It was even harder to make any sense of it back then. It's gotten somewhat better now. Until I get really exhausted or…'

His voice faded away and it looked like he had said something he didn't initially mean to divulge. But now that she finally had him talking, there was no way she'd allow him to hold back.

'Spit it out, Black!' She gave him a fierce look and he relented, as she'd known he would.

'Or emotional upheavals, it seems,' he mumbled. 'Back in charms, I noticed how Occlumency helped me a bit just as I was having a small 'attack', as you call it.' His voice sounded apologetic, and she knew he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable about this. That did indeed go a way towards easing her guilt-but only a little. With a pang of shame, she remembered how often she had sought him out at school to make him squirm. In the course of one day, no less.

'I'm really sorry, Harry. It's just that I've really been very much looking forward to seeing you here. I know I've been going a bit overboard at times, and I realise this isn't easy for you, but you're always so much on guard around us at home. You should see Tory! She's giddy with anticipation right now, just because I wrote her a few lines about you; how you were unable to flee from me all the time at Hogwarts and how much time we get to spend together…'

This seemed really painful for him, but she was very glad that he was, at last, ready to talk about it for a bit. 'Sorry, I… I really hate this, but it's just not that simple, you know.' After a short pause, he added with a sigh, 'Well, I think it may become slightly more bearable concerning you, at least, but please don't push me with this; it will have become slightly less painful when Tory finally comes to Hogwarts, I hope.'

That, finally, was a hopeful sign, and so she managed to put her worries to rest. Apparently noting her relaxing a bit, Harry continued, 'That whole Granger business was, as a matter of fact, not as bad as it would have been in the past. I, eh, would likely just have shut myself away for a few hours or days. But now any panic attack automatically triggers a complete breakdown of my concentration, and the whole castle hammers away at my mind. This in turn only increases my state of panic and you know-that's how it got so bad.'

'Don't worry, Harry. Granger won't bother you like that again.' Seeing his look, she added, very much embarrassed that the memory of her losing it with the silly girl still looked pretty bad in hindsight. 'But please don't ask. I, uh, I may have overdone it a bit, but I think it'll be fine.'

Way to convince yourself, Daphne. Good job!

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, though he refrained from asking. Instead, he brought his hand to his temple and groaned lowly. 'Merlin, what was in those flasks anyway? I've been feeling like that one time Cranky indulged my curiosity about Firewhiskey.'

Ha - knew he wouldn't have been so loquacious normally. Maybe I should put a serious effort into potion, after all. They seem to be pretty useful…

Realising her giggling seemed to make him slightly wary, she smiled kindly and waved a hand in a vaguely dismissive fashion. 'Oh, I just hadn't heard that story yet. Yeah, those were some potions that, uh, were bestowed upon me by Madame Pomfrey.'

That may be stretching it a tiny bit again, Daphne.

Harry seemed equally unconvinced, so she gave in to him-and herself. 'Okay, fine! I screamed at the top of my lungs and threatened her at wandpoint. I may also have destroyed a few windows in the process. Happy now?'

He chuckled and shook his head. 'I'm really not sure which one of us is in deeper trouble after their first day of school.'

He tried to stand up, and she immediately pulled him up, still clutching his left hand. 'Let's go. I think it is past one now. This could get ugly if we get caught. Also, I cannot just leave the ward; others may make a connection with me or about my abilities, especially if I'm ever forced to use it again. But once I destroy it, whoever controls these wards around us will become aware of a general disturbance in their own defences.'

'What? Your ward also protected us from the headmaster?' It was hard to keep a slavish look of longing from her face. How good was this?

He simply nodded. 'Yes, I told you it keeps us from prying eyes. But please be realistic in your expectations, Daphne. I highly doubt I will be able to cast that ward through conventional means for some years to come.'

She smirked and nudged him playfully, 'Aw - come on, Black! Get a move on and put some work into your warding. This one seems useful. How difficult can such a teensy ward really be, anyway?'

He looked her straight in the eye. Though she knew he could spot the waggishness, he still shook his head. 'Difficult enough that Professor Flitwick would probably personally sign my NEWT papers in an instant, and take me on as his private apprentice if I could perform it for him in class through regular means, dearest cousin.'

She kept looking at him, aware how much she must be goggling, as he silently flicked his wand and the blots of blood on the floor first began to disperse and then suddenly caught fire.

'Let's go!' he muttered softly.

How can he have so little confidence with skills like his? This is so infuriating! Sometimes I really just wish to hex him good.

~BLHD~

Thankfully, they found their way back to the dungeons without any random encounters, and Harry was feeling the best he'd been yet since entering Hogwarts. That may be in part due to the potions that made him feel light-headed and thick as a troll, but he was fine with that. For now. He knew he would never have told Daphne so much otherwise. For some strange reason, he just couldn't bring himself to regret it.

She gave him a brief hug, and he fought hard against the urge to give a nervous twitch. He did not quite succeed, but it could've been worse. She didn't comment, at least.

'Thanks for everything, Daphne, really. I… I'm not good with this whole talking thing, but it wasn't so bad this time. Still, we should try to get some rest now, I think. We'll be in heaps of trouble tomorrow, anyway.'

His cousin gave him a warm smile and finally let go of his hand. 'Sure, Harry. I enjoyed our talk as well, though next time I wouldn't mind it being slightly less dramatic, without the casual displays of blood magic and sans any existential crisis involved, promise?'

She gave her usual wink, and he could only grin oafishly in return. 'Yeah, alright.'

'Ha, got you. Did you just agree to have another long personal talk with me? Why thank you for the offer, I think I shall take you up on it, dear Harry.' He could only return an incredulous look as this wily cousin of his made her way towards a staircase, the girl's dormitories presumably. But she turned around once more.

'Oh - and one Galleon on me that I'm in waaay more trouble than you. I mean, sure you tried, with your meagre attempts at forbidden magics and skipping out on pretty much all of your classes on your very first day, but I think I still win out, as you didn't even bodily threaten a single person the entire day. Better luck next time, Harry!' She blew him a kiss and left him standing there like a puppy in the rain.

It took him a while to finally wrap his mind around the absurdity of her words. Yeah - that was the famous Black family humour alright.

Slowly making his way towards the other staircase, he eventually found the dorms for the first years. Even his alarmingly lulled senses insisted on him being silent. He was very aware how the entire front of his robes was drenched in blood and would not have looked out of place at a particularly enthusiastic public butchering. One does have to be mindful of such things lest one be caught in compromising situations . Feeling quite smug about himself, Harry entered the dormitory - only to find the motionless and bloody form of Theodore Nott sprawled on the floor before his trunk.

…

…

…

I knew I should have raised Daphne's wager.

HD: Ploys at play or Of psychotic

Ploys at play or Of psychotic nutcases

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry stood stock-still for at least five minutes. Giving his Occlumency some leeway, it was hard not to panic as he realised that Nott had not a single strand of magic in his whole body. Harry looked around. His trunk glowed ominously, and the others in the room had their very own specific sets of colourful layers around them. Only Nott was completely bare of any personal magic. Swallowing hard, Harry directed his wand towards the other beds and felt several whirling cloches of pure magic leave the tip of his wand, smothering his roommates. He tried to ignore the content purring of his wand as he once more concentrated on his Occlumency and began to think as hard as he could.

Finally, he sighed.

'Cranky!'

As if he had been awaiting the order, the small elf apparated onto his bed before he had even finished calling his name. Cranky looked most eager and hastily surveyed the room to anticipate Harry's needs, eventually spotting the crumpled figure of Nott and raising an eyebrow.

'Cranky sees Master Harry has been busy. Should Cranky dispose of this?' He seemed completely serious, indicating the body of his classmate.

'Please don't joke about that, Cranky! This is serious.'

'Maybe Cranky should finish off the others for a clean sweep, then?'

Harry winced. He knew this was the old creature's way of playing with him, but it had been a very long day. This was completely beyond him.

'Cranky, I really need your help, please!'

The elf nodded and jumped from the bed. Then he slowly strode towards Harry's erstwhile dormmate without even a hint of worry in his demeanour. Harry relaxed a bit. He'd never seen the elf panic in any way, and never had he failed to get him out of trouble. This was certainly the most trouble he had ever been in, of course, but there was still hope… maybe. Slowly, he came to realise that Nott was really dead, and he comprehended what this could spell for him. Oh shit!

Harry tried to calm himself and sat down. With all his might, he focused on the calmness of his mind; right now, neither guilt, panic nor explosive impressions of stray magic would help him solve this disaster.

Cranky, meanwhile, bent over the small body with a thoughtful expression. Next, he inspected Harry's trunk, frowning suddenly. 'Master Harry has not changed the warding design of his trunk in the last hours, has he?'

Harry was perplexed by this question. It would take even him half a day to completely unravel all the wards that were interwoven on his trunk. 'No, of course not. I've had quite enough on my mind; this day has been absolutely horrible! Has someone messed with them?'

'Not exactly, Master Harry. But the trunk bears traces of compulsion magic, as does this boy. Cranky is sure that someone used Master Harry's trunk as a kind of death trap to get rid of that repulsive boy. Normally, Master Harry's wards would try to repel any wizard foolish enough to pry with strong suggestions and mild pain to the mind, yet this one was forced to try again and again and again.'

Harry was flabbergasted. Someone had used his protections to do their dirty work? He would have been impressed if he didn't feel the tightness around his chest worsening.

Cranky glanced into his eyes and probably saw that he wasn't in the best of conditions right now. 'Master Harry will have to act, and soon. The evidence is fading fast and will be gone within the hour.'

Harry nodded. It was difficult to settle on whoever could get him out of this. Students would not do, and house elves were hardly 'people' in the public's eyes. He knew whom not to trust, but it was difficult to state one person of staff he could show even a modicum of confidence. He sighed, but there really was no choice.

'Cranky, go to Professor, eh, Hammerconk. He's the potions master here. Wake him, and take him with you to the common room. If he refuses, drag him along anyway, but do not tell him anything except that there has been some kind of accident.'

The elf nodded and popped away. Harry would have to be fast as he could be sure Cranky was more than that. He had decided to play it safe and not lead the professor directly into the dorm. That way, he would have a few minutes to try to explain as much as he could.

As he flew down the stair, he could already hear muffled shouting.

'Unhand me at once, elf. I command you! How dare you do this? If this is some kind of joke, there will be the direst of consequences…'

As soon as Harry appeared on the landing, the Potions Master and Head of House swirled around frighteningly fast and pointed his wand at him, a fierce glow of silver already visible at the tip. The green shadows of the common room basked the professor's face in a dangerous light, and it was easy to see just how close this man was to letting his spell go.

'Mr Black!' he spat, not lowering his wand. 'You have three seconds before I send you to sleep on the cold floor for the rest of the night.' He sounded quite serious.

Three seconds were a bit less than what Harry had hoped for, so he blurted out the first thing on his mind.

'Nott is dead.'

That seemed to get the man's complete attention, at last. He didn't lower his wand, but his cold face grew even icier still in a plain attempt to suppress his emotions.

'Explain yourself!'

Harry did not see any way to ease the trouble he was in other than by sticking to a bit of truth, and so he carefully walked to a seat by the fire and closed his eyes in concentration before finally speaking some well-chosen words.

'I was out of bounds for the night. Once I returned not fifteen minutes ago, I found him lying before my trunk. As I am aware of the protective enchantments placed on them, I suspect someone may have forced him to try to overwhelm them by brute force. I would appreciate it if you yourself could have a look, Professor.'

The man had a calculating look in his eyes, but abruptly turned towards the dormitories in a matter of seconds. Harry shrunk back and tried to relax as best he could. The fire crackled merrily, but it all seemed so wrong. How can one day turn so bad? Sweet Morgana, I hope I don't have to endure seven years like this.

He had not closed his eyes for long when he heard the voice of his Head of House call him from the bottom of the stairs. 'Mr Black, you can rest later. I had a first look, but I have questions. Follow me, now!'

And so-barely half-awake-Harry trotted up the steps again. He heard the old elf following him and was glad for that. The professor indicated that he should take a seat on his bed, and so he did, quite thankful for the opportunity to relieve his legs.

'It wasn't me! I swear, Professor!' he muttered piteously.

'Keep your wits about you. I know for a fact that it wasn't you who did this. I have evaluated the circumstances, and your suspicions seem to be correct. The situation will nevertheless spiral out of control if we do not take certain measures at once and before I inform the Headmaster. You will do as I say and ask no questions, are we clear?'

Harry nodded. It seemed that the professor was keen to sweep this under the carpet-to the extent his authority allowed him, at least.

'Good. You will now clear your trunk of all contraband or family items and leave only completely inconspicuous items of necessity therein.' He shot Harry a look and added dangerously, 'At once!'

Harry strode towards his trunk and opened it.

'Cranky, take any items of family background to the estate for now. Hide them wherever. You may leave all items of purely aesthetic or practical value that is strictly related to school business.' The old elf nodded and clicked his fingers.

His Head of House seemed agreeable as well and turned towards Harry.

'What happened to your robes?'

Harry started with shock, but tried to answer as well as he could.

'This is my own blood. Madame Pomfrey is aware of the problem. This is part of the reason why I was out at night.' He inspected his sentences and nodded confidently. He could always just lie to the man, but that seemed so clumsy. It seems that I've picked up more from my grandfather than I had initially thought…

The Potions Master flicked his wand and muttered something. Harry's robes began to glow, and shortly thereafter, the man nodded.

'It seems your story is good enough for now, or at least, it is indeed your own blood. Change out of it right now, and have the house-elf destroy it! Even in a cleaned state, it will implicate you of using magic outside of the dormitories, as I doubt your stroll was entirely innocent.'

Harry could not help but look at the man completely dumbfounded, receiving a sneer in return.

'Please, Black. Do you take me for an imbecile? I do accept your story only because it would be much too foolish to play two plots on the same night. You may not be aware, but I know whenever the entrance to the common room opens after hours. Now get on with it!'

Harry turned and changed into another set of robes. With a jolt, he remembered his attempts at magic that night and was thereafter very careful to not show his left arm.

'Cranky, please dispose of this set of robes, and bring me another one the morning after the next.'

The elf nodded again and snapped his fingers.

'Good, now send your elf away and follow me to my office. You will stay there no matter what other members of staff will tell you to do. Not even the headmaster has the authority to overrule me in matters of security for my students. Are we clear?'

'Yes, sir. Thanks, Cranky!'

The old elf bowed, giving Harry a long look of worry. 'Cranky lives to serve the House of Black.' Not a second and one last pop later, the wily creature was gone.

'By the way, are those your charms on Mr Malfoy and company?'

'Eh, yes, sir.'

The man only raised an eyebrow, but did not ask any further questions. 'Good, they will be useful. Keep them in place, but clear your wand by casting at least thirty attempts of spells you should have learned in class this day or used on the train in the correct order of events. Begin once you are in my office.'

The man gestured for Harry to step out of the room and started a strange sweeping motion with his wand that Harry couldn't quite place. He did feel a destructive whirlwind of magic, but as he didn't allow his Occlumency to break down even an iota from his maximum capacity, it was impossible to place the blurred impressions that sprang from the man's wand. It was like static.

Afterwards, he pointed towards the door of the common room, and Harry started walking. He heard the soft muttering of identification spells and other potion related craft behind him and knew the man must be attempting to clear himself of the last spell he had done. Shortly before they arrived at the Potion Master's private office, he was stopped, and a hand on his shoulder turned him around.

'One last thing, Mr Black. If you ever call me "Professor Hammerconk" or teach your servants to do the same once more, you will be very sorry indeed.'

Harry's eyes grew wide, and he tried to keep calm. Oh damn, another one I will have to play nice with.

'Sorry, Professor, I apologise. We have not been introduced yet, as I was in the infirmary last evening…'

'I realise that, and you should be very grateful for it. I am Professor Snape, Black, and I'm very much looking forward to your stay at our school. It promises to be quite eventful, granted you survive the coming years, of course. Now, into the office and not a word to anyone. If McGonagall or the Headmaster ask you what you were doing here, tell them you had detention for skipping classes. No - other - word out of your mouth, understood? If we're lucky, we may even avoid you being questioned by the Aurors.'

~BLHD~

Harry had never been so exhausted in his entire life. The time of unconsciousness in the store room had brought no real comfort; he had almost died from exhaustion at the time, though he had been careful to play it down with Daphne. Damn, my arm still hurts like it's aflame.

As he sat, eyes drooping, in the chair by the fire, casting some random barricading and levitation c harms, he tried to think about the events that had happened in the last two days. It all had happened so fast, too much information in too short an amount of time. Others may have thought this an advantage, but usually, it was much easier to differentiate worthwhile from inconsequential information if your days were rather uneventful. But too much had happened during the last thirty hours. That he'd only been paying attention during some of those parts due to his efforts to not pass out all the time didn't help. If any hint that would be necessary to solve this mess had been given to him while he had been otherwise preoccupied with the struggle for his sanity, he was truly lost. Daphne would try to help him, he was sure, but his close relations with her would be known to anyone, and he would be quite offended if he'd been tricked by a puppet master stupid enough to let something slip in her company. He should not cast the possibility completely out of his mind, but it would still be wise to consider other things first.

Hermione… was out of the picture for now. He knew he would not be able to casually approach her for a while, and Daphne would not allow it, in any case. There was also the small matter of Daphne's 'persuasion'. He knew how protective that cousin of his was, and she wasn't even the worst of the lot in that regard, only the boldest. While she may scream and not shirk from public displays of violence, Amy would probably have taken a rusty knife, crept into Hermione's room in the middle of the night and scared her into complete submission with a sincere and persuasive display of mild torture…

Yeah, he was very glad that no Lestranges were involved for the moment, as Hermione would be useful later. It was true that she was a tool to lure the more stupid Slytherins into a trap, but that wasn't everything by a long shot. He really did intend to make things better around here-or at least more to his liking, he mused. Now she would have to fight her own battles. Maybe Tracey would take her under her wing a bit. She was much too kind for her own good, but if Daphne caught wind of that and objected, there was little doubt where her priorities would lie. The matter of imminent danger to him in the common room seemed to have solved itself on its own; while there was little doubt in the matter that he had a very fervid enemy at large who would probably have succeeded in blaming Harry for Nott's murder had he not been out of the dormitory at the time, the more stupid little worms would give him a little space now. Whatever the investigations yielded, others would not overlook his involvement in the matter, and fear was something he could live with. It was better than open hostility, at least…

~BLHD~

He must have finally fallen asleep at some point, as he was roughly jerked awake by a harassed-looking Professor Snape. 'Get up, Black! No rest for the wicked.'

Harry rubbed his eyes and tried to smooth his robes. 'How did it go, Professor?'

'It could've been worse. Your name came up, but I was able to give plausible evidence that you were with me at the time of the incident. For the time being, you have avoided the attention of Madame Bones, though I do not deny that she seemed most eager to get you roped into this. It somehow seemed an affront to her office that a Black was freely walking around.'

Harry nodded. The old man had always warned him about her, how gladly she would take any chance at all to destroy the last vestiges of the Blacks.

'Make yourself presentable, so as to not embarrass your house and proceed to the Great Hall. Breakfast is served as we speak, and you will partake in all lessons today! Am I understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now get the hell out of here. I should warn you, though, that word has gotten out that it was your trunk that was involved in the, ah, regretful episode of last night.'

Harry could not help but feel a moderate amount of trepidation.

'I understand, sir. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.'

Suddenly, the professor had jumped across half the room and violently grabbed his left arm.

Harry winced, trying hard to ignore the sharp pain.

'Listen very carefully, Mr Black! I am no man's servant. I did what I did because I refuse to be pawn to any political ploy, do you understand me? If ever you are foolish enough to try and involve me in any plot of yours, I will do my utmost to return the favour. And you may find my problems a bit more severe than the childish games you little fools are so keen on playing!'

Professor Snape threw him backwards, and Harry stumbled, but just managed to keep standing.

'I understand, sir. I apologise if my careless words have offended.'

'Get going then!' The man turned around and marched towards his desk.

Not keen on his company for the moment, Harry hastily made his way towards the hall.

Merlin, did he have to grab my arm like that? If being implicated in murder is child's play to him, then I can indeed do without partaking in his 'problems'…

~BLHD~

Harry paused before entering the Great Hall and forced his countenance as hard as he could into a blank expression. He must not let up; he must not relent for one second. Weakness would not help him here. It might also be prudent to distance himself a bit from other people for a while to limit the damage to their reputation and family; depending on how the whole situation turned out, the political fallout could be immense. With a sense of foreboding, he imagined Daphne's reaction to his decision, but there really was no choice in the matter. It really was much smarter this way, surely she would see the logic of this…

Carefully arranging his face into an expression of supreme indifference, he opened the door and strode towards the Slytherin table.

The hall was eerily silent, and the students sat in groups, fiercely whispering about the latest news, no doubt. The headmaster and most of the staff were absent, but Harry spotted some Aurors discreetly standing in the corners in their stead. As soon as he had entered, all the eyes in the hall had turned towards him, and the angry muttering rose to alarming levels. It was especially bad when he passed the Gryffindor table.

'Can't believe how smug he looks. I guess I don't really mind the Darkers finishing each other off, but look how he doesn't even care that he murdered another student on his first day of school. Freaking psychopath, that one is…'

'How come he's not suspended, or in front of the Wizengamot, for that matter? Everyone heard how Nott challenged him; it was obviously revenge!'

'Have you seen him wearing the crest of his filthy house while he struts about? Can't believe he is actually proud of those lunatics…'

'Well, look at the crowd around him, man. Nutters the whole lot of them. Can't believe we have to suffer so many Slytherins this year.'

'Calm down, little bro. There is always hope. It's one slimy snake less already.'

'Yeah, but how come Davis, Granger and Greengrass even talk to him? I mean Malfoy is a little piece of pompous shit, but some of the girls look rather nice, if you ask me…'

'Ha - come off it! Would you really do a Slytherin? Groooosss!'

Harry tried his best to not let his irritation show. He knew they were not even bothering to keep their voices down in an attempt to provoke him. The Slytherins all scrutinized him rather carefully but did not allow their thoughts on the matter to be instantly readable. Even though he saw Draco and Daphne sitting further down the table, waving at him, he seated himself opposite some fifth year prefect he kind of remembered from the Sorting.

'Morning, Black. You seem better than I would have thought.'

'Yes, whatever. Fawley, right?'

'Yup. You may want to keep your head down for a while, Black. Friendly advice.'

'Sure.'

She did not seem irritated by his attitude and took it in stride.

'You know Greengrass, don't you?'

This made him look at her for the first time. She had long, curly blond hair and shiny dark eyes. She looked inquisitive, but did not seem the prying sort. She likely had had some business with that part of his family.

'That is correct.'

'I would appreciate it if you could keep her out of your mess. Some of those Pillar blokes look like they mean business.'

This did not surprise him, so he just plainly answered, 'I intended to do that in any case.'

'Good man.' She took her bag and stood up. 'The other Slytherin prefects and me are of the opinion that you should solve your own business. However this plays out, we won't intervene. Obviously, we'd prefer an outcome that wouldn't further damage public relations or implicate families of note. Thought you might want to know.'

He just nodded. This was both good and bad news, as he was somehow given free rein at the cost of being forsaken. She gave him one last look and strode away. 'Well - try to stay alive, Black.'

When he had finished a humble meal, he tried to casually sneak out of the hall, but someone had been waiting for him at the door and managed to grab the scruff of his neck.

'What the-'

He spun around, wand in hand, but found himself face to face with his cousin, who smirked crookedly.

'Thought you were on guard, Harry. That was pathetically easy, you know?'

She grabbed the sleeves of his robe and dragged him into an empty classroom.

'Eh… are you sure it is a good idea to talk in here, Daphne? This is not exactly private, so close to the Great Hall.'

'Oh, you prefer privacy, Harry? I think there is a broom cupboard down the hall if that's more to your liking?' She looked like she meant business. He must have angered her somehow.

'Uh, i-is everything alright, Daphne?'

She kept her distance, but her ocean-blue eyes sparkled with determination.

'Don't ever ignore me like that again! If you don't wish for my company, then have the damned guts to tell me so!'

He allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. It was true that while he may have run away from her quite often, he had never outright ignored her, especially not from a safe distance. This, however, presented an opportunity for him, something that was even more painful to him than her closeness. Hating himself for what he was about to do, he steeled himself, killing all the bubbling emotions that he associated with Daphne and forced his entire demeanour into casualness and relaxation.

'Then please mind your own business, Greengrass, ' he said with an emotionless voice.

'Wh-What the hell are you talking about, Harry?' She looked shocked and lost a bit of her fervour.

'You said that I should tell you if I wanted to discontinue my association with you. Well, stay away from me, Greengrass!'

Harry's mouth tasted like ash. She looked like he'd slapped her, and he could see her eyes searching his, desperately looking for the hint of deceit. He couldn't remember ever calling her 'Greengrass' like that and knew this was a low blow that would hurt her badly. That memory still haunted her - him, too, for that matter. He was truly sorry for this, but drastic measures were required to have her back off. Her usual defiance seemed to slip away, and with a pang of regret, he could see her eyes getting moist.

It would have been so much better if she had shouted like her usual self, but she seemed unable to bring herself to do it. After their close talk yesterday, this must be especially hurtful, but he couldn't relent now. It was essential to keep family safe.

As her first tears sprang forth, she flung a single coin towards him and dashed out of the room. With a hot squirm in his guts, he remembered their bet and the precious time they had spent together not so long ago…

~BLHD~

Harry's mood was at a record low. He had noticed how the Aurors seemed to tail and escort him to his lessons, whether for investigational purposes or his security he could not say. Daphne's dejected and Tracey's annoyed glances didn't help, but he forced himself into indifference. He doubted if anyone except people of comparable calibre to his grandfather's would've picked up on his inner feelings. The girls were quite good at this, usually, albeit not really at Arcturus' level yet.

Realising his thoughts had strayed to his cousin again, he became a bit irritated with his lack of discipline and took a seat in the back of the room. He focused his mind hard on the coming lesson. He was indeed quite interested in this new professor, same as half the class, apparently. His reasons were likely different, though; he had seen most of the boys drooling after Professor Rose in the corridor. He was more intrigued by her background. She held herself with an air of dignity, and while there were quite a few half-bloods or Muggle-borns that did the same, it nevertheless often indicated other origins. Rose, however, was no name of old heritage-in Britain at least. He might have to do more research on the matter and was glad for anything to do to keep himself occupied.

His thoughts were interrupted when Draco entered and exchanged glances with Tracey. They tried to be subtle about this, but Tracey put on an act she had likely seen in one of those strange Muggle motion pictures. It was not hard to guess what they had talked about prior to the class and-sure enough-Draco settled himself next to him with an air of extreme friendliness and comradeship.

'Hey, mate, how's it…'

He would have to do something about this source of contact as well. Draco was a good deal sneakier than Daphne, so rough measures would throw him off for a while.

As if to return an overly friendly greeting, Harry put his arm around Draco's shoulder. What his classmates couldn't see, however, was that his wand was currently nestling perilously against Draco's throat. It was quite clear that the young Malfoy had noted this, on the other hand, as his eyebrows frantically lifted, and both of his hands shot up in an offer of surrender.

Harry steadily increased the temperature of the tip of his wand with a minor heating charm while catching Draco's eyes.

'Hey, "mate". I'm sure you wish to keep this conversation short, so I'll make this very clear to you.'

He could see his expression turn from surprise, to worry and finally to a painful grimace as the wood approached 70°C and still grew hotter by the second.

Harry leaned in, so no one else could hear the next words spoken between them.

'If you know what's good for you, leave me in peace. If Tracey involves you in this matter again, I may reach my burning point-if you get my meaning.'

He leaned back, but to underline the seriousness of his words he adjusted the temperature of his wand to a scorching 250°, if only for the fraction of a second. Draco yelped and jumped out of his chair, looking at him incredulously while rubbing his throat where a very angry dot had appeared.

Carefully, without breaking eye contact, he took his bag and took a seat near Tracey, who looked bewildered at the both of them. Well, that's those guys taken care off. Hermione's out of the picture for a while, so as long as Tracey stays her hands, this will do.

He was pleased to note that no one seemed willing to take the place next to him after his little show. That suited him just fine.

A few minutes later, the immaculate Professor Rose entered the classroom. He really had other things on his mind, but this woman was really a tad too beautiful for comfort. Not like those part-Veelas that were supposedly abundant in France and some other continental regions; she somehow seemed as if she were bred to perfection . That thought was quite worrisome in its own way.

She took the register and familiarised herself with the class, her glacial eyes shooting towards the person called up. After she was satisfied, she closed her eyes for a second and rearranged her features into a smile of pure benignity that was very nice to behold but aroused his immediate suspicion for that very reason. He tried to not give anything away and looked at her with polite interest. Most boys in the room were definitely less guarded, so this might have made him conspicuous all the same, but if that was the price to pay for not slavering like an idiot, he really couldn't help it.

'I welcome you to the basic study of Defence against the Dark Arts. I thought it would be profitable for you if we did some questions and answers today, so we may dispel any doubts about the course aims, the subject, myself or any other concern that may be on your mind.'

She casually leaned back into the adorned chair behind the teacher's escritoire and indicated with a smile and a slight gesture that they were allowed to ask away.

'Professor, what's your given name?'

She smiled. 'Aenor, Mr Macmillan.'

'That is an unusual name, Professor Rose.'

She smiled sweetly once more. 'And that was not a question, Mr Macmillan.' After a teasing pause, she answered nevertheless, flashing a smirk as the Hufflepuff grew redder by the second. 'It is of ancient Germanic origin, though the variation itself has its roots in medieval France.'

'Does that mean you're not from Britain, Professor Rose?'

'Why should it? You are, however, in this instance correct, Miss Bones.'

'Your English is very good for a foreigner, Professor!'

She awarded Macmillan with another smile, but did not answer.

'Do you have family in Britain, Professor Rose?'

'I do, Mr Zabini.'

'How did you get interested in Defence, Professor? It is very rare for a Professor to be this young, especially for Defence. My father told me once that they historically hardly ever accept people under forty years.'

'You are quite right, Mr Malfoy. But I seem to have profited from the unexpected resignation of Professor Dilyblles, who received an invitation to join a hunt for a particularly nasty pack of Lethifolds near the Caribbean.'

Without prior warning, she had her wand in her hands. It was of strange aesthetic quality and seemed to glow with a soft white light. The wood was light ivory and finely embellished. Her wand was pointed at Draco, who was in a state of shock as a cerulean spell shot towards him. He closed his eyes… but nothing happened.

After a short while, he opened them again, and (to Harry's wonderment) brought a hand to his throat where the burn should have been. Draco looked at her in amazement, and his mouth hung open.

'I also may just have some skill in the matter, so you should rest assured that I won't waste your time.' Her expression was pleasant but very dignified.

The class seemed to hang on every word she said after that. Even Draco seemed completely open about how smitten he was. There were only two other people who didn't seem very entertained.

'Professor? What is your favourite colour? Professor? Do you like flowers? Professor? Do you have a boyfriend? Professor? What is your cup size?' Tracey's mockingly avid voice rang through the classroom, and Harry had to work hard to conceal a laugh. The other boys seemed on the verge of open revolt, though there was little doubt that they were, in fact, most interested.

Professor Rose gave a small predatory smirk before looking straight at Tracey. With a challenging grin, she answered, 'Magenta, yes, no and 34C.'

Silence reigned supreme. Most boys were very red while the girls shared looks of shock and horror.

With a smug look, Professor Rose addressed Tracey. 'What about your own sizes then, Miss Davis? Surely you wouldn't mind telling your classmates such a trivial little thing. Or maybe I should make an educated guess for the benefit of the boys who know a bit more about Muggle-fashion…?'

The words hung precariously in the air for a while. Tracey only gaped at her and could-for once-not find a retort. Clearly enjoying the younger girl's dilemma, Professor Rose allowed the silence to stretch for a few more moments, sadistically relishing her victory.

'Or maybe not. I think this will do for personal questions. I would like to refocus your attention towards the subject at hand now.'

She stood up and walked towards the blackboard and tapped it with her wand once to make the course aims appear.

'Broadly speaking, all classes studying Defence follow the same procedures at Hogwarts, as far as I can tell. You learn a bit about 'Dark Creatures', as your Ministry so ignorantly likes to call them, and learn a negligible amount of useless spells in duelling. After six completely pointless years of study, you are a 'proficient wielder of defensive spellcraft' or so the Ministry would have you believe. In truth, anyone with the barest personal interest in such matters could probably still kill you without lifting his wand. The day before I arrived here, I had the misfortune of reading about what you are to learn here, and I am appalled . Let me be very clear about this: All the spells you are to learn in your first three years are practically useless in any real duel. Even attempting them will result in your instant death, should it ever come to that pitiful eventuality.'

As if to underline her statement, she picked up a large stack of parchment that many, Harry included, had identified as her notes for the lesson and let it flutter through her hands towards her feet. What had been an atmosphere of playfulness, was now one of complete amazement. The class was utterly baffled, while some individuals looked defensive. Those in Hufflepuff with deep connections to the Ministry were looking especially affronted.

'But, Professor Rose!' Sure enough, the Abbott girl eventually spoke out. 'The Ministry will have good reasons to not teach any other spells. It wouldn't be proper to learn those things in class, after all. This is no convention of Dark Wizards in training, but a school!'

The instructor, however, looked as if someone had just taken a bait. Harry didn't have a very good feeling about this.

'Ah yes, Miss Abbott. I believe I am correct if I assume that you have enjoyed the guidance of a private tutor by grace of the Ministry?'

The girl nodded defiantly.

'What did those people teach you? Enlighten me, please.'

'Well, lots of things, Professor! Stinging Hexes, Disarming Charms, Knockback Jinxes and much more!'

It was obvious how proud she felt. It would indeed seem that she wouldn't have any trouble, whatever the task Rose set her to. Their instructor's grin, however, became even more eerie.

'Not bad. So do you feel confident, then? In matters of duelling those of your age?'

Abbott nodded again and looked indeed quite confident. Other Hufflepuffs were throwing her envious glances while her neighbour, the Bones brat, giggled appreciatively.

'So how about this, Miss Abbott? You and Miss Bones against Mr Black. As the both of you have had the pleasure of learning much of the Ministry's curriculum in advance, this should be child's play, am I right?'

'Are you serious, Professor?!' She laughed loftily. 'The little Prince of Black? Sure, I look forward to it.'

Harry was annoyed at getting dragged into this, so he raised his voice for the first time this lesson.

'Is this really necessary, Professor Rose?'

She, in turn, smiled at him serenely. 'If you crave an incentive, Mr Black, you are excused from all further lessons until Yule, should you manage to come out on top.'

Yule… Good to know.

'I guess that will do, Professor.' Harry drawled.

She seemed amused by his nonchalant attitude, in contrast to the rest of the class. 'Hey, Susan! 10 Galleons if you hex his bits off!' 'Come on girls, beat the crap out of him and be done with it.' 'Hey do you think they are going to be in trouble if they "accidentally" finish the Darker off?'

Harry tried his best to ignore them and deliberately flounced towards the front. Both girls were getting up as well, heads stuck together, clearly formulating some kind of strategy. Suddenly, one of them sniggered. Harry was quite annoyed by now. While the extra free time would be worth a bit of sport, he really did want to avoid attention as the madman who threw curses for words.

A sudden inspiration made him laugh in malicious joy. Trying his best to ignore Daphne, who was bent on catching his eye, he took his position fifteen feet away from the girls and casually leant against the wall.

Professor Rose sat down on her desk and, with a complicated dance of her wand that seemed to go on forever, constructed a very long barrier between the four of them and the rest of the class. 'You may use any spell that comes to your mind, except those prohibited by your esteemed Ministry, of course. My command to start will be a bang of my wand. Do not attempt to…'

Harry didn't really listen, as this did not concern him. He had already decided what to do and was sure it was within the rules set for them, whatever they may be. Instead, he shot a glance towards the barrier and-to his delighted surprise-was forced to take a second look. It was unlike any magic he had ever seen before. Dazzled, he turned around completely and inspected it in greater detail, altogether ignoring the instructions, at last. Conventional barriers tried to divide their energy into carefully outlined patterns. This ensured that the whole barrier was segmented down into smaller, independent parts. Every smaller field was of equal strength, and even if a smaller field should fail, in time it would automatically rebuild itself, as long as the barrier was not disturbed on a grander scale. By even momentarily slicing it in two, for example, you would ensure that too many connections were broken and the barrier would fail, even if the attempt had not been very overwhelming in its approach. In short, conventional barriers were rare, because they struggled against overwhelming might and extreme precision.

This thing before him, in contrast, casually threw all those concepts out of the window. It was a… watery fabric of magic, heavily laced with spells of movement and direction. It would take him hours to completely understand its base principles, but his temporary theory was that any attack on it automatically disturbed the barrier, resulting in a small pull of sorts. This would immediately cause all the free magic in the fabric to surge towards the weak point and close it in the process. If you wanted to beat this beast, you would be forced to overpower it with more strength than the original caster endowed it with-in a single attack. Or whittle it down-Merlin knows how long that would take. This was simply incredible!

His hand outstretched in nearly unconscious longing, an amused voice to his left suddenly brought him back to the world. 'Do you find it to your liking, Mr Black?'

Horror-struck, he slowly turned around. Professor Rose's predatory grin in combination with the looks of complete befuddlement around the rest of the class told him, to his immediate regret, that this barrier was probably invisible.

Damn!

'Sorry, Professor. I'm ready at your convenience,' Harry answered, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

She continued to give her smirk that somehow easily got the message across: ' Got'cha! '

Damn it! I'm such an idiot. One moment of childish curiosity and here I go again .

'Take your positions. Remember my warnings-if you listened, that is.'

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. The girls looked even more eager than before, obviously interpreting his disinterest as arrogance.

'20 Galleons on the girls,' shouted Macmillan in the background.

'Wish I had that much to bet. What kind of muppet would take you on in any case, Ernie?'

'Haha, I will!' That was Draco. He really wanted a cut if he had to do the dirty work, but as he was resolute to remain cold towards his friends, that was no real option here.

'On my command!'

Silence fell.

'One!'

Abbott and Bones looked annoyingly confident.

'Two!'

He tried his best to ignore his wand, which was very pleased with his plan and miaowed excitedly-he guessed.

A loud bang indicated the start of the duel, but Harry only drawled in a carrying voice: ' Protego !'

He had held back slightly, but the force of the shield still was such that one of the girls squealed and fell on her behind as waves of blue light visibly rippled down in front of him. His grandfather had told him that it was very rare for a shield to be clearly visible. His own, on the other hand, looked like a cascade of tangible light.

He was very confident in his shield. In fact, he knew that both girls were likely instructed in more and more advanced duelling magic than him, but how would that help them here? You could only undo such magic if you could overpower it or attack the magic at its core, and that required theoretical knowledge these two would not possess.

To mock them, he sat down cross-legged, keeping his wand pointed in front of him to maintain the shield.

Abbott continued to rain spells down on him and Bones soon joined her, the second she had stood up. Harry gave them supremely unconcerned looks, which only served to enrage them further. Stinging hexes soon became disarming jinxes that turned into stunners and some really nasty yellow stuff that he couldn't immediately place.

But everything they threw at him evaporated at the fiercely glowing waterfall of energy before him. After a while, he looked at Professor Rose and gave a shrug. She grinned back.

'Mr Black wins,' she finally proclaimed to the annoyance and murmurings of many a Hufflepuff.

'What? Why? He's just sitting there. He hasn't hit them once, Professor!'

'What the hell was that blue stuff, anyway?'

'Wasn't that a Shield Charm ? That stuff is taught around fourth year, isn't it?'

'Does it usually look like that, though?'

Professor Rose flicked her hand, and the wands of both girls flew towards her. Harry, in turn, lowered his shield.

'Mr Macmillan, what was the purpose of this demonstration?' Rose asked exasperatedly.

'Uh, to beat the crap out of some Darker bastard?' he tried earnestly.

'No. Anyone else have a more educated guess?'

Daphne raised her hand.

'Yes, Miss Greengrass?' Harry was actually quite impressed that she had managed to remember every name so far.

'To prove that the curriculum laid out by the Ministry is inherently flawed. Or that even continued instructions in these matters may not yield the desired result if there is a…' she cleared her throat in delight, 'wide gap in ability.'

'A better answer. Miss Jones? Any idea what these young ladies could have done better, or why they failed, even though they probably knew more magic than Mr Black?'

The girl gave a thoughtful look before answering.

'I think they wasted too much time at the start, Professor. They should have both started with stunners, seeing as they could both perform them. I think I would have tried to flank him, too.'

Professor Rose gave a small nod. 'Three points to Hufflepuff. Such things as shields divide magic and try to protect a specific room or field with a given amount of power. The larger the area under fire, the weaker the protection becomes.' She shot a knowing look towards Harry that he really did not appreciate. 'Usually, at least.'

She waved her wand, causing her barrier to flicker and die. Harry walked to his chair, sparing the rest of the class not a single glance. After the girls had retrieved their wands, they sat down, clearly disgruntled.

'I would like to stress the point that shields are a good defensive tool, but do only have a small place in real duelling. Being able to cast a second spell while holding your shield in place requires such prodigious skill that it may be more accurate to label it an innate talent, and even then the shield will still impede your own attack. Generally, counter-curses and hex-deflection are better ways to deal with incoming attacks, but require a great deal of concentration and finesse as an off-trade.

'Seeing as this is a defence class, as Miss Abbott so aptly said, we shall concentrate on measures against incoming attacks until all of you are proficient enough to cast spells of equal magnitude to the Disarming Charm or Stunning Spell.'

Hermione meekly raised a hand. 'But the curriculum, Professor…'

'Miss Granger, I do not give a Knut about your precious curriculum. As long as I teach here, you will either learn real defence, or nothing at all. If you truly wish to learn all the useless stuff your Ministry deems so important, like the mighty Tickling Charm, you can do so in your free time. Any other questions?'

A tentative hand rose in the back.

'Yes, Mr Sallyweather?'

'Excuse me, Professor Rose, but what exactly is the difference between hex deflection, counter-curses and all that other stuff you mentioned?'

'Good question. In general, you may consider any classification of magic inherently flawed, but-for the time being-you may imagine the matter as follows:

'Hex deflection, as the name states, tries to avert the magic flung towards you. It is not unlike a local application of shielding magic. However, you need very keen reflexes to make it work. One may imagine the wand as the bat and the enemy curses as bludgers. It offers the broadest of protections, yet due to its inherent difficulty, few people make use of it. There also exists a variation to hurl offensive spells into the enemy spell-fire, as some curses cannot be blocked so easily. In summary, you need at least comparable magical power in comparison to your opponent, as well as superior reflexes in general.

'The name counter-curses, on the other hand, may be misleading. Contrary to what one might think initially, this magic has little to do with only remedying the effect of adverse magics. In truth, one shoots a specific magic designed to counter the enemy spell. These spells take effect either during the flight of incoming spell-fire or once it has already taken hold of its target, it truly doesn't matter. You should imagine counter-curses as magic aimed to overcome the enemy spellwork. This does not mean that counter-curses have no effect on their own, and some can actually be quite dangerous. Often enough, there exists only one counter-curse available, sometimes none at all. This method of defence requires a broad knowledge, and even then there is no way you will ever know every counter-curse there is. In addition to that, the inherent reactive nature of this strategy makes speed of the utmost importance, as you will be battling not only your opponent but your reaction time, as well. Even then it is still worth knowing these counter-curses, of course, as you will find some spells used very often, like Expelliarmus, Stupefy or Reducto . At least in non-professional duels. Counter-curses also may help undo damage inflicted by your opponent, either during or after your confrontation.

'Lastly, you should take note that there are other ways to impede magic. For example, physical objects. There may even be forces to inhibit or at least dampen conventional applications of magic. You would therefore be wise to always be careful in all your confrontations.'

She looked around the classroom and observed the class' reaction. After a while, her expression started to tighten, as if she'd been disappointed. Harry guessed what this was about, but he didn't really care. If she was true to her word, he would have some nice free time without any fuss. Maybe Rose wasn't so bad after all…

'Mr Black, would you mind asking a question for your intimidated peers?'

Peers? Hardly…

'Which one, Professor Rose?' he returned calmly.

A small, elegant and altogether dishonest grin graced her features. 'If you would be so kind as to start with the obvious one, Mr Black?'

'What about evasion, Professor Rose?'

The young professor's features turned into somewhat honest appreciation, and she nodded thankfully towards him. 'What a curious question, Mr Black! More curious considering nobody else thought of this… The most obvious answer should have been to get out of the way, evading the incoming magic. I thought I had made it quite clear that all the former methods of defence are fairly difficult to pull off in stressful situations. Jumping out of the line of fire, however, should be comparably easy to accomplish, as it is the natural reflexive action.'

She seemed to consider them for a moment. Harry thought some seemed offended by the easy answer or maybe by her suggestion to roll around the floor or duck behind something possibly filthy . In the end, Rose continued in a business-like tone, 'I see. You will write an essay about the counter-curses to all jinxes present in your beloved curriculum until and including the second year. You will be tested on these, so study hard. You have three weeks for this, the length of your assignment is of no concern to me as long as the contents are sufficiently complete. That will be all.'

Just when Harry made to grab his bag, he heard a soft voice from the front. 'A word, if you please, Mr Black.'

Feeling that sense of foreboding again, Harry couldn't avoid getting slightly nervous. Professor Rose was ominous. Even more fishy than he was himself. That he could not openly decline her orders was so very irksome to him. He really wasn't used to being at the mercy of others…

Professor Rose closed the door behind the last student and comfortably settled herself in the chair behind her desk.

'Mr Black. Are you actually aware that the cascading fluctuation observable as a ripple in your shield is a likely vulnerability? If you were to distribute the magic more evenly the overall structural density would increase, you know?'

'I am aware of that, Professor. My goal was not to achieve maximum protection, but rather to impress those girls with a grand showing.'

She smiled, but didn't immediately reply. Finally, she delicately folded her legs and looked him deep into the eye. 'If I were teaching at my old school, I would have handled things a bit differently, you know? Here, I am very much more free in my lessons, yet at the same time so very restricted in my methods. But you are not exactly the average student are you, Mr Black?'

She studied his eyes, and he did his utmost to appear calm and not give anything away.

'No,' she said softly. 'No, you're not. Seeing as you aren'tt exactly average, you will hopefully not hold it against me if I take a slightly different course of action with you. I find myself… curious, Mr Black.'

Harry didn't know if he liked where this was going. Something wasn't right with this otherworldly beauty in front of him. 'How so, Professor?'

'What would you do,' Rose drawled, '… if I did this ?'

All of a sudden, something was ferociously ravaging his mind. It was agony as he had never felt before, and he rolled up on the floor, choking hard, as he tried to concentrate on his Occlumency as best as he could. Yet there was simply no way to stifle the screams of pain that left his vocal cords. Trying not to retch his guts out, he fought what felt like no single probe, but an attack from all sides: relentless and devilishly brutal; merciless and all-powerful…

Wave upon wave of innumerable burning needles tore at his brain, singeing his insides, assaulting his sanity. He was sure it was a lost fight, but he held on to the brink of his abilities, even as he felt the blood trickle down his ears and nose.

For hours, he lay on the hard, cold floor, writhing in anguish, while his tormentor sat smiling beatifically behind her desk. Days went by, the planet leisurely orbited the sun a few dozen times, stars were born and died. Finally, the whole universe collapsed in his dark world of agony, and everything grew algid and dim. Harry floated in an empty void of excruciation for an indeterminable amount of time, losing all orientation, sense and self-awareness until suddenly- inexplicably- the pain that had long since become everything his existence had been reduced to, ceased to be.

It took him minutes to remember where and who he was, as he lay on the chilly stone, frantically gasping, fighting the cramps all over his body. Then, like salvation, the heavenly voice of an angel floated down towards him, piercing the clouds of his consciousness like a caressing ray of warm light.

'Eight seconds. Not bad, Mr Black, but I'm sure you can do better. Students that arouse my personal interest are expected to perform according to different standards. I suggest you use your free time in the coming weeks to improve upon the defences of your mind.'

Something light fluttered down on his face, and he feebly tried to grab whatever it was, barely even registering the protest his muscles gave.

'I would like to believe that you will put in a serious effort, Mr Black. Before the holidays, you may enjoy another private exam with me.'

He focused his hazy vision on the small bit of parchment in his hands. It was a free pass to any book in the restricted section, signed by a certain Aenor E. Rose.

'Try not to bleed all over the desk when you show yourself out. I am rather fond of it.'

HD: Inaugurations part I

Inaugurations I

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione was pretty annoyed. That had been the case for quite some time now, and she couldn't help but feel that maybe she should take a more proactive approach towards her problems; they just seemed to pile up one after another. Absent-mindedly chewing on her quill, she thought back on her first two months of school.

First, there'd been the fallout with Harry, who had so far refused to even look her in the eye. This weighed heavily on her mind, as she not only considered Harry her first friend at Hogwarts, but-though she was determined to keep this from the others-her first true friend at all. It had only lasted a single day, so she was reluctant to act, but somehow she felt that there was a good connection between them. Had not Greengrass even mentioned how she'd been 'in his good standing'?

Speaking of the blonde, she had initially assessed the rather well-endowed witch to be a simple fan of Harry's or that he was little more to her than her favourite toy. That had been a most grave misunderstanding, and her foolishness had resulted in the scariest ten minutes of her life. She still sometimes woke at night, remembering the mad expression of fury on the other girl's face. The young Muggle-born witch had shilly-shallied over the matter, but eventually decided she wouldn't tell Madame Pomfrey or Professor Snape what had happened. It would have been difficult to prove anything, and the consequences of her failure would probably have ruined her standing in the house for good…

Not that it was much better now, of course. Harry was still thoroughly treating her as foul smelling air at best, while Daphne seemed to carefully avoid her as well, probably in an attempt to keep herself from beating Hermione to death. Draco had his own little gang, but even still, he'd become really quiet lately. He hadn't been very friendly with her anyway, yet he had at least refrained from telling her to bugger off, probably out of respect for Harry.

There seemed to be some strange connection between Harry and many of the Slytherins, especially Draco and Daphne. It was obvious that Greengrass and Malfoy had known Harry for quite some time, Tracey, too. But their relationship seemed a bit too deep to be mere friendship from an early age, not to mention that Harry seemed to have the upper hand in all his dealings if he decided to press the issue. She really wanted to know more, but asking was quite out of the question, and that grated on her nerves. The complex social structures of her house were completely incomprehensible to her, yet there was no choice but to wait until somebody filled her in. She had scoured through the library on the topic of pure-blood culture, hierarchy and family relations for days but found nothing at all . Unable to suppress a shiver, she clearly remembered Greengrass' warning: Asking questions about magic, family or the past is not always appreciated .

The other thing she immediately realised was that every other Slytherin regarded her with either the same contempt they held for the Squib caretaker Mr Filch or treated her as some kind of running gag, that 'Mudblood-Snake-Wannabee'. The insults didn't really get to her; she had suffered much worse in the Muggle-world. But there was no denying that practically nobody was willing to associate with her. The term 'friends' was another matter entirely.

Tracey had helped her a bit, thankfully, presumably out of pity or sympathy. She was only a half-blood herself and, on the second night, had told her a few things that would at least help her avoid any more hostility-for a while. The lessons were simple but had been so very alien to her; socialising in the wizarding world was like an odd game of sorts, with baffling rules and death traps in droves. Tracey told her to keep away from certain crowds, especially if they seemed inviting. She advised her to look for a few people she could be friendly with and pointed out some likely candidates, but reminded her to approach no more than three in total. When she'd asked about the number, Tracey had said that if other Slytherins felt threatened by her making too many 'alliances', they would take drastic measure to remind her of her place. She also did say to never, under any circumstances, befriend anyone from Gryffindor or Hufflepuff if she wanted to spend nights in the dormitory instead of the infirmary. Hermione had at first thought this a joke, but the reproving glare of Tracey's at her laughter had quickly crushed that notion.

She had been rather oafish in her beliefs and naivety, there was no denying, as that very next morning the news had slowly been broken over the school that Harry had… killed a first year during the night. Hermione hadn't really believed it, but the thought that something like this could happen at a school had shocked her to the core. The magicals approached violence so much more casually than what she was used to. Arguments were rarely solved by words and feuds even less often so, which might stem-she mused-from the accelerated healing that magic allowed, but it just seemed so very cruel to her. That a student of Hogwarts had actually found his death by means of another, possibly her friend, had scared her so badly that she had hardly slept for weeks.

Shuddering, Hermione remembered how Harry hadn't seemed especially bothered by the cold hatred most of the school had poured over him. She was still amazed at how calm and dignified he'd been, especially that next morning. That had also been the first time she could have believed him to come from a noble house of sorts-had she not seen his incredible wardrobe or that ridiculous quill of his. She had been appalled when the shopkeeper in Diagon Alley had written back and told her that Phoenix feathers were so rare that they were hardly ever used for mundane works of craftsmanship and more often gifted for wands. The quality and size of the feather had to be right as well, among other things. The proprietor had told her in no uncertain terms that he would be very willing to pay several hundred Galleons for such a fine piece of art and delightful find.

But back to more important matters. To her astonishment, Harry hadn't wavered at all, even when a giant flock of angry owls had madly stormed towards him. He had only carefully inspected the envelopes before incinerating the lot of them, except for one formal looking one and two others. Having pocketed those, he had simply gotten on with his breakfast. Harry had looked peaky and somewhat stiff, especially the second day after the incident, but that was only to be expected, wasn't it?

That day had been bad, not only for him. While Harry soon had to fight off attackers every other day and spend as much time in the infirmary as in the common room, she herself had been set upon for the first time that night. It could have been much worse, a pacifying Tracey had told her. The half-blood had insisted on her not going to Pomfrey and-under no circumstances-was she to tell any member of staff about this. As long as it was an isolated thing, they had likely only wanted to observe her reaction, or so the tiny girl had said. Her back had hurt like crazy for a few days, but eventually the pain had vanished, and-so far-she had indeed not been ambushed again.

The Daily Prophet reporters had jumped at the story of Nott's demise like famished vultures, of course. The headlines had been so very nasty; Hermione still shuddered at the cold determination, devoid of any additional emotions, in Harry's eyes as he'd read them.

Last scion of the Blacks involved in murder on first day of school.

The author had been surprisingly open about his demand that chucking the Blacks out of society and into prison, whether they were actually guilty or not, would probably solve some problems down the road. The articles by that Skeeter woman had been even worse. Much worse.

Harry, however, had only read them with pronounced polite indifference and didn't even raise an eyebrow as the Gryffindors had loudly shouted to their Head of House that they would refuse to share lessons with him in the future. This had launched a fierce debate between the Headmaster, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall.

Professor Snape had furiously screamed that he wouldn't abide by any political ploys the Headmaster forced onto him. The potions master could be very scary, but at that moment, Hermione started feeling a grudging respect rise for her own Head of House, who held his ground against the angry pair made up of headmaster and deputy.

In the end, it seemed that it was impractical to rearrange the whole timetable because of one student.

School had settled down into an uneasy routine after that. Part of that sadly included Harry visiting the infirmary at least three times a week. He gave it as good as he got, but he was often lured into someone's trap or else fighting against impossible odds. Often with third years of even older students, that is. She had never heard him complain, though, and Madame Pomfrey seemed to have taken a liking towards the lonely boy, who had so frighteningly casually sent a second year Hufflepuff to St. Mungo's permanent spell-damage ward two weeks ago. She couldn't help but wonder why some specific students from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were so very determined in making Harry's life as miserable as possible. She had picked up on the whole Darkers stuff, but none of the others were treated nearly as badly.

~BLHD~

Time had gone by, and at least her own situation had improved over the weeks. She had exchanged tentative greetings and signs of good-will with that female fifth year prefect, Fawley, who was a pure-blood from a very old family (as far as she could tell). She had also found a good friend in a Ravenclaw first year, Jermaine. He was the serious sort, but she rather enjoyed their discussions, and was grateful that he never brought the matter of her house up for talk. They had spent so much time in the library that some really irksome rumours had started floating around, but Jermaine had simply waved it off. The only other person she knew who spent more time in the library was Harry, of course. For him, the library was a safe-haven, as no student dared provoke the fierce temper of Madam Pince, and so he could be seen darting up and down the bookcases practically every free second of the day. Strangely, he also seemed to be able to get into the restricted section, however that was possible. Hermione had tried to get a pass on her first morning at school, but Professor Snape had only sneered and asked her if she needed a cure for sudden fits of insanity.

Classes had finally become really interesting, and she enjoyed them all very much, well except for the flying lesson. Harry and three Hufflepuffs had gotten into a heated fight, which had only ended when Madam Hooch had given them all detention and barred them from further flying for the whole year. The flying itself hadn't really agreed with her either, and she'd been determinedly glad when the instructor told the class that they would not have to attend further lessons once they had grasped the principles.

The other classes were simply amazing. She wholeheartedly loved Astronomy, and Transfiguration quickly became her best subject. It was, to her great annoyance, also the only subject in which she continuously outshone her fellow pupils. She wasn't used to so much competition and could not keep some rather unkind remarks from her lips, as she saw Tracey, Draco and a few others quickly catching up to her at first. She had been forced to put very much work into it, but eventually, even Tracey seemed to struggle to keep up with her, for which she was very grateful. Harry's constant stellar performances in Charms had left her quite irritated. Professor Flitwick seemed ready to adopt Harry any day; he could practically get away with anything during their lessons, as long as he was somewhat quiet and demonstrated his mastery of the course work at the end of each class. She also had the suspicion that the tiny professor had invited Harry into his office more often than once already for a private chat on matters of Charms.

Hermione had initially thought Harry's performance on his first day a fluke, or an exception at least, but it had become rather clear in a matter of weeks that Harry was vastly ahead of the curriculum in Charms. At least a few years, by her estimation, as ridiculous as it sounded. She had carefully asked about that, and Jermaine had told her that most pure-blood families offered their offspring some sort of early education, and a few of them, like the Blacks, were notorious for overdoing it.

Potions, in contrast, was a thrilling nightmare. Professor Snape was very knowledgeable in his subject, there could be no doubt, yet he could also become equally personal if one aroused his anger. It didn't take longer than a week for him to dismiss half the class as 'useless idiots blessed with enviable ignorance', and he seemed to hate Tracey and Seamus with a passion. Hermione had tried her very best, of course, to prove herself to him, but-most irritatingly-no matter how much effort she put into the subject (even cutting the hours of her sleep) Greengrass trumped her every move. She hadn't initially given Hermione a studious impression, but after a few lessons, it was all too clear how obsessed the blond was becoming with the subject. Hermione wouldn't have believed it at first, but potions was a bit more than learning recipes; you could only ever achieve results of superlative quality if you had a good intuition for these things. Even Professor Snape had been forced to compliment Greengrass-somewhat. The only thing easing her nerves during potions were the ongoing devastatingly poor attempts Tracey made.

History of Magic had-for some reason and to the incredulity of many older students-quickly become a favourite subject for most of the student body. Professor Prewett was certainly competent and could be very favourable towards certain crowds. Ronald Weasley was easily his preferred pupil, and he went to great lengths to explain questions asked by him, not that Weasley was especially daft or anything. What jangled her nerves a touch was that Professor Prewett seemed oddly fixated on continuously presenting the Ministry of Magic in a good light. The first few lessons had more or less been free questions, and had featured him delightedly explaining how more recent measures had filled Azkaban to the brim and reduced the social strife to a historic minimum. His lengthy stories about his adventurous days as an Auror and Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement were quite interesting, naturally. Harry and Greengrass had so far been absent from every single lesson, but even though Professor Snape had given them each a dozen detentions, they simply did not reconsider their approach. Professor Prewett didn't seem to mind very much either.

Lastly, there was Defence against the Dark Arts. She'd felt quite prepared for that class, and was more than motivated to learn as much as she could in an effort to better protect herself. But the lessons were… incomprehensibly unorthodox. Professor Rose casually threw the whole curriculum out of the window, but no one seemed to mind very much. The boys, Hermione thought, full of contempt, were having a hard time resisting the urge to gape shamelessly, and Tracey was always trying to sabotage the lesson in some way. Professor Rose, on the other hand, seemed to take it all in good spirits, always making a show of vindictively embarrassing the witch like a baby girl in return. Hermione couldn't refute that they were making quick progress, however. She'd been most doubtful at first, but-to her astonishment-they had completed the defensive aspect of their first year curriculum in a matter of weeks. Professor Rose was also always bent on making the lesson as practical as possible, and set them to read ahead as homework. Many students started openly worshipping her as she, after being egged on by Tracey, had accepted to battle the whole class (minus Harry, who had been absent since the first). What had followed could only be described as a massacre: in less than three seconds, she had stunned half the class with silent stunners. The more careful students had taken cover behind desks, but with a wave of her wand, she had transfigured all the desks into very angry wolfhounds that had quickly cornered the rest of them.

She had, however, set their minds at ease after that brutal display of difference in strength.

'You will be happy to hear that I am probably one of the better duellists at Hogwarts. But you have to understand: magical confrontations are nothing like muggle fights. If the disparity in strength is too great, your odds of success depend solely on the mistakes of your enemy or may even cease to exist altogether. I could, for example, have created a barrier around myself, sealed off the room and you would have had the unedifying experience of dying by suffocation in a matter of perhaps a day or two. None of you here have the strength or knowledge to break through a barrier like the one I cast during our first lesson. You would have been completely helpless-and I repeat-you could have done nothing at all to escape your death. Therefore, you should always be most careful with whom you pick fights. The only thing that may give you any small chance at victory against perceivably stronger opponents would be the element of surprise, or a carefully laid and advantageous setup. The latter is, obviously, more often than not a bad choice, as you may not be able to overcome your own weakness no matter the advantage you hold, like you experienced for yourself just now. By catching someone who is unaware, however, you increase the odds exponentially. Only particularly powerful or rare individuals are able to grasp the magic around them clearly enough so that they might react in time to a stunner shot from behind.'

Hermione hadn't been very sure if it was a good idea to instruct the students to be as sneaky and underhanded as possible, but the professor had had even more to say on the matter.

'On the other hand, you lack any technique to accurately gauge the strength of an enemy at this point of time. Strength in duelling comes in many forms: It could be lightning fast reflexes; it could be an innate talent you have never heard of; it could simply be power; it could be knowledge of spells you couldn't dream about; it could be the strength of character to keep a level head; it most certainly could be experience.

'These things are obscure, and many witches and wizards more able than you fail to understand this point, but let me tell you a story to illustrate. The previous instructor of this subject seems to have instilled the belief in the heads of many a Hogwarts student and graduate that your performance in other subjects directly correlates to success in duelling. That is a faulty conclusion.

'In a time long gone, there once lived a wizard known as Emeric. He was the pride and joy of his father, the first-born of a powerful and old family. Gleefully, his father set himself to the task of teaching his offspring the ways of the wizards, proud of producing a magical heir. Yet the results remained unsatisfactory. Neither disciplinary actions nor the best motivation nor even foreign or famous teachers could help little Emeric, and both father and son became increasingly devastated and regretful. In five years, Emeric never got beyond what you may consider first year Charms, and-in all his lifetime-never transfigured so much as a splinter of wood. For all intents and purposes, all of you presently in this room surpass him a thousand-fold already with your grasp of magic. As family in those days was as much about politics as it was about community, his father soon disinherited his firstborn in an attempt to spare the family more embarrassment, for he thought his offspring a Squib. Son and parents parted with heavy hearts, as the father would not grant him shelter, even though the child pleaded for days, as the outside world was dangerous to those brought up with magic at the time and doubly so for those who could not defend themselves. After having been chased from home with hexes flying after him, the fourteen-year-old boy fled and vanished for good, swearing vengeance with tears still in his eyes.

'Two decades later, a hitherto unknown Dark Lord emerged, casually slaughtering his opponents like flies by using magics not thought combat-relevant at the time. That Dark Lord bested many of the most prominent figures of his age, the descendants of Hogwarts' founders for instance, and brought down Emeric's family in a storm of blood, picking and winning a fight against more than twenty members of the household, and double that number of servants and guards. He himself met his end, eventually, as we all do, but when he was finished, it came to light that the fearsome Dark Lord who had amassed scores of followers and held the country in his grip for years, had been our very own Emeric.'

She had paused for a while and contently drew out the awed silence. Then she had shot a swift look towards the Slytherins and gave a small smirk.

'Before you waste your time in the library, I should add that you will find no remark about what technique Emeric utilised in the collection of Hogwarts'.'

The story about the maniacal wizard spreading destruction where he trod still made Hermione feel very vulnerable. It was one of her great beliefs that knowledge was not infinite, and while it was maybe impossible to ever know all there was to learn, you should at least be able to slowly near the point of perfection over time. Thus, unknowable magics and their wielders made her feel determinedly uneasy. She could slowly feel one more paradigm she had held for ages shifting…

~BLHD~

Hermione gazed into the fire.

It had been the same in matters of defence. At first, Hermione had been terrified to cast a mere Jelly-Legs, even on people attacking her. She had had to throw this hesitation overboard relatively quickly though, and now she didn't have any more reservations in the matter of her own defence. She would still, of course, try to avoid injuries, but if someone attacked her, that person could hardly complain if she managed to best him, right?

Hermione had come to like the half-deserted common room quite a bit. Initially, it had creeped her out that this room was so obviously intended for at least triple the number of students than there currently were Slytherins. Now, she felt an odd sense of comfort. Even if she disagreed with many matters concerning her own house, the idea of being one of the last holding out turned the lonesome nights by the fire into some kind of honourable vigil.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around in time to see Greengrass dashing towards the dormitories. Tracey, wearing a look somewhere between amusement and despair, hesitated for a while. In the end, the petite witch with the warm eyes made her way towards the hearth and took a seat not too far from her.

Hermione returned her gaze to the dancing flames. She had always been so engrossed in knowledge, and only after having Harry point it out had she come to realise that she had indeed been compensating, though she would definitely never ever tell him. Something else she really liked about her house was the atmosphere of mystique that shrouded practically every aspect of House Slytherin. There was always more going on than people freely admitted, and nothing ever was as it first appeared. There were opportunities to be had here and mysteries to be unravelled…

But she was also still Hermione.

'Uh, Tracey? I've tried really hard not to ask certain questions, you know. But do you think you could explain some personal matters to me?'

The other witch seemed more resigned than angry and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'Do you really think this a good idea, Hermione? You remember what happened last time, don't you?'

Hermione shuddered. Tracey was as nice a girl as you could find. She was the kind of girl to pick up a stray and beg her parents to be allowed to care for it. But she definitely was a Slytherin.

'Y-Yes, I do. It's not about that. But it is still personal, I think.'

'Well, have a go then. In the end, I may not answer you anyway, of course.'

'That seems fair. Uh… Tracey, why are some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs so bent on causing Harry problems in particular? I know about that Darker bit, but that's not all, is it? At least half of Slytherin house has some connection to the families sharing that stigma, but while they suffer some animosity, Harry seems to have it especially bad, doesn't he? I don't believe it's all because of-you know-that incident either…'

Hermione had been looking into the fire again, but as she turned towards Tracey, she realised she had her complete attention now. The girl seemed to be weighing her options.

'And why would you want to know that?' asked Tracey carefully.

Hermione opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. If she blurted out 'because I was curious', she would probably wake up in the infirmary tomorrow. Fishing for a better reason, she tried to go with something rather embarrassing. It was better than being injured by a witch one-and-a-half head shorter than her, at least.

'You know, I, er, was not very popular at my Muggle school. Harry was kind of the first friend I ever made, and I couldn't help but notice how bad he has had it, these last few weeks…'

'He hasn't spoken a word to you all this time though, has he?' Tracey looked challenging.

'No-not since, uh, that time. You know.'

'So what business is it to you then?' Tracey hadn't blinked for at least two minutes.

Hermione gaped and tried to gesticulate vaguely. In the end, she gave up and bit her bottom lip. 'I'm worried.'

Tracey let out all the tension in her whole body at once and visibly sagged down into the depths of her armchair. 'This is so ridiculous. I honestly can't say which one of you is being the most stupid here…'

Hermione didn't react to that, as it seemed like Tracey had spoken more to herself anyway.

'Look, Honey, I'll only tell you this because it is not exactly a secret story. Merlin-Daphne will be angry with me, but if you knew where to look, you could easily find out yourself.'

With comedic effort, she slowly turned her seat to face Hermione.

'Do you know about the Pillars ?'

'Eh-no?' Hermione thought she might have heard the term once, but that was probably during a time where she had been terrified to appear too inquisitive for her own good.

'Ask Prewett about it. In short, they are a select few pure-blood families that have always supported the current political agenda of the Ministry. As a reward, they have been dubbed 'pillars of social justice' or some crap like that. I didn't even bother to remember. Everybody calls them Pillars . Those families have humongous influence with the Ministry at the moment, which is really strange, given that they officially promote equal rights for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Follow so far?'

'So, I assume some of those that continuously antagonise Harry have connections with those families?' Hermione thought this was very straight-forward so far.

'Yes, but it's more complicated than that. First, have a guess at a few family names,' prodded Tracey.

'Oh! Uh, Prewett, I guess? Weasley? Abbott, maybe?' Hermione guessed.

'Not bad. The Prewetts and Abbotts are very good buddies with the Ministry at the moment, and yes, they're part of that illustrious circle I mentioned. The mother of the Weasleys that are currently at school is a born Prewett, so you weren't far off there. Got it?'

'Of course.' Hermione nodded affirmatively. 'But this still does not explain why they specifically target Harry, does it?'

'Hold your Thestrals! There are other old family names of note that escaped the stigma of being Darkers, but you get the drift anyway, right? These families do not only hold personal influence in the Ministry, but more or less divide a whole department between them. Ever heard of the Last Department ?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Good. Don't get involved with them, don't ask questions about them, and don't mention them. On the other side of the political landscape, there have always been several families that proposed strong conservative beliefs. Some rather nastily, others more innocently. Have another guess at a few names.'

'Black, I presume?' Hermione guessed. 'Malfoy seems right up that alley, too. I've heard the Selwyns have been pretty important as well in the past.' You could learn a lot if you shut up and listened at meals.

'Good enough. The last piece of your puzzle is the most personal. As I said, it's not really a secret, but I know for a fact that Daphy and Harry consider this very private. Do you get my meaning?' Tracey's normally warm eyes shone with a clear warning.

'I'll keep it to myself, I promise,' said Hermione, making a conscious effort to placate her informant.

'You better do that. You haven't yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the really nasty part of Harry's family. I'm completely serious with you here, Hermione. If those guys think you babbled about Harry's past, they may not show the restraint Daphy has.'

Hermione blanched. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to get involved with Harry's family, anyway. But the way Tracey has worded it, it seems like I've already met someone related to Harry, doesn't it? She refrained from asking, however, and nodded meekly.

'Harry was, in fact, not born a Black. Now make the connection yourself.'

Hermione looked at her completely nonplussed. 'Do you-do you mean to say he was once part of one of those Pillar families?'

'Not only that. He consciously and with full awareness of his actions forsook his other family, and a mountain of gold to boot, by the way, condemning an ancient house with the full support of the Ministry to die. He willingly took on the stigma of being a Darker, even though he could easily have escaped it. And he didn't join just any family; no, he joined the Blacks. The Blacks are widely regarded as the most hateful of Darkers for different reasons. Some of those reasons are barmy, others not so much.'

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

Oh, my god! It's like he declared open war on the ruling class after switching sides!

'I'll tell you this in good faith, Hermione. The other Slytherins tolerate Harry for two reasons: First, he chose to be one of them when he could easily have made other arrangements and been heralded a hero, the establishment's favourite pet.'

Tracey stood up and gave her one last admonitory look that seemed so misplaced on that child-like face.

'And the second reason?' Hermione's voice quivered slightly.

'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey…'

HD: On the difference between

On the difference between opportunity, disaster and foreordination

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. The motionless body of Nott was still etched on the undersides of his eyelids; he couldn't help but shiver slightly. Rubbing his eyes, Harry tried to ignore the headache that came with the continued dreams of Nott's demise and the ensuing lack of sleep.

But time had flown by.

September, October and (to a lesser extent) November had been pure torture, but now things were getting better, thankfully. The extremely harsh cold the approaching winter solstice had brought with it broke the mood of his tormentors-most of the time, at least. The bone-rattling chill that seeped through some parts of the castle made lying in wait for hours a very uninviting business. Most people were also avidly following the inter-house Quidditch tournament, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. While he had initially been looking forward to flying, things were a bit different now, and he didn't deem it prudent to present a target in circumstances that could prove fatal.

Harry got up from his bed and slowly stretched. An undisturbed night's rest was always a very welcome if rare experience, so he was in reasonably high spirits when he picked up his robes and gently caressed the Black coat of arms. Thoughts of finally being able to talk to his grandfather welled up inside him, and he couldn't help but smile slightly.

'Good to see you in a fine mood today. Not your usual grumpy self this morning, Mr Black?'

The voice had come from the office and sounded more amused than berating. 'Yes - I'm rather looking forward to seeing my family.'

The matron made her way towards him and smiled crookedly. 'I still cannot get my head around the fact that you really are a Black… Well, show me your arm, young man!'

Harry obliged and watched her expression. At first she looked suspicious, then confused. Finally, she peered at him with very plain incredulity.

'Wh-When? How?'

'Madam Pomfrey, as much as I enjoy your company, did you really think I was watching you eagerly all the time out of pure politeness? It took me a while, but I think I have done quite well. What would your educated opinion on the matter be, ma'am?'

She continued to stare into his eyes, and he could see that her pride vied with her joy.

'You have done very well, Mr Black. It is no perfect work by a long shot, mind you, but there can be little doubt that you have mastered at least the initial stage. Are you interested in the Healing Arts?'

'Oh, yes! I have always wanted to learn about them, but Grandfather told me I should wait until I found an able instructor, since errors with these things might turn very unpleasant…'

He knew she had understood what he meant, as the turmoil behind her eyes was easy to spot. Officially, Madame Pomfrey was support staff, even though she held at least as much influence as a teacher. But she wasn't allowed to pass on her knowledge, strictly speaking.

After a while, she delicately spoke in a soft voice.

'Well, you know that I can't officially familiarise you with this noble branch of magic, Mr Black.' She paused slightly and gave a friendly smile. 'But as you have seen fit to honour me with your presence at least twice a week, I really can't help you picking up some things, can I? Merlin knows, I speak under my breath more often than is good for me, so you should really ignore anything I babble while I set to work, alright, Mr Black?'

'Haha! Thanks, madam, you are the best.' Harry couldn't help but feel elated. The Healing Arts had indeed been of very great interest to him for some time. In fact, besides matters of the mind and Charms in general he held them in highest esteem. There was also little doubt that Madam Pomfrey was extremely able. Even though he could observe the flow of magic as she had set to work, it had taken him nearly two months to be able to recreate the meanest of healing spells. But it really was so worthwhile that he wouldn't have cared to spend double that time.

She gave him a warm smile, but raised her finger in a sign of impending lecture.

'Now, Mr Black, I do still hope that you'll try to avoid injuries as best as you can. Self-inflicted injury will also not garner my attention, are we clear?'

'No worries, Madam. I do not really like being beset upon in the corridors - if you had any earnest doubt.'

'Don't get flippant with me, young man.' She wagged her finger accusingly, but he knew it was all still in good fun. 'Now - how about you trot along. It's nearly time for breakfast again.'

Harry smiled and gathered his things. Initially, he had been rather embarrassed that the matron had assigned him his personal bed, but in time he had come to appreciate it. He felt rather safe in the infirmary, too, not unlike his prolonged stays in the library, where he was kept safe by the legendary tantrums of Madam Pince. He had also gotten strangely close with the motherly healer. He was still perfectly respectful, but he knew she would probably not mind him dropping the act.

He finally made to leave and energetically walked towards the exit.

'Be careful, Harry. And have a nice holiday.'

Harry turned around and gave a boyish smile.

'You, too, Madame Pomfrey. Please stretch your legs and get some rest during my absence.'

Noting her chuckle, he left and made his way to the Great Hall. If there was a single regret on his mind at this moment, then it was that today would be a compulsory Defence against the Dark Arts lesson for him. He rummaged in his pockets and soon held the small piece of parchment in his hand.

' Mr Black,

As our previous arrangement indicated, you are required to partake in the last session of class before you leave Hogwarts for your family commitments. Depending on the results of your studies, I may be inclined to extend both your leave of absence, as well as your access to the restricted section.

Waiting to see your progress, I remain,

Yours very truly and devoted,

Aenor Eydís Rose'

He couldn't quite tell if the memo was her way of having a bit of fun with him. He was rather thankful for her free pass to the library, of course. He had found out that such a thing was apparently most unusual when Madam Pince had tried to prove his slip a swizz for at least half an hour before returning it with an air of utmost frustration. He was also very grateful that she tried to help him study Occlumency, as the subject was of greater importance than anything right now. The Hogwarts library didn't specialise in obscure magics, especially those concerning the fragile human mind, and Harry had the explicit impression that someone had once purged the library of more helpful tomes. Nevertheless, a few select works had helped him further along than he could have hoped by pointing to small details or even retelling stories of famous masters of their craft.

The extreme politeness of Rose's little snippet, however, clashed horribly with his memories of writhing on the floor in agony. Shuddering, he remembered how he'd felt stiff for two weeks after her little demonstration. He still didn't quite comprehend what had happened. His tentative theory was that she had not in fact tried to extract information, but made a very real try to overcome his defences with the sole intent to cause pain. He winced at the thought of how bad it would have been, had his initial efforts not rebuffed her…

Well-no matter. He had had some pretty excruciating lessons before, and as long as there was no mental scarring, he would put up with her sadistic streak for the benefits she granted him. Defence was probably the class he was furthest ahead in (after charms and not counting History of Magic, which he fully intended to never attend). He was glad that both instructors seemed to have taken an interest in him, though their approach was slightly different; where Rose seemed to prefer blood, torment and screams of anguish, Flitwick served tea and smiled.

~BLHD~

Breakfast was uneventful as most students were not keen on stalking the cold castle so early in the morning, and Harry did most certainly not complain. For once, even the Prophet had nothing bad to say about either him or his family. Something truly grave must be happening today…

Just as he made his way out of the hall, he felt someone press the tip of a wand in his neck. Moaning softly, Harry cursed his luck.

'Walk!' A determined feminine voice increased the force to his neck, and he was guided to an old club room that belonged to the students of alchemy, but would not be in use today until much later. As soon as they entered, he heard some muttered spells being directed towards the door and portraits, but he didn't make any attempts to turn on his captor. Only in the most desperate of situations would he willingly take the first spell to the neck. That person would make a mistake sooner or later; they always did. The unknown student forced him into a chair and someone took his wand from within his right sleeve.

Okay, now that is a bit worrying. It seems someone has finally done his homework.

Harry was actually kind of curious now about the person who had managed to sneak up on him, and was thus highly shocked when his captor walked around his chair and sat down on a desk quite a bit away yet directly in front of him.

It was Tracey.

'Good morning, and stop your gawking!' She casually held both wands and sat there, legs dangling far above the floor. It was kind of insulting that he had been overpowered by this little girl, but he knew she was a tricky one, even if she was usually content to play the role of best friend and sidekick; the fact that she had managed to alter her own voice so effectively that he had been unable to recognise her only served to prove the point.

'Tracey…' he muttered feebly. 'Look, if this is about Daphne then-'

A warning bang erupted from her wand, and he stopped talking that instant.

'Shut up, will you!? This isn't about your noble crap of self-sacrifice. I won't get involved, even if the both of you are so frustratingly stupid. You have two things to nod off, you will be on your way, and we will not speak of this again. Daphne doesn't and won't know, crystal clear?'

He nodded curtly.

'Good boy. In case you're wondering, I haven't told her about your motive, and I'll likely continue not to do so.' She paused for a bit here. 'Now onto the important matters at hand; I'm not here as Tracey, Daphy's best friend, but as the daughter of Amaryllis Davis, do you get my meaning?'

Her eyes narrowed, and the alarm bells in Harry's mind went off with an ear-splitting roar, causing him to stiffen in his seat.

'First, I have been forced to divulge a bit of information about you to Hermione. This includes your origins and some small hints about the general political landscape, as well as the Blacks. I have also warned her to stay away from your family. I doubt you disagree.'

Harry nodded once more. He didn't like to talk about these things, but if Tracey had done so on his behalf, he doubted Hermione would have the guts to go against her advice. There was also the small matter of two wands being pointed at him, of course.

'Good boy.' She said yet again and made a gesture as if to pet the air. 'The second matter is at least as serious. My mother officially suggests you "attend the Black Ball in an acceptable fashion. The accompanying guest of your choice will be of suitable presentability without being directly linked to your family." Those were the exact words of my mother. I do not know what she meant, and I didn't ask her. Just be a smart lad and do as you're told in this instance, get it?'

While Tracey's mother held no authority over him, it would nevertheless be prudent to heed direct advice here. He rarely got recommendations to specific courses of action from that direction, but he was certain they would not lead him astray.

'Alright, I shall do as Amaryllis suggests then.'

'Smart decision, Black.' With a smug expression, she threw his wand towards him, and the air about her changed. Now she was… just Tracey somehow.

She pranced towards the exit of the classroom and began whistling some ludicrous tune he wasn't familiar with. 'See you at Yule then, Harry. And by Salazar, solve your problems and make up with Daphy already!' She stuck out her tongue at him and disappeared through the door.

In disbelief, he allowed his gaze to follow her until she was completely gone. He would have to let his Occlumency down with her at some point. It really wouldn't be a stretch to believe that Tracey had a split personality hidden in that little frame of hers, and he really felt the need to be sure at times. Looking back at the situation, he pondered if Tracey's whole act of 'kidnapping' him had been meant as a reprimand for pushing his family and friends away. Sighing, Harry leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Well, maybe I deserved that a bit, but did she have to enjoy it that much…?

~BLHD~

That afternoon, their last class was Defence against the Dark Arts. All the conversations died down as soon as Harry entered the classroom, making his way to a place directly by the windows. Some latecomers were casually chatting and approaching their usual seats, but after spotting him, quickly chose to sit somewhere else.

Five minutes before the class started, Professor Rose entered the classroom, yet Harry registered that even though she was early everyone was already seated and nobody spoke. Wow - she really has trained them.

Rose wore thrilling light blue robes hinting at transparency that were just barely adequate for a teacher… possibly. No wonder the boys stand at attention, at least.

'A good day to you. Even though this is our last day before you celebrate Yule or Christmas, it is good that you are punctual. Today, I wish to talk about something that is of great concern to your Ministry of Magic and may play a role in your attempt to pass your O.W.L.s.'

Even the two girls who had obviously only pretended to listen until now jumped and quickly refocused their attention towards the ravishing beauty at the front of the class.

'Now, we shall talk in some detail about what your good curriculum refers to as 'Dark Creatures'. How about you name me some, but to make things more interesting, give me your reasoning as to why you consider your nomination to be of 'Dark' descent. You have ten minutes to think about this. You may discuss it with your immediate partner. Begin!'

That was a surprisingly difficult question. Harry knew something of the matter, but this was not only a rather deep subject, it also was highly controversial. The class seemed to take the questions seriously, and a low hum of whispered discussions broke over the silence Rose's presence had instilled.

Fifteen minutes later, Professor Rose casually sat on the desk and clapped her hands twice to get their attention.

'As you all have had enough time to think about the matter now, enlighten me with your musings, please,' prompted Rose.

That idiot Macmillan pompously raised his hand with confidence.

'Doxies, Professor Rose. They are poisonous and infest wizarding houses. They harm magicals.'

Pathetic.

'Alright, Doxies are up for discussion. Does someone have any thoughts on them that they would like to share?' She looked challengingly around the class.

Tracey raised her hand. Oh, this might be good . Rose had a knowing smirk on her lips, but allowed Tracey to speak anyway. 'Yes, Miss Davis?'

'Oh, I don't know anything at all about Doxies, Professor,' Tracey said in a plummy yet eager voice, clearly and quite amusingly imitating Macmillan. 'But I'd like to bring up mice for discussion as 'Dark Creatures'. They can infest wizarding houses and pass on diseases. They also bite, and I don't like them scurrying around. I am forced to say they harm my peace of mind.'

Did not disappoint, that one.

Half the class was hooting with laughter, and Macmillan was shooting Tracey murderous glares.

'What Miss Davis so eloquently pointed out is indeed a valid point. I would have done so differently, but her argument stands. Doxies usually only try to defend themselves when disturbed. They show no other instinct than most non-magical animals of the wild, except some tendency to cohabitate with magicals. Any more fearsome creatures to put forth?'

Hermione raised her hand. Rose nodded, and the girl started voicing matter-of-factly, 'Dementors, Professor. They don't eat wizards or witches or need them to reproduce, but they still try to cause harm to any human they come across. As they don't stand to benefit themselves, one might call them unreasonably evil - or 'dark', I suppose.'

'A better answer, Miss Granger. But I tell you there are non-magical beasts on every continent that do kill for inscrutable reasons, sometimes in shocking displays of cruelty. Let us take the common domestic cat for example. The majority of breeds will try to catch and kill most small rodents, even if they do not need them for immediate nourishment. If you ever observe a cat playing with a caught mouse, you may also develop a great deal of sympathy for the little vermin. I don't mean to say that these actions serve no purpose for the cat, rest assured they do. From an outsider's perspective, however, it is easy to mistake these actions for plain cruelty. You should therefore be careful to dismiss actions you fail to understand as "evil".'

The class looked unsure, but no one else raised a hand. Even Hermione looked thoughtful.

'Let me be very clear; there does exist only a single creature that deserves the label of being 'dark'. You may have heard all the stories about Inferi, Boggarts, Dementors and whatever else. I tell you, these creatures were created by wizards and witches themselves often enough, and their obvious intent to cause harm was implanted into them. A tool that is forged to hurt others can hardly be evil, wouldn't you agree? Others, like the Boggart in our line of examples, do simply follow their natural instincts. Those instincts are not inherently more malicious than those of other creatures and beasts, just because they have evolved to prey upon humans. Surely, you would agree if I said a bear wasn't more inherently evil than a squirrel for example. Both are omnivores, but just because one of those two can actually kill humans for the sake of its needs, does not make it more nefarious. This, dear students, is ignorance and arrogance at its most primal.'

The class was completely silent. A few seconds later, Hermione again raised her hand. 'Professor, but you said there was a single 'Dark Creature'. Which is it then?'

'Oh, yes indeed. Tell me then, Miss Granger! What do all those creatures lack, that would turn them into truly evil entities?'

Harry could see Hermione thinking furiously about this for a while, before her expression turned to shock. 'Freewill, Professor.'

'Freewill it is, Miss Granger. In short, to be able to objectively and subjectively differentiate to a certain degree between several options based on concepts of morale, efficiency, repercussions, experience, et cetera. A higher consciousness. Now, have another guess at our 'Dark Creature'!'

Several others had obviously gotten there at last. Bones looked outraged.

'Surely, Professor, you don't mean to say that witches and wizards themselves are 'Dark Creatures'?'

'Oh my, Miss Bones, I did not mean anything by it.' Rose smiled sweetly. Not bothering to hide her sarcastic streak, she led them on, 'I was merely innocently following the logic laid out by our good Ministry to the bitter end. It is so very regrettable that it somehow turned into this mess at the end, isn't it?'

Bones was fuming but held her tongue. Professor Rose wasn't finished yet, in any case.

'Maybe we should approach the matter from a different perspective. Wizardkind is, after all, not the only magical creation capable of higher judgement. Name some other, please.'

Macmillan seemed bent on recovering from his earlier blunder.

'House-elves, Professor. Centaurs or goblins.'

Someone in the back of the class snorted at the mention of elves.

'Very good, Mr Macmillan. Now, dear students,' she smiled sweetly, 'of how many elvish Dark Lords have you ever heard? Of how many centaurs making a bid for supreme ruler of the universe? And for all the talk of goblin-rebellions your History of Magic teacher is sure to bore you with later, have you ever heard of a single murder committed by any goblin against a witch or wizard? Anyone? For your information, you have not because, while Goblins do not refrain from attacking most brutally in times of war or as an act of defence, they consider casual violence to be so extremely abhorrent that it physically revolts them to even consider such actions.'

Again, the class was silent. Harry had to admit that she was rather proficient at manipulating them. Several people were listening to her with open mouths. Others, it seemed, were only managing to not embarrass themselves because the frequency of her strange revelations had somewhat blunted them.

Seeing the prevailing looks of astonishment, Rose sighed.

'If you manage to brand this into your brain, I will be most pleased with the class: Question the world, question the status-quo, and-most importantly-always question yourselves! As your homework over the holidays, I expect your thoughts on the term 'dark'. You may refer to 'Dark Creatures', 'Dark Lord', 'Dark Wizard or Witch', 'Dark Item, Object or Artefact'. You may even make use of the term 'Dark Arts' if you truly wish to fail my class. I expect honest thoughts on the matter, so do not bother asking your parents, as the ongoing bigotry in this country has led to some very strange beliefs and maimed intellects. This will also be the first time I shall set a minimum length for your assignment; as you have a lot of time for pondering and writing, let us say you need to submit a minimum of three feet. If I catch anyone copying the thoughts of another, you may both repeat the assignment with double the length in half the time.'

The class collectively groaned.

Professor Rose, in turn, flashed a smile. 'Enjoy your holidays!'

Most students returned the gesture. Even without Rose's glance, however, he knew that he wasn't dismissed, so he gathered his things with deliberate slowness, trying to not arouse suspicion amongst his classmates. Some of those Hufflepuffs might become even angrier with him if they thought there was something inappropriate going on between him and their idol.

Soon, they were alone again, and Harry felt oddly queasy as she silently closed the door. But she simply returned to her seat and gave him a cocky smile that sent a shiver creeping down his spine. Merlin! Those robes really are even more suggestive up close…

She had no doubt noticed his looks and obviously basked in his nervousness.

'So… what did you think about the lesson, Mr Black?'

Harry was very aware how he had to make a considerable conscious effort to keep his gaze on her face. Damn - she's toying with me.

'I thought it was pretty good. I personally enjoyed how you mocked the Bones girl most, but I do appreciate your skill in playing an audience, as well.'

She gave him an amused grin, but didn't respond to his suggested topic. 'What did you use your carte blanche for, these past months?' she asked.

'Only two matters, and you may check with Madam Pince on that, Professor. Firstly, of course, I concentrated on the advancement of my Occlumency. As a second matter of interest, I also discovered that the barrier you so aptly cast during our first lesson curiously enough does not seem to be featured in any publicly disclosed work Hogwarts has access to.'

He had gone pretty far with this, but he needed to know where he stood with this person sooner or later. He was also very eager to gain any amount of control over the conversation, as his wandering eyes, shame, embarrassment and fear (though he hoped she would not pick up on that) gave her all the cards she needed to play.

'What curious research subjects, Mr Black!' she responded loftily. 'How would you rate your progress on the matter of your defences then?'

'Satisfying, Professor.' He really was quite confident.

'Interesting. Last time, you had to overcome, how shall we call it, a more straight-forward attempt on your defences. What would you say should be the natural next step, Mr Black?'

Harry frowned. Well, if she had tested him on power… OH, DAMN!

Immediately, he concentrated with every fibre of his will on his mind, and-sure enough-soon found several infinitesimal penetrations. Panicking slightly, he let a great current of magic flood through the rails of his psyche and didn't stop until he felt several small and foreign presences retreat.

Professor Rose looked victorious.

'When did you start?' Harry asked, trying to hide the exhaustion and pain in his head that was the result of his forceful and rather brutish actions.

'Naturally, as soon as I took a seat. I would have thought our past dealings had put you a little on edge, but I am so very glad to see how relaxed you are in my company, Mr Black.'

Yeah - and not gullible, at all. But this could be bad. Depending on how much she saw, I may have to call upon Grandfather to do something I really would prefer not to do .

'How-How much did you see?'

'Do not worry, Mr Black. I did not try to dig, as you would likely have sensed my incursion then. In truth, I only saw the very thoughts on the immediate surface and first layer of your consciousness.'

She paused for a short while, before she added with a thoughtful look.

'Trauma-induced near pathological fear of women is rather unusual, Mr Black, but I will not inquire, of course.' She flashed him something that could pass for an apologetic look in the right light. 'You could definitely do worse, though. At least, you will always be on guard.'

Harry was really peeved that this had come up, but there was no way out any more. He also idly wondered how many men hadn't been 'on guard' against this show of immaculacy before him - and paid the price. Rose was powerful. Really powerful. In fact, she was quite blatantly a foreign prodigy, though this made even less sense, as he had never heard of her before. He desperately needed to get more information about her…

'Professor, please! That matter is quite private, I would rather prefer it if you did not share it with others.'

'Oh, don't worry, Mr Black. That would be so very, how would you say it here, un-Slytherin-ish in my approach?' She laughed merrily. 'I doubt that word is okay as it is, but your language is so strangely restrictive with compounds.'

Don't mind her obvious bait to lure you into speculating about her mysterious origins. What could she have meant with 'un-Slytherin-ish'…? Oh, thrice be damned! She was talking about freely giving away blackmail material, wasn't she? Damn it! Another tricky one to deal with.

'Your method of ejecting me from your mind was quite efficient. While you were not able to perceive my attack without help, your defences have seen some definite improvement since last time. I think you shall be ready for your final exam on this matter before the end of the year. I therefore do intend to extend your hitherto existing privileges. You should be warned though; I consider your progress at the moment to be only at about 40% of what you need for the last test. It would be very much in your interest to keep improving, Mr Black.'

She gave him a haughty simper. 'Is there some other matter, or is it simply my presence you're enjoying so much right now?'

Merlin, she was dressing up like this to distract me, wasn't she?

… And there it was. A sudden inspiration so brilliant it was scaring him slightly. It was also scaring him for several other reasons, of course, but it was still a good idea - probably.

'There was indeed another matter, Professor Rose.'

She looked at him in honest interest and ever so slightly inclined her head. The world is so cruel that someone who so casually desecrates your mind takes the shape of an angel incarnate. How should he best approach the matter…? Ha! Why not let her have a taste of her own medicine to break her pace.

'Say, Professor. Are you pure-blood?'

Harry immediately congratulated himself on his chosen course of action. Whatever Professor Rose had expected, this wasn't it. Her eyes only gave away pure confusion. Then quite suddenly, her expression changed to a dangerous smirk that seemed daunting.

'And why would that be any of your concern?' The atmosphere grew cold. 'Or why should I refrain from transfiguring you into catnip right now and look for the caretaker's kitten?'

Damn! The problem with shocking people is that it is always hard to calculate just how far you can push them. Don't anger the scary ones, Harry! Well - no honourable retreat possible now anyway.

'Because I think you are, Professor. You hold yourself with the air of someone of a certain background. You hinted about family in Britain, and I somehow got the feeling you did not mean your favourite Muggle Uncle Tom. You casually refer to the coming holidays as Yule instead of Christmas. Even though you suffer from a language barrier, as you claim, your grasp on formal English is quite profound and hints at some kind of formal training, lessons or at least passing interest. There were a few other things, but I think those are the more obvious clues.'

You pulled the tail, now there is nothing else to do but wait and find out what lurks behind the bush…

The young professor gave him a hard look, but didn't otherwise move an inch. Those astonishingly light-blue eyes seemed frozen in place, deep in thought. Finally, she once more elegantly crossed her long legs and stared at him with an expression of extreme calculation. 'You still have not really stated your intent, Mr Black. I see no reason to reveal my personal view on this as long as your purpose remains unclear to me.'

Well - that could have been worse. Harry slowly exhaled. 'I meant no disrespect, Professor. I simply thought that if you were by chance interested in more traditional views on wizarding culture, you might savour the chance to spend a sociable evening in fine company at the Black Ball this Yule.'

She raised an eyebrow, but he could see she was amused. 'You are quite bold for your age, asking out a woman six years your elder, Black. Are you sure you are not, in fact, more of a Gryffindor?'

'Please, Professor. That is a formal occasion, hardly some smutty tryst.'

Suddenly, she exploded with a laughter that was unnervingly captivating, if not exactly lady-like. 'Smutty tryst, Black? Maybe you are older than you seem. But you are aware that my position as teacher would never allow me to accept an invitation made by a student of mine to a private evening of cultivated socialising, no matter how respectable the occasion may be, am I right?'

Her eyes wandered to the window. 'If I were to receive a formal and official invitation by the Head of House Black or his scion, I may, on the other hand, find myself amenable to the idea.'

She glanced at him as if measuring him up. 'But why would you be interested in making such a curious invitation in the first place, Mr Black? I am sure there will be many people of fine standing present, but I very much doubt your House is so charitable as to give these opportunities for free…?'

Aha! A true pure-blood to the bone. This was as good as he could've hoped for. 'How about this, Professor? You teach me about the principles of your remarkable barrier technique, and I will have you enjoy a very good evening and personally or by extension of my grandfather introduce you to whomever you like?'

He was sure her eyes sparkled for a second. Being introduced by the Head of House Black was more than enough to open doors. Within certain circles, at least.

'That seems… acceptable. If you so ardently crave my company over the holidays, I think I may just do you this little favour. I do want guarantees, however, that you will not reveal what you come to learn from me to anyone but your direct descendants, is that clear?'

That is… applaudably paranoid. 'That seems reasonable, Professor Rose. I shall arrange for an official invitation to be sent to you this very evening, then.'

'I shall look forward to it. You are very lucky, you know.'

That perplexed Harry. Truly unsure what to expect, he himself now raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.

'You get a beautiful young lady to grace your arm for the evening; may weasel more information out of your mysterious teacher; present an unknown but powerful witch to your grandfather; introduce said witch to other families as an acquaintance of your house; and annoy the best friend of your childhood sweetheart in the process. A truly felicitous turn of events if you ask me.'

She smiled benignly, but Harry stood stock-still. It was evident that she wanted to let him know that she could read him at least as good as he could. Given that he was a known entity within some parts of magical Britain's society, he was, in fact, quite sure that she knew a lot more than him. But this was still a good opportunity. And he really could not wait to see Tracey's face.

Oh, this is going to be so good! That's what she deserves for relishing in bossing me around like that…

Nodding to his official date, he slowly walked to the door.

'You know, Black, now that I am aware of your little problem, we'll have to spend some private moments together before the ball. To get you acclimatised, you know? I don't want you jumping all over the place every time you touch my waist while we dance.' Her glee was as obvious as his sudden sobering.

Please not another sadistic tease! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…

HD: Pivot

AN: The next few chapters will focus on an even smaller cast of characters than before. Please do keep in mind that the intended length for each book of this fiction is around 150k words. Therefore, these characters do not 'highjack' the story or anything like that in the bigger picture. For those of you specifically worried about the plot, don't worry; it'll pick up pace and become clearer soon enough.

-YakAge

Pivot

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting safely onto the train had been laughably easy. Still deep in thought about how to best go about the upcoming dance, he casually traced his wand three times along the hinges of the door of the compartment he had just entered and nodded in satisfaction. Needless to say, he had enjoyed formal training, so the obligatory part of the occasion didn't worry him, but Tracey's warning had been ominous…

Inviting Rose was a small bet with some risk involved, but the opportunity had just been too tempting. It would be difficult for her to play three faces: teacher, companion, pure-blood witch with interest in politics . There was a very real chance that he might be able to uncover more about her past, though he would have to be subtle about it. He would gladly have taken her without the added bonus of her sharing some fascinating piece of magic, but now he was just ecstatic. The only real chance this could blow up in his face would be if she was some kind of international criminal or something. Haha - good joke, right? - Right? Sadly, the longer he pursued that disturbing line of thought, the more plausible it seemed. Come on, you're losing your grip on reality, Black! Just because she is an otherworldly beauty of mysterious background with unholy powers and a sadistic streak does not mean she is up to no good! Right? - Please agree with yourself already! Trying to drive the doubts from his mind, he forced his brain on to different matters, idly wondering who else would attend the ball.

No matter, he would know sooner or later. If there was to be someone to pay special attention to in attendance, his grandfather would be sure to tell him. Softly shaking his head, he turned around…

And found two wands pointed directly at his face.

Oh for the love of… This is getting ridiculous! How can I stumble from one mess into the next, every day? Guess the compartment wasn't empty after all.

Lifting his hands in a plain gesture of surrender, he eyed the people standing by the window. They, in turn, were observing him with miens of fear and shock.

Well, they don't seem to be able to get ahold of the situation, so I may as well take the lead.

'Do you mind if I sit down? You can still hex me once I've made myself comfortable, I am sure.'

In one fluid motion, Harry smartly sat down and started to make a slow grab for his bag.

'Stop! I tell you, I'm serious here; stop right now, Black!' That one sounded quite frightened.

'Do you really think I have my wand in my bag? If that were the case, Madame Pomfrey would have had to sent my ashes back to the family long ago.' Harry responded calmly.

He picked up a book he had (not entirely legally) copied from the restricted section and began to read with a clear air of disinterest. The charm would wear off in a few days, and he really wanted to get through them all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl shrug in a helpless manner.

'Why shouldn't we get back at you for John, while we have you here, Black? He is still in St. Mungo's and Professor Sprout hass told us the healers were unsure if he'd recover before the next term! How can you be such a nutcase, hexing people left and right just because of their parentage!'

Harry gave them a stern look, trying to intimidate them while actually thinking fast. John… John-who? Oh yeah, there had been those two second years that had tried to be really smart with me.

The result truly had been more of an accident though, as the Hufflepuff had most unluckily been hit by both Harry's volleys of spells and those of his mate. He's a Muggle-born? How can I be bothered to learn the family history of each and every of my would-be assailants…?

Harry crossed his legs and tried to imitate Rose's condescending glare of pure confidence. 'And why do you think you would fare any better?' He raised an eyebrow.

The other two exchanged nervous glances. 'I don't like this, Justin! He's creepy! Maybe we should just switch compartments.'

'Don't be daft, Leanne! We have our wands drawn, and he's holding a book!'

'Yeah - but why's he so confidently holding a book when we're holding him at wand-point? Something's off! I'm outta this.' She lowered her wand and sat down as far away from him as possible.

Haha, one down, one to go .

Finch-Fletchley seemed rather reluctant to make a lone stand against Harry and, after nervously licking his lips a few times, sat down next to his friend. Harry could hear fierce muttering, but he tried to ignore it, mostly because he was itching to have a go at this Patronus charm, yet it'd probably be wise to wait until he was home… sadly. Why was the emotional component such a driving force for this particular spell? It looked like this might turn into a project of a few weeks.

He heard someone clearing his throat.

'Can I be of assistance, Mr Finch-Fletchley?'

'Where are you skulking about when you don't attend Defence?' the Hufflepuff demanded.

'The library.'

'Why don't you come to History of Magic?' questioned Finch-Fletchley, diving into the act as the worst hobby-constable in the history of semi-professional interrogations.

'I prefer the company of books to that of boasting old men.'

That didn't seem to sit well with the girl. 'How can you say that? That man's a hero! Look how many Dark Wizards he's captured…'

'I am truly thankful. He is a paragon of goodness and an exemplar to us all.' He raised another sarcastic eyebrow. 'Happy now?'

'You're just so mean because he busted your family! Serves them right if you a…'

Suddenly, Harry was struggling to keep himself from slapping the silly girl.

'And you are an expert on the matter, I presume? If you really wish to have the opportunity to enjoy "Christmas", I suggest you keep these views to yourself while in my company…'

The boy looked outraged. 'You can't threaten her like that!'

Harry set his book aside for the first time since sitting down and growled, 'Watch me!'

The girl shuddered and kept her mouth shut. The boy seemed a bit braver.

'Why do you defend them like that anyway? You didn't have to side with those Darkers. Why in the blazes would you choose them?'

'Which girl do you fancy, Mr Finch-Fletchley? How do you feel about Leanne?' Both of them blushed, but Harry continued, unabashed.

'Oh! I am ever so sorry to embarrass. I thought we were opening a friendly chat among schoolmates to divulge our innermost feelings. Sorry to have misread that.'

The others held their tongues. Harry thought this would do, so he turned his gaze once more to that marvel of spellcraft…

'Did you really kill Nott?' the girl asked in a wispy voice.

'You know what? This may just be the first time anyone has actually asked me that. I think it curious that the Prophet and others are so sure of the whole affair, but I am very certain they have their sources of good repute. How could people like our marvellous Professor Prewett make mistakes, after all?'

The girl looked puzzled. 'What does Professor Prewett have to do with that?'

Merlin, they're hopeless.

'I misspoke. Please forgive my uneducated views on such trivial matters as my own innocence.'

He was getting riled much too quickly and knew it to be shameful that he couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but how could people be so ignorant and clueless?

~BLHD~

The rest of the ride passed in near silence if one were to discount the occasional prefect trying to force his way through the door. His unsettled companions shared looks of disbelief between the door and him, obviously wondering if they would eventually be allowed to leave.

Once the train came to a halt, Harry walked over and simply opened the door by hand. Both of the others were staring at him, mouths wide open. Harry shrugged. 'Why would I bar anyone inside from leaving? Seriously…'

Stepping into the buzzing mass of bodies that was King's Cross gave him a strange sense of déjà vu. Only three months before had he been so anxious to start his life at Hogwarts, yet now it was just all so messed up. Sure, the last weeks had not been bad per se, but that was only because he was getting used to the ongoing attacks on his person. It was kind of sad, really. Harry was very uneasy about the fact that he probably would at least have been in St. Mungo's already if not for his extensive training before school and his other advantages. He felt oddly disconnected from the person that had entered this train on the first of September, and didn't think that a good thing.

'How are you, Harry?' Thankfully there was something to serve as a constant link to better times. An anchor, even a lifeline. He suppressed his instinct to rush to his grandfather, but thought an open smile was forgivable.

'Not too bad, Grandfather. But I am very glad to be back for now.'

Arcturus nodded and indicated a secluded part of the station. 'We should hurry along, Harry. There is undesirable company about, and we should talk in a more hospitable environment.'

Harry followed his grandfather to a remote spot still inside the barrier. 'Take hold of my arm, Harry. We will be travelling home directly.'

Harry really didn't like apparating, but there was no way around it because Arcturus seemed to have some kind of schedule. Sighing, he grabbed the sleeve of his grandfather.

Distortion and deformation. The feeling that his body was being drawn through some zone of negative pressure. A constant impression of extreme strain and painful darkness, polluted with eerie sounds. The feeling of being watched. Different shades of darkness. It seemed to go on and on, and Harry briefly speculated something had gone wrong and looked around, forcing his eyes open.

… which was a mistake.

Suddenly, everything was aflame and immense heat engulfed his body, threatening to swallow him whole. He started screaming in terror as thousands of mountain-high walls of blinding colours pressed against him from all directions. Great eruptions of deadly green fire tore up his field of vision, forcing him to shut his eyes. Harry felt death coming from all angles and tried to fight back, but the suction drew him mercilessly forward, ever forward into the barrage of his doom. He let out a piercing shriek of agony as he collided with the first of what looked like innumerable barriers. Time seemed to slow down in an effort to prolong his torture, as wall after wall crashed into his body, every single one threatening to shatter his very core. After the fifth he had lost his voice. After the tenth he felt his limbs grow stiff from spasming. After the twenty-third his senses grew clouded, until finally-he had long stopped counting-he thankfully sank into the welcome depths of oblivion.

~BLHD~

Harry woke with a start. He was lying on a bed. Someone's bed. His entire body felt like it had been pressed through a meat chopper. He tried to raise his head, but white-hot pain rushed up his nerves and Harry, wincing and cursing, let himself fall back again. Carefully closing his eyes, he remembered what at the time had seemed like a very earnest attempt to destroy his sanity-yet again.

'Master Harry is awake! Minnie will be back at once, Master Harry! Oh, everyone has been so very worried…'

He heard the shrill voice of one of their elves fill the room and immediately relaxed as best he could. If he was somewhere under their supervision, he wouldn't need to worry for now. But even these small and feeble thoughts seemed to be too much for now, and soon he couldn't muster the willpower to pay attention any more. Waiting for the pain to recede, he sighed and let his thoughts fly away…

~BLHD~

Birds were tweeting outside the room, and he felt the welcome warmth of stray rays of light on his face when he next woke up. This time, he didn't attempt to open his eyes. 'Water…' he meekly called to the room around him. He felt parched. Someone pressed a glass in his left hand and helped him drink.

'Thank you…' Harry wondered why he sounded so very weak. Still, he didn't wish to pass out again, even if he really needed to know where he was. Slowly, he opened his eyes to the blinding brightness of the room. After blinking a dozen times, he started making out the familiar faces of Cranky, Minnie and Arcturus. They all looked worried and relieved in equal measure.

'What happened?' He was having difficulty remembering a lot about what happened after he'd left the train. It seemed all so indistinct right now…

'That's what I intended to ask you, Harry. How are you? Do you want to rest, or do you rather wish to talk?' Arcturus sounded stricken.

'Talk…' He had enough experience with recovering from painful injuries by now to be sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep for some time again.

'If you are sure, Harry. Cranky, bring us a potion to clear his mind a bit, but nothing strong enough to interfere with those that ease his pain.'

He heard the very faint sounds of elven apparition and a few seconds later was given a small vial to drink. He leaned back again, but after a few minutes the haze on his mind seemed to lift a bit.

'Well, Harry, I am very glad that you are awake again, but I will not conceal from you that you had us in a state of panic. We apparated from King's Cross to our mansion in Wales, but when we arrived, you were just barely hanging on. You have been here dozens of times before, so I do not think it could have been any enchantment impeding you, but it was, undoubtedly, a very grave situation…'

'The wards…' Harry tried to instil some semblance of order into the events that had unfolded after he had gotten off the train. 'How late is it?' There was so much to do…

'You slept for thirty hours, Harry, but I do not think that of real importance right now. What do you mean, "the wards"? How could the wards react to a Black?'

Arcturus looked confused and concerned for his grandson.

'One second, Grandfather…' With painful exertion, he forced himself to sit up. 'Minnie, please draft a letter for me. A formal invitation to the ball for a Miss Aenor E. Rose, currently residing at Hogwarts.' Allowing his aggravatingly slow thoughts to unfurl themselves for a bit, he added, 'And please include my sincerest apologies for the delay. Use the parchment for official matters of House Black and bring it to me once you are finished, so I can sign and seal it.'

The small elf nodded eagerly, all the while shooting him compassionate glances of concern. Arcturus seemed thoughtful, so Harry began to explain.

'I promised her an official invitation yesterday, or the day before that… the last day of lessons, whenever that was. But what I want to discuss is best spoken of in private, anyway…'

But then he had an even better idea. 'My wand…'

Cranky slowly offered him the piece of wood that lay on his bedside table. 'And a small flask…'

Arcturus seemed to have caught on and immediately conjured a small crystal flask. Harry pressed the tip of his wand to his temple and concentrated on his first attack as he had entered Hogwarts, the strange impressions he'd gotten in his first charms lesson and the other events where his Occlumency had broken down and forced him to be washed away by the ancient magics of the castle. He also added a brief excerpt of the conversation he had had with Daphne in the old storeroom. Concentrating hard, he forced the memories to replicate and brought the copy as a silvery strand towards the glass.

Even this small ordeal had left him feeling completely drained, so he once more shut his eyes.

'I have omitted the actual incident in question, but you will be able to string it together. Please destroy the memory once you are finished with it, Grandfather.'

Arcturus looked apprehensive, but also determined, his eyes boring into Harry's own, so Harry braved a very small smile that must have looked quite forced.

'If you think this is necessary, I will have a look at once. Cranky will take care of your needs, but please consider resting as much as possible for now. You still have more than a few days before the ball and should make good use of them. We can talk later, once you feel better, Harry.'

Arcturus grabbed his shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. 'I am glad you are back for now, Harry. Please rest and let me take care of the invitation.'

Harry could not help but feel quite relieved and, for the first time in more than three months, allowed his body to relax.

As he slowly slid down, he heard some softly murmured words of his grandfather. ' Rest, Harry! Let me take care of everything.' It had been another of those days. Slowly the weight of his eyelids overwhelmed his remaining strength, and he fell back into the comforting embrace of darkness.

~BLHD~

'What are those voices in the dark, Uncle?' A young and eager voice.

'Something you need not fear.' An older, kind voice.

'Sometimes they talk to me, or whisper things. It's gibberish, but today I had that strange feeling I could understand one of them.'

'What did it tell you?' the second voice answered calmly but with an air of interest.

'Nothing, Uncle. It asked me about something.'

'Of what did it wish to learn, young man?'

' Life… '

~BLHD~

Harry awoke with a jolt. He felt sweaty, and quickly looked out of the window to his right. It was obviously night time. He carefully tried to sit up and discovered that he felt quite good to his surprise and relief. Harry's eyes scanned the room, but found it empty. Recalling at least most of the conversation he had had with his grandfather, he ascertained that he was indeed at their second mansion in the country. He had stayed here often enough. Sometimes, his grandfather liked to enjoy a stay out of the city, and this estate had luxuries their rather small abode in London did not offer. Well - 'small' was a matter of perspective.

He got up. Striding across his room, he found his trunk sitting beside a handsome armoire. A small note lay thereon.

' Cranky has restocked the trunk with forbidden tomes of family origin, Master Harry. '

Harry sniggered as the note crumpled and vanished in his hand as soon as he'd read it. A second later, Cranky popped into being.

'Cranky is glad to be able to tell young Master Harry from his blanket again. How is Master Harry feeling?'

'Fine, Cranky, but drained. In fact, I was just on my way to plunder the kitchens.'

'There will be no need for Master Harry to act the vagabond,' the elf said reprovingly. 'Cranky will have Kreacher cook something up. Maybe Master Harry would like to make himself presentable first? Cranky will arrange an attire that may suffice for the occasion.'

Harry looked down at the old elf in curiosity. 'Do we have guests, Cranky?'

The servant of House Black chuckled darkly. 'Oh - yes. Please hurry, Master Harry. I will have Kreacher serve your meal in twenty minutes.'

Fifteen minutes later, Harry made his way downstairs, wearing formal dress robes of midnight green. The cold shower had gone a long way towards bringing him back from the dead, and he felt ready to tackle whatever the rest of the day might throw at him. He lovingly caressed the ancient handrail. Buildings and desks truly only ripen as they age…

'Cranky has prepared Master Harry's repast in the small study, next to the smoking room. Please follow Cranky, sir.'

Harry raised a dubious eyebrow. 'A meal in the study, Cranky?'

'Well, Cranky has been curious about that himself, Master Harry,' the ancient creature answered indignantly. 'But Master Arcturus has been trying to accommodate our guest. Old Master Phineas would have flogged his grandson if he ever knew. The old master was safeguarding the Black family books most close-fistedly.'

'Sounds like a smart man, Phineas Niggelus Black.'

'Cranky thinks Master Harry and Master Phineas would have made most excellent company. Though Cranky fears that both Masters may have gone a long way in emptying the coffers of this noble house in an attempt to obtain all tomes of forgotten and powerful magics gold can buy.'

'You say that like it's a bad thing, Cranky.' Harry's eyes shone with enthusiasm. 'I can't wait to empty some of our vaults at Gringotts. Just how many rare books do you think I could buy with all that gold…?'

Cranky looked stunned and waggled a finger in scolding. 'Master Harry should not joke about these matters. Master Harry cannot be allowed ruin this family over his obsession with knowledge.'

Harry just gave a hearty laugh. 'Don't worry, Cranky. I was just joking-mostly. But perhaps depleting a small country of magical tomes, at least? As my coming of age present?'

The elf appeared placated enough. 'If Master Harry behaves… perhaps.' He knocked on a door in front of him.

'Come in, come in!' Arcturus' voice sounded genial. He must have been drinking.

Cranky slowly pushed the big door open. Inside were Arcturus, Kreacher… and Professor Rose.

'Harry! Do come in and join us. You do know Miss Rose, of course, so we can put introductions aside.' Harry's eyebrows were both nearing his hairline, but he took a seat nevertheless.

Professor Rose was wearing a very elegant dress of a silvery white material and a truly impressive amulet of black diamonds that shone in alluring contrast to her eerily fair skin. He eyed it in disbelief, all the while softly shaking his head.

'Do you find the periapt to your liking, Mr Black? I do have matching accessories. We should try to coordinate our wardrobe for the ball, while we're on the subject.'

Harry sat down and put the delicate tray Kreacher had given him onto his knees. 'You have truly put my mind at ease, Professor. It is good to know that Hogwarts pays their junior instructors well enough to allow them luxury befitting royalty.'

She flashed him a challenging smile. 'I am not entirely sure why I should listen to you on this matter, my prince . I have only just been told that this so happens to be only your second largest mansion in Britain, because the other one is apparently so pompous that even other pure-bloods may feel either threatened or insecure about it.'

Arcturus gave a small chuckle. 'I see the ball will be a very entertaining affair, but please remain civil for now. How are you, Harry?'

'Thank you for asking, Grandfather,' Harry replied. 'But I do feel quite healthy now. In fact, I can hardly await looting the libraries. I have not been here for quite some time, after all…'

'Multiple libraries? And you go on about some small trinket of mine, Mr Black?' Rose quipped.

'A "small trinket" of impossible worth, Professor. From what I know, all remarkable black diamonds are accounted for, yet here you are with your "trinket" whose centrepiece flaunts at least 500 carats. And let's not talk about how Muggles do not even know how to process the material correctly.'

'You are suspiciously well-informed, Mr Black. I didn't know you were so girly as to be interested in jewellery.' She grinned in that innocent way again.

'Ah - Miss Rose, but that would be because during one of his wilier and youthful phases Harry had a profound interest in such things. In the end, he settled for cuff-links, I seem to remember.' Arcturus truly relished in the harmless banter.

'Yeah-well I do appreciate their understated glint. Most people do not even recognise them for what they are, anyway…' Harry blushed a bit. It's not that he really was interested in that stuff any more, but he had thought them fitting and a bit of a joke, considering his family.

'Don't worry, Mr Black. But I've never been able to wear them to a ball yet because my dates could never keep up, until now, it seems. Black diamonds, it is. Any propositions concerning colours?'

'That would be the lady's decision, I believe, Professor.' It's not that he was trying to be accommodating; he could probably easily match whatever she suggested. Maybe his wardrobe was a little excessive…

'How very gracious of you, Mr Black. We shall settle for a light fabric of midnight blue with minimal accentuations of light emerald for you, then. Formal stiff collar and cuffs, no crests or insignias, winter-styled dress robes reminiscent of the style that was popular in the 20s.'

Harry's simple nod seemed to annoy Professor Rose somewhat. 'Well, I do prefer traditional clothing and subdued colours, Professor,' he tried to justify his response. 'Grandfather, I have offered that either you or I shall help introduce Professor Rose to some people of fine repute. I hope you find yourself agreeable?'

Arcturus swirled the brandy in his glass and deeply inhaled the aroma before taking a small sip. He looked at Rose with interest. 'I hesitate to even ask what you have done to earn this form of eagerness. My grandson is not exactly fond of socialising, and you may consider it a great personal show of favour towards yourself that he has agreed to do this, no less ask me to help him, Miss Rose. I will, of course, most certainly comply. I really could not refuse a request by my own grandson, but please do not treat this arrangement in an unworthy manner, Miss Rose.'

'Do not worry, sir. I am very grateful for the opportunity and shall not tax your benevolent efforts,' Rose returned magnanimously.

Arcturus nodded. 'It's been a very long day for me, so if you would excuse this old man? Harry, Miss Rose is a guest of the house for a while, so you need not concern yourself with extreme measures of hospitality. I have called a few other house-elves to the mansion, as the next days may get quite busy, and one of them will be of service to your delightful companion. Have a good night, Harry.'

'Miss Rose?' His grandfather turned towards their guest, and his expression tightened slightly. 'You should probably be aware that the ancient wards around this home of ours treat attacks of privacy, mind, soul, body, property and respect as acts of war against the Black bloodline. I think the last person foolish enough to exploit our hospitality still serves as a basic lesson in anatomy on display in the small vault next to the wine-cellar. Please enjoy your stay.'

Spotting a slight hint of concern appear on Rose's face for the shortest of moments, Harry couldn't keep a grin from his face.

'There's no need to worry, sir. In fact, young Master Black has been one of my favourite students since I began teaching at Hogwarts, and I've gone to some lengths to make his stay worthwhile.' Harry tried his best to turn his snort into an honest cough. He liked to think he succeeded. Rose continued, unabashed, after all. 'As much as I am in your care, the safety of your grandson shall be very much ensured, here and at Hogwarts.'

'I would appreciate that, Miss Rose, especially as I will be away for business a few days. Do find some rest, once you finish your talk. Have a good night.'

They quietly listened to Arcturus' steps fading away in the distance. Shoving the tableware aside, Harry shot the beauty opposite him a dark look.

'Professor, may I ask what the hell you are doing here?' He had truly not expected this. He'd planned for some quiet days of peaceful studying in the library. Exactly how holidays should be. Not being constantly on guard, because a woman of nerve-wrecking loveliness was strutting around his home.

'Oh please, Mr Black! We are all friends here, are we not?' Her smile was benign.

'Of course, Aenor . So you are to stay here for two weeks, just to be friendly?' Harry remarked sarcastically.

She didn't even bat an eyelid. 'Well, I told you; we need to acclimatise you! I doubt you'll loosen up in just a few hours of my company, will you? You need exposure, young man.'

'Don't make it sound like some act of taming! Please, this is no easy matter for me, in case you cannot tell…' Harry shifted nervously in his chair. He had known there would be consequences to her finding out, but this situation had absolutely not occurred to him.

'I presumed as much. Since you decided to abandon the distance of etiquette first, you will not consider me presumptuous if I call you Harry, will you?'

Harry just sighed and shrank into his chair.

'Did you just sigh, Harry? I've also never heard you laugh as loudly as you did before you entered this room. I shudder in excitement for how fantastical my stay at this mansion already promises to be.' She was smirking as she filled her own brandy balloon.

'I am a regular human being, you know?' Harry reminded her, somewhat indignantly. 'I can hardly walk around school sighing all the time, but I would like to abandon some of the pretences while at home, at least…'

'Oh, don't mind me. I was just observing that it clashes somewhat horribly with the aloof image you've built for yourself at school. The cool, unapproachable, distant and filthy rich scion of a very old family. Literally no friends, no interests besides his studies and, let's not forget, somewhat unpopular.'

'If only I were as unapproachable as you would have me believe… I could've spent a great deal more nights in my own bed,' Harry murmured.

She, however, looked thoughtful. 'I've wondered about that. Obviously, I will not pry, but why do you put up with that anyway?'

Harry tried to fight his face from giving anything away. 'I just don't think it would be a good idea to show my hand so early. Also, I do not really wish to worsen the public standing of my family. Cursing everything that moves would hardly do my reputation any good. Not that much of my "reputation" remains by now, of course.'

'Do you honestly think those are just constant random attacks, Harry? You should make an effort to uncover who instigates half of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff to rough you up. If you don't wish to shock them into relenting, find their ringleader,' she dismissively waved a hand, 'and get it over with!' Harry got the distinct impression that she didn't mean for him to scare his opponent into surrendering. She hadn't even added a slight pause, and nothing in her expression gave any hint that she had misgivings about such rather radical actions. Harry suppressed a shudder.

'Granted - I think I may be forced to do something in the end. I was prepared to put up with it for a while, but I know it is slowly getting to me. And I really need to resolve this before next year…'

'Why?' She inclined her head questioningly.

'Some friends of mine will be joining us at Hogwarts next year. You may meet them at the ball if you want to have a look. They are, eh, most protective and refreshingly ruthless.'

She grinned. 'More so than Greengrass? I really think she would've done well in Gryffindor, but for the sake of keeping the rest of the lions alive, it was probably better for the school to make her a Slytherin.'

'Daphne is bold, daring and relentless, but she's always very… forthright with her intentions. Thus, most people who incur her wrath give in and avoid any serious repercussions. Those others I spoke of, on the other hand, do prefer more traditional Slytherin methods; if they truly thought you an obstacle, they would befriend you and stab you in the back first chance they got, never wasting time with warnings. They are great friends but truly terrifying opponents to have.'

'I can imagine.' She smirked. 'As long as you can be sure they're on your side, at least.'

'Oh, there is absolutely no doubt, do not worry.' Harry answered the unspoken question calmly.

She shot him an interested look, but Harry had been helpful enough, he felt. For now.

'Is this why you're truly here, then? To get information about the House of Black?'

'No,' she answered immediately. 'Not that I'm not interested, Harry, but I think I stand to profit more by siding with your grandfather. I'm also rather curious about you, in case you hadn't noticed. I've hardly ever given private lessons, and many who have had the chance gave up sooner or later.'

'I wonder why?' he muttered darkly. 'It's not that I'm not thankful, but was that brutal attack really necessary that first lesson?'

'Not at all.' She carelessly waved a hand again. 'But I myself had felt several people trying to have a go at my mind, and it wasn't completely unthinkable that one of those was you. I will never refrain from specific courses of action if I think them the most beneficial. Sooner or later, you may encounter someone with comparable powers, and it is in your interest to get at least some experience before you have to fight the real deal.' Deep in thought, she swirled the amber liquid again.

'Whatever. I should warn you that my grandfather was quite serious. If you try to have a look at the magics he or I work when we did not expressly invite you to observe, you will die a most agonising death and your preserved body will join the others in the dungeons. Cranky will probably even put you on a pedestal, as you definitely would be one of the finer exhibits.'

'Why, thank you, Harry. That must've been the most morbid compliment I've received in all my life. No matter. I stand to profit in any case, so don't worry.'

'You do. But if we continue to be useful to one another, I may have no qualms revealing some things to you down the road. That is always the baseline. You probably know how these things work. There is a road to be travelled, and no shortcuts exist in matters of trust and allegiances.'

'Oh-don't fuss so much, Harry. You really sound like a geezer at times. But let's put that aside for now. Do you think your grandfather would object if you showed me around a bit?'

Harry glanced at her, confused. 'Why would he?'

'Well, it is a pretty grand building. I am sure there are some rooms better not shown to guests, are there not?'

'Don't worry. You will immediately know once you try to enter a room you should not see. Let's start with the dungeons! You can have a look at our collection of previous visitors.'

He gave her a mischievous smile. Rose's face was completely blank for a second, but then she laughed in her unrestrained and contagious manner that Harry had come to know already. 'Your family's sense of humour is really wicked, Harry.'

HD: Thorns and Blossoms

Thorns and blossoms

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, Harry came to realise just how different these holidays had proven to be. Longingly, he remembered his dreams about spending days without a break in the library, delving blissfully into the depths of hidden knowledge stored away in the Black Collection. He certainly had not expected to pass every day of his holidays on edge. Or worse yet, have edges of blades passing him every day.

'Get up, Harry! We're definitely not done yet, so move your lazy bum!' commanded Aenor from the other side of the room.

And he did try to move. Once he put a bit of weight on his left leg, however, he let out an involuntary grunt and immediately plopped back onto the floor. Hesitantly, he inspected his knee, only to look away again at once, fighting the bile rising in his throat. Damn! Sometimes I'd rather like to see red instead of white.

Concentrating hard, he flicked his wand. A thick darkness descended and shrouded Harry like a garb made of the void. Silently, all the while cursing his wound, he crawled towards a column behind which he tried to steady his breathing. For a fraction of a second, he allowed his Occlumency to ease up. Amongst the background noise of his own darkness, a brilliant pillar of ravaging magic stood in the middle of the room without moving an inch. Occasionally, small tendrils of black and gold seemed to creep along the floor. All of a sudden, an explosion of light of such ferocity that he feared to have suffered lasting damage to his eyes forced Harry to bring his senses back under control.

'That is a neat trick, Harry. I'm impressed how I cannot cancel the spell, vanish the effect, part the darkness or siphon it away. I even just tried igniting it all, but I do admit that was more out of boredom. It also seems to create a lot of magical traces all around the room that somewhat hinder my efforts at locating you. I am, however, forced to wonder if this situation may not in fact be to my advantage. Not to make you worry, Harry, but joint injuries can be really painful. I wouldn't be surprised if you eventually retched all over your beautiful marble as soon as the rush of adrenaline recedes a bit. Maybe we should speed things up a bit, in your own interest, of course.'

The voice had a conversational quality, seemed perfectly calm and would not have been out of place at a poetry reading for bored wives of rich old men.

'Diffindo!' cried the same voice suddenly.

Harry groaned softly as he heard at least a dozen powerful cutting curses bounce all around the chamber. Somehow, his opponent seemed to have made them last really long, too. Twenty seconds later, the ruckus still had yet to calm down in the slightest; it was only a matter of time before he would be hit by a stray. Just as he was considering putting up a shield, a menacing ray of pink light shot through the darkness before him. Harry crouched down and traced his knee with his wand again and again. Shielding himself would make him a sitting duck, as he was unable to cast anything else while controlling his Shield Charm.

Okay, let's try to formulate a strategy. She's much more powerful than you. She knows immeasurably more spells than you. You cannot fight her straight up, else you succumb to her attacks on your mind within a minute, even if she holds back. Delaying tactics do not work either, as she has proven to be easily capable of deconstructing your shields, in contrast to those stupid Puffs. She has more experience than you. She knows more about your magic than you about hers. She immediately grasped the structure of the room we are in, so any advantage I would've had in that area was nullified within the first twenty seconds. Kind of not looking good so far. My only advantage is that she agreed not to move for the entire thing. Yet none of my own spells have managed to penetrate even her first layer of defence…

He continued to move his wand up and down his knee and relaxed a bit as the pain did not seem as tormenting any more. I only need to get one hit!

Concentrating his vision on his wand, he was startled that his faithful companion didn't seem perturbed by this situation at all. Quite the contrary, he got the distinct impression that it would be very pleased if he managed to overcome his unfair disadvantage by any means possible.

Well, if you insist. I doubt Grandfather will agree, but whatever. And I really don't want to lose after nothing but pathetic fleeing!

He abandoned his attempt to tend to his wound and laid his wand down in front of him. After rummaging through the pockets of his robes, he held a small vial of dark violet liquid in his shaking hands. Harry couldn't tell if it was hesitation, anticipation or reluctance that stayed his hands for a few moments, but in the end, he broke the vial at his feet as silently as possible and began to work.

Thinking about the predominant doctrine regarding the Dark Arts and the usual preconceptions about their practitioners, Harry had to fight down a laugh. Here he was, staying in his ancient and grand home over the summer, practising dangerous magic all day long in grizzly duels until finally succumbing to the Arts. It was a bit worrying how many clichés he confirmed at this point in time. Harry also had to admit that even with a good solicitor, the fictional sentence for the magic he was about to invoke would stack up to at least a few years in solitary confinement. Well, no matter. If she survives, she'll have to admit that I got a hit in. If not… Let's not think about that for now!

Harry knew this to be a true all-in. He didn't have his dragon-hide gloves with him, and the poison in the slightly diluted blood would finish him in a few minutes. The spell he was trying to cast would hardly last ten seconds, so he saw no problem with that, as the elves that were bound to the estate would sense him weakening… probably. He was only able to replicate the first two stages of the attack, though it would still be quite dangerous indeed. Harry mixed his own blood, which he incidentally had in good supply, into the small puddle at his feet, and instantly, he could feel something alien tugging at his senses, but he resisted the pull as best as he could. Shadows seemed to dance around his fingers and the blotch on the floor. Thank Merlin, he hadn't forgotten the small casket of different inks this time and wouldn't have to resort to writing in his own blood again. He didn't think using magic with the intent to summon or create would mix well with using his own blood as a catalyst. He had heard gruesome stories about the foolish witches and wizards who'd tried these sort of things…

Hastily, he drew four rings of slightly pulsating blue runes around the puddle.

Submission /\ Contract /\ Guidance /\ Foe

These runes were repeated dozens of times, as if in silent prayer. Strictly speaking, they weren't necessary, but he'd rather not fall victim to his own creations.

'I'm getting a bit bored over here, Harry. So I thought you might want to know that I intend to end this in twenty seconds,' Aenor parenthetically called out.

Trying not to think about what that devious witch could do to instantly end the match, Harry quickly drew connections from the puddle in the middle to each of the surrounding layers of runes.

'Ten, nine, eight…'

Harry pushed his hand fiercely into the blotch of mixed blood and started concentrating hard, remembering the feeling of losing oneself in absolute darkness, recalling the thrill of the unknown, bringing the voices of those unspeakable things back to his mind…

'Five, four…'

Before Aenor could finish her countdown, Harry was done.

Without a warning, the darkness seemed to stir in vivification. Fuzzy shapes. A whirlwind of black shadows. Harry fought hard against the nameless strain on his magic, willing his eyes to remain open, while the whole room seemed to blur and stretch with a sound like a ruler being drawn alongside a sharp edge. Harry was sure that this wasn't only his exhaustion playing tricks on him, as something erupted from between his fingers, and he couldn't help but shiver slightly and squelch the nausea as well as he could.

Ripples of dread permeated the air. He thought he saw something slither at the edge of his vision, but it was far too quick for him to follow. Hectically looking around, Harry's eyes went wide when he felt himself get clammy, and he backed off towards the corner of the room. The books hadn't mentioned this . Some kind of parasitic noise began to echo in his mind, while his whole vision started spinning. Harry quivered as something detached itself from the wall above him and flew blindingly fast towards another corner of the room. In terror, he felt all the candles and oil lamps in the room flicker and die. Dozens of assailants clawed against the defences of his mind, like fingernails on a blackboard; it was the icy feeling of panic all animals felt in the gaze of a deadly predator.

'What the… !' For the first time, Aenor's voice laid bare a small amount of trepidation.

Harry raised his wand towards the middle of the room and shouted, ' Silencio Totalum ! Reducto !'

He had originally hoped to be able to hold on for ten seconds, but it had barely been four, and he could feel his hold slipping fast. Damn it! All or nothing now.

Channeling all his remaining willpower and ignoring the white dots obscuring his vision, he raised his shaking hand once more. ' Oppugno !'

Immediately, his eyes drooped, but he thought he felt an alien explosion of pure magic, laced with rage as well as-incomprehensibly-happiness and amazement before his mind was submerged into enveloping darkness of a different sort…

~BLHD~

As Harry came to, his first impression was that, for some reason, his face hurt - a lot. He opened his eyelids just in time to see Aenor slap him again.

He recoiled and tried to move away. 'Hey, stop that! Merlin, that really hurts, woman.'

'So good to see you up and about again, Harry. I never estimated you to be so rash, you know. But for whatever reason, the hitherto cool and collected Harry Black just made a very good attempt to end the duel with a suicide move.' Aenor's voice was soft, but the scolding seemed earnest. 'What would you have done if that move of yours had really managed to overwhelm me? Poisoning yourself with a desperate last-ditch attempt practically screams Gryffindor, you know?' She threateningly raised her hand again and glowered. 'Do not ever do that again, do you understand me? Especially not in a mock duel, you stupid brat! Swear to me right now!'

Harry threw his hands before his face, but couldn't help agreeing with her on the inside. He had indeed acted very much out of character. He'd never have imagined that his drive to win the bet would push him so much. Harry also vaguely remembered his wand agreeing with his assessment, whereas right now it only hummed innocently in his hand, spreading the welcome and familiar warmth that he loved so much throughout his body. He nodded towards Aenor.

She slowly shook her head and sat down not too far from him. Now that his vision had completely cleared up again, he could see that her clothes were in tatters. He couldn't spot even a trace of red, but she did look distinctly dishevelled.

Suddenly, Aenor exploded in laughter, as if the serious warning from before was all but a distant memory. It was that laugh, the annoying one that somehow urged him to go along with her, Harry noticed.

'I never would have believed you would sic Lethifolds on me! Nor would I have thought it possible, to be completely honest. Your strange Darkness Charm must have enable them to survive here for a few moments, I assume? Trying to silence the area around me also kind of gave me the impression that you were earnestly trying to kill me, you know? It's difficult enough to anticipate their attacks in complete darkness, but I confess I was a bit annoyed with you when I suddenly felt a whole pack of them mere inches all around me.' She turned towards him and impishly asked, 'Do you so badly wish to make this world a less beautiful place, Harry?'

Harry felt his face grow hot. Aenor's robes were quite damaged and revealed a lot more than he was comfortable with. He quickly averted his gaze.

'I'm so sorry that I cannot take you completely seriously, Aenor. If your Cutting Curses had hit my neck or throat, I would probably have died before you could even have realised what had happened.'

'Don't be like that, Harry. Whining is unbecoming of you. But how did you do it? I've never heard of a spell that can summon Lethifolds. Granted, it would probably not exactly be featured in the Standard Book of Spells, but still. I've read a few books on such matters, you know.'

'How did you get rid of them? I faded relatively quickly after forcing them all towards you, but I don't think you cast a Patronus to make them retreat, did you?'

'How about this?' She stood up and reseated herself directly in front of him. 'I tell you what I did, and you tell me what you did?'

That seemed fair to Harry, so he nodded while trying to pretend that he couldn't see down her décolletage.

'Great! As I'm so much more mature than you, I'll even start. I relatively quickly came to the conclusion that you had either summoned Lethifolds or imitated their aura somehow, as I did have one nasty encounter with them in the past - thanks for reminding me, by the way. I was slightly distracted because I wondered if you yourself would be able to repel them, but I noticed your Silencing Charm, of course, so I assumed you would be fine for the moment. Your Reducto did nothing but delay my attempt to dispel the silencing, which probably was your purpose in hindsight. The moment I felt them behind me, I knew I'd be too late to cast the Patronus, especially against half a pack of them. However, there is a second way to defend against Lethifolds and Dementors, though it is rarely taught, considering its difficulty and relative uselessness in open warfare. If you force your mind into the required state of love, you can try to lash out with your magic. It is not exactly a spell per se, more of a burst of magic enriched with the thoughts and feelings on the surface of your mind. It is also rather restricted in its range. You likely felt it even, if you were still conscious at that point. Imagine it like a reverse attempt at Legilimency. One may, however, only utilise this technique if one has enough natural affinity for these sorts of magics. Your turn, Harry.'

Harry nodded silently. What she'd said had given him something to think about, but he would have to ponder these things at a later point in time.

'I realised you heavily outmatched me in every effort I could likely make. After you practically chopped my knee in two, avoiding you was rendered impossible as well. The darkness I invoked is primarily a means to veil my presence. It's… not something I am at liberty to discuss. The, eh, spell to call in the Lethifolds is a bit of… well, it is part of a rather obscure branch of magic not widely known or appreciated. You were right in assuming that I would likely not have been able to defend myself against a pack of Lethifolds, so I enlaced the summoning with four layers of runes that directed them to attack you as their first target and me as the second. I was not able to replicate the last step of the attack, as it is currently beyond my means. That last step I mentioned is also the nastiest and would likely have been ill-advised to use in training.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Ill-advised in comparison to setting a pack of Lethifolds on your innocent practice partner?'

Harry shrugged. 'The instructions advised the practitioner to lock his victim in a battle for the supremacy of his mind after summoning the Lethifolds. Even if the opponent should prove to be the better Mindmage, the attempt alone would likely render him unable to plunge deep enough into his own consciousness to search for a sufficient memory for the Patronus, therefore making him helpless against the creatures.'

Aenor's eyes shone with excitement. She crept half an inch towards him and readjusted her pose. Merlin, that women knows how precarious her robes look right now, doesn't she?

'What kind of nasty books do you read anyway, Black? This is not the kind of stuff an innocent first year should browse in his bed.' She assumed an expression of severe disappointment, and her doleful eyes seemed close to tears. A sudden and irrational impulse to comfort her sprang to his mind, before Harry forced himself to look away. 'So, in summary, Harry: you just attacked your poor Defence against the Dark Arts instructor with a sure-fire method to kill powerful magicals, while surrendering your young mind to the very Dark Arts your innocent and good-willed professor tries to protect you from? I-I really am kind of overwhelmed by this, you know?'

Her voice was so heavily drenched in deep remorse, sorrow and pity that Harry couldn't help but turn his head towards her again - where he saw her sporting a huge smile like the dawn of a thousand suns. She reached out and affectionately tousled his hair.

'That was awesome !' Aenor exclaimed excitedly. 'I'm really proud of you, Harry. A surprisingly good showing. I would never have believed that you'd be able to push me like that.'

Harry was dumbstruck and inspected her face very carefully, but she seemed absolutely honest this time. He wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad about that.

'Yep, you are definitely worth every second of my time.' Her radiant smile was so stunningly in contrast to her usual cool that Harry could not help but gape somewhat stupidly at her while she caressed his head. Indeed, he was so perplexed that he didn't even register how close she was.

After several moments Aenor retracted her hand and looked him in the eye. Her own piercing light-blue eyes were still shining with excitement and joy.

'I was also completely in awe that you were able to somewhat ease the injury to your knee. When did you pick that up? For some stupid reason, it's not actually taught at Hogwarts, as far as I know, right?'

He shifted in his seat nervously and contemplated diverting the issue, but Aenor's eyes illuminated his face in such obvious delight that he felt himself unable to put in the effort. 'I observed Madam Pomfrey's work whenever I was forced to submit myself to her ministrations. She, er, also recently agreed to tutor me a bit on these matters after witnessing my affinity for the Healing Art.'

Aenor beamed as if she had found a fancy oyster on the beach which she had later discovered to contain a beautiful treasure of the ocean.

'A very good idea. Pomfrey is easily one of the more proficient masters of her craft I have seen.' Slowly, her exuberance settled down a bit, though she still looked quite fevered indeed.

'There is only one question left, I guess. For a first year you are remarkably potent in the ways of Charms, especially barriers and shields. Your potential for magics of the mind is probably right up there, too, considering most people just succumb to the aura of the Lethifolds; fainting, getting permanently traumatised, or dying altogether if the pack is too numerous, old, powerful or any combination of those.'

Harry's eyes widened with horror. The book hadn't mentioned that at all !

'And I have actually never seen a fourteen-year-old heal a wound of a joint, even if you couldn't finish the job,' Aenor continued. 'I am also very pleased that you don't exclude any possible avenue magic might offer you, even if the method in question might be a bit controversial.

'But why do you limit yourself in the selection of your offensive spells? In all our practices so far, you've never used anything but fairly advanced defensive spells in concert with frankly inferior, offensive wand work. You've used nothing more potent than the Reductor Curse or an underwhelming Stupefy all this time. Why is that, Harry?'

Harry finally managed to rein in his eyes and look towards his wand. But he didn't like talking about that specific topic. Though he had come to trust Aenor to a certain extent, her drive and motivation still eluded him. He settled on a half-truth.

'It is a matter of personal preference, I guess. The magics you described come to me easily, while some others don't. I can learn six charms in the time it took me to somewhat master the Reductor Curse . In the end, I just thought I could get more of an edge if I heavily specialised in the fields that come to me naturally.'

Aenor seemed satisfied and nodded simply. 'I recently lectured the masses about the strength of wizards before the holidays, and I was even completely serious back then. While I urge you to not rely on a specific single specific field of magic, as every one of them does have its weakness, I do not think you may run into that situation all too often, as Charms, magics of the mind, Runes, Healing Arts and what you refer to as 'the obscure branch of magic many people do not appreciate' cover a wide field of applicability, so you should be more than fine. It is also true that you likely will have an easier time overwhelming all but the most experienced of wizards of witches if you manage to surpass the common knowledge in a given field of magic. Dumbledore, for example, may just be the most gifted master at Transfiguration the magical world has seen in at least four centuries. This in combination with his outstanding skills in other crafts, his brilliant mind and the deep knowledge he hoards makes him a truly powerful wizard. You don't have to master everything, to be the master of them all, Harry.'

Harry smiled a bit. He had always had his doubts about his limitations in certain branches of magic, but Aenor was right, of course. If you were the only person alive to know how to counter your own transfigurations, how much would it really matter that someone else knew more about Charms than you? At least if you had sufficient mastery to defend against common attacks and would be able to analyse more complicated ones.

'Since I revealed a bit more than I was originally comfortable with, would you mind sharing your evaluation of your own powers, Aenor? I always was very curious.'

She smirked at him, but didn't seem annoyed by his lack of subtlety. 'I'm a bit different, I guess. I have no specialisation or whatever you want to call it, and I pride myself in extensive mastery of most known variations of magic. While I may never reach the heights of a dedicated prodigy, I like to think my broad knowledge gives me the edge in most situations. While the Mind Arts are probably my most developed strength, my personal affinities for Transfiguration, the Dark Arts and Charms are at least good enough to comprehend what a true prodigy does, even if only in hindsight, though I may never be able to replicate Dumbledore's wonders, for example. In short, I normally react to my enemy until I figure out his weakness. At least, if I fight an enemy of worth. The worms that roam the streets I'd likely just blast to bloody bits, and be done with it.'

Harry just looked at her, his face expressionless. 'You know, this is not the first time I thought you pretty scary, Aenor.'

She, however, just smiled for her inscrutable reasons. 'Don't worry, Harry. You are definitely not the common rabble I disdain. Otherwise, I would hardly spend my time with you like this, or indulge your curiosity for that matter.' She stood up and casually held out a hand. 'Now get up, Mr Black. Let's get your leg fixed by that sinister house-elf of yours. I really want to take a shower.'

Hesitantly, he took her hand, but she let go immediately after pulling him up. This somehow annoyed him. She really does make an effort, though.

'Say, you mentioned you had been honest in your advice about the strength of a wizard in that one lesson. Does that mean you usually just tell them some rubbish to pass the time?' He didn't bother hiding the mischievousness and glee he felt.

'You wound me, Harry. But I guess it is true that, in most classes, I just babble a bit about duelling. If I were to speak my mind about certain other matters, I'd probably lose my job as well as my freedom. Not unlike your family, in fact.' Her innocent and slightly flirtatious smirk shone through the room like a torch in the night. Harry wondered, not for the first time, how hard it was to truly listen to her words and not just look at her face.

He sighed and muttered, 'You really are a nasty piece of work, Aenor.'

Her smile grew knowingly, and she gave him a small wink. 'Do not let it worry you, Harry. You're already faring better than most others.'

~BLHD~

Harry sat in a chair close to the fire in the small study. He was very tired, but his mind was still buzzing, trying to process all the information he had received today. Lovingly tracing the fine grain of his wand, he pondered how Aenor's family background was getting even more suspicious by the second. It wasn't as if he didn't reveal just as much to her, but, then again, so much more was publicly known about the Blacks. Any information broker worth his money would've been able to tell her that the Blacks were rumoured to still practice old magic, long forgotten and forbidden.

She seemed neither deterred by this nor surprised. In fact, had it not seemed as if she was particularly pleased today because he had taken an unorthodox approach to their duel?

The whole experience was so weird for Harry. Normally, people would distance themselves from him as soon as they learned of some of the more unpleasant business that took place with the Blacks. Well, unless they are fanatically loyal like Daphne, but Harry had not missed how frightened even she had been when she'd discovered his ward back in September. With Aenor and him, in contrast, it seemed as if they grew ever closer the more they revealed about themselves. He couldn't help but feel grateful for this, as he really liked that part of magic, no matter what he may have told the rest of his family bar Arcturus.

Slowly revolving the lovely wand in his hand, he thought about polishing it again, but, as he had done so only this morning, this seemed a bit excessive, even for him.

'You really do have a connection with your wand, don't you?'

Aenor stood in the doorway. She had evidently just finished her shower and was only wrapped in a flimsy towel that hid her features as much as it outlined them.

'W-Wh-What are you doing, Aenor? Please put on some clothes. I'm sure we, eh, can talk about my wand afterwards.' After a second of thinking that sentence through, he felt shame and embarrassment rise in him. Of all the stupid things to say… Stray drops of water travelled down her neck, and Harry was briefly mesmerised, his eyes jealously following their paths…

Aenor smiled, pretending not to notice his dilemma. 'Oh really, Harry? Do imagine my surprise as I beheld my robes after finishing my shower. I'm sure you can bear this much, if you were hardened enough to not even comment on the, ah, state of my attire after training.'

Or maybe she didn't realise after all, damn!

Aenor simply seated herself elegantly in the armchair directly opposite of him and made no further comment, but Harry still hadn't completely regained his composure and kept glancing at her. She, however, only smirked in return and crossed her legs with agonisingly slow motions. In fascination, Harry followed the deliberate movement of her impossibly long and slender legs…

Eventually, he regained some measure of discretion, shuddered slightly and swiftly fixed his gaze on the fire. Merlin, this is torture! And I'm not sure if this or the laceration of my mind is more wicked in intent .

'We were talking about wands, Harry, remember? Before you thoroughly checked me out, I mean.' Her tone was light, and she was very clearly entertained.

Harry grimaced, but hoped conversation might divert his attention from the half-naked epitome of temptation not two yards in front of him. 'Eh, sure. Yeah, I guess I have a very good connection with my wand. It's a bit complicated, though. My grandfather and I were most pleasantly surprised, since we didn't get this one from Ollivander's but from the family vaults.' At this moment, he truly did not care what he told her, as long as he could peacefully stare into the fire and try to forget the semi-stripped beauty that was within arm's reach.

'Oh? That's interesting. Have you had your famous Ollivander inspect it?'

Harry frowned slightly. 'Do you not approve of Ollivander?' It was rather difficult to have a talk with her while trying hard to ignore her appearance. He couldn't read her expression, for starters.

'Oh, it's not that. Well, not exactly, at least. I know him to be extremely competent, but he is too traditional for my personal taste. In matters of intellect, traditions should always be challenged by new ideas. Or vice versa, new ideas should always be compared to what is commonly known. Excellence should be the only measure that counts.'

'So,' he slowly tried to shift his mind into a higher gear, 'you think he doesn't even try to think outside of the box? He merely delves deeper in directions already laid out for him, and that blinds him to possibilities he doesn't think to consider?'

'Yes, something like that, Harry. So what did the old geezer say about your wand? Did you try any others?'

Harry laughed softly, remembering foolishly waving around half the shop's inventory. 'Ah yes, I did indeed. And the only one that had any reaction for me had a rare phoenix core, it seems. My own wand, however, simplified my choice by breaking the other one the second before I could actually touch it.'

She didn't answer for several seconds, and Harry finally shot a swift look towards her. She seemed deep in thought and had casually leaned forward, supporting her head with both of her hands. This posture, however, was a bit too much to endure for Harry, so he snapped his head towards the fire so hard that he felt a severe twinge of pain in his neck.

'What kind core does your wand have, Harry?' Her voice had lost the playful undertone for the moment.

'Eh, it is a bit unusual, so you first if you want to know.' This had been their modus-operandi for these past few days, and it had worked reasonably well so far.

'Oh, fine, if you insist. My wand incorporates the ground bones of a dementor.'

Scary how that fits. Harry wisely chose not to voice these thoughts, though. 'I didn't know they could be used to craft wands. I see what you meant with unusual approaches.'

'They can't usually, so it is indeed extremely unusual, and I'd like you to keep this bit of information to yourself. So what's yours?' she asked inquisitively.

'Well, Ollivander said it was some African Blackwood with the shrunken heart of a sphinx. He was very surprised when he inspected it and could hardly believe that we were so compatible. He himself had trouble producing even three sad sparklers with it.'

'Look at me, Harry!' ordered Aenor's voice, surprisingly insistent all of a sudden.

He hadn't expected her tone to change so drastically and felt himself heeding her wish without conscious thought. Her posture was very straight now, and her eyes seemed aflame with curiosity and something else entirely…

'Is what you just told me true?' Her eyes seemed to bore into his mind, and he reflexively concentrated on his Occlumency… but found no intrusion.

'Er, yes? Ollivander kind of told me not to spread the word. Is it truly such a big deal?' His own voice, in contrast, seemed very meek by now. Apparently this had much more severe implications than he had initially thought.

She observed his expression for a while, before closing her eyes and grimacing. 'You will never tell anybody about this. I'm very serious right now.' She seemed to be trying hard not to succumb to a fit of rage. 'If that Ollivander prick really did only say not to spread the word, then he may actually not have your best interest at heart. Harry, wands made out of sphinxes are rare, as are those creatures themselves. In contrast to phoenixes, however, they are capable of learning new magic in addition to that bit they are born with. You shouldn't consider them beasts, but rather a magical race with a very small and scattered population. Britain's Ministry of Magic would, of course, disagree again, but no sane person on the continent would refute me. As such, the eternal imprisonment of the heart of one of their own may have repercussions for you if it ever were widely known.'

Her words dangled dangerously in the air, and Harry shot a swift look towards the instrument of his magic that he so dearly loved. His wand didn't seem to mind him learning these things as it purred softly again, calming his agitated heart.

'Harry, there are societies that all but worship sphinxes, who also have social structures, same as with goblins, for example. These don't translate to human terms, but that doesn't mean they do not exist. We should have another wand maker have a look at your wand some other time. I… I know of another who maybe would be able to help you learn more about your specific sphinx. I had a comparable issue with my own wand, and he proved most helpful. Deeper understanding in these matters usually leads to greater compatibility in turn.'

She paused for a moment and licked her lips. 'We may have to wait with that for a while though. I don't have any particular reason to distrust you so far, but I'd rather not reveal more than necessary at this point.'

Harry nodded. He felt exactly the same way after all.

'What kind of wood is your wand made of, Aenor? I only had a few short looks at it, but it's an enchanting piece of craftsmanship.'

Before Aenor answered, she showed him her wand that lay innocently in her delicate hands. He studied it more deeply this time and was amazed that there seemed to be small pictures engraved all around the wand.

'It's not wood. It is as it seems, though few people recognise it as authentic ivory.'

Harry chuckled. 'I like how it is so obvious what it is, yet most people may never suspect the truth of it.'

This comment apparently pleased Aenor, as she smiled back at him without any hint of provocation for the first time in a while. After shooting a careful glance towards his own wand (that still did not seem to disagree with his mood), he looked into Aenor's eyes. They, he noticed, were equally studying his own, and he thought he detected a kindred hint of curiosity behind those icy-blue irises that he had once thought cold.

He pulled himself together and braced the question. 'Do you-Do you think I could hold it for a moment? I, ehm, was in fact wondering about other things before you entered, and I, er, find myself somewhat curious if I am compatible with it, even in the least.'

Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a long, searching look. After several very long moments, she nodded slowly and extended both of her hands: one with her ivory wand, the other empty. Harry understood and mirrored her gesture. He couldn't help but feel slightly nervous when Aenor slowly moved her hands towards his. As they softly touched, Harry gingerly trundled his own wand down his palm, as the ivory wand gently rolled into his other hand.

The first impression he got was… a bit different, but not exactly worse compared to his own wand. After what felt like a short tussle between his own magic and the wand, the slight feeling of uneasiness vanished, and he began to experience short bursts of prickling magic creeping up his arm. In wonder, he looked at the wand in his hand that seemed to be itching for action, almost infecting him with its tangible longing for battle and reckless displays of power.

He looked at Aenor and found her examining his own wand, deeply in thought herself. Eventually, she looked up, but he spoke first.

'I think the wands have a comparable feel about them, even though they seem to have contrasting personalities, but that may only be my impression. What do you think?' He masked his nervousness and eagerly watched her reaction. She seemed perplexed and studied his own face carefully in return.

'I somehow get what you mean, though I admit I'm completely gobsmacked that you have any reaction to my wand at all. As far as I know, you are only the third person in a few hundred years. Try a charm or something.'

Harry nodded and jabbed the wand towards the fireplace and said, ' Furvus '. Immediately, the fire shone with a strange black light while still illuminating the study. 'It doesn't feel substantially weaker than my own to be honest. The only difference I detect may stem from the additional familiarity I have with my own.'

Aenor turned his sphinx wand towards the fire, gave it a twirl, and the fire abruptly returned to normal.

'Indeed. Curious - I'm still certain this is your wand, but it nevertheless allows me to call upon my magic without hindrance…' Her voice trailed off, and she looked contemplative again.

Harry couldn't resist and lowered his Occlumency a bit. Immediately, his senses began to flood with magic from all directions, though it wasn't nearly as bad as Hogwarts. He channelled his focus on both wands and tried to tune out everything else. They were continuously humming and emitting the strange sounds that Harry associated with 'Wand Talk'. The atmosphere was peaceful though, unlike the usual strife and rivalry that filled the air in class. Both wands seemed expectant and enthused, they're 'conversation' more like song than banter. For some reason, he had the strange impression that he could detect a note of melancholy in their 'voices'.

'This is so weird. I usually hate even letting go of my own wand. Your ivory wand, however, seems to try and calm me down.' He really couldn't help but express his wonderment.

She gave him that look of inquisitiveness again. 'Your connection to magic is as strikingly remarkable as it remains mysterious. I only experience the vague but soothing feeling that this is an extraordinary match for myself, but you seem to be able to read the wands somehow.' She smiled a little as his face tensed. 'Don't fret. I won't ask, I was just commenting.' After a short pause, she sniggered slightly and gave him a strange look. 'Hey, I have an idea. Don't freak out, alright?'

Before Harry had completely understood her intentions, Aenor lifted his wand and said, 'Expelliarmus!'

A fierce scarlet light shot towards Harry, faster than he could even blink. When it hit him straight on his wand arm, however, he only felt a harmless, warm tingling. Nothing else happened.

Aenor was amused. 'Your wand is all but in love with you, Harry. I don't think you should tell Greengrass how…'

She was interrupted when Harry turned her wand towards her and loudly cried, 'Stupefy!'

The crimson beam of magic flew towards Aenor. He had the distinct impression that she intentionally refrained from countering it. The spell hit her in the face, but she only grinned menacingly. 'Hitting a lady in the face? I didn't think you had it in you, Harry. Maybe we should get a bit more serious in our training sessions.'

Harry blanched, instantly assuming an expression fit for the burial of a close relative. 'I - I may just have acted most foolishly. I do sincerely beg your pardon, Lady Rose.'

She burst out laughing and switched their wands again. 'I'm just messing with you, Harry.' She seemed to be in a very good mood, and Harry couldn't help but reciprocate the feeling.

Aenor stood up and stretched, causing Harry to immediately shift his gaze towards his feet. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but feel a growing connection to this most devious witch. He was very certain that his link to the sphinx wand was special. As far as he could theorise, the reason for that may be the personality of the sphinx itself - or something along those lines. The ivory wand somehow had the same feeling of mystique around it, and if he wasn't wrong about his personality theory, then this might mean that he and Aenor were on the same wavelength or something, at least regarding certain traits of personality or maybe preferences in magic.

He didn't pay any attention to his surroundings while he mused on these things. That is, until a lovely countenance of perfection occupied his entire field of vision. He tried to reel back until he remembered that he was currently very much seated. The angelic visage before him smiled kindly and retreated.

'This has been a most diverting evening, Mr Black. Please do excuse my comment, but I'm very pleased to note that you seem to have somewhat overcome your nervous breakdown regarding my outfit.'

Harry only just managed to mumble something about the more serious matters at hand.

Aenor assumed her voice of mock hurt again. 'Why, my prince! You make it sound like my looks aren't worthy of your attention. I cannot deny that you rather hurt my confidence…'

He raised his head to return a jibe, but could only stare in shock as she friskily raised the hem of her precariously short towel ever so slightly.

Harry's mind just shut down, causing Aenor to erupt with laughter again.

'Good to see you're not completely immune to me. Sweet dreams, Harry!'

Still cackling madly, the demon vanished through the door and noisily made her way towards her guest quarters.

HD: Give and take

Give and take

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Arcturus had finally returned. That was why it had come to pass that their usual silent breakfast was now shared among three people: the Blacks and Aenor. The Hogwarts instructor always tried to discreetly stay in the background when she perceived something to be a matter of family, tradition or custom, and so nobody intruded on the habitual tranquillity of their first meal of the day. What slightly irked Harry, however, was that with each passing day Aenor seemed to sit just a bit closer to him at every opportunity. At first, he hadn't even noticed, but it'd been more than a week since her billeting, and now it was hard not to notice. Even though he explicitly remembered telling her that this wasn't a problem of taming him, he couldn't quite shake the idea out of his head that she thought of him a rather shy squirrel in the park.

The only thing that infuriated him even more than that analogy was that, inexplicably and to his great chagrin, her methods seemed to yield results. He continuously bristled at her course of action, but his defiance only seemed to make it easier for her to approach him in turn. He was becoming quite desperate at how his every effort to resist her in this matter only seemed to further her goals.

This morning, she sat so close to him that he could smell the enticing odour the small blossoms in Aenor's braided hair released, and it really seemed to grate on his nerves; he'd tried his best to get into a bad mood about this whole business but utterly failed. His last hope had been Arcturus. The old man, to his annoyance, had just raised an eyebrow and not too subtly suppressed a grin before he buried himself behind the Prophet. Aenor was seemingly oblivious to his inner conflict, or rather 'his unbudgeable refusal to gracefully accept defeat', as she had previously put it.

Twenty minutes later, his grandfather placed his newspaper on the table in a sign of opening the conversation.

'I hope you have enjoyed your stay at our humble abode so far, Miss Rose?' Arcturus asked politely.

'I'm not too sure about the humble part, sir, but everything was quite perfect. I really must thank you again for your gracious hospitality,' Aenor spoke up, smiling with what Harry now considered 'practised charm'.

Arcturus eased his expression a bit and nodded. 'How did you spend the last few days, then? Please forgive this old man's curiosity, but already I feel you may be more forthcoming than my dear grandson, who is sadly taciturn in most personal matters.'

Aenor smirked a bit. 'We did a lot of training, sir,' she answered respectfully.

Harry prayed she was talking about magic but kept his silence. Maybe he was just getting jumpy.

'Ah, yes. As I must say, the elves have already besieged me with pleas for you to ease your schedule a bit, as they have trouble restoring the room to its neat and proper condition each night. For your sake, I certainly hope your efforts bore some fruit? Besides upsetting my servants and vandalising my house, obviously.' Arcturus gazed at her sternly, and Harry could see Aenor hesitate.

Suddenly, the Head of House Black chuckled softly. 'I am so sorry, Miss Rose. Do forgive this old man his poor attempts at humour. I know you to be an eloquent, cultivated young lady full of confidence, so I couldn't help but worry a bit. I'm very proud of Harry, but it's not hard to pick up on his reluctance to confront the fairer sex.'

Aenor let out a relieved sigh, but returned to her confident smile not too long after that. 'There's no need to pick on me, sir. I assure you, I will not puressure your grandson, nor will I prey upon his weakness in such an unworthy manner.' After a short pause, she added, 'That Cranky elf wouldn't have permitted me to do so in any case. He is… remarkably protective and independent in his actions.'

The old elf in question, who had been hovering alertly behind Harry, gave the slightest of bows to Aenor. 'Cranky thanks Miss Rose. If Miss Rose continues to uphold her current impeccable conduct, Cranky may even consider letting her in on the offer he made to young Master Harry before he went to Hogwarts in September.'

Harry groaned. 'No, Cranky, please! Can we not talk about that right now? She is a guest, you know.'

But Cranky was undeterred. 'Cranky is well aware of that, Master Harry. But as it seems progressively unlikely that Miss Greengrass will take up residence in your bedroom, Cranky will have to be on the lookout for alternate arrangements.'

Harry shrank back into his chair and tried to keep the heat out of his face.

'Oh, really? That seems like an interesting story.' Aenor smiled brightly. Harry could read her well enough now to see the playful malice behind her facade. 'I didn't know your family was conspiring to bring the two of you together, Harry. Maybe I should tell Greengrass about this, I think this will get me in her good books, you know?'

Cranky had obviously felt out of the loop this past week and now tried to repair his loss.

'Oh! Cranky thinks Miss Rose misunderstands. The invitation would originally have extended to any lady-friend Master Harry brought along for the ball. Cranky even volunteered to accommodate all of them by enlarging Master Harry's bed. Not all is lost, however, and Cranky still dares to hope; there may yet be enthusiastic ladies who tire of their company at the ball, after all.'

Aenor's eyes sparkled as she looked with glee at Harry, who was determinedly looking away by now. 'How come this tempting offer hasn't yet been made to me? I feel rather left out, not being considered a possible conquest and all that.'

Harry had slid so far down his in chair that his head was barely visible any more. 'Please make it stop, Grandfather, I beg of you!'

Arcturus, who had so far been trying to keep a straight face, coughed a few times to get Cranky's and Aenor's attention. 'I think that will do for now, you two. I have some family business to discuss with my grandson right now.'

Harry's grandfather turned towards Aenor, his expression apologetic. 'Though I hesitate to ask a guest of the house, would you consider yourself agreeable to lending your assistance to the elves for an hour today, Miss Rose? While they will, of course, take care in preparing everything for the ball, an outsider's perspective on the organisation, decoration and procedure may still prove insightful. You may also have a look at the seating arrangements and improve upon them, if you like.'

Harry rather thought he detected an odd eagerness on Aenor's face at these last words and could only hope she would do nothing too drastic.

'I'd be delighted to contribute, sir. Let me take my leave then. You'll find me in the ballroom, Harry. And don't talk behind my back, please!'

She waved to him and gracefully flounced out of the room.

~BLHD~

'She is certainly energetic, Harry. I admit I am somewhat amazed you can keep up with her.'

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly at that. 'I don't think I can, Grandfather. But she just creates a wake into which I get dragged. It's not bad, though. She is thoughtful, not unkind and not nearly as rash as Daphne, for example.'

Arcturus studied him for a second. 'I'm surprised by your assessment. I thought your invitation to be purely politically motivated, but that seems, at least no longer, to be the case. Or am I wrong?'

Harry shook his head. 'Initially, it was as you said. That may no longer be true, though. She is,' he paused for a while, grasping for a word, '… unusual.'

His grandfather looked interested and spoke in a soft voice, urging him on, 'How so?'

Harry frowned. He hated these kinds of questions, but if his grandfather wanted to know, he would try to answer. 'I have not disclosed much about me or us, not at all. She, er, may have observed me using the Arts of our family in one of our training sessions. We also briefly talked about my wand. But she willingly divulges a lot more about herself and shares much of her own knowledge in return for very obvious questions.' He saw the look of his grandfather and immediately interjected. 'I'm no fool, Grandfather. I am careful, but the truly astonishing thing is that she doesn't hold back in the least. When I asked her about her wand, she told me; when I asked if she has dived into the Dark Arts, she freely admitted it without a second of hesitation. She speaks of her powers and even of her weaknesses. I, eh, well, I admit I rather like having someone to talk about these things with who is at least approximately my own age. Daphne and the others don't understand, and sometimes I get weary of pretending. Especially with Daphne. It kind of hurts, now and then,' Harry admitted, feeling a little remorseful.

His grandfather's expression seemed rather kind now. Not a muscle had moved, yet his eyes, Harry realised, spoke volumes. 'I know what you mean, Harry, and I am glad that you seem to have found someone to confide in, even if only to an extent. You may also have misunderstood my line of questioning; she may not have told you, but it was I who specifically invited her to spend the days leading up to the ball at our manor. You may be able to continue your association with Miss Rose, granted you grow it at a steady pace. We spoke of this, remember?'

Harry nodded. 'Don't worry, I even told her how I would not accept shortcuts in these matters.'

Arcturus seemed satisfied with that. 'Good. I have made up my mind on her character, obviously, otherwise I would hardly have let her stay here. She has her own agenda, but I doubt you failed to pick up on that. She is not unlike you, though; once she is committed to a certain degree, I think you may find her quite loyal to yourself. This is also the reason why I gave her the chance to convince me that it may be prudent to bend our stance on guests a bit in her favour.' Harry shuddered slightly at the sinister edge in Arcturus' voice.

While Arcturus' words confirmed Harry's view of Rose's personality, he couldn't help feeling relieved all the same. His grandfather was very good at judging people, and if he gave his nod of acceptance, Harry felt quite safe.

'There also was the matter of Nott, Grandfather. I'm sure you know more of that than I do, but she never even mentioned him, which-I have to admit-is a refreshing change after these past months.'

'I see. I'm truly sorry about what transpired at Hogwarts. I know we corresponded with each other about this after the incident, but if you ever wish to have another talk, you know you can trust me to lend you an ear anytime, anywhere.'

Smiling kindly, his grandfather went on, 'While we are on the subject, my legal struggles on the matter are finally coming to a close, as well. Your name shall be struck from all records of the matter. The incident is therein from now on only described as an attempt to "implicate another in the most heinous deed of murder", so you may rest assured that there will be no above-ground repercussions from this for you. Of course, sadly, that will not readily improve the situation regarding the slander and hostility, but even that may ebb in time. I leave it up to you to decide whether you wish to take actions regarding that problem or not. Miss Rose may, incidentally, prove to be useful as a neutral bystander. I have several other reasons to possibly entrust her with your supervision, one of which at least I wish to share with you. From your letters and my own sources I managed to get a rather clear picture of your situation at Hogwarts, Harry. About the hostility, the violence and your isolation. I need to know what your thoughts are on these matters.'

The feeling of bliss and carefreeness that Harry had soaked up these past few days vanished like dust in the wind. Arranging his facial expression, Harry sat up straight. 'Well - I think ultimately everything you mentioned, including Nott's murder, are facets of a single problem. Someone obviously tried to implicate me in his murder for reasons that so far elude me. I'm also of the opinion that someone else is instigating the students close to the bigots to keep me from moving freely. In the end, I may have to confront both parties, though I think I shall concentrate on the more pressing matter. While I do enjoy studying the Healing Arts under Madam Pomfrey, I cannot deny that the ongoing attacks have heavily influenced my stay at Hogwarts - in a bad way.'

Arcturus nodded and smiled slightly. 'I am proud of you for making use of the opportunity. Poppy is a truly gifted Healer, and though she stands quite close to Minerva and Dumbledore, she is not as unjustly predisposed to believe all the vile defamations. I also agree with your reasoning. Do solve these problems before the end of the year. I don't need to remind you who joins you next year, do I?'

'No, Grandfather.' Harry sighed, yet his tone was rather fond. 'I will keep them out of trouble as best as I can.'

Arcturus nodded again. 'You need them close to you, Harry. I do not doubt for a moment that we do have real enemies at large at Hogwarts who are likely biding their time and observing you for now. You may continue to protect Daphne and Tracey by isolating yourself, but if you fail to improve your situation, I will intervene. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, Grandfather. I promise I will make every effort. I also promise to reconcile with Daphne as soon as the situation stabilises enough for me to do so. She is family, after all. I will also try to keep Draco close.'

'That would be wise. All is not lost with that boy. He is not his father, not that you shouldn't be cautious still. Then again, I think you already know of this.'

Arcturus relaxed a bit in his chair. 'This leaves only one more topic up for discussion, Harry. I have inspected the memories you entrusted me with. I have also disposed of them. Part of the reason for my absence these past days has to do with what I saw, and in hindsight, I admit to having acted foolishly in the past. This matter should have been brought to my attention when you were seven and we visited Gringotts. At the time, I merely thought you uniquely gifted in grasping the flow of protective enchantments, but now I know better. Please forgive me for this fateful lapse of judgement.'

To Harry's horror, Arcturus bowed his head and looked ready to prostrate himself.

'Please, Grandfather, please raise your head,' Harry spluttered in panic. 'I do not think any harm has been done yet, and thus far only you, Daphne and me have detailed knowledge about this. Cranky does, too, I believe, but I doubt he will present a problem. Aenor does have her suspicions, but so far I have been careful to never slip on the matter around her.'

Arcturus nodded emphatically and explained in a low voice, 'This matter should stay within the family by all means, Harry. In fact, if you suspect anyone gaining knowledge of this, I order you to inform me at once, as I will be forced to act. If Miss Rose should find herself in that unlucky situation, we may be able to force a deal of sorts. However, every other person at Hogwarts not of the family will be treated as collateral. It pains me to make this so clear, Harry, but it will be your responsibility to keep those people from harm.'

Harry's heart sank, but if Arcturus was so adamant about the matter, the implications of his failure were likely as drastic. He averted his gaze and nodded.

'I am truly sorry, my son, but there is no real choice in the matter. You will understand sooner or later. For the time being, I don't think it prudent to impart my entire findings on the matter, but my tentative advice is to strengthen your Occlumency as best as you possibly can, I think you see the wisdom in this. The second thing to keep in the background of your mind would be to use your gift whenever you are alone or with Daphne. If you have the time to do it, try to focus your powers, but I have to warn you, Harry: never let it run loose and only use it while focusing; if you are uncertain that you can succeed, forfeit any practice and continue with your Occlumency exercises. Training in this matter is said to be excruciatingly long-winded and difficult, but I have full confidence that you may eventually master your predicament. Procrastination will not help you either; my research so far indicates that the situation will gradually spiral out of control if you fail to deal with it.' He paused shortly and then added in a warm tone reserved only for his interactions with Harry, 'I am sorry, Grandson. You have been given a great and terrible boon, but you would do best to slowly nourish it. For now, the development of your Occlumency is paramount. Trust me on this.'

Harry felt a bit lost at sea. He had always suspected his gift to be rather special, but to make even Arcturus speak so cryptically with him, it had to be something of dire consequence and imminent danger to him or the family. At least now he had a clear goal and motivation. Until this time, he had always been conflicted about using his power, as it required him to tone down his protections, thus standing in contrast to his grandfather's prior instructions and common sense. If he could just somehow filter what he experienced while still protecting his mind, he could finally see a greater practical use of all this…

He nodded and said, 'I understand, Grandfather, and thank you for your efforts. I promise I shall do my best.'

Arcturus offered the kind of grandfatherly smile that only Harry knew. 'Good. Now why don't you try to find Miss Rose? I'm rather worried she already mimics your mischievous grin, so I fear she may be up to no good.' He laughed softly. 'In the meantime, I'll speak to Cranky and rein him in a bit, if at all possible, that is.'

'Wait - Grandfather!' Harry hesitated, then stood up. Facing Arcturus, he bowed his head. 'I wish to make a formal request concerning matters of House Black as a member of the main family…'

~BLHD~

Even though Harry was in a ponderous mood when he entered the ballroom a bit later, he tried valiantly to dispel any concern from his mien. Aenor sat casually on a table and was speaking animatedly to Cranky, who of which was nodding gleefully.

'So, how goes the messing with the seating arrangement?' Harry's snigger sounded a bit forced to his own ears. 'Hope you made it worth the effort at least.'

'What a curious accusation, Mr Black. I'm not sure why you're of the opinion that I used the position your grandfather appointed me to, in good faith, for nefarious deeds of personal interest.'

Harry waited and raised an eyebrow. Cranky just smiled meaningfully and disapparated.

Aenor shrugged and laughed suddenly. Harry was glad that she was in good spirits, as she would likely prove capable of stopping his musing about grave tidings. Her voice was light and her expression excited. 'I don't want to spoil the surprise, Harry. Let's just say, I prepared to fire the first shot of the evening.'

Though Harry had no idea what she could possibly mean, a vague hunch told him that it would probably spell trouble. Who would have thought her so childish as to play pranks? Not that I'm complaining…

It had become completely clear to Harry, in the last week, that Aenor hid behind her mask just as much as he normally did. Since he had dropped his acting instantly on the first evening, she had loosened up more and more. In the end, it turned out that Aenor was not only surprisingly spontaneous, but also pretty amusing; if you could stomach her humour…

'Hey, I'm all finished here, Harry. How about we put you in your place and shed a bit more of your-I mean… train you up a bit?' She asked coquettishly.

Yeah, that kind of humour.

~BLHD~

Harry found himself lying flat on the ground for the twelfth time in two hours. Moaning hoarsely, he winced and tried to turn around in an effort to at least look at something more interesting than the patterning of the marble. Grunting in pain, he managed just that, but getting up was beyond him for the moment.

'Finished already, Harry?' Aenor innocently looked down at him, laughing to herself. This time, her robes had not suffered even a single blemish.

'Yeah, I'm done. My body won't move, and I do not think I can muster the will to try anyway. Today was kind of disheartening, you know?'

Sitting down a few paces from him, she looked in his direction, a mysterious smile painted on her face. 'Well, I always sleep best when I'm dead-tired. If you are truly unable to move, then you won't be up all night, thinking about whatever your grandfather told you.'

Harry squinched up his face and mumbled, 'Was I truly that obvious?'

She grinned and gazed down into his eyes. 'Well, you did okay-ish. I would've been able to pick up on your discomfort and wandering mind in any case, but important family talk is rarely of the good sort. I know that well enough.'

Harry did not comment and looked away.

Aenor, however, just laughed again. 'Why all bashful? Oh-no!' Her voice immediately gained a slightly comical quality of shocked disbelief. 'Don't tell me it's that? Well, let me be the first to congratulate you! I wish you and Greengrass all the luck you likely need.'

Harry snapped his head back in her direction. 'What are you talking about?'

'Well, marriage contracts at such an age can be a bit of a shock, of course. But I'm sure the both of you can work it out…'

He just stared, dumbstruck, into her eyes whilst embarrassment and indignation fought a raging battle in his mind - until Aenor broke into uncontrolled laughter.

'Your face looks bizarre ! Come on, get a grip! This one was so obvious, too. I wouldn't think a marriage contract out of place with the Blacks, to be honest, but after seeing your grandfather dote on you like that, I doubt he'd have the heart.'

Frowning, Harry turned his face away from her to his left and said the first thing on his mind to avert further shame, 'Marriage contracts are sometimes necessary. Before you ask: No! I am not subject to one as far as I am aware, but that doesn't mean that the issue may never arise in the future…'

After a few seconds of silence, Harry felt something tickle his right cheek, and he looked up.

Aenor had bent her head over his, and several silvery-blond strands of hair had fallen onto his face.

In fascination, he beheld how full of life those eyes that always reminded him of cold winter mornings seemed up close…

'Open to suggestions in matters of marriage contracts, are you, Harry?' she spoke kindly and offered a sweet and teasing smile.

He felt his face grow slightly hot, but he just couldn't manage to tear his gaze away. Nor did she move.

After what seemed like an eternity of locked gazes, Harry slowly spoke without averting his eyes, 'I-I thought you promised not to, er, prey upon my weakness, Aenor?'

Her kittenish expression slowly transformed into an even more mesmerising warm and earnest smile. 'And I'm still upholding that promise…' Her voice was soft and strangely stirred.

Harry just stared into her eyes, searching for an answer…

It took him half a minute until he realised that he didn't recoil even though her immaculate face was barely ten inches above his. His eyes grew wide, as did her smile. He still did not feel the need to say anything and continued to bask in the radiance of her smile and those vivid eyes.

Harry soaked in her gaze, wallowing in the bliss of the moment, until-finally-Aenor smoothly pulled away.

'Just in time, Harry,' she said gently, still beaming. 'We will at least have one day to find out how good of a dancer you are and improve upon our performance should the need arise.'

Harry nodded, a blank expression on his face.

She did seem to become slightly flustered by his silence, but her eyes still shone brightly.

'How did I do? Compared to Greengrass or Davis, for example?'

Daphne's name finally broke the spell on Harry's mind. He blinked a few times and assumed a more adequate expression than untarnished befuddlement.

'Eh, both situations were a bit different. I first saw Daphne when… when the cause of my problems was still very fresh on my mind, whereas my contact with Tracey was rather sporadic for a long time.'

She seemed to pout a bit because he would not give her a straight answer. He couldn't tell if she was playing him again, but the strategy was effective all the same.

'In Tracey's case, I estimate it took her about twenty months. Daphne has always been unyielding; about nine weeks back then, I guess…'

Aenor struck a pose as if she had just won the election as supreme ruler of the universe with no dissentient. 'And I win by a landslide! Take that, you damned brats!'

Harry couldn't help but smirk at the laughableness of it all. 'Yeah, I guess you do.'

The woman in front of him was exhilarated, and, like a sponge, Harry soaked up her behaviour, which was completely authentic, not at all repressed for the first time ever; he had really never seen her lose it like that. It took her a while to calm down, but then she finally looked into his eyes again, though from a greater distance this time.

Slowly, her bright smile crumbled. 'It-It never truly stops bothering you though, does it, Harry?'

He grimaced and finally tried to sit up. After a gruesome effort, he replied slowly, 'No. At least not according to my previous experiences. But… but… Ah, never mind!'

'What is it?' Aenor's tone was subdued.

Realising that she most likely felt ashamed of her earlier outburst, he gave in again. 'The, eh, fear, well, it kind of gets counterbalanced by, er, Merlin-I-hate-these-talks, by emotional… investment or strong, dominant and lingering positive impulses.' Despite his outwardly calm demeanour, his heart was pounding hard.

'So,' Aenor's voice seemed a bit upbeat again and he was glad for it, 'you either need to spend more quality time with me or completely drown in the moment?'

'Yeah. Just… you know,' he drew a breath and hastily produced a few words without returning her glances, 'like a few minutes ago. I-I was entirely caught up in the scene and in those kind of situations it is hardly even background noise for me, as long as the per… experience is captivating enough. MERLIN! Can we please, please stop talking about this?!'

He didn't even mind how pathetically whiny the last sentence came out. Harry truly hated these conversations in which he couldn't string two coherent sentences together without stuttering in shame or blushing like a ten-year-old. It was bad enough that Daphne always seemed to get him there.

She walked towards him and dragged him to his feet, smile in place again. 'Alright, I shall withdraw my scandalous advances for the time being. Let's get you sorted out and call it quits for today.'

Harry nervously wriggled in her grip for a second. 'Eh, can I ask you a favour? It's kind of a big deal, though.'

She turned towards him and inclined her head, looking at him curiously. He could see that she was still in high spirits, and a better opportunity would not likely present itself during the next few days.

'What is it?' She asked without hesitation.

'I know it sounds kind of bad. Sweet Morgana, how to say this?!' He paused for a second and forcefully exhaled his hesitation, steeling himself and blunting his feelings in the process. 'I need a vial of your blood.'

Her eyes grew wide with shock, and her petite eyebrows shot further up than Harry would have believed possible. He wasn't exactly surprised either. Blood, especially blood freely given, was a crucial component in many a grizzly spell or even ritual. Even though Harry tried to avoid the really nasty ones when studying these matters, he was very sure that even he would be able to seriously harm her with a full dose of her lifeblood. Other, more advanced students of the Arts probably needed less for even more drastic effects. He knew there were curses and charms that could inflict even whole bloodlines for an indefinite amount of time…

All these spells took time to cast, sometimes months or years of preparation, but there was practically no way to defend against them if you were caught unaware. And blood could be made to last for practically forever. This was the reason he had so little confidence in his request. He remembered his own first lesson only too well, the words of Arcturus still haunting his mind:

Do not ever give blood willingly. Do not ever bond with unknown entities.

Arcturus had drilled into him how these lines were likely the only remaining common ground that remained among all the different teachings of what outsiders unwittingly referred to as 'Dark Arts'.

Aenor was still gawking. The hush grew steadily more painful, and Harry deeply regretted ever mentioning this, but Arcturus had been persistent. Lowering his head in shame, resigning himself to the aching pain that consumed his heart, he muttered, 'I'm… I am sorry. Please forget I ever mentioned that.'

He turned to walk away, but found himself being held back. Aenor had grabbed his sleeve and spun him around again. Slowly, she reached into her robes and produced a silver knife and a small crystal vial. Harry watched guiltily as she cut her thumb and let the drops of her blood drip into the small container until it was filled, quickly healing the laceration afterwards.

'Will you tell me what you used it for?' Her voice sounded distant.

'Yes,' he answered simply.

'Will you tell me before you utilise it for whatever purpose you have in mind for it?'

He gulped. 'No.'

She stared into his eyes, and he could once more not force himself to look away, hoping against expectation that she would just comply…

'Harry, you're demented.' But even as she finished speaking, she slowly and deliberately placed the vial into his palm and closed his fingers around it. The instant she let go, she breathed deeply and shut her eyes, as if waiting to be struck down by a sudden bolt of lightning.

In a most uncharacteristic silence, they walked towards the stairs where they would have to part. Harry stopped by the first step, unsure what to say, but positive that something needed to be said. He helplessly cast a look towards Aenor, whose expression was completely hidden by her long hair that, loose from her trademark braids, covered her like a curtain. A few seconds passed until she pushed her mane behind her ears and looked into his face. It took her a while, but finally she managed a smile.

'Let's make the ball a blast, Harry!'

HD: The Black Ball

The Black Ball

------------------------------------------------------------------------

'What do you think? I cannot find any more faults here.'

The boy slowly rose to his feet. Moonlight was shining into the small chamber and illuminated the boy in his noble robes of irregularly flowing dark colours. The grey gleam that rushed through the window seemed to softly embrace the frail figure; like a shroud, it clung to his body in an aura of unnerving wrongness. An equally haunting sight was the hundreds upon hundreds of eerily glowing signs and symbols on the floor, scattered about like loose blots of paint on strangely crumpled scraps of parchment. An observant bystander might have noticed that some kind of dark grey script had been scribbled on the wall. A thoroughly paranoid spectator might even have caught it moving ever so slightly. Some kind of intent could be felt seeping through the room. Something was there.

A gust swept along the curtains - maybe…

The boy wagged his head and crept towards the centre of the room where a small scroll of parchment that lay in seven circles of pale red seemed to pulsate in anticipation. His only company was the flickering shadows and the far presence of the satellite that looked down on its wayward fosterling.

'Thou shalt embark upon thy endeavour, young one, ere Cynthia expires, as she seems fain to not hinder thee.'

~BLHD~

Two days later, Harry was harried by two house elves. 'Quick, Master Harry! The guests will be here momentarily. Quick, quick!'

Harry straightened his tie and looked critically into the mirror. He was very pleased with Aenor's choice of attire. The classy elegance with just a hint of understatement was exactly what he personally preferred on these occasions, or any occasion, really. Aenor herself had given her blessings to his dress robes, though she had resolutely refused to parade her own dress in return. Arcturus had chuckled when Harry had complained to him about that and said, 'My wise council? Better get used to it early, Harry.'

The young scion casually made his way to the ballroom, politely thanking the portraits who offered their compliments. Some older guests had already arrived and sat at a few prominent tables with an unobstructed view of the dance floor. He tried to briefly ascertain that there was nobody present who required his immediate attention and welcome. Nodding to the few witches and wizards who noticed him, he identified the guests and started sorting them in the order they would command his salutations. Just as he had made his way to start with Madam Marchbanks, he doubled back. Sitting beside the ancient woman, besieged by her elders and clearly uncomfortable for it, sat a vastly overstrained Tracey. She seemed to feel his gaze, as her eyes sought his and grew wide with a plea for rescue. Immediately, she tried to excuse herself for a few moments, sporting a smile that was extremely painful to witness. Before Harry could look for someone to engage in a deep conversation, the short witch had already sprinted across half the room and arrived before him, displeasure oozing off her.

'Harry, what the hell is wrong with the seating arrangements? Have I done something to Arcturus to deserve this? All the guests at my table are at least a hundred years old! I've already had to suffer through dozens of stories about how life was so much better way back in the olden days, or how the Galleon will soon be worth less than dragon dung and all that rubbish. And I've been here hardly ten minutes!'

Harry tried to keep a neutral expression and asked politely, 'Is your date also sitting there? Who is accompanying you, by the way?'

'That's just it! Some complete arse seated Daphne with Draco and the rest, but I alone get to sit with the hags. This better be some kind of joke…'

Now it was Harry's turn to frown. 'What? You invited Daphne? But - but she's a girl! How come you get away with that?'

Tracey smirked. 'Oh, Black. I'm just the silly little girl, nobody even bothers me with these things any more.'

He scowled in annoyance, thinking he could've had some much easier days. Well - in the end, it maybe wasn't so bad, but this was a matter of principle. 'Come on, Tracey! How is this fair?'

'It's your own fault, Harry!' she answered complacently. 'You always get so serious about the whole family stuff, so nobody would buy into that anyway.'

'Damn! What about the others? Did they get real dates?'

Tracey sniggered. 'Well, two guys would either be considered gay or losers, your pick. With young and respectable ladies, it's just cute,' she proclaimed with dignity and proceeded to ruin it by sticking out her tongue. 'Draco went with Amy. The others won't come, probably.'

Harry blinked incredulously. 'Draco asked Amy out? Have I missed something?'

Tracey laughed mirthfully in response. 'I think Amy threatened to burn off his eyebrows if he didn't ask her, so I think it's still the same old business.'

Harry shook his head while looking at a new pack of arriving guests, until he spotted someone he hadn't expected. Quickly, he returned his attention to the petite witch at his side. 'Tracey, is that Fawley? What's she doing here?'

Tracey followed his gaze and gave a nod. 'Yeah, those are the Fawleys. I think they're here at the pleasure of Madam Greengrass. I gather they're sisters.'

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. 'The Fawley at school is Daphne's second cousin? How do you know?'

'There is a younger Fawley squaller, too. I think he's due to start school next year or something. Daphne showed me her family tree.'

Harry nearly dropped the drink he had just accepted from a house-elf.

'She did what?' he spluttered loudly.

'Yup - the whole thing.' Tracey grinned rather guiltily.

Harry looked at her sharply. 'Please make sure she does nothing stupid like that ever again, Davis.'

'Don't worry, Black. I intend to keep Daphy safe and ignorant. Those things really suit her best.' She paused for a bit before she added, 'While we're on the subject, who are you attending with? We've been trying to guess, but we all know that you normally don't keep the company of women who aren't your family.'

Harry kept his silence. He closed his eyes and smiled like a man preparing to open a '45 Mouton-Rothschild.

'So?' Tracey prodded in tangible curiosity. 'Who is it?'

'That would be me, Miss Davis.'

Aenor had silently floated near them. Harry turned his head and had to exercise all his mental discipline to keep his chin from dropping. Aenor was wearing a stunningly-cut long dress that clung tightly to her enchanting body and was sure to make many women weep and men drool after her. Her hair was set in elaborate braids that were adorned with small bands and ornaments, resulting in her outfit radiating a medieval glamour that forcefully reminded Harry of religious portrayals of angels. Rose's entire presence seemed to illuminate the space around her, and Harry couldn't help but admire her flawless skin, her picturesque features… her phenomenal eyes. He had regarded her daily appearance strikingly fair and lovely, but now he had to admit that she probably didn't even try any other day. If someone ever needed an effigy to personify beauty, grace and temptation, Harry was sure he would find her outmatching his expectations…

Tracey had evidently failed to overcome her surprise, considering that she had been reduced to staring incredulously at Aenor. After a while, she turned her head to Harry and then again back to Aenor. 'No! No, absolutely not possible. I refuse to believe this!'

Aenor seemed to enjoy Tracey's looks of complete shock and incredulity at least as much as Harry. She made a great show of walking up to Harry and giving him a much exaggerated, intimate hug that left Harry flustered and his cheeks subtly flushed. Aenor then proceeded to stand right next to him, rather closer than necessary, beaming at Harry, before eventually turning a predatory grin towards Tracey.

'A very good evening to you, Miss Davis. I hope you're enjoying yourself so far?' She quickly gestured to a nearby house elf, who turned out to be Kreacher.

The elf bowed low and asked, 'How can Kreacher be of assistance to Miss Rose?'

'I would like two glasses of the good Champagne and…' her voice trailed off a bit. 'Oh yes! And one hot chocolate with cream for Miss Davis.'

While Tracey obviously registered the taunting remark, she continued to stare at the non-existent gap between Harry and Aenor.

'Wha… But! How? What kind of joke is this?' she demanded, stomping her foot angrily.

Harry tried not to laugh and said politely, 'What seems to be the problem, Tracey? You yourself said that only a young lady could get away with having someone of the same sex accompanying her.'

Aenor caught on scarily quick. 'Oh - Miss Davis! That is just so dinky . I'm really glad you act your height-I mean age.'

Tracey looked as if she'd been slapped, yet at the same time she seemed incapable of retaliating.

Aenor pounced viciously on her weakness, all the while smiling sweetly. 'Pardon me, but look - here's your hot chocolate! Now, be careful not to burn yourself, poppet.' Still smiling charmingly, she handed a bewildered Tracey her drink.

Tracey, on the other hand, was livid, and Harry could (to his immense satisfaction) not remember her ever failing to come back from a taunt for so long. Grumpily, she took her hot beverage, trying hard not to show how much she actually liked the choice Aenor had made for her.

'Please do excuse us, Miss Davis. I wish to truly enjoy the evening with my date, and I think we should take the opportunity to enjoy some private moments now before the rest of the guests arrive and interrupt our rendezvous . We might see each other on the dance floor later, but please do enjoy the polite conversation at your table until then.'

Aenor linked arms with him, made a polite little bow towards Tracey and steered Harry towards a quiet corner of the room where they could converse without being overheard. Once they were out of earshot, Harry turned towards her, his face alight with exhilaration. 'That was so awesome, Aenor! Much better than I had hoped, even!'

She grinned back at him and took a sip from her glass. 'Thanks! But I did enjoy it myself. Davis has been getting on my nerves a bit with her constant jeering in class.' Very deliberately, she put the glass on a nearby table, took a few graceful steps back and twirled once for him.

'So? How do I look, Harry?' she asked, posing teasingly.

'Eh…' Harry gestured wildly, fumbling for words. After a while his uneasiness grew, but Aenor looked expectant, and so he gulped, muttering as quietly as possible, 'Stupefyingly amazing, to be honest.'

She awarded his efforts with a radiant smile. 'Thanks! You look very regal yourself, if you will permit me to comment. Oh! And you don't have to drink that, by the way. I'm not sure if your grandfather would approve, and it really was just another thing to mess with Davis.'

~BLHD~

Daphne was having trouble controlling her temper, cross that, she was having trouble restraining herself from tossing chairs and tables across the room, and her obvious desire to explode had already caused Draco to flee the scene. Tracey had tried to calm her down, though it was obvious that she was taking it no better, even if her reasons might have been different. In contrast, Amy sat contentedly at their table experiencing more or less subdued fits of laughter, apparently having the time of her life.

Daphne continued to tap the polished wooden table and shot a dark glance towards Rose, clicking her tongue to vent her displeasure. 'What's with all the baubles and hairbands anyway? She looks just like a "Merry Christmas Tree" I once saw in an old Muggle-studies book.'

'Don't be like that! I hear they're quite fashionable for pure-bloods of higher standing in certain parts of Europe. But look, they're dancing again! That must be like the fifteenth time or something,' countered the youngest witch. She was playing with her curly black hair while enjoying the pained looks that passed between her friends' faces.

'Seventeenth,' muttered Tracey darkly.

Daphne couldn't restrain herself, and her temper got the better of her again. 'Do they really have to dance so closely? However he got over his problem with that quean is a mystery to me, but does she have to parade it like that?'

'What I want to know,' interjected Tracey, 'is what that silly sciolist is here for in the first place. Look how everyone thinks her so cultured! Harry and Arcturus have already introduced her to at least half a dozen individuals of quality and they were all so enthralled . It's disgusting!'

Amy couldn't contain her laughter any more. 'Silly sciolist? Not bad, Tracey!' Chuckling in a mocking tone, she continued, 'But look closely at Harry! I don't think he really minds her company,' she paused delicately, 'or her attire.'

Daphne reined in her immediate desire to throttle Amy and settled for a very menacing look. Amy, schadenfreude incarnate, merely smiled heartily in return.

To Daphne's great relief, though, Tracey had not yet finished her rant. 'How did that bitch get me to sit with the old hags? Before you guys came, she explicitly wished me fun at my table. Why would the elves refuse to serve me anywhere else? She must have set it up!'

Tracey's eyes narrowed, before eventually widening again comically. 'Oh damn! This must be because of my talk with Harry.'

Amy's expression changed subtly, Daphne noted with vague worry. Yet she couldn't help herself from rounding on Tracey, too. 'What?' she demanded hotly. 'What did you talk to him about? How come he would talk to you, anyway? You told me he ignored you as much as me! Tracey…?'

Tracey jerked her hand to her mouth and sighed softly. 'Damn. Uh, it was just that one time, Daphne. I kind of ambushed him to have a few words. It was about the ball and how he should pick a real date. I was just relaying a message, but now I guess I know what that was about.'

She imperceptibly indicated a location. Amy and Daphne cast a careful look and soon spotted Lady Longbottom. Amy glowered, but Daphne couldn't help lowering her eyes and averting her gaze.

'Tracey, what does this have to do with Rose?'

Her best friend slumped down on the table, her voice mournful. 'Sorry, Sweetie. I think I might have upset Harry a bit; what with… pointing my wand at him and stealing his and such. So I, uh, think part of his reasoning to have Rose as his date may just have been to spite me.'

'Date, please! Don't you start with that nonsense as well. Escort, more like!' Daphne spat. She felt slightly ashamed, but not being able to completely vent her wrath only made it so much worse.

Amy sniggered gleefully. 'Escort? You make it sound so dirty .'

Tracey lay her hand soothingly on Daphne's shoulder. 'Please! She's still a teacher, no matter how lousy she may be. It's ludicrous to assume anything indecent.'

Daphne immediately jumped on the subject. 'Yes, she is a teacher. And really old, to boot. She's like at least a dozen years older than him, I bet.'

'She's just gotten twenty. I heard some guys at another table talk about it,' supplied Amy helpfully.

Daphne shook her head in denial. 'Not happening. It's got to be really awkward for the both of them due to the age gap. And it's not like they can act all friendly at school. Bet she's just trying to cosy up to the Blacks.'

Amy leered knowingly before assuming a dreamy look. 'Oh, Daphne! I think they're about to start dancing tango. You shouldn't miss this, some of those moves are quite daring.'

~BLHD~

Daphne was still sitting in exactly the same spot some four hours later. The official part of the ball had long since ended, and quite a few people, the Lestranges and Malfoys among them, had already left and so had Daphne's anger - only a heart-breaking ache remained. Even though she had made several attempts, Harry continued to completely ignore her presence while greatly enjoying himself with that woman . Tracey had tried her best, naturally, but her efforts were completely in vain as every time there was even the prospect of recovery, that woman intentionally steered Harry through her field of vision. Daphne had known that Harry had gone through every formal training imaginable, but she'd never seen him enjoy dancing like this.

She sighed deeply.

By now, the general atmosphere was very mild, and the earlier enthusiasm of the younger crowd was replaced by scattered people enjoying pleasant conversation. Several guests had even joined her table; some to cheer her up, others because they knew they wouldn't be disturbed.

'Are you sure we shouldn't at least greet Arcturus, mam?'

'Yes, dear. I want nothing to do with the man, I've told you. I have given my compliments to Harry, and we've shared a good chat. That will do for me.'

'I'm surprised you managed to wrestle him from his date this evening.'

Daphne listened while grinding her teeth. Tracey rubbed her back compassionately.

'I mean, look at how much they are dancing. They must have shared more dances together than half the room in total.'

'Well, she is a very beautiful girl, Nymphadora. I'm not surprised Harry is smitten,' responded Andromeda.

Daphne, meanwhile, tried very hard not to bang her head on the table. She couldn't help listening, but every word was like acid.

'Yeah,' the girl agreed, laughing in a wild manner. 'Did you see all the guys lusting after her? She's rebuffed the lot of them, though. Only danced with Arcturus and Harry, I think.'

'I know you don't really care for these things, dear, but have you taken note of her jewellery?'

The younger witch paused a second before she said, without any gusto, 'Isn't that just obsidian or something? A bit on the cheap side for the companion of Harry, no?'

Andromeda laughed softly and flicked the forehead of her daughter in good spirit. 'Those, love, are black diamonds. Notice how Harry's cuff buttons are a matching pair.'

Daphne jerked her head around to ascertain this for herself. Her heart fell another mile as she found it to be quite true… possibly.

'What? Black diamonds? Come off it, mam! Those would be worth half a kingdom if they were real.' Nymphadora seemed to be dismissive, yet Daphne was not so certain. Merlin knew the Blacks could afford them should Harry ever want some.

'I wager they are, my dear. And I doubt very much if a young witch from abroad without any connections could really afford such luxury on her own.'

'What? You mean the Blacks gave them to her? Why would Harry do that? Or Arcturus?'

'If they indeed were a gift, my dear daughter,' Andromeda slowly stood up and smiled knowingly, 'then there would only be one occasion worthy of them. But this'll do for gossip this evening. Let us excuse ourselves from Harry and be on our way.'

Nymphadora knocked her chair over in shock. 'What? A present for their betrothal? NO WAY TH..!'

She had half screamed those last words until her mother had mercifully put her hand on her daughter's mouth. 'Shush, dear. We cannot be certain, so let's keep it to ourselves.'

And off they went, only to leave a thoroughly devastated Daphne behind. To her, it seemed as if her world had come crashing down those last few minutes. In horror, she turned towards Tracey, fighting back hot tears. The other witch had obviously listened in as well and hastily patted her hands.

'Listen, Daphy! There's no way that is true. Arcturus would never draft a marriage contract for Harry. You know how much he adores him. Those contracts are a thing of the past, Sweetie.'

Daphne, however, couldn't fight back the tears anymore. Forcing down a sob, she stuttered, 'You don't know that for c-certain. Th-That contract could be really old, and that woman could have returned to Britain to fulfil it…'

'Come on, Sweetie. Don't let a bit of chit-chat get to you like that.'

Daphne hiccuped in misery. To her, it all made sense. It was like gears suddenly shifting into place, and with a burst of dolour, she remembered the words of her grandmother. 'T-Tracey, my gran recently mentioned something about a marriage contract.'

Tracey's eyes widened, and she gulped down at least three litres of air. 'But she didn't mention Harry, did she?'

Daphne broke down on at the table, all energy having truly left her. 'No. But who else could she have been talking about? I wasn't supposed to listen, but I caught a few fragments of a talk through the Floo. E-Even if it wasn't about Harry, that would only mean that she's found aa match for me or Astoria, doesn't it? And it can't be Harry either, obviously.' She pressed her face onto the table in an effort to vanish from the world. 'This is the worst ball ever; I wish I hadn't come…'

As if fate itself was trying to mock her, the current position of her head left her with a clear view of Harry's and that woman's deep embrace. Harry obviously intended to get some rest, as the evening had grown very late. Even though her heart felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly, she couldn't muster the effort to turn away as the bitch made a joke and gave Harry a lingering kiss on the cheek.

All of a sudden, Tracey's voice pierced Daphne's self-inflicted world of pain. 'Right. I'm going to talk to her.'

Daphne violently yanked her head around. Unfortunately, that meant she bumped her nose pretty sharply on the table. 'Ow! W-What do you mean? You don't mean her ?'

Her best friend had her hands on her hips and looked ready to explode. 'That's exactly who I mean! You stay here, and I'll get some answers. See you in a bit.' Daphne watched incredulously as Tracey managed, despite her petite figure, to storm towards the exit where Harry and that woman had just disappeared in a very respectable imitation of a ferocious stampede.

What are you doing, Daphne. Are you really some kind of damsel who breaks down every time something happens with Harry?

Something squirmed uncomfortably in her stomach.

Are you going to let Tracey handle all of your problems now?

The really hard part about arguing with yourself was that your opponent knew more than was good for you either way.

Wasn't it enough that Tracey and even Harry had to console you at school? Is this really how you envision your future, Greengrass?

Slowly, like a puppet on strings, she rose from her chair. It took her a lot of effort, and she was terrified about what she may overhear, but she made to follow the unlikeliest pair of witches ever to hold a peaceful conversation.

She didn't have to go far; as soon as she was out of the ballroom, she heard Trace's shrill voice resounding from just beyond the first landing.

Carefully, she crept closer. She'd been at this manor often enough to know which steps it was better to avoid. A bit of unladylike sneaking later, she spotted both of them: They were in the small corridor that led to the guest quarters, as Daphne knew. She edged as close as she dared… For a fleeting second her heart stopped-she was sure that woman's eyes had shot towards her-but two seconds later it seemed to Daphne she was merely casting her eyes anywhere but at the small ball of fury in front of her.

'Is there any point to this, Miss Davis? It has gotten rather late; are you sure you're allowed to be out this long?' Rose's voice was dawdling, and it could not have been plainer that she didn't consider the small witch worthy of her time.

'What kind of game are you playing, Professor ?' Daphne had never heard Tracey put so much contempt into a single world.

'Whatever are you referring to, Miss Davis?' her teacher returned calmly, still not looking at Daphne's best friend.

'Harry! Why do you try to ensnare him in such a transparent manner? What do you want from the Blacks?' Tracey had taken another half step forward, fists clenched. Her pose was quite aggressive.

Rose shrugged disinterestedly, examining her fingernails. 'And I really need to tell you, do I? Harry is bright enough not to do anything stupid just because we're gallivanting a bit. Anyway, what's it to you?'

'I'm a friend of Harry's, and I've known him longer than you can imagine. And my friends have known him even longer still. I'm only doing what's right here: stopping him from falling for some vixen!'

Rose laughed at that. 'I see, Miss Davis. You are just doing what's best for your friends, is that it?'

Tracey just glowered as she flexed her fingers. 'Yes, that's about it. More than you can say, no doubt. Got any real friends at all, Miss Mysterious?'

That woman's smile grew raptorial as she finally looked up, and Daphne didn't like that look at all . Suddenly, her enticing appearance appeared to be nothing but a deadly trap ready to be sprung.

'No need to get personal, Miss Davis. I know you to be a young lady of integrity.'

Tracey seemed to have trouble keeping up with this sudden change in tone and did not interrupt.

'After all,' Rose smirked sardonically, 'you've kept that interesting little story from your best friend, haven't you? How Harry isolates himself to protect you both among others. It is so touching to behold how diligently you try to balance the varying interests of all your friends, while in truth you hurt them all…'

Harry is trying to protect me?

Daphne's mind blanked out…

She must have stood there for quite some time, trying to loosen the knots her thoughts had created, because-all of a sudden-Tracey bumped into her. Daphne looked at her best friend, who, in turn, was obviously just as shocked to run into her.

'Daphne! H-How much did you hear?' She sounded very regretful, almost frightened.

Daphne sneered minatorially and shot her a look that promised retribution if she would not go along with her for now. 'You've got some guts, keeping that from me! You will stay right here and not move an inch until I return!'

Tracey threw a miserable and resigned look towards her shoes. 'Where are you going?' she asked meekly.

Daphne took a determined step towards the stairs and kept her answer simple. 'To Harry.'

~BLHD~

She strode along the corridor, wandering to what she knew to be Harry's bedroom. Her heart was beating so fast it was a wonder nobody had heard her yet. She was truly unsure what she would say to him. She wanted to scream and rage… to give him solace… and confess how very sorry she was. What kind of friend doesn't notice these things? In hindsight, everything was glaringly obvious. Their talk back in the empty storeroom had been so personal and intimate, how ludicrous and flimsy her only real attempt to get him to talk now seemed. Feeling the shame creeping up in her, she vigorously shook her head and redoubled her pace. No use thinking about that now, Daphne.

She half expected that old overprotective elf to turn up, but-to her great delight-he didn't obstruct her when she entered the wing that held the master bedrooms. Before she'd gathered herself, her steps had taken her to the last door sills of the floor. It now dawned on Daphne that what she wanted most of all was to return to those blissful times of childish games that had only lasted a single day at Hogwarts. Angrily rubbing her eyes, she swallowed hard and slowly turned the door handle. Carefully, she peeked through the gap.

Soft light shone from the window onto the precious furniture in the big room. A huge trunk stood next to a kingly desk upon which dozens of books were stacked in slightly worrying towers. She could hear no sound, so she pushed the door open. In the middle of the room stood a bed. For some strange reason, Daphne thought it was quite a bit larger than she remembered. On the middle of the bed, still in his dress robes, lay the small and huddled figure of Harry.

Daphne took a tentative step forward, but Harry didn't react. He looked so diminutive and frail, it was impossible to link this unimposing person resting on the covers to the confident and aloof scion of House Black who'd shaken hands with at least a hundred guests that evening.

She tiptoed closer and finally stood directly beside the bed. Harry had rolled into a ball and seemed forlorn on the huge bed. How defenceless he is…

As if daring herself, she gently brushed a loose strand of hair out of his face, but still he didn't stir. She couldn't believe that this vulnerable boy, who had to work hard to not panic around half of Hogwarts' population, had tried to shelter her from the harm and hate he himself endured on a daily basis.

Daphne felt her anger dissolve. Its place was taken by a burning determination she hadn't felt since Granger had decided to cheat at the game.

Bowing her head, she felt a strange, powerful tickling seeping through her bones as she slowly advanced. The only thing that could have made this any better would have been the sight of his intoxicating eyes, but then again, she doubted she would've had the nerve if he'd been awake. She moved closer, inch by inch. Nervousness numbed her mind, and only Harry's face managed to permeate the nebulous blankness numbing her thoughts.

I won't let you take a lonely stand, Harry.

Daphne closed her own eyes, hesitated for a moment, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

HD: Interlude I: Girl talk

Interlude I: Girl talk

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daphne silently closed the door, taking a few stumbling steps, before she leaned against the wall to calm her racing heart.

What now, Daphne?

All of a sudden, she stood stock-still. Tracey! Tracey had known. And she hadn't told her. Even if Harry had urged her best friend to keep it to herself, it somewhat hurt to know that she had been deceived by the pair of them. Sighing, Daphne realised she would forgive Harry any day (not that he would ever be told, of course). Tracey, by contrast, would have to atone, and she could start right now by filling her in completely .

Daphne straightened her robes. A new wave of annoyance washed over her as she realised that she hadn't even gotten Harry to comment on them. And it had taken hours to get ready…

Taking a few determined steps, she halted again to take off her shoes.

Doesn't matter any more, I guess.

Breathing in deeply with relief, she allowed her face to reveal a smile as she strode barefoot around the corner-only to crash into something small and lumpy.

'What the… !' Daphne just managed to stop there, but her verbal restraint sadly did not prevent her from going arse over tit.

Rubbing her back, she struggled to her feet… and looked down to see none other than Cranky. To her great surprise, that strange old house-elf looked up at her with an air of extreme disappointment.

'Has Miss Greengrass already finished her business with Master Harry?'

I repeat myself, but what the actual fuck?

'Uhm… yes?' she answered carefully and in a subdued voice, unsure of where this was going.

The old elf sagged a bit more, shaking his head in a theatrical display of sorrow.

'Cranky has failed Master Harry. Oh, Cranky is so sorry!' He cried out pleadingly. After a while, he looked up again, sniffed his nose and eyed her shrewdly. 'Maybe next year! Cranky shall speak with Master Arcturus at once. There simply must be another ball next year.'

With the faintest of pops, the elf was gone.

Merlin! That was strange.

Shaking her head, Daphne doubled her pace and approached the old staircase. Skipping every other step, she merrily made her way to the second floor. A few steps before she could be seen from the landing below, she steadied herself, removed all traces of the relief that was still welling up inside of her from her face and gracefully strut the rest of the way, loftily stroking the old wooden handrail as she continued her descent.

Tracey still stood exactly where she had left her. Daphne shot her an imperious glare and was pleased to see her friend wince slightly.

'We will talk. Now!' Daphne announced coldly.

The small witch dropped her head and sighed. 'Where?'

Daphne shrugged. 'Minnie!'

One loud crack later, and the small female elf was standing before her with her eyes wide open.

'Yes, Miss Greengrass?'

Daphne's expression softened a touch. Kreacher was boring, and as for Cranky, well, he was so strange that several new words and possibly some languages would have to be invented along the way to accurately describe him. Minnie, however, had always been very sweet to her when she had visited one of the Black estates in her childhood.

'How did you do that, Daphne?' asked Tracey, her voice full of surprise.

'Arcturus told me the elves are supposed to respond to their guests' wishes tonight. Isn't that right, Minnie?'

The elf nodded happily. 'Minnie is so glad to be able to serve the kind Miss Greengrass tonight.' A few seconds later she raised her hands to her face and added in shock, bowing profusely to Tracey. 'And Miss Davis! Minnie is hoping Miss Davis has been enjoying the ball tonight?'

Tracey seemed abashed and shuffled her feet. 'It was grand, Minnie. Grand.'

The elf seemed relieved nevertheless and resumed gazing up at Daphne again. 'Miss Greengrass called Minnie?'

'Oh, yes, of course. Could we perhaps have the library or the small study for an hour or so? We need to have a private talk.'

'Minnie is needing to check on that, Miss Greengrass. Minnie has been expressly forbidden to let guests beyond the guest quarters tonight.'

With another thundering crack, the small creature left.

Strange. I just visited the third floor, didn't I?

Not a moment later, Minnie apparated back and bowed again.

'Master Arcturus is sending his regards. Most private rooms on the second floor are already occupied, but the Evening Lounge is still free.' She looked questioningly between Tracey and Daphne and asked hopefully, 'If that would do…?'

Daphne smiled. 'Perfect, Minnie. I know the way, but could you please send us some small snacks? And some butterbeer for me?'

The house-elf nodded happily. 'Everything will be ready when Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis enter. Is Miss Davis wishing for something to drink as well?'

Before Tracey could open her mouth, Daphne interjected coldly, 'Some plain water for Tracey will do.'

Tracey gulped, as Minnie vanished before her.

Daphne took her best friend by the sleeve and dragged her through the corridors until she opened an inconspicuous door to her left. The room was bright and spacious, mostly due to the panorama window which had been charmed to always display spectacular sundowns. Daphne remembered how she'd laughed herself silly when she had entered this room for the first time, as the romantic image seemed horribly out of place in comparison to the grand yet austere atmosphere of the house. The armchairs were of a soft beige and stood around a sublime piece of art that served as a table. The whole thing was made up of a polished sheet of glass covering a beautiful giant druse, housing thousands of smaller crystals that spectacularly reflected the unobtrusive light from the window, showering the room in warm reflections of broken light.

Daphne sat down and grabbed a butterbeer from the tray on the table, gesturing for Tracey to take a seat opposite her. But the small witch had not moved from the door yet and looked from the table to the window, unable to cope with the drastic change in scenery.

Daphne couldn't help but snigger. 'It is a bit of a shocker, isn't it? Especially compared to all the dark wood in the house.'

Tracey simply nodded and took her allotted seat. Daphne's smile faltered the moment she remembered the reason behind all of this. 'Start talking, Tracey.'

Tracey shrunk visibly, looking apologetically up at her. 'I don't know everything myself, and I don't even know how much you know… Please be a bit more specific, Daphne.'

Trying to calm herself, Daphne narrowed her eyes dangerously. 'If you so much as lie about the weather tonight, I'll ask Professor Snape if he can get Finnigan to partner with you every lesson until you take your OWLs!'

Tracey looked scandalised but nodded regretfully either way. In their last lesson before the holidays, their Head of House had shot Tracey a nasty look while proclaiming loudly how Finnigan, who had managed to melt two cauldrons in one lesson, was still only the second worst student he had ever had to suffer in lessons.

Daphne drummed her fingers on the plate of glass for a while, before she snappishly demanded, 'Does Malfoy know?'

Tracey averted her eyes. 'What does he have to do with anything?'

Jumping to her feet, Daphne growled at the little girl opposite her, holding in the tempting desire to throw the bottle. Why does she have to make it so difficult?

Drawing a deep breath, she sat down again and spoke in a cold voice, 'Please! Do you think I'm that daft? If Narcissa and Bellatrix settled for the same hairstyle and colour, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. And we all know to whom the Lestranges owe allegiance.'

Suddenly, she felt like she was being doused with melt water. Her mouth dried up instantly as a terrible suspicion sprang to her mind. Not daring to dwell on those frightful thoughts any longer, she whispered in a husky voice, 'Merlin! You… You're not actually related to the Blacks, are you?'

The other girl looked at her in complete shock. After a while, she answered in an erratic voice, 'Not more directly than the Weasleys are or the Potters were, I suspect.'

Daphne breathed out wildly and took a deep gulp from the bottle.

No, that simply can't be! No matter how paranoid the Blacks are, it was I who presented Tracey to Arcturus and Harry, wasn't it? And I know her father is Muggle-born.

Slowly calming herself, she refocused on her first question. 'So? Does Malfoy know?'

Tracey filled her glass with a bit of water without looking up, obviously wanting something in her hands as well. 'I don't know. I would hazard a guess that he suspects something is up.'

'What is up then?' snapped Daphne fiercely.

Her best friend flinched again. 'Harry likely intends to keep everyone safe from the slander and all that.'

Daphne couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and ask sarcastically, 'That's everything? He's worried about a bit of gossip?'

'No. It's a bit more complicated than that. Besides the physical assaults one would have to take from the Puff and Gryffin blokes, the political situation has become rather complicated.'

Daphne was rather taken aback by this. 'What? Just because someone tried to frame Harry?'

Tracey grinned in return. 'Salazar, Daphne! How did you come to be in our house again?'

She couldn't help herself and retaliated by poking her tongue out at the small witch. 'Let's-hypothetically-pretend that I didn't consider any political implications because I was wrapped up in my personal mess, Tracey.'

'Hypothetically?' her friend challenged her, sporting a superior smirk.

Daphne nodded emphatically. 'Hypothetically!'

Tracey's grin slipped from her face like a raindrop from a sheet of glass. 'It's a big deal, Daphne. Someone obviously challenged the Blacks by trying to frame Harry. The moment this plot failed, everything froze to a stand-off. The challenging party obviously cannot make another move so soon, otherwise the risk of being discovered becomes exponentially higher. Arcturus would no doubt call in every favour necessary to completely annihilate whoever dared attack his grandson. At the same time, because of the Blacks' reputation, defending Harry while his innocence is not publicly proven automatically finds the defending party guilty of deeper political alignment with them. That is something no pure-blood family could possibly risk at the present time. The fallout would be drastic. Well, not counting the Lestranges perhaps, but their public support of the Blacks has already cost them practically all the political sway they had in the past. In summary, this leaves only Harry to move as he pleases.'

'But,' Daphne stammered, 'but Harry isn't stupid. He must know all this!'

Tracey smiled sadly at her. 'No, Harry isn't stupid. In fact, I believe he figured this all out in the first few minutes after the… incident. That's why he rebuffed your approach on the following morning. You being seen with him would likely already have been enough to sow the seeds of suspicion. Your grandmother would not have been pleased, probably.'

This is so infuriating. Why is it so complicated being friends with Harry?

'But this can't be right! He's just a boy! I mean, we've associated with him all our lives, right? I practically stalked him on our first day at school. Why would this be different?'

'Well,' Tracey continued with an air of forced calm, 'firstly, his abdication has made his own position perfectly clear. It took a while, as this is not exactly something the Prophet would write about, but now it's common knowledge what Harry did. Where there used to be room for interpretation, now remains only one cold fact. Secondly, everyone knows you are related to the Blacks, Daphne. No matter what your family currently does politically, other people will tolerate you, and me by extension, being friendly with him. Normally, that is. There will always be people who will openly associate with the Blacks, no matter their bad repute.

'Look at it from a Slytherin perspective; even if it causes some tongues to wag, the Blacks have much to offer, and everyone knows it. So - as long as your actions can be perceived as being purely self-serving, any contact, or friendship for that matter, can be explained away. But once the obvious risk outweighs the immediate benefit, things start getting sketchy.'

'You make it sound like you think it's right what he's doing, Tracey.' Daphne demanded hotly. When her friend didn't immediately answer and started playing with her robes, she raised her voice in fury, 'I can't believe it! You truly think it's for the best that we just part ways because some nutter tried to frame him? I don't give a shit what those stupid Ministry pricks think, I won't abandon him!'

Tracey looked stricken and held up her hands in an attempt to calm Daphne. 'Please! I'm not saying we should abandon him, Daphne! Please calm down, and don't do anything stupid, I beg you! By Salazar, maybe it's actually better you overheard, otherwise you would've gone completely ballistic once you actually had figured out what he's doing. I seriously wonder why your mother didn't speak of this to you…'

Daphne shot her friend a fiery glare. 'You told me Harry is free to act, right? So, he can fix this, can't he? Once everybody knows he's innocent, they will tolerate us being friends with him again?'

Tracey grimaced. 'Yeah, usually that would be the case. However, someone seems to be instigating the Puffs and Gryffs to thrash him all the time. I honestly don't know if it is someone acting in concert with those who tried to frame him, or somebody hoping to benefit some other way. It may even be simple malicious hate, as Harry will be hard pressed to confront either side as long as he stands between both. Thus, whoever plays grey eminence is relatively safe as long as the situation doesn't change.'

Daphne scowled. 'What else?'

Tracey started playing with her robes again, eyes averted. 'Well, I personally believe Harry will be forced to act soon, all the same. He won't let the situation deteriorate any further.'

'Huh? I thought you said it was a standstill?' Daphne pressed.

Tracey rolled her eyes. 'Amy starts next year…'

Now it was Daphne's turn to wince. 'Oh, right.'

'I have not a single doubt in my mind that Amy would take a Gryffindor hostage on her very first night at school and demand to be given information about Harry's attackers.'

Daphne couldn't help agreeing. She groaned.

'She may even get away with it, Daphne. Amy is anything but stupid. The problem lies solely in any repercussions should it not work. Still, I believe neither Arcturus nor Harry will take that risk; it's simply not the way they dance to the tune.'

'Dance!' Daphne snorted. 'Let's not talk about danc… Hey, wait a moment! You said it was political suicide to align with the Blacks right now, but isn't that exactly what that woman is doing? How come she gets away with it when I can't?'

Tracey's face morphed into a truly ugly look of contempt. 'That would be because she is one opportunistic bitch. Since she has no known family ties in Britain, political fallout is all but irrelevant to her as long as it doesn't compromise her position at school. Yet that will never happen, thanks to Arcturus' and Lucius' influence over the Hogwarts board of governors. So, as I said, all in all she is completely safe.'

Tracey paused, seemingly deep in thought. 'Not only that. Now that I think about it, she can obviously sell her affiliation to the Blacks at a high price, at this present moment anyway. There are precious few people who can be so open with their support of Harry's family for now, leaving her in a very advantageous bargaining position.'

'I loathe that woman, Tracey,' bellowed Daphne. Wow, that's some surprisingly heartfelt hatred, Daphne. Ever the philanthropist.

Tracey smiled at her honest proclamation. 'No objections here.'

Tapping on the sheet of glass, Daphne brooded over what she had been told for a while. 'Why were there so many people at the ball?'

'What do you mean?' Tracey asked, apparently perplexed by the sudden change of topic.

'You just stated that no pure-blood family wants to be publicly linked with the Blacks right now. Why is practically half of Britain here tonight, then? I think I even saw the family of the Minister, and they don't get along particularly well with Arcturus, do they?'

'It's not about being chummy, Daphne; it's all about business. As you said, practically all the important families have representatives here tonight. You'd be surprised how many deals and contracts will have been agreed upon by now. That's mostly why even the families close to the Ministry have accepted the invitation. They've tried to establish a ball at the Ministry these past few years, but it didn't work out, apparently. You know best how traditional some families can be, and this is simply the most renowned Yule Ball there is in Britain.'

Grumpily nodding in understanding, Daphne continued with the tapping of her fingernails. Realising that the smaller witch didn't have anything more to add, Daphne suddenly scowled.

'So?' she demanded sternly.

'So… what?' Tracey asked in honest puzzlement.

'So what are we going to do about this mess? Even if you want to duck out, Tracey, I swear by the names of my forebears, I will do anything to stop those jerks from bothering Harry. And you better help me, because otherwise I may just pull an Amy if I don't get any better ideas.'

Tracey let her head fall back in obvious exasperation. 'I will help you, but promise me you won't do anything at all, until I have a plan of some sort. Something is bugging me about this whole business. Maybe we need Draco's help with this.'

'What? There is honestly more? How can this be so complicated? It's just some school stuff, Merlin!' Daphne hit her chair in frustration.

'Yes, Daphne.' Tracey smiled patiently. 'But it's some school stuff about a feud against the pure-blood family that's held the most political influence in Britain for the last thousand years. Even if the last century has been difficult for the Blacks, I wouldn't underestimate how many assets they really have…'

She paused for a while and looked toward the window. 'What's really bothering me is that Arcturus must have cleared Harry's name already, at least legally. Otherwise, there would have been a hearing or, well, anything . But it seems that that was actually not enough to clear the air this time. It will die down eventually, but that may take months, and, even then, it is likely that some form of blemish will remain on Harry's reputation. That's the way it is with slander and gossip. Hence, to truly break the stalemate, we need to clear any doubt that Harry is innocent. The most practical way to go about this would be to have the actual perpetrator confess to his crimes. That, in the meantime, would leave Harry free to deal with those in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Let me think about this for a few days, Daphne.'

Daphne nodded, suppressing a yawn. 'Well, that's fine, I guess. But Tracey?' When her friend had locked eyes with her, she continued menacingly, 'Do not ever do that again! Just tell me next time, gosh darn it!'

Daphne had known her friends for ages. Nearly ten years to be exact. But she could not remember seeing her so embarrassed, ever. Watching Tracey practically melt in her seat was truly pitiful.

Settling for a small smile, Daphne asked teasingly, 'Does it ever get boring at school? You know, pretending to be the stupid little girl?'

Tracey effortlessly produced a small simper. 'I've got no idea what you're talking about, Daphy!'

~BLHD~

'Don't you think this is far enough? There is such a thing as class and decorum, you know, my dear. And to think you've done so well this eve until now - a pity!'

Aenor whirled around, wand pointing in the direction of the unfamiliar female voice. There in the corridor stood a person, arms crossed and casually leaning against the wall, hidden in the shadows. She couldn't make out any features; some trick of light completely veiled the other person, though she estimated the voice at about forty years of age.

'I'd advise you to put that thing away, my dear. You don't want to know what happens to intruders who make use of their wands in here…'

Aenor hesitantly lowered her wand, speculations about her unbidden companion wildly cavorting through her mind. Eventually, she gave in to the curiosity. 'Who are you?'

'Oh, I'm so sorry. We haven't been introduced tonight. Sadly, I'm afraid that is quite out of the question right now. Such a shame, you seem like an interesting young woman.'

'Have we met?' Aenor asked cautiously.

'Oh, not as such, no. But I've been treated to an entertaining evening, thanks to you. Instigating little girls, eavesdropping at doors, exploring the mansion in the dead of the night. Why, what an adventurous young lady you've turned out to be…'

Aenor's eyes narrowed. The dungeons, though confessedly ghoulish, had not had an effect on her, but being followed for two hours without noticing was, she had to admit it, a bit spooky.

'I might be forced to have a word with Harry about some personal feedback, come to think of it,' the other person said innocently. Aenor's heartbeat quickened, but before she could say anything, her unknown interlocutor continued in what Aenor considered to be barely suppressed gloating. 'About the house, my dear. I presume that he's given you the tour? We may have to brush it up a bit if the youth of this age isn't satisfied with it any more. We aim to be in touch with modern society, after all.'

Aenor subtly glanced at the empty corners of the room before she answered in a steely voice, 'Now that I think about it, Harry failed to show me the hidden school of elocution and barely concealed threats that should be down in the cellar somewhere…'

Her counterpart let out a surprisingly girlish laugh. 'I admire your confidence, Miss Rose.'

'I don't need a wand to win a fight,' responded Aenor coolly.

'No doubt. I've heard of your gifts: you've left all of us quite intrigued. But it would be such a waste to let it come to an end here, Miss Rose.'

Aenor carefully refrained from sneering. 'You mean you want to continue this? How touching.'

'My, you are fun!' Her head rolled back in laughter. It was strange how natural her amusement sounded, even though Aenor had to assume everything else was a facade. 'Such a firebrand, no wonder Harry likes you. But, from one woman to another, let me explain some things to you so that you won't succumb to any more misunderstandings in the future.'

'Misunderstandings? Well, then please teach me, mysterious hag that clings too desperately to her youth,' Aenor returned sarcastically.

Still laughing, the other woman playfully pushed herself off the wall, and lightly danced in her direction, arms cutely folded behind her back. 'You were under the impression that your dealings were restricted to the Blacks, meaning Arcturus, and by extension Harry, I presume?'

'Well, of course,' Aenor said impatiently. The other person was a bit too close for someone she couldn't clearly define as an enemy or not.

'And this is where it all went downhill for you, poppet.' Another middle-aged female voice breathed these words directly into her left ear.

Eyes widening, Aenor froze. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw half a dozen shadows solidifying into blurred figures of witches and wizards pointing their wands at her.

'What you failed to realise, Miss Rose…' a third unknown voice, male this time, called out in a bored tone of superiority.

'… While there may only be two people who publicly bear the name of Black… ' another unseen woman, younger this time, interjected.

'… Darkness thrives only in the absence of light,' concluded her original counterpart smugly.

HD: Interlude II: Danse macabre

Interlude II: Danse macabre

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry grimaced slightly as he made his way down the stairs. All his muscles were aching in protest. Suppressing a wince, he opened the door to the smaller informal dining room where Arcturus was already engrossed in his study of the daily news.

'Good morning, Grandfather,' Harry greeted him, bowing politely.

'Ah, Harry, excellent. A very good morning to you as well. How are you today?' Arcturus appeared behind the Prophet, smirking with what Harry considered uncalled-for gloating.

'Well, Grandfather, even though it left me quite sore, I rather enjoyed yesterday evening.'

'I am glad you had a good time. Miss Rose sends her compliments but respectfully declined the invitation for breakfast.'

Harry made a tired grab for the cutlery as a small grin lit up his exhausted features. 'At least I'm not the only one suffering today.'

'I should think not. She might have had an even more… strenuous evening than you,' Arcturus responded, his expression amused. 'I have to thank you for doing so well, Harry. In general, our guests were very pleased with the ball and your dedication to the role of the host.' He paused for a bit, nodding his approval. 'I gather there was quite a bit of public interest as to whether the both of you would break the record for the most dances shared during one evening. I would never have guessed you so enthused, Harry.'

Arcturus' smile was a bit too understanding, and Harry fought hard to keep the blush from his face. Clearing his throat, he uttered a carefully phrased answer that might allow him to retain at least a shred of dignity. 'Well, she is a superb partner for a ball, in the end. I… did not wish to treat her in an unbecoming manner.'

Arcturus chuckled and hid behind his paper again. 'Naturally, Harry. Naturally.'

Harry, glad that his grandfather was not tormenting him any longer, turned his full attention to the nourishment of his suffering body.

Just as he had finished his meal, about eighty owls descended upon them in a great rush of feathers and noise. Most of them dropped their load between the two Blacks, but some, Harry noticed, left their letters practically in Arcturus' lap. Just then, a single letter was delivered directly to him by a handsome grey eagle-owl with blue eyes.

Smiling sadly, Harry opened it after glancing at the sender:

Dear Harry,

We would like to thank you for your thoughtfulness in arranging for our presence at yesterday's grand ball. We very much enjoyed the evening and are pleased that, even after so many years, the occasion still stands as a tasteful gathering for friends and family.

Please extend our salutations to your delightful companion, and rest assured that we would be glad to repay your kindness should you ever find yourself in need of assistance or favour.

Respectfully,

Your loving aunt,

Andromeda

P.S.: Wotcha, Harry! Forgot to tell you yesterday: I'm applying for the Auror corps, wish me luck! -Dora

Chuckling, Harry reflected that it was rather amusing how Andromeda insisted on him calling her aunt, even though they were actually second cousins. And Nymphadora… well, she was just being herself. She'd started ranting about becoming an Auror the moment she had gotten her first wand, as far as family legend told. That ambition had been one of the many points of frictions between the Tonkses and the Blacks. Harry had tried to find a compromise by inviting Andromeda and her daughter, as he knew Arcturus would have refused Ted entry. A ball was as much political business as it was about frivolity, after all. The need for this ungainly behaviour had saddened Harry, who actually did like the whole family, but there was no denying that Ted's views on some matters were not welcome at such an event. Harry dearly hoped that Nymphadora entering the Aurors wouldn't set them apart even further in the future…

Arcturus had obviously been watching him, as he smiled warmly when Harry looked up. 'I, too, am not very happy with the situation, Harry. But even if I were to bring myself to overlook Edward's personal opinions, I simply could not weaken my own position that evening, especially at the moment. All things considered, though I might have held reservations in the beginning, I am quite glad you invited Andromeda and her daughter. It is inequitable enough how we fight our battles over Nymphadora's head, drawing her between the lines. I'd like to believe that she enjoyed a fine evening without the usual bickering, simply savouring the company of her family.'

Harry nodded heavily. 'She still wishes to become an Auror, Grandfather. She wrote about her letter of application.'

Arcturus shook his head but revealed a sly smile nonetheless. 'I cannot exactly approve, but it is her future, in the end. Maybe she doesn't consider the implications and simply assumes it to be a job like any other. We should be understanding in this matter, Harry. It should not be us who point out how flawed her perception is. She will be confronted with the Ministry's view on her subversive relatives all too soon, and then she may form her own opinion. Until then, we should support her decision.'

Arcturus leaned back in his chair and shot Harry a fond but slightly critical look. 'You have good friends, Harry, and your generation of the family does give me hope. But if there is one flaw I can detect in the lot of you, even in you Harry, then it would be how independent you are in your actions.' He delicately placed a white and non-descript looking envelope on the table. 'And some of you are a bit too impatient and naïve.'

Harry smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were riveted on the small mailer.

~BLHD~

Later that day, Harry knelt next to his trunk, his mind submerged in his Nentray .

All my investigations into the proud oriental enchanters of old have given me reason to believe that what we consider to be a fairy tale, a myth to amuse our children, has in fact-at one point at least-existed: Auramancing. While today the best even a superior witch or wizard can hope to accomplish is to remove all magical traces by force, I firmly believe that skills exist or existed that allowed wizards to manipulate or even impersonate the individual characteristics of magic that remain mysterious to all but the most accomplished of sorcerers. Imagine, dear reader: an enchanter capable of perfectly imitating another so completely that even advanced spells or rituals could not tell the finished works apart. Or a wizard capable of bypassing any ward by imitating their masters. I am left excited, pondering what the Ministry or the goblins would do, should such a skill ever be unearthed in modern times. Why… the bloodbath would be glorious!

Harry re-read the paragraph for the fourth time, a small prickle creeping down his spine. He looked from the trunk to the book at his feet and shook his head. No way!

'Not content with the state of its security, Harry?'

A rather palish Aenor had slipped into his room and casually settled herself on his desk, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.

'Oh, finally up?' Harry smiled victoriously. 'We were wondering if you intended to sleep through the whole day.'

'I, well, I guess I didn't get much sleep, so to speak,' she remarked with a curious expression.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked, puzzled at her uncommon admittance of weakness.

His question seemed to put her back in good spirits. 'I'm fine, don't fuss. But having a go at me as soon as I'm out of bed? Not very classy, Harry!' Starting to smirk, she added in a teasing tone, 'And you were so cute yesterday, hanging on to my every word and whim.'

'Well, eh, I did nothing more than was expected, I'm sure.' Turning an embarrassing shade of red again, Harry tried to keep his response casual, avoiding her eyes as he looked back over to the trunk.

'So,' Aenor prodded him, 'what's with the trunk?' After a short pause she hastily added, 'If you don't mind me asking.'

Harry hesitated a moment, but quickly remembered that Aenor knew a lot more than him about magic. He cleared his throat delicately. 'Well, I have been wondering if it's possible to remove something from within, without attacking the wards. But I have to admit the potential answers I've stumbled upon seem a bit far-fetched.'

'Removing without breaking the wards, hmm…' Aenor rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for a second. Then she looked from the door, to the trunk, to Harry. 'Have you considered magical modes of transportation? If you've failed to ward your trunk against those, apparition and portkeys are obvious flaws, but that would be the obvious explanation, I guess.'

To her amazement, Harry's eyes grew wide, and he hung onto her every word. He slowly opened his mouth and asked in a raspy voice, 'Do you think it is possible to apparate items?'

Aenor seemed to consider this, and the playfulness vanished entirely from her gesture. 'An interesting question I have asked myself as well. The answer would be-to my knowledge-no. Witches and wizards were never able to emulate that particular skill, hence the invention of the portkey. I doubt you've actually spent time studying Apparition, but it has to do with how the magic works; the whole intent of the process circles around willing yourself to move. It's not that easy to completely reverse the process…'

Harry nodded. He had taken note of her phrasing; 'emulate', she had said. He couldn't help recalling how often elves seemed to procure items their masters desired. Cranky did it all the time, and Lobbo had done it, too, back at Hogwarts. He had always assumed them conjured or maybe carried by the elves, but how could one be entirely sure? And wasn't there something about conjuring provisions…?

'I actually took so long to get ready to leave, Harry.' Aenor's voice pierced his thoughts like a cold steel.

'Wh-what? You're leaving?' he blurted out, completely taken aback.

'So? You going to miss me, Harry?' she demanded, her voice smug and teasing.

Harry just gaped at her. He opened his mouth but shut it again shortly thereafter. Then he made another attempt. 'Y-yeah, reckon I will,' he said earnestly.

Aenor's expression softened until a gentle and earnest smile graced her lips. 'Your language is slipping, Harry.'

He just shrugged, still looking at her.

She jumped from the desk and walked through the room, dragging Harry, who still looked dumbfounded, to his feet. 'Well, I have trespassed on your grandfather's hospitality long enough. I'll still see you at Hogwarts, anyway.'

~BLHD~

Harry gave a start, jerked himself free, and practically ran towards the door. Without looking back, he shouted, 'Don't move from the spot, Aenor!'

A few minutes later, he returned, breathing heavily, a small scroll of parchment in his hand. Puffing and blowing, he wordlessly handed it to her, still trying to catch his breath. Aenor was slightly overwhelmed by his uncharacteristic behaviour, but accepted the scroll all the same. As soon as she touched the heavy sheet, the air between her fingers seemed to sizzle. Whatever this was, it was old magic, and powerful. Parts of it, however, felt faintly familiar.

The caption read:

Contract of agreement between the witch known as Aenor Eydís Rose and the wizard Harry James Black .

To her amazement, it established rules for the promised teaching of her fabric-barrier to Harry. He in turn was forced to never divulge what he would come to learn about it to anyone but his direct descendants or Aenor herself. Harry had already signed, her signature all that remained to seal the document.

The letters were written in a deep, foreboding red, while the power of the curse inscribed within was such that the magic somehow distorted the light around the parchment, blurring the script and absorbing the surrounding brightness.

Greed for knowledge and pride vied for supremacy, as she levelled an affectionate look at the young scion of the Blacks. 'You wrote the contract and the spells that are bound to it, Harry?'

'Eh, yes, I did. Though I did not invent them, of course. So? What do you think?'

She reluctantly cut her inspection short and, for once, concealed her emotions from Harry. She delicately licked her lips and asked, 'What happens if you break the agreement? I see no mention of repercussions.'

The boy waved it off impatiently. 'I suffer extreme, ongoing physical and mental pain relative to the breach of confidence. Should I willingly break the spirit of the contract as a whole, I die a most agonising and drawn-out death.'

Aenor could not help but blink twice at his nonchalant explanation.

Harry seemed to misinterpret her closed expression, losing his nerve. 'I… I thought you might like it? It is mostly for your own benefit, after all…?'

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Aenor guffawed wildly, instantly remembering her own grandfather reprimanding her thousands of times to drop the habit. 'And you call me a piece of work, Harry?' She stopped her laughter for a few moments to reassure the boy who looked like a five-year-old caught in a doorbell prank. 'You used my blood as part of the ink, didn't you? I can feel it…'

He nodded hesitantly. Still laughing, she shook her head exasperatedly and promptly signed the contract with a flourish. The exact moment she took the quill of the parchment, it vanished in a small puff of black smoke, and she could feel the magic taking hold of her. 'What did you use the rest of it for? The blood, I mean.'

'Merlin!' He jumped violently, looking almost frightened. 'Nearly forgot, sorry about that. Sweet Morgana, it was lucky you remembered that.'

With that, he procured a second piece of parchment from within his robes, though his one was tiny and lazily folded by comparison, much like a crib sheet. Despite its mundane appearance, Aenor detected at least two powerful enchantments that seemed to have different purposes on the scrap paper.

Raising an eyebrow, she opened it wordlessly.

Miss Aenor Rose may, with impunity, seek out the Blacks at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Odd choice of wording, Rose mused.

Once again, the paper crumbled and burst into harmless smoke the moment she had finished reading. To her surprise however, she felt another ripple of magic around her, even though the Fidelius should normally not directly affect the subject in such a dire manner.

Harry didn't seem to take notice and continued to blabber on in what she considered to be genuine happiness. 'Grandfather told me he sent you a portkey to get you here, same as with all the guests. As a thank you for your company and all that,' he fumbled meekly with his robes before continuing, 'I have asked the old man if he would key you into the outer wards. He agreed, provided you presented me your blood willingly for the process without knowing what purpose we had in mind for it… You are still bound to the rules he laid out for you on the eve of your arrival, but you may visit us anytime we are at our casual abode in London. You'll not be able to talk about it, and I would also advise you not to divulge how long your stay with us here in the country was.'

Aenor winced slightly at the mention of the rules, but-most luckily-Harry had apparently not noticed her odd behaviour. 'Wow, your family really did this thoroughly; there aren't many wizards up to that ritual. Are all your properties secured by a Fidelius, Harry? Seems like my own family could have learned a lesson from the Blacks…' She couldn't help but show her relief, finally finding out what he had used her blood for and grinned from ear to ear. 'There are some quirky rumours about visiting the Blacks, Harry. How many people are keyed into your outer wards and Fidelius in London?'

'Outside of the family? We do not offer that "service" at all under normal circumstances, so the number is actually rather limited… Less than five for the moment.'

Trying to calm herself, she smiled whimsically to bridge the nervousness. 'That makes me pretty special, wouldn't you say?'

To her amusement, Harry immediately looked rather uncomfortable. 'W-well, I, eh, thought we were friends…?' Immediately, his eyes shot her a searching look, and she could see the panic building behind the lush green. Just how good of an actor is he usually…? Unbelievable!

Registering her smile growing on its own, she pulled him towards her, smothering him in a tight embrace. As she ruffled his hair again, she couldn't help feeling tricksy and added in a low voice, 'If you show that insecure side of yours to anyone else at Hogwarts, I might just get a little jealous, you know?'

It's somewhat annoying that things have become a bit complicated, but excessive planning's only for cravens who fear fate, right? Isn't that what you always used to tell me, Grandfather?

~BLHD~

Relaxing into the depths of his favourite armchair by the fireplace, Harry was tired enough that he had Cranky do the research in the library. The fire crackled merrily, enthusiastically shooting glowing sparks into the depths of the chimney. Rubbing his eyes, Harry leaned back in his seat, reflecting on the last fortnight. Contrary to what he might have originally believed and to his great surprise, he had actually ended up enjoying himself quite a bit, not despite but rather thanks to Aenor's company. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he couldn't deny that the last few hours had been kind of dull, even though he had had all the time in the library for himself.

Well, it's not too long until I have to ride the damn train with those obnoxiously clueless people I have to call classmates again.

Sighing in relaxation, he closed his eyes and let the soothing sound of the burning logs wash over him. Considering Aenor's last warning shortly before she'd left, Harry had decided to put in every effort possible into his Occlumency, especially seeing that his grandfather had also advised him to strengthen his mental discipline. But not tonight! He was just a bit too drowsy to be bothered. Cranky would find all the relevant works in all of their libraries, and Harry could start working his way through them at some later time…

The moment his mind was starting to peacefully drift away, the voice of his grandfather brought him back to the present. 'Are you sure you'd not rather retreat for the night, Harry?'

Hastily blinking a few times, Harry tried to his best to appear alert and awake. It couldn't have been a very good effort, though, as Arcturus' voice reached him yet again, drenched in amusement. 'Really, Harry. You might want to practise that a bit more. It may even look natural given enough effort, without the shadows under your eyes and the telling line of saliva.'

'Pardon me?' Harry blurted out, hectically looking for a handkerchief before he saw the expression on his grandfather's face. 'Oh, very funny, Grandfather!'

Arcturus' eyes twinkled kindly, and he sat down in another armchair by the fireside in one fluid motion that belied his age. 'I thought I might keep you company for a bit, Harry. It is painful to witness your forlorn and melancholic expression this evening, with you sitting here in the dark, brooding in front of the fire. 'Tis true, I am probably not the company you so passionately crave at the moment, but still…'

Harry lifted both hands and directed an imploring look towards his grandfather, all the while feeling increasingly hot around his ears and neck. 'Please! I give up. Can I, at least, hope for a ceasefire this evening?'

'As you wish, Harry. Mercy for the eve,' Arcturus conceded generously. Eyeing his grandson for several very long moments, Arcturus' expression grew stern. 'Does she realise that we did not use all of the blood?'

The younger Black avoided the elder one's gaze and guiltily dropped his eyes. 'She did not ask…' After a few moments of telling silence, Harry braced a question that had been on his mind for the whole afternoon. 'Would you have saved her from the curse if I hadn't asked it of you?'

Darkness seemed to swirl around Arcturus' figure even though Harry knew he hadn't consciously used magic. Only the eyes of his grandfather stood out against the lack of light while he contemplated Harry's question. 'I am not sure. When I heard what she did to you after your first lesson, there was little doubt in my mind that she would find her end here tonight; when you invited her on your own, I grew hesitant; and when I eventually saw the both of you on the morrow of my return, I seriously considered letting her go. Humbling, really, but I do not believe she was ever aware of the kind of danger her life was in…'

Arcturus exhaled perceptibly. 'I can tell you with a certainty that my father would never have let her leave on her own terms. He would have made an example of her and in the process reminded you that personal relations are nothing before the family. To this day, I am still not sure whether this doctrine holds true or not…'

After another short break, Arcturus said, 'No matter. It really is all speculation now, seeing as your request rendered the point obsolete. But even so, Harry,' Arcturus looked up from the flames towards Harry, and the fire bathed his usually pearlescent eyes in a bloody red, 'she acknowledged the rules of being our guest, but broke with them all the same.'

Yes, Grandfather. But there has only been a handful of people in over a millennium who've managed to not run afoul of them - not to forget that you let her snoop around the house a bit… Harry did, however, not voice his opinion, mostly because he grumblingly agreed that he was too conflicted about the matter to reason adequately.

'How about we have a little impromptu lesson this evening?' Arcturus interrupted his pondering. 'You might as well make a fresh start with your studies on the Mind Arts tomorrow.'

'I'd like that,' Harry returned with a reminiscent smile. 'But I doubt that I am up to answering questions tonight.'

Arcturus smiled kindly, wrinkling the familiar face that was well advanced in years. 'That's alright, son. Simply ask me some questions, and I will do my best to keep you entertained.'

Hesitating slightly, Harry asked unassertively, 'I have always wondered what the Dark Lord and his ilk were like. I know it to be a heavy topic, but do you think…?'

The dark chuckle of his grandfather's wafted through the room with menacing foreboding. 'It seems tonight is a time for gruesome topics, Harry. But it is of no concern to me; telling tales about those times in a shadowy room lit only by an open fire seems strangely fitting, even.' Arcturus entwined his fingers and gazed into the far corner of the room where their silhouettes danced to the pulse of the flames.

'You can read about the war or Grindelwald's magical prowess in any book. But there are times when books fail, and there are things that are hard to wrap in words, even for me.

'I saw him once, Harry, the Dark Lord. During his trial, he sat there on his chair as if it were a throne; poised… inviolable. Even in shackles, he was the ultimate orator, his voice our ambrosia. I listened to him, wanting to believe so very much how all of his decisions-harsh maybe but still necessary at the time-just added up, convoluted into some kind of unavoidable chain of unfortunate events that led him to be tied up where he was. He spoke, and we all listened. Listened, enthralled, to his dreams of a better world, his promises of splendour, his righteous call for vengeance… It was magic like I have never witnessed ever since, and there was no wand involved, Harry, not a single wand in sight.

'But then the images came back.' Arcturus' voice grew sick with hate. 'The stories we'd heard about the camps, the arbitrary slaughtering, the trials. Merlin, the trials! We were unlucky enough to have several memories about those processes to peruse, and I have never seen anything so distasteful in my entire life, Harry: the accused knew he was innocent, the prosecutor knew him to be innocent, the judge as well as several witnesses, too. Yet still, with mechanical diabolicalness it always came to light just how very guilty the accused really was, everyone really was. You were either guilty or useful, and never either for very long.'

Arcturus turned his head towards Harry and spoke in a hushed voice, 'He was the devil. And real fiends don't force you. Nay, they twist you until the most heinous, the most despicable act of depravity appears to be the just and honourable thing to do, and you dutifully follow suit, proud even of your service. The true demon doesn't throw you into the abyss, my son. No, he gives you a ladder, takes you by the hand and smilingly shows you the way, one step at a time…'

HD: Approach

AN: Warning!

This chapter will allude to political views people may be uncomfortable with or have strong views about. I just wish to make it absolutely clear that the characters are just the characters. Simply because Harry or possibly other main characters do have certain political agendas that may relate to real-life, that doesn't mean that I share or denounce those sentiments, wish to campaign for or against them, or even want to open a debate. Hermeneutics be damned!

Approach

------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Mind the books, boy!'

Looking over his shoulder, Harry's eyes found the picture of the impressive medieval throne that hung above his bed, its gilded canvas glittering in the dawn. The regular occupant lay sprawled at the feet of another wizard with an eccentric silver-green turban, a very pointy beard, and alert, calculating eyes.

'No need to worry, I love those books,' replied Harry calmly as he continued to add more family tomes that might help him with Occlumency to his already loaded trunk.

'Humph!' huffed the painting indignantly. 'In my time, youngsters had no need to pilfer their family libraries. Have Hogwarts standards truly fallen so piteously low?'

'I don't think so, but after spending so much time there, I'm convinced that someone purged the library of certain topics,' Harry hinted with a dark look.

'And which topics would that be, boy?' the painted wizard demanded, eyes narrowed.

'The Mind Arts, first and foremost, though some older texts on wizarding culture and history, as well as others on several darker magics and rituals, seem to be missing. Well, I can understand those I mentioned last, at least.'

Harry's dialogue partner didn't seem to share his opinion. 'What is this? Blasphemy! Who dares rob the scions of upstanding families of their right to defend themselves? That is the pinnacle of scandals, unforgivable!'

'Well,' another, slightly muffled voice interrupted, 'one might argue that Legillimens are incredibly rare. One would have to be quite lucky to meet even a handful of practitioners, even with a fulfilled life. And will you finally get off me, you disrespectful brat?'

'Hmph!' The clever-looking wizard seated himself elegantly on the throne, completely disregarding the wizard at his feet. 'Well, that's no excuse, seeing as our rakish headmaster is a practitioner himself, and he's not the only one at Hogwarts by a long shot. You have my permission to take the books, boy, but if I catch you mistreating them, I'll sick the Grim on you!'

By now, the other figure was standing again, brushing the dust off his clothes. 'Don't let him speak to you like that, young master. Phineas has always been an obnoxious brat. Oh, the stories I could tell you…'

'Well,' the old headmaster coughed suddenly, not at all gracefully, 'I'll see you at Hogwarts, boy. Hex some half-wits in the corridors for me, will you? And it's Phineas Nigellus, if you don't mind, you ancient fossil.'

Harry smirked. 'It somehow doesn't seem proper for a former headmaster to incite a student to fight against his classmates, or is it just me?'

'Foolish boy, I never said you should fight anyone.' Phineas returned a nasty grin. 'I told you to curse the savages into oblivion.'

Closing the door, Harry couldn't help feeling as if he had left something behind. In a melancholic mood, he thoughtlessly levitated his trunk down the stairs, waving wistfully to all the portraits that called out to him.

'And here I thought we had cured you of that expression, Harry.' Arcturus stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched his grandson's expression with a crooked grimace. 'Son, you know you have people watching over you at Hogwarts, even if they cannot reveal themselves so easily. And should anything drastic happen, I promise I shall be the first to lead the charge, the first to tear down the ancient walls and the last left standing to salt the earth,' the Head of House Black vowed gravely.

Harry raised his chin a bit and looked up at his grandfather with a pained look. 'I know. Thank you…'

Squeezing the shoulder of his future successor, Arcturus took the casket with the Floo Powder. 'Hiding oneself rarely solves any problem, Harry. I wish it were different; we could just sit in our mansions and wait until the number of fools decreases by itself as war chases war, but alas, the folly of mankind is eternal. Of that, I am rather certain.'

~BLHD~

Hurriedly forcing his way through the masses, Harry decided on a new strategy: Trying his best to overtake the wave of unfriendly recognition that followed wherever he trod. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as packed with overbearing parents, stray pets, forgotten trunks and cheeky brats as ever, making the course rather advanced in difficulty. Still, Harry persevered and thought he had done reasonably well. Hardly two dozen people had openly pointed at him.

To his dismay, his luck took a quick downturn not too long after that. No matter how far he dragged his trunk, it seemed as if every compartment was already occupied by at least one person. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he started looking for a cabin where he considered the odds of a fight breaking out reasonably low. Stealthily sneaking a peek through the glass panes, he appraised the occupants. Checking the third compartment, he stopped, recognising one figure. The girl with her long and shiny dark hair coupled with warm brown eyes, he knew. The ashen-blond and stocky boy in baggy robes, however, was completely unfamiliar. Sighing and wishing for the best, he opened the door.

The pair of Ravenclaws gaped at him in utter surprise, recognition as evident as blatant shock in their expressions. Harry briefly wondered if he was supposed to say something until the voice of the girl dispelled any such notions from his mind. 'Just my luck! Effing Harry James Black… Well, come in quick if you must. I don't want other people to notice me talking to you.'

'Nice to see you, too, Padma,' Harry returned sarcastically, taking a seat as far away from the girl as possible.

Just when he was reaching within his robes to produce a shrunken book to peruse, the girl's tongue lashed out again. 'I hope you're not up to any trouble, Black!'

'Well,' Harry answered dryly, 'with her highness' permission, I would like to read.'

Padma rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched a bit. 'Well, that's alright then. This is Basil Fawcett. He's got a sister, and their family is seated in Devonshire.' Hesitating for the briefest of moments, she continued, 'Basil, I guess you know Black? Don't know where his family is holed up, of course, but there are only so many people with that family name…'

Fawcett turned wide-eyed towards Padma. 'You know the Blacks, Padma? You never told me!'

'Oh, uhm,' Padma answered awkwardly, 'just a passing acquaintance, really. Only a handful of families have the kind of money that interests my father, so…'

'Have you met Black before?' Fawcett appeared accusatory.

'Uhm… once? Or twice, maybe?' The elder Patil's voice trailed off lamely before she defensively added in a rush, 'But only at social gatherings!'

Padma quailed under the furious onslaught of Fawcett's gaze. Then, quite out of the blue, the boy suddenly screamed in excitement, 'That is so COOL!'

Both Harry, who had been pretending to read, and Padma twisted their necks simultaneously and blurted out, ' What ?'

'You should've mentioned this earlier, Padma! Wow, I can't wait to tell my sis. This is so neat!' He was practically bouncing in effusiveness, a big smile plastered on his face.

'Uhm, why are you so hung up on the Blacks, Basil?' Padma asked in honest puzzlement, edging away from him as if he were on fire. Harry couldn't help but agree with the question.

'Are you kidding me, Padma? They're so smooth, like enigmatic social ninjas with loads of money. They're dark and shadowy rebels shrouded in mystery, even though they're actually hailed as the elite, too! The Blacks are just so wicked ! Like, if you cross them, then you'll die in a gory fountain of blood, for sure,' he exclaimed in a chipper voice before turning thoughtful. 'Or disappear without anyone being the wiser, never ever heard of again. Obviously, that would be totally cool, as well.'

Harry and Padma shared a look .

'Do you think you could introduce me?' Fawcett nearly rolled over in eagerness.

'I am sitting right here, you know?' Harry protested feebly.

'And I already did introduce you, Basil…' Padma echoed his sentiment.

But if Fawcett could hear them through his antics, he gave no sign of it. Ignoring their objections, he happily rambled on with the glowing look of a ten-year-old girl with a crush.

I guess it's going to be a long ride, thought Harry dejectedly.

~BLHD~

In the end, the trip back to Hogwarts had gone reasonably well. Harry was a bit saddened that even the nicer pure-bloods acted as if they'd never seen him in public, but Padma wasn't so bad actually. He'd made a mental note to stay clear of the Fawcetts though. In big letters.

Nothing otherwise remarkable had happened if one discounted the fact that Harry had, with great presence of mind, taken careful and hesitant steps when crossing any significant boundaries on the school grounds. Ignoring the fresh outbreak of muttering and pointing when he had passed the threshold of the castle step by step had been a minor issue, but he'd vowed not to visit the infirmary for three days at least. Grandfather was right, I guess. While Harry considered himself relatively patient with anything short of betrayal or family business, it would only be a matter of time before he finally snapped, and he really couldn't count on the goodwill of the aurors if they ever were on his case.

Just when Harry had decided to spend a few hours of undisturbed leisure time in the library, an instinctual shudder caused him to very nearly pause in his steps. Barely managing to keep walking, he subtly gripped his wand more firmly. What is it now? Taking a path towards a cross of corridors, Harry casually walked around the corner. As soon as he considered himself out of sight, he hastily crouched down, silently shifting his body sideways to present a smaller target as he pointed his wand the way he came…

Yet only silence filled the corridor.

Forcing himself not to blink, Harry waited for nearly two minutes, but still nobody approached his position. I'm not sure if I should be glad that I was imagining things or start to worry about getting paranoid for good now . The effort to keep his concentration peaked was really taxing, and after another minute, Harry decided to quietly move away. I feel like a lone soldier behind enemy lines. Merlin, what's wrong with this school?!

He briefly considered skipping dinner, which would be served in two hours, but neglecting his diet on a hunch felt like a bad habit to start. Even so, he couldn't help feeling rather nervous as he made his way down the corridors, heading for the dungeons. Nodding to a few prefects and some other people in the common room, Harry purposefully raced towards the dormitories, nearly knocking over Shafiq, very much wanting to assure himself that everything was in order with his property.

'What's got your knickers in a twist, Black?' Zabini called out, as soon as he entered. His dorm-mate was lolling lazily on his bed, a book on his pillow.

Ignoring the comment, Harry hastily ascertained that the wards on his trunk were intact, his bed had not been disturbed, nor had his other belongings. Am I really slowly losing it? Calming his breathing, Harry closed his eyes and reinforced his grip on his surroundings.

Slowly, he managed to simmer down a bit, easing his breathing. Harry briefly wondered if he should reply to Zabini after all, but he was apparently already totally engrossed in his lecture once more. Harry made his way down into the common room again. But when he'd made his wa halfway down the stairs, he came to sudden halt again, narrowing his eyes. Not two minutes ago, the common room had been housing approximately fifteen Slytherins of different years. Now, however, it was completely empty despite there being no classes or meals going on. Once more, he felt a shiver run down his spine, and he jumped towards the nearest wall and held out his wand. The tingling in his neck persisted. Scanning the area repeatedly, Harry was frantically speculating where all the people could have wandered off to. He briefly considered dropping his Occlumency to maybe spot something that his eyes couldn't see, but the risk seemed too high considering his lack of practice with that form of perception.

Just when Harry, in a mad rush of desperation, considered casting a semi-permanent alarm-bell charm on the whole room, the door to the common room swung open noisily. Harry still had the feeling of being watched, so he didn't turn around to look at the new arrival. His stalker was probably not as carelessly strepitous as the ham-fisted newcomer.

'Harry! What are you doing ?' Tracey stood a few meters to his right, eyes widened in shock at his expression, frantically reaching for her own wand, Harry noted out of the corner of his eyes.

'Oh, nothing. Jumping at shadows, maybe,' he returned with more confidence than he felt.

'Jumping at shadows? Salazar, you've got sweat running down your face and looked just about ready to blast the room to bits when I entered! Did you see anything?' Tracey asked nervously.

'Not really, just a feeling.' To his relief, Tracey's arrival seemed to have put a stop to the strange phenomenon. 'Where is everyone? Not a few minutes ago this room was bustling with upper years.'

'No idea. Maybe they were just having a short meeting for the prefects or something? Oh, by the way, I was told to give you this,' she said while waving a slim scroll of parchment under his nose.

'What is that, then?' Harry asked, puzzled.

'No idea. Professor Snape told me to give it to you, though he wasn't very nice about it. He made me repeat whom to give it to three times! Like I'm some kind of imbecile or something,' she whined exasperatedly.

'Well,' Harry said venturously, 'your performance in Potions does occasionally suggest just that.' Tracey glowered but he smirked briefly before continuing, 'But I think he really is unreasonably hard on you.'

'Yes, he is, isn't he?!' Tracey looked eager to receive his reassurance.

'Definitely,' Harry answered kindly. 'I mean, I don't think there are many people who have the natural talent to melt their cauldron thrice in such creatively different ways while preparing a simple Glimmering Potion.'

'Really funny, Harry.' Tracey stuck out her tongue. 'You're such a glib talker now, but just where was that daringness when you were preparing to wreck the whole common room just because you're afraid of being alone?'

Shrugging, Harry opened the scroll.

Dear Mr Black,

If you find yourself agreeable, I would very much like to have a word with you in my office at your earliest convenience this evening, with your Head of House in attendance.

Hoping to see you soon,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry stared at the slanted, elegant handwriting for a few moments until Tracey's high-pitched voice forced its way into his brain. 'Hello? Earth to Harry?'

'Oh!' Harry blinked in surprise. 'Sorry, it seems like I've been summoned by the headmaster.'

'Dumbledore?' she asked, her eyes suspicious. 'What have you done now?'

'Excuse me? Nothing, of course! We have barely been back a few hours, Tracey!' he answered indignantly.

'Are you going then?' Tracey asked in a worried tone.

'I think I will.' Seeing her expression, he added soothingly, 'Don't worry; Snape will be there. And besides, Dumbledore is nothing if not honourable. He'll never do anything to me as long as I'm a student here, especially as I'm not even of age.'

'You're taking a lot for granted,' she mumbled, clearly unconvinced.

Revealing a minuscule smile, Harry briefly patted her shoulder. 'Leave the manic distrustfulness to me. I have considerably more practice with it than you.'

When he'd reached the door to the dungeons, Tracey's pleading voice called out to him. 'Are you sure you won't reconsider your stance concerning all of us? We can help you, you know…?'

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Tracey displaying an unusually serious expression without any mask in place, her large golden doe eyes silently begging him to give in.

'Sorry,' he replied nonchalantly. 'Keep the other girls safe. Draco can watch out for himself, I'd wager. I'll take care of the Pillars.'

'Promise you'll be careful! Daphne will set the Gryffindor common room on fire if they really get you.'

'I'll be fine,' he repeated himself as he walked through the opening.

~BLHD~

'Ah - Harry, please do come in.' Dumbledore smiled warmly and gestured for Harry to sit down.

Harry smoothly took a seat, quite curious as to what this meeting was about.

'I hope you don't mind if I address you as such? Even if you have taken on the name of your foster family, I cannot help but be reminded of Lily and James…'

Harry shrugged while inwardly carefully considering the question. 'I do not mind, either way, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore genially offered him some sweets, but Harry politely declined.

'You are not sour over the matter with your family - or rather families then, Harry? I was under the impression that you didn't want to be associated with your Potter heritage any longer.'

Harry was sure that Dumbledore knew, but he didn't really begrudge him the question. He was certain that the headmaster had been close to the Potters. To him, the loss of the Potters had meant a decline in influence over the Ministry, something that had ultimately led to an estrangement of sorts - in addition to the grief of losing close confidants. But this was exactly the reason why the young Black was so wary.

Harry leaned back and casually straightened his robes. Just as he got ready to answer, there was a knock, and his Head of House entered. Snape looked harassed, but eventually, he rearranged his expression to cold indifference.

'Do excuse my lateness, Headmaster. There has been another… incident with the fifth years.' Looking towards Harry, he added the slightest of perceivable nods. 'Mr Black,' he said in a plain voice.

'Ah, Severus! No matter, we were just getting started. Though I am hesitant to bore you with such a small matter, I deemed it necessary to have you present as well.'

Snape nodded curtly.

Of course Snape needs to be present, considering Arcturus' and Dumbledore's history.

Harry made sure to adumbrate a bow towards Snape when he knew the man to be looking. 'Thank you for your time, Professor.'

His Head of House waved it off. 'Let's not waste our time with pleasantries, Mr Black.'

Dumbledore looked questioningly towards his potions master. 'If you would allow me to ask, Severus? Your exchange with Harry seems remarkably… blasé.'

For the shortest of moments, Snape seemed almost uncomfortable, but even Harry couldn't be sure. 'I… have had words with Lord Black on the matter. That man has assured me that there is no reason for me to dwell on past dealings. I am told he himself doesn't know.'

Harry blinked and could not hide his honest confusion. 'Is there something I should be aware of, sir?'

Dumbledore smiled warmly and winked. 'Don't mind us, Harry, just some old stories. I'm afraid one does tend to pick them up over the decades. Nothing to worry about, it seems.'

Eyes twinkling, the old warlock regarded him fondly. When he looked so grandfatherly and benign, it was easy to forget that he was, in European circles at least, considered to be the most powerful wizard of modern times.

'Let us talk about your holidays, Harry. I've heard your family held their traditional ball this year?'

Shooting the headmaster a questioning look, Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir, it was a very pleasant evening.'

'So I gathered,' Dumbledore replied in a friendly manner. 'What slightly concerns me, however, is that you seem to have spent considerable time with one of our teachers.'

Oh, so that's what this is all about? 'Professor Rose was an official guest of House Black, Headmaster. Respectfully, I believe what she does in her free time is none of your concern, sir?'

'Usually, that would be the case,' Dumbledore easily admitted. 'As long as her behaviour has no direct influence on her work or standing at school, it is certainly more difficult for me to intervene. But there has been,' he paused, wrinkling his eyebrows, 'some undignified tattle.'

'The headmaster is too polite to say that someone has spread the gossip that you and Rose share an illicit relationship, Black,' the Potions Master chipped in, leaning against the window and looking bored.

'WHAT?' Harry shouted in outrage, his face heating up.

'I see that this is news to you, Harry,' Dumbledore commented dryly, eyes twinkling again.

'Ridiculous! Of course that's news to me. I danced with her at the ball, and that's what people say?'

'Not entirely. A few people appear convinced that you are, in fact, betrothed to Professor Rose.'

Harry looked in shock at Dumbledore, wondering if he'd heard right. 'Engaged?'

'While I wish to reassure you that whatever happens outside of school is indeed no concern of ours, you will have to agree that I could hardly tolerate actions that overstep what one might consider healthy teacher-student relations, especially between an adult and a minor.'

'Professor Dumbledore? I am not betrothed to Aenor Rose,' Harry said forcefully.

The headmaster's eyes bored searchingly into his own. 'Has she ever acted indecorously towards you?'

'No,' Harry replied with a calm he found strenuous.

'Has she ever forced or pressured you to do anything at all?' Dumbledore persisted.

'No!' Harry responded, more insistent in return.

'Would you be willing to swear before witnesses regarding this issue?'

'Yes, I would,' Harry answered coldly. 'I presume she's facing an inquiry in front of the Board of Governors then?'

'Quite so.' Dumbledore sighed. 'Though I don't expect any results, whatever the face of affairs. I hardly believe it necessary to elaborate…'

Relaxing in his highly decorated chair, the headmaster continued, 'While I always suspected that there would eventually be trouble for appointing so young a teacher, little did I expect this. You will be the object of envy for all the sixth and seventh year boys, I expect.' Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry, on the other hand, found the thought hardly appealing. 'I assume you questioned her as well, Professor?'

'Naturally. In short, she told me she received an official invitation to the Black Ball and spent a sociable evening in good company. Due to the nature of the allegations, you will see that I had to ask you some questions, though.'

Seems like Aenor didn't mention anything unnecessary then, thank Merlin. Things would get troublesome if people knew we have spent so much time completely alone at our mansion…

'I hear Professor Flitwick is most impressed with you, Harry,' Dumbledore said unexpectedly. 'If the Hogwarts rumour mill doesn't fail me this time, I have to admit that an even partially physical Shield Charm is an extremely notable achievement at your age, Harry.' He levelled a friendly gaze towards Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'Did you know that Lily was quite the prodigy at Charms, incidentally? Though I'm not sure if she could have kept up if Filius didn't exaggerate.'

Snape suddenly spun around and relieved Harry of the effort of coming up with an answer. 'Moving on to your situation at school, Black.'

Harry looked towards Dumbledore, who nodded in a demure fashion. 'Ah, yes. I am very sorry, Harry. You may not be aware, but we have tried to ensure your safety. Teachers have been assigned to keep an eye on you. Poppy and Irma are both aware of the situation, of course, seeing as you spend so much time in their respective care. But we can only do so much. I'm sure you don't want us to follow you to the dormitories or assign guards to you.'

Harry actually snorted at that, getting slightly irritated. 'I have not been aware of your… attempts, Headmaster.' Remembering the dozens of times he had dragged his body to the infirmary, he couldn't help adding, 'Or of your concern.'

Dumbledore sighed deeply and pinched his nose. 'Please, Harry, do not believe that I wish for any of my students to be harassed in this manner. My personal contention with your grandfather doesn't have anything to do with this. We have tried in earnest to make your stay at Hogwarts as comfortable as possible. We even went as far as to approach certain figures in your own House, but…'

'The matter is more complicated than we had anticipated,' Snape smoothly interrupted.

They know something! So there really are some in Slytherin who are at the very least content with the situation. What exactly do they want me to say here? I can hardly keep shrugging my shoulders for the whole conversation…

'Well, Professor, part of that is good to hear, I guess. I know this matter is a bit more than simple bullying, but-respectfully-I would like to solve that issue myself, sir. Especially since it is likely of concern to my family.' Harry tried his utmost to keep his voice casual, but it wasn't easy to keep the bitterness at bay. His mouth, Harry noted with slight surprise, rambled on before his brain could catch up. 'It wouldn't do to simply reprimand every spiteful comment and instruct the teachers to take points, anyway. You wouldn't want to escalate the matter by alienating the Ministry and your good friend Prewett.'

' Professor Prewett, Harry.' Dumbledore sighed again, his large blue eyes fixed on something lying on his desk. 'You don't trust us, Harry?' he asked regretfully.

Oh, please! As if I could be guilt-tripped that easily. 'I don't have much to say on the matter, Headmaster. Professor Snape has not acted in any way to make me especially mistrustful of him.'

Dumbledore looked tired all of a sudden. 'Somehow, that statement does not seem to encompass me, does it?'

Harry simply looked at him askance. 'Professor, your disputes with my family are the stuff of legends. Not only have you tried to hinder my grandfather's every political effort, you have also personally affronted him by helping Sirius leave the family. I'm sorry, but to me it would seem foolish to trust you just like that.'

Just as the old warlock opened his mouth, he hastily interjected, waving his hand in annoyance. 'I have got nothing against Sirius, Headmaster. But the point stands that you personally meddled in family business, something that is completely beyond your responsibilities.'

'So you share your grandfather's views then?' Dumbledore asked in a quiet voice of resignation.

'Most of them, certainly. And why not? Why should we back down, Professor? Most students nowadays do not even know how to traditionally greet a witch or wizard. Have you asked yourself how many people still know of the old solstice customs? Have you questioned yourself what part you play in this, Headmaster? Frivolously announcing Christmas, never even attempting to integrate the Muggle-borns? From my perspective, you are one of the chief suspects in this whole mess we find ourselves in. You may not wield the axe, but you stand alongside the deathsman, all the same.'

Dumbledore looked as if he had bitten into a lemon. Professor Snape's face-in a diligent effort-revealed nothing at all. 'I see. All I can say on the matter is that I have my reasons. I don't doubt that you and your grandfather both mean well, but the pressure has been overwhelming for decades at the very least. Why lead magical Britain into a conflict over traditions that most witches and wizards perceive as archaic? I cannot deny that I too feel a certain sorrow, but I don't deem it worth the risk of starting a confrontation.'

'To some of us, Headmaster, it is part of our identity. Curiously enough, in any muggle counterparts of our nations, you have to bow to the customs, languages, and quirks of your new host if you wish to immigrate. It actually is the law! How laughable that the only thing you would not wish the Muggles to share with us is their own insight.'

Dumbledore shot him a long, penetrating look that seemed to search beyond the surface. 'What would you do about the issue then, Mr Black?'

Harry averted his eyes with ostentation and looked towards Snape. The man indicated the door with a nod. 'If I believed my way of living systematically under attack, Headmaster,' Harry stood up and turned his back on Dumbledore, 'I would correct that deplorable circumstance by means that prove effective.' Leaving the missing word dangerously hanging in the air, Harry exited the office without looking back.

~BLHD~

Harry and his Head of House descended the stairs in silence. Harry would have felt better kicking the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, but resisted the childish urge to injure his bones.

'I still have business to attend to,' Professor Snape said when the passage had completely sealed itself again. 'I trust you can make your way to the Great Hall without me holding your hand, Black?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied grumpily, betokening a light bow.

'One last thing, Black. The headmaster may be the indulgent and forgiving kind, but it will generally serve you no purpose to anger people in positions to make your life difficult.'

Swallowing his first response, Harry bowed more politely this time. 'You are right, of course, sir. I realise that my temper is something I have to work on.'

Professor Snape's lips curled in an unfriendly manner. 'Well, let us hope the inner Black in you will triumph eventually.' Leaving him with those cryptic words to consider, Snape strode away, robes billowing behind him.

Looking back, Harry couldn't completely deny that he'd been rather hard on the headmaster, who might even have expressed genuine concern for his situation. He should've tried to deal with Dumbledore based on their own, personal (meaning fresh and unladen) relationship, as long as no family business was involved. Harry was sure that his grandfather wouldn't be impressed when he learned that he had lost his temper over something that didn't concern him personally, as the young Black had been warned time and again that politeness is the proper way to face even your enemies in public.

Sighing, he turned around… and froze, eyes bulging.

Leaning against the wall of the corridor that led to the Great Hall was Tracey, her whole body covered with wounds and blood, her left arm hanging lifelessly and stiffly at her side. 'Harry… Thank God, there you are,' she called weakly. Her left calf seemed to have suffered some wound from a sharp object or Cutting Curse . Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen and pale blue.

'TRACEY!' he shouted in alarm, rushing towards her. 'What in the blazes happened to you?! We need to get Pomfrey!'

'No, Harry… Daphne…' Her voice was unusually wispy, trembling even.

Ignoring the shiver running down his spine, Harry drew his wand. 'Where is she?'

'A bit further down the corridor, please… Couldn't get all of them.' She turned around and hobbled at considerable speed towards a dark corridor.

Harry followed silently, rage building behind his eyes. 'Who was it? What happened?'

She limped around a corner, and it took her a while to answer. '… Don't know. They just suddenly jumped us… told us to spill. I-I think they're other Slytherins.'

'Did you recognise any of them?' Harry demanded, grinding his teeth as he continued to grip his wand tightly.

Shaking her head, she led him on. 'C-come quickly, Harry.'

They traversed many fairly empty corridors, nearing a part of the fourth floor that was mostly abandoned. Getting impatient, Harry shouted after Tracey, who had quickened her pace even more, 'How much farther is it?'

'Not far, Harry,' she murmured, vanishing into another corridor. 'Greengrass is just here around the corner.'

Sprinting around the corner with rewound vigour, Harry's heart suddenly missed a beat. Greengrass?

Throwing his body to the ground on a hunch, he felt something pass over his hair. Harry flicked his wand and thought with all his might, ' Protego!'

Something collided with his Shield Charm, and lifting his head, Harry could make out several obscure figures that clung to the shadows. All of them had their wands drawn.

'God, you're such a wanker, messing up like that,' one of them called out disgustedly.

'I-I panicked, the potion was failing already. How could I have known he was strolling around the headmaster's office?!' Another unknown voice shot back at the first.

'Cut the crap! What are we supposed to do know? That shield's trouble!'

Harry's eyes widened, trying to keep track of the speakers. He didn't recognise a single voice, and his head started spinning, though he wasn't exactly sure why that was the case. He surely hadn't burnt out from just a bit of running?

'All of you, attack the shield from all angles with force,' the first voice commanded.

More than half a dozen curses collided with his shield all at once, throwing him forcefully into the cold stone wall, though his shield held strong - for now. Merlin, they're using Blasting Curses! It's over if they get through! Withstanding the incoming spells with all his might, Aenor's voice suddenly popped into his mind: ' I would like to stress the point that shields are a good defensive tool but do only have a small place in real duelling. Being able to cast a second spell while holding your shield in place requires such prodigious skill that it may be more accurate to label it an innate talent… '

Laughing hysterically under the unending flashes of light, shouts and the burst of adrenaline, Harry acknowledged the point his tutor had made in their first ever Defence lesson. Guess it's time for a gamble.

Waiting for the slightest window of opportunity, Harry threw himself to the side, ceased to feed his shield, threw his left hand before his eyes and flicked his wand sideways twice. Not a second later, his wand erupted in a blinding flash of light of such ferocity that he saw the backsides of his eyelids flare up red despite the protective measure. At the same time as he heard the pained cries of several people all around him, he felt himself get lifted off his feet and hurled across the room with an enormous accompanying bang, colliding painfully with a door at his back, the handle drilling agonisingly into his flesh. Coughing and fighting for air, he crouched down, holding his shattered ribs. He had trouble standing up or maintaining any semblance of balance. His head's sole purpose seemed to be restricted to tormenting Harry as thoroughly as possible, layering red, black and white dots over his vision, crushing his concentration with a screeching sound that went on and on. Eardrums ruptured, heavy concussion, were the thoughts that eventually formed in his mind.

Willing his eyes to remain open, he could make out several people lying on the ground, crying in pain. Some were clawing at their eyes, others retching on the floor. One person was left standing, though he too was leaning against a wall, eyes closed.

Harry observed the scene in a rather detached manner, only registering what he saw many seconds later. Oh, Merlin! I need to do something, anything! Miraculously, he still had his wand in his hand, but his shoulder seemed to be dislocated or broken, as he discovered when a new, hot streak of pain ran through his body when he tried to lift the implement of his magic. Great, so no way to direct my magic? Disgusted, he looked down at his wand that was, after all his efforts, now ironically pointing at himself. Oh, arm's broken, too, he dimly remarked to himself.

Keeping his eyes open was taking up more and more of his concentration. Damn body; keep going, you stupid adrenal glands! Trying not to succumb to the doziness, Harry desperately thought about any spell that could salvage the situation. All offensive spells are out, not my forte anyway. Shielding myself again won't help me, it'll just prolong my suffering. Hiding, silencing, shrouding won't help either. Those spells will fade when I lose consciousness which, SWEET MORGANA MY HEAD, doesn't seem too far off.

The figure that leaned against the wall opened its homicidally red eyes, glaring at Harry through concealed features. A few others had also stopped throwing up, and one or two were slowly crawling towards the nearest wall. Frantically thinking back on the spells he'd recently studied, Harry's heart quickened even further. Cheering Charm? Tempting but useless. Engorgement Charm? Just what I need, larger limbs to ache probably equals more pain. Summoning? Banishing? Aguamenti? No, no… NO!

The person opposite Harry made a very deliberate movement to pick up his wand that had fallen to the ground. As of now, he was fumbling around several feet away from its real location but…

Come on, Harry. You can't tell me there's nothing! You even got the stupid Patronus down after two weeks . There has to be something to call for he… wait!

Staring blankly at his wand for a few precious moments, Harry closed his eyes and-with monumental effort-recalled the time when he had first seen his newfound family. It was hard to rid his mind of the pain that surged through his limbs, but the memory of them standing among the ruins, wands in their hands, looking heroically battered but so very determined was among those that were always at the front of his mind. Sirius and Regulus had been with Arcturus back then, though that had not been the case for very long, of course, he remembered with a dull echo of grief. Still, they had taken him in. Him, Harry; alone, betrayed, betrayer and pawn of fate that he was. Arguably their political enemy, they had rescued him, nourished him, given him a place to stay and find peace. A home without pressure, without dependency and with no strings attached…

Reminding Arcturus telling him in a stirred voice full of pride that he had officially declared Harry his heir, Harry opened his moist eyes and, drawing upon the love and gratitude he felt for those he held dearest, he furiously shouted the words that he bet his rescue on…

~BLHD~

Hermione moodily stabbed at the food in front of her, all the enthusiasm she had had for classes to resume seemingly leached out of her. While most in Slytherin were looking disturbed or at least concerned by the news of Harry being found half-dead in an empty corridor that, so the story claimed, did resemble nothing short of a war-zone, some students were buzzing with excited chatter. The Ravenclaws and most of the Hufflepuffs seemed to have the decency to at least pretend to be shocked at that casual display of cruel vindictiveness, whereas some of the Puffs and most of Gryffindor house seemed to regard the matter as a joke that was- maybe -slightly overdone. A few even seemed to be thankful that the school was now much safer without the notorious scion of the Blacks, at least for the time being. Some redhead over at the Gryffindor table was laughing loudly at something presumably hilarious that had to do with stomping on a person lying on the ground.

Feeling ill all of a sudden, Hermione shoved the plate away from her and cast a disdainful gaze towards the table at the front. Most teachers were looking very grave, especially Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Her Head of House seemed oddly indifferent. Once or twice, she caught him looking towards the door, and it seemed to Hermione that he was just barely suppressing a smirk. Even more incomprehensibly, Professor Rose looked almost eager. Hermione silently cursed the situation she found herself in. Her friend was in the infirmary, or maybe St Mungo's by now, and she'd only heard of it by chance, just when she had finally decided to resolve the mess she had helped create. After a great deal of pondering her situation at Hogwarts during the holidays, her parents (when she had finally gathered the courage to confide in them and told them of her estrangement with Harry) had encouraged her to try and talk it out with her friend directly. Even if, so they said, she had inadvertently hurt him, the situation would never improve without her working on it. But nobody was allowed to visit Harry apparently, though that certainly hadn't deterred Greengrass from sprinting off in an insane rush, dragging Tracey along the way. Draco was sitting a few places down the table, pale and without any of his usual easy-going attitude, completely ignoring his little gang around him.

Suddenly, a loud bang disrupted Hermione's train of thought. She couldn't help herself and thought of bombs, fully aware how ridiculous that assumption was. The general chatter didn't ebb, of course. Loud noises were all too common at Hogwarts, after all; Peeves-for instance-being a chief proponent of spontaneous chaos. Hermione looked questioningly towards the head-table where, to her surprise, all the teachers had stopped eating. Professor Prewett seemed to be hesitantly reaching for his wand.

Another acoustic shock rang through the hall, this time loud enough to rattle the windows. A few people squealed and looked worriedly towards the windows or the great oaken portal that led to the Great Hall.

With a sense of foreboding, Hermione covered her ears with her hands and ducked. This turned out to be a smart decision, as the third explosion blasted the massive 18-foot tall gate off its hinges, spraying splinters across half the hall.

Hermione gasped and turned to look at the wreck, along with hundreds of fearful faces. The silence was so complete that she could hear the low breathing of her immediate neighbours, which is why she heard the footsteps long before she could make anything out in the swirling dust…

A lone figure strode through the wreckage. With a barely perceivable flick of a wand, it batted the remains of the once great door (that Hermione estimated to easily weigh a ton or two) to the sides of the hall as if they were flies caught in the wake of a devil. The silent assailant slowly strode down the aisle in the middle, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of terrified stares. Hermione shuddered at the sound of the debris crunching under the measured stride of this mysterious stranger…

As the dust steadily settled, she started making out the outlines of a rather small person. Clad in impeccable robes of flowing velvet, there stood a wizard with shrunken features who didn't seem much younger than Dumbledore himself. Yet, even so, not completely unlike their headmaster, a feeling of gravitas coated this old man.

'Good evening, Headmaster,' the refined voice called out almost politely, yet the repressed anger was palpable; it permeated the ear like barely contained deadly radiation, waiting to break free and devour them whole. 'I am so very sorry to interrupt dinner, but I would like to have a short word in your office. Right this instant…'

'You don't own this castle! You don't get to make any demands here!' Professor Prewett shouted from his seat. Even though he was obviously seething with rage, Prewett's aura almost faded into the background as the lone old man slowly turned his head towards him.

'Be silent, you fool!' whispered the old one dangerously. Hermione had the urge to lean in and be closer to the man, but she doubted that the student sitting closest to the door had any trouble listening to his every word. His voice was… mesmerising.

Their History of Magic instructor, however, didn't seem to take being called to silence lightly. With a look of pure hatred, he raised his wand toward the figure beneath him…

Both men slashed their wands simultaneously, to the shocked outcries of several people. In barely one second, half a dozen spells sprang from the tip of both wands. Hermione could hardly keep her eyes from popping out of her skull; she couldn't identify a single spell being used, though their teacher seemed to favour transfiguration, while the unknown assailant used strangely blurred spells that filled the air with something like electricity, making her hair even more unruly. Just as a red volley of sizzling spells impacted an invisible barrier in front of Professor Prewett, the stranger made a sudden sweeping gesture with his empty left hand.

To Hermione's and every other student's utter astonishment, their teacher was immediately lifted off his feet and smashed into the wall fifteen yards from where he had stood.

Panic ensued almost instantly. Several students started screaming, a few even fumbled for their wands. Hermione just could not help but gape at the crumpled figure of her history teacher, who was vaunted throughout Britain for his prowess in magical combat.

The fourth bang that rang through the hall that evening was so loud that it stunned most people left standing. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, his own wand visible for all to see. 'Prefects, accompany your respective houses to your common rooms! You may continue your dinner therein.'

Finally turning towards the newcomer, he gave a courteous if stiff little bow, indicated the door behind the teacher's table and said in a strained voice, 'After you, Lord Black.'

HD: Approach, Slytherin-style

Approach, Slytherin-style

------------------------------------------------------------------------

For once, Hermione did not pay any attention to the book in front of her, and she knew she wasn't the only one by a long shot. A strange mood had befallen the castle. Lord Black's appearance earlier this week had been like an icy chill that just would not lift. Many a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were looking peaky, pale or downright frightful these days, and hushed conversations were somewhat commonplace, though Hermione dearly wished that her classmates would at least refrain from abusing the library.

'Are you really sure I'll be fine, Nev?' one of the Hufflepuffs in a near corridor whispered not quietly enough, fear dripping from every syllable.

Hermione huffed indignantly. The nerve of these people! First, they continue to harass Harry for weeks and weeks, or at the very least stand idly by, and now their only worry is for their own precious safety? You've made your bed…

'Have you ever actually done anything to him, Justin?' Longbottom reasoned exasperatedly.

'No, of course not! But, like I told you, we were in his compartment and he got really menacing and…'

Hermione tried to will her concentration back onto the essay in her hands. But, to her dismay, a few new voices joined in on the muttered conversation only a short while later, rendering her effort wasted.

'You weren't there, Seamus. That old gramps really was scary!' insisted one of the new participants.

'That was Lord Black, Dean.' Hermione could almost hear Longbottom roll his eyes. 'That's someone you don't want to mess with.'

'You scared or what, Longbottom? Some Gryffindor you are!' Hermione inadvertently sat up straight in her chair. The last voice belonged to someone she definitely had not expected to converse with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

'What do you want, Malfoy?' Longbottom called out with a hint of annoyance.

'Why, gloating of course! Look at you all: for months you pile your abuse on Black, even though you, Longbottom, at least should've known better. And now you frantically flap your hands like little girls, afraid of what you've done. If you don't want to get stung, don't rattle the curtains!' said Draco smugly.

'Bet you loved Lord Black's entrance, didn't you?' Longbottom retorted coldly.

'Oh, yeah, I did. You've got to admit it was pretty awesome,' Malfoy shot back, clearly fighting down a laugh. 'And even better than enjoying Prewett getting taken down a notch, now I can savour you all shivering at the thought of the Blacks coming after you as a bonus. It's hilarious!'

Draco was still laughing when he left Longbottom to his flock. Hermione, meanwhile, was mulling over their bickering, so deep in thought that she didn't notice her house-mate approach until his steps had taken him straight to her little corner where she sat, practically surrounded by small heaps of books on all corners. She expected him to frown, to scowl or sneer maybe; the possibility of being ignored altogether was there, too. What she did not expect, however, was the shrewd expression that flickered across his face for a second when he looked at her.

Hermione hastily collected her reading material and sorted it as carefully as time allowed into her book-bag. Without trying to catch up to Draco, she made to follow him, as the both of them had another Transfiguration lesson in about fifteen minutes, and she had no intention of seeming to appear together with the Gryffindors.

Hermione selected a seat in the front row and settled down. Not five minutes later, even the laggards had, under the reproving glare of Professor McGonagall, finally scurried through the door.

'A good day to you all. Since it has been some time now since you have made use of your knowledge in class, we'll be reviewing your expertise first. Maybe later this week, we can make a first attempt at transfiguring something new. You'll hand in your homework after class, so now you all better get…'

The Gryffindor Head of House was interrupted, quite rudely Hermione thought, when Greengrass slouched into the classroom, sporting a truly singular expression somewhere between depression and anger. 'Miss Greengrass!' The mouth of her favourite teacher was a very thin line by now; to Hermione, this was a clear sign of her displeasure.

Shrugging apathetically, the girl took a seat near Tracey, just one row behind Hermione. 'Hello, Professor. Sorry, I'm late, Professor. I'll do better next time, Professor,' Greengrass returned lifelessly.

Hermione winced, as did half the class. It was no secret that neither Greengrass nor McGonagall were particularly fond of one another, but the young witch had clearly crossed a line.

'That will be detention, Miss Greengrass. Well? Mr Thomas, please hand out the matches and we'll start with something easy. Surely, I need not remind you all that we are on a very tight schedule.'

Hermione took the needle the Gryffindor offered her, keen on trying her hand again, but she need not have worried: on her first try, she turned the wooden matchstick into a perfectly metallic needle. With a small satisfied smile, Hermione looked around the classroom. Some were having difficulties, either because they hadn't practised or, in the case of Draco and Tracey, because they were goofing around, pretending to accidentally aim at the legs of other people's chairs. Others, she noted, were misusing the class to continue their private conversations.

'Have you ever been there, then, Nev?' Finnigan asked excitedly.

'Oh, yeah, I have. Several times, actually,' Longbottom answered in a low voice.

'How was it? Is it true nobody knows where the Blacks live?' another eager Gryffindor demanded.

'It's true, I guess. If you get an invitation, you just get a date and a portkey - that's it.'

'But why don't people just make a break for it when they're at the ball or something?' threw in Thomas.

A girl one row behind them broke out in shrill laughter. 'You don't wanna do that, Dean. I've been there once myself, and I could feel the wards all around me when we travelled there. And I was only ten at the time.'

'Wow, you were at the Black Ball once, Parvati? But isn't that like, I don't know, a bit creepy? I mean you describe it like it's some kind of giant deathtrap.' Finnigan's voice was laden with trepidation.

'Only if you're stupid enough to poke around, Seamus. The occasion is quite exclusive, so I don't think that happens all too often.'

'It's quite dreamy, actually. A bit like those old-style romance films…' Parvati sighed wistfully.

'Did Black really dance with Professor Rose, Nev?'

What? Hermione was stumped. This was the first time she'd heard anything like that. The stretching silence surrounding Longbottom indicated that she wasn't the only one interested.

The Gryffindor boy chuckled nervously. 'Uh, yeah, they did. The whole evening, in fact.'

'What? Really? How scandalous!' Parvati giggled excitedly.

'Wow! Who would've guessed? I mean, he always seems so reclusive,' the Brown girl joined in.

'You've got to be kidding me!' Finnigan opined. 'Why him? And not Professor Rose! Are you really, really sure, Nev?'

'Sorry, mate! It was hard not to notice, to be honest,' Longbottom returned in an apologetic tone.

'You're crushing my dreams, man. What's he got that I don't have?' whined Finnigan.

'Not sure. You mean besides the mountains of gold or the talent?' Parvati laughed good-naturedly. 'I've heard Flitwick's jokes about giving him an OWL test at the end of the year. I don't think he's serious, but it's not all talk either, you know.'

Finnigan broke down on his desk in dramatic fashion. 'You guys are killing me. But seriously, why's he so good at Charms?'

'Oh, not interested in hearing any more about Rose and Black, Seamus?' jeered Brown, teaming up with her friend.

'I wouldn't read too much into it. No, honestly!' Longbottom added when he spotted the doubting looks of his audience. 'Look, I don't know Black much better than you guys. But I don't get the impression that he's the kind of guy to chat up women. It could be something political, so don't worry about it.'

'Oh, right,' Thomas responded sarcastically, 'because something political between the Blacks and Rose is no cause for concern at all.'

~BLHD~

The talk of the allegedly shared dances between Harry and Professor Rose was resounding throughout all of Hogwarts by lunch, much to Hermione's chagrin. Apparently, only half a dozen students had been at the Black Ball, so the news hadn't passed through the houses until now. It wasn't even that important, really. Sure, it was a bit strange to share more than a polite dance (if even that) with a teacher, but people seemed to consider the reputed breach of good morals of much more importance than the brutal attack that had landed Harry in the hospital wing for his longest stay to date. There was definitely much jealousy at play, and-in private-Hermione thought that this jealousy might even have been a contributing factor to the incredibly brutal assault on her estranged friend.

So it was with a mixed mood that she had made her way to the Defence classroom and took her seat among the Slytherins, but the class progressed as if nothing had happened at all. Though the atmosphere was decidedly awkward at the start, mostly due to the expectations many Hufflepuffs held, Professor Rose conducted the lesson in a very business-like fashion, much to Hermione's relief. Learning to counter popular jinxes was, without a doubt, time better spent than chatting about other people's lives. Class soon ended without any drama unfolding, but it was all too good to be true, Hermione soon realised.

'I'll sneak down again later, I don't care what you say!' Greengrass whispered not very quietly at all, but with a touch of anger. It remained mysterious to Hermione how someone could speak at a normal volume while definitely whispering… kind of.

'Keep your voice down, Daphne!' Tracey looked around suspiciously. Spotting Hermione's curious glance, she shrugged apologetically and smiled in a helpless manner.

'Slinking off to visit your friend, are you, Greengrass?' Macmillan's voice was disapproving. 'And here I thought you knew better than to associate with the likes of Black…'

'Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you!' Greengrass shot back coldly.

'Don't get me wrong, Greengrass. I hardly think it's sporting to lurk in a corridor and ambush someone with Merlin knows how many people. I wonder why Dumbledore doesn't do something. It's no wonder Lord Black is furious, but-on the other hand-maybe our headmaster has decided that Black is a lost cause…? He's hardly innocent in the whole affair, in my opinion.'

'And how exactly do you figure that he is not the victim here, Macmillan?' Greengrass' eyes had narrowed so much that her usually refined features were looking positively snake-like. And ready to bite the Hufflepuff's head off, no doubt.

'Uhm, shouldn't we be heading to the next class?' Hermione tried to diffuse the situation.

Tracey nodded eagerly. 'Oh, yes! It's gotten rather late, hasn't it? Let's go, Daphy!'

'Oh, no, not so fast!' Greengrass stood unblinkingly and rooted to the spot, oblivious to Tracey's subtle tugging. 'I want to hear this, and it better be good…'

Macmillan gulped heavily. He seemed to have realised that his immediate bodily well-being was on the line. 'See here, Greengrass. I mean no offence! It's just that he's been stirring up a lot of trouble, right? Provoking Hannah and Susan like that was totally unnecessary, and Leanne is terrified of him. And I'm not even speaking of John; he's only just come back from St Mungo's, you know.'

'What are you talking about? Bones and Abott were trying to humiliate him first, and if you guys would just leave him alone, you probably wouldn't even notice him. I mean, he practically sleeps in the library!'

'Maybe he should sleep in his own library then. The Blacks do have a family library, don't they? What's he come to Hogwarts for? If he just left, everything would be fine!' intruded Bones hotly. She and her friend had apparently passed by on their way out of the classroom.

'You shouldn't say that!' Hermione shouted, surprised by her own temerity. 'If you could all just leave your stupid politics at home, there wouldn't even be an issue!'

Greengrass and Bones both looked at her, taken aback by her unusual outburst. But just then, Professor Rose emerged from within the depths of the room. 'Maybe you all should trot along before you get in trouble.' She peered from Bones to Macmillan and then to Greengrass and Hermione.

'Let's go, Daphy!' Tracey tugged at her best friend's sleeve again. In a slightly lower tone she added, 'I don't wanna be chewed out again…'

Hermione hung back a bit to sort the books in her backpack in an orderly fashion, even as the rest of the Slytherins departed, same as Abott and Macmillan. Bones had apparently forgotten something at her desk. Just as Hermione swung the bag over her shoulders, Professor Rose called out to the Hufflepuff one more time. 'Oh, before I forget, could I have a short word with you, Miss Bones? You may go on, Miss Granger.'

~BLHD~

Hogwarts was still abuzz with chatter by dinner, but now there was also a new bit of gossip about Susan Bones, who had shut herself in the toilet, crying for nearly four hours straight. All the Hufflepuff first years were surrounding Abott, who apparently didn't know what was going on any better. Nervously, Hermione glanced from the girl to the Hufflepuff hourglass and finally to Professor Rose, who ate gracefully at the head table, the pretty picture of innocence. For some mysterious (and, surely, unrelated) reason, there seemed to be at least 200 house-points missing. The turmoil about Bones had, for the moment, prevented the Puffs from noticing that about half of their points had vanished in the space of a few hours, or maybe, Hermione mused, a few seconds.

Maybe the story about her dancing with Harry all night isn't as far-fetched as I thought…

Just when she was looking from the hourglass to Professor Rose again, the young teacher winked conspiratorially at her and subtly brought her index finger to her lips. Hermione gaped nonplussed at her Defence instructor until she finally pulled herself together and averted her gaze.

The Hufflepuffs prematurely forfeiting the House Cup was a popular topic later in the Slytherin common room. Many of the older students in particular were excited at the prospect of a dark horse winning the cup. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had, after all, won the last two dozen cups between them, their streaks only broken very occasionally by the odd Ravenclaw win. It was so bad that nobody even remembered when Slytherin had last won. Even though it was impossible to keep anything secret at Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't help but notice that nobody seemed to connect the spontaneous loss of points with Susan Bones or Professor Rose.

Nearly dozing off after a hard day of work and worries, Hermione half-heartedly observed Draco and his little gang: Blaise Zabini and Draco seemed to get on particularly well nowadays. Parkinson and the younger Shafiq were usually hanging out with them, too, whereas the rest of the first year Slytherins normally kept to themselves. Hermione didn't have anything in particular against Blaise, who could be a bit haughty but was quite friendly to her, if a bit distant maybe. Shafiq and Parkinson were rather snobbish and had no doubt views about a Muggle-born in Slytherin, but they treated Hermione fairly well all the same. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if somebody had arranged it for her to be relatively pleasant in the common room.

Hermione jerked up, blinking furiously. Maybe she had better head to bed after all and finish her research in the morning. Currently, she was studying the Black family, though she wasn't sure if that was a faux pas in itself. But how else was she going to get the information if not by herself? So far she had found out that seven of the last twelve Ministers for Magic had been either Blacks or very closely connected to them, which would certainly explain why the family was so well-off. Carefully stacking her books and the parchment, an unfamiliar note fell from the cover of Nature's Nobility .

' Come to the first room of the right corridor, seventh floor half an hour before curfew if you really find the current situation regarding Harry Black to be unbearable. Don't tell anybody. Arrive alone. '

Immediately, Hermione scrutinised the room around her, but the scene hadn't changed at all. A few groups were sitting widely scattered around the room, keeping to themselves. She looked back down at the parchment. The handwriting was narrow, curly and very even, giving an impression of great sophistication and tedious hours of training.

Thinking furiously for a while, Hermione bit her lower lip. Then, she grabbed her bag and went to the girl's dormitory, where she soon found Tracey babbling animatedly to Greengrass.

'Do you have a moment, Tracey? I'm sorry to interrupt but…' Nervously eyeing Greengrass, her voice faltered.

'Yeah, sure. I'll be right back, Daphy!' Tracey jumped to her feet, smiled at her and indicated for her to leave the room. Hermione rather thought she heard Greengrass click her tongue impatiently. When they were out of earshot, Tracey leaned against the corridor and inclined her head. 'So? What's up?'

'Oh, right. I, uh, got this mysterious note that says I should go somewhere alone tonight, but, to be honest, I don't think that's a terribly intelligent idea. I'll be heading to the seventh corridor, first door on the right, so if I'm not back half an hour after curfew… you know.'

Tracey's eyes widened comically. 'Are you sure this is a very bright idea, Honey?'

Hermione bit her lip again. 'No, it's not. It's not sensible at all. But I can't just ignore it either…'

'There's no need to look so serious!' Tracey saluted cutely with the wand in her hand. 'If you're late, I'll barge right in and come to your rescue. I think I have a white mantle in my trunk, but someone else will have to play the part of the stallion.'

Hermione smiled gratefully. 'Thanks, Tracey.'

The small girl grinned back impishly. 'No problem. I'll be in the vicinity, just let me finish my talk with Daphy.'

~BLHD~

This is a bad idea, Hermione! This is an absolutely terrible idea! But even though Hermione could not keep these thoughts from popping up warningly time and again, her feet brought her ever closer to the dreaded seventh corridor, her steps echoing ominously through the empty castle.

What kind of sensible person would come alone to a meeting with a stranger of dubious intentions in the dead of the night? No sensible person at all, that's for sure. And no Slytherin either, now that I think about it. Well, at least I told someone.

Shivering slightly (Hermione insisted on attributing this to the draught that stalked these ancient halls), she approached the last set of stairs to the seventh corridor. It wasn't so unusual to not encounter any students or teachers on her way through the castle, or that no prefect paid attention to her leaving shortly before curfew, or that not a sound could be heard the entire way up here, but everything in conjunction left Hermione slightly haunted. So much in fact, that she'd even have welcomed the sight of the Bloody Baron, a figure she was sure to give a wide berth on normal (and, she told herself again, sensible ) days.

Hermione hesitated for short while, then hid her wand in her ridiculously long sleeve like she had seen Harry do at times, and walked around the corner. The door to the mentioned first room on the right corridor stood slightly ajar. Gathering her remaining courage, Hermione carefully pushed the door completely open…

The room was empty, but the rustling of clothes just behind her soon explained this discovery. 'Get in!' The male voice sounded familiar, though Hermione failed to instantly place it, mostly due to the frantic beating of her heart. Regretfully crossing the threshold, furious at being outwitted so easily, Hermione walked towards the middle of the room, half expecting the feeling of a wooden tip in her back, but to her great surprise, the person behind her softly closed the door and walked by her, wand in his hand.

Her mysterious assailant had sleek and shiny, perfectly groomed white-blond hair, casual elegance that very few people held so naturally, an incredible amount of self-assurance bordering on arrogance, the hint of superior knowledge in his grey eyes, and an ever persistent smirk on his lips: It was Draco Malfoy.

'So it was you,' Hermione mumbled softly.

Draco looked up, mildly surprised but clearly dismissive, his eyes glinting evilly. 'Oh? Figured that out, did you, filthy Mudblood know-it-all.'

Hermione trembled slightly but tightened her grip around her hidden wand all the same. 'Well, it was a bit suspicious how often you were in my vicinity today. Not to mention your strange look in the library. What does "Mudblood" mean, incidentally?'

Draco howled with laughter. 'What? Are you kidding me, Granger? You still don't know? For real? "Mudbloods" are those that dirty the old and honoured family lines and traditions of the wizarding world by their unworthy, usurping blood, of course. So that's you, you bushy skunk. If it was up to me, I'd kick you out of Slytherin myself, but I really don't want to dirty my boots.'

Hermione sniffed a bit, doing her best to hold in tears. Why has he called me out here if he just wants to make me miserable? 'What do you want, Draco?' she called out more bravely than she felt, her voice quivering all the same.

Draco wordlessly pointed his wand at her, and Hermione stiffened, holding her breath, awaiting the curse that was sure to come any second now… but nothing happened. 'Lie to me,' Draco ordered her, to Hermione's complete confusion.

'W-what?' she answered feebly.

'I said "lie to me", you wretched bookworm. Or aren't you capable of following simple orders?' he sneered at her like she was something under the floorboards.

'I… but…' Hermione stumbled for words before she gathered her wits. 'I-I ran into Professor Snape on my way here. He knows I'm here!' She tried, once again, to sound confident, and indeed her voice held miraculously steady, or so she thought.

Draco snarled, looking unimpressed. 'Pathetic, Granger! I know all the teachers have a meeting with the headmaster tonight, and I followed you all the way here, as you should have worked out by now. One last try, make a convincing lie, you stupid little girl!' He lifted his wand further so that it now pointed directly at her face.

Stupid little girl? Hermione repeated angrily in her head, blushing subtly. Who does he think he is? What kind of game is he playing? Biting her lip, her mind automatically replayed the information she had last studied about. 'The first Cygnus Black embezzled funds from the Wizengamot Administration Service to hide his secret addiction to Muggle horse-races from his family.'

Draco looked stunned for a moment, but then his brow began to furrow. 'I call bullshit,' he said eventually.

'Actually, it's possibly true,' Hermione lectured on the topic in her classroom-voice out of paradoxical relief. 'The author in Nature's Nobility makes a point of theorising how this could have led to the now extinct line of Blackthaws that officially split from the Blacks at the time. It was a major scandal, of course, and…'

'All right, all right, I get it.' Malfoy held up his other hand to stem the tide of information that gushed from Hermione's mouth. 'But that wasn't a lie, was it? If even the author didn't know it, we can't ascertain the truth of it. And besides, you just recited something you read in a book!'

'Well, yes,' Hermione replied with her own satisfied little smile. 'But you told me to lie and didn't realise that my "lie" was in fact just information. So you fail all the same, since I wasn't truthful about that fact that I lied.'

Draco frowned, clearly thinking it through carefully. But a second later, he suddenly broke into laughter, lowered his wand and relaxed visibly. The strange enmity that had shone from his pose and facial expression was gone entirely as if blown away by wind. 'Not bad, Granger! I suppose it's my defeat.'

Rocking with mad laughter, Malfoy sat down on an old desk, stowed his wand and indicated for her to take a seat as well. Hermione, needless to say, was completely stumped again.

'Come on, we don't have all night, Granger. Take a seat, I won't bite,' he said, the mirth visible in his eyes.

'But… but…' Suddenly, her eyes narrowed in understanding. 'You tested me,' she accused him, pointing her finger. 'There was no need for that language with me!'

'Yeah, I tested you. You even passed, somewhat. And I thought you'd gotten used to a bit of insulting after Greengrass' tirade? That one's very big on foul language, as I'm sure you've come to know,' he returned in a relaxed manner.

'But… to what end?' Hermione finally took a seat, ashamed of her own foolishness and angry at Malfoy's little game.

'To see if you're a hopeless case, or not,' Draco said matter-of-factly. 'To see if you can face pressure in a situation where you are clearly handicapped. To ascertain that you do not lose your temper just because someone is spewing a lot of malicious nonsense to your face. To test if you've got any sense and don't come to a dangerous meeting without telling anybody, even though you were ordered to come alone. To check if you are still practical enough to at least have a wand on your hand. You can put it away now, by the way.'

Hermione looked confused for a second, but then it dawned on her that she was still clutching her wand in a death-grip. She had completely forgotten about it half-way through the ordeal but vowed right then and there to never tell Draco so. 'So you knew about Tracey?' she asked weakly, feeling a bit resentful for having been dancing in his palm all along.

'Oh, yeah, sure. I told her beforehand, even. You don't exactly have many friends in Slytherin, so it was an easy guess. Which brings us to the main part of this evening.' His expression became serious all of a sudden, and he sat up straight, gazing intently into her eyes. 'If you want in on this, you'll do exactly what I say; you'll ask no questions; and you won't tell anyone that you're working with me.'

'What? I'm not your subordinate, Draco!' she called out in high dudgeon. 'Why do you need me anyway if I'm just your lackey?'

'Not lackey, Granger: Spy!' he called out triumphantly. 'People won't expect me to cooperate with you, people know you to be shunned by practically everyone, and they may let their guard down with someone they are sure poses no threat.'

'Spy?' she asked, feeling the situation outgrow her more and more.

'Exactly!' he responded with a smirk that was confident of victory. 'It's brilliant! Other people may even see you as an easy tool to use to get to Harry as it is somewhat common knowledge that you were friendly, so they may even approach you on their own, or already have, for all we know.'

'So whom am I supposed to spy on, then?' Hermione asked carefully.

'Mostly Slytherins, I expect. When I'm not clear on what to do with you, you'll help me go through some minor non-school-related paperwork.'

Well, Hermione thought bitterly, I guess being the female lead in a spy movie was too much to ask for, so I have to act as a secretary in my off-time to appease the gender image. 'And what are we doing this for, then. Should I happen to agree, that is.'

Draco looked completely puzzled as if she'd asked the stupidest question yet. 'To help Harry, of course.'

'B-but…' Hermione's voice faded away pitifully. 'But I thought you hated Muggle-borns,' she asked meekly as if to make sure the world still made sense.

'Oh, make no mistake! I definitely detest Mudbloods,' Draco returned bluntly and without hesitation. His warm expression vanished as quickly and unexpectedly as a sudden blizzard in July, his gaze drilling into her with a ferocity that made her blush. 'Much more than Harry does, I expect. But, truth be told, I need you, and you need me. It's as simple as that. Besides, he accepted you, and you somehow got into Slytherin, so I guess you can't be all bad.'

HD: Of things remembered part II

Of things remembered part II

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was past midnight, and Hogwart's infirmary was basked in the eerie glow of several potions that gleamed in a mixture of colours, not unlike the strange reflection of moonlight by the sea. As it was long past curfew, the room was-of course-deadly silent. Or at least, it should have been.

'Daphy, please lower your voice! It's a miracle Pomfrey hasn't come charging in already.' Tracey stood slightly behind her best friend, one hand anxiously grabbing Daphne's robes. Her whole body was tense, and she seemed ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

'You know,' Daphne said in a carrying voice that made Tracey wince, 'I've decided that I just don't care anymore. I'll be damned if some matron tells me when to visit Harry!'

'Is that why you lost your temper with McGonagall? I don't think that was such a good idea. You know how you irked her at your sorting,' Tracey pointed out.

The Greengrass heiress just waved the shorter girl's concern aside with a shrug. 'That old sawney had it coming.'

Tracey looked somewhat confused. 'Sawney?'

'Yeah, that's what Phineas' portrait usually calls them. I hear he refused to call his Scottish students anything else on principle.'

'That's kind of mean,' said Tracey, stifling a small laugh.

'If you think that's mean, you should get him started on the French when you're over at Harry's or in the headmaster's study.' Daphne's gaze seemed to be fixed upon something invisible and far away, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

'I like the French!' huffed Tracey in a slightly hurt voice, causing her friend to blink in confusion.

'Well, never mind that, Tracey. We all have our quirks,' she said as she gently patted the shorter witch's head. Ignoring her best friend's scowl, Daphne turned her face towards the bed before them, and her expression grew grim. 'Do you think he'll wake up soon?'

Taking note of the serious tone of the other girl's voice, Tracey finally advanced a few small steps so that the both of them stood beside the bed that had been Harry's for the last ten days. 'Don't worry. If they haven't sent him to St Mungo's yet, then he's bound to regain consciousness soon.'

'But you heard Pomfrey, too. She was clearly worried that he hasn't woken up yet because he normally bounces right back after something like this…'

'Yes, well,' Tracey said in a serious voice of her own, 'it's a bit more than some bruises this time, isn't it? Two dorsal vertebrae shattered, arm broken in six places, some issues with organs where a broken rib did some damage. You know, we should be glad that Pomfrey was there as fast as she was. If he was a Muggle, I don't think he would've pulled th…'

'DON'T SAY THAT!' Daphne screamed hysterically, causing Tracey to flinch again and throw a worried look towards the office door. 'Don't ever finish that sentence,' she whimpered, her voice hoarse and clearly suppressing a sob.

Tracey rubbed her arm comfortingly. 'He'll be fine, Sweetie. You know he will be.'

'This time, maybe.' Daphne snivelled, reaching out to smooth the edges of Harry's duvet quite unnecessarily. 'But it's been getting worse. I… I don't know what'll happen if this keeps going…'

Tracey sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, causing Daphne to shoot her a reproving glare. 'And that's exactly why we're here tonight, Sweetie.'

'But… but I decided we'd be heading to the infirmary tonight. I practically dragged you along!'

Tracey smiled disarmingly and pointed towards the door, where two people stood in the flickering lights of the torches in the corridor. 'I told you that we would probably end up needing Draco's help. Well, now we're all here to figure this one out.'

Daphne frowned, watching the second person close the door and hurriedly follow who she supposed was Malfoy. When the pair of them were finally near enough, Daphne reached out to draw her wand. 'What's she doing here?!' she hissed menacingly, pointing an accusatory finger at Hermione.

'Keep your temper in check, Greengrass. Do you really want to start shooting hexes in the infirmary?' Draco drawled offhandedly. 'Granger is with me.'

Daphne's eyes widened in disbelief. 'You're kidding, right? You and Granger ?'

'Ehm, good evening,' Hermione almost whispered. Daphne ignored her, but Tracey waved at her cheerfully.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Yes, I'm working with Granger, Greengrass,' he responded calmly. 'If you'd stop to think for a few seconds without braying like a nine-year-old, you'd see the benefit of this arrangement, too.'

'Well, I don't,' stated Daphne categorically, folding her arms.

'We need four people for this, Daphy,' Tracey chipped in.

'What? You, too, Tracey?' Daphne looked at her best friend as if she'd just drawn a dagger. 'We can't trust her!'

'Who is she supposed to betray us to?' Malfoy asked smugly.

'Well,' Daphne eagerly pounced at the opportunity to muse on the depths of Granger's treachery, 'obviously, there are loads of people, like… like…' She closed her mouth, clearly thinking furiously, before she snapped, 'The Pillars.'

'Unlikely. Not well-connected enough for that.' Draco regarded Hermione coolly. 'Besides, she's already antagonised the Bones brat, and they do seem to hold grudges. Also, Crouch or Prewett would never employ the services of someone who could turn out to be a spy for the Blacks, seeing as she was too close to Harry at some earlier point. It would only be plausible if they'd contacted her before she'd come to Hogwarts, but only the Department of Mysteries and Dumbledore know the addresses of Muggle-born students before they arrive at Hogwarts.'

'Excuse me, but who's this Crouch person?' Hermione asked, completely bewildered and desperately trying to keep up.

'And lastly,' Malfoy continued, gesturing towards Hermione's puzzled expression and pointedly ignoring her question, 'she's a terrible liar. Most of the time,' he added as an afterthought.

'We can't be sure!' Daphne growled in a guttural fashion. 'You basically admitted she could be placed in Slytherin just to spy on us.'

'True,' Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. 'But she doesn't seem the type. And I had her watched for four weeks. If she can stay inconspicuous for a whole month without us catching her, it's unlikely we ever will.'

'You had me stalked for four weeks?' Hermione gasped in a shocked voice, clearly outraged.

'Just a precaution.' He waved his hand in what he clearly considered a placating manner, but that Hermione, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, interpreted as dismissal. 'I'm just saying she's no more suspicious than you are, Greengrass.'

'WHAT?' Daphne shouted angrily. 'How dare you?! I've known Harry nearly all my life!'

'Yes, we know.' He shot a swift look towards Hermione, while Tracey hid her eyes behind her hands and shook her head, sighing audibly. 'Well, now we all know.' Daphne winced slightly. 'But the point is that you desperately cling to your connection to Harry even though your grandmother proceeds to publicly renounce everything Black. You have to agree that is a tad suspicious, right?'

Daphne clenched her fist. 'I'm my own person, you stuck-up ponce. Don't you dare bring my family into this…'

Malfoy merely smirked at that. 'So you do consider the Greengrasses your family? Good to know…'

Daphne's eyes flared dangerously, causing Tracey to jump between the two. 'Ehem, maybe we could get back on track? Now that we've all agreed that none of us is beyond suspicion, we should probably focus on the point that we are still the least suspicious people in this whole stupid school.'

'I suppose,' Draco answered equanimously.

'I'm still not even sure what you are all suspicious about, to be honest,' Hermione admitted in a weak voice, clearly lost somewhere in the conversation.

'Well,' Daphne gritted her teeth, 'I guess so.'

'Wonderful!' exclaimed Tracey happily. 'So now to the first business at hand. Daphy, apologise to Hermione!'

Daphne's eyes bulged. 'WHAT?'

'Daphne, apologise to Hermione!' Tracey repeated patiently.

'There is nothing to apologise about! Why would I…'

But she was interrupted again when Tracey furrowed her brow, looking accusingly at her best friend. 'Daphne, this won't work if you bite Hermione's head off all the time. That's why you will apologise to her.'

Greengrass took a step back from her best friend who fixed her with a steely gaze. 'I… but…'

'Daphne, you will swallow that pride of yours and apologise to Hermione.' Slightly softer, she added, 'I know it's been eating at you. You can't hide that from me.'

Daphne looked in wonder, worry and no small amount of petulance at her best friend. Tracey rarely put her foot down and usually just went along with whatever she did, but Daphne conceded that her friend might still be more mature than her, however deeply irritating that admission might be considering Tracey's common attitude.

Clenching her fist again, she looked down, hiding her expression behind the long, blond hair that Harry had once so offhandedly complimented. Looking at her injured cousin, she exhaled and relaxed a bit. Eventually, she disturbed the pregnant silence that had befallen the room after several long moments and breaths.

'I'm…' Daphne began, but Tracey coughed meaningfully, effectively heading her off. Cringing slightly, Daphne heeded the subtle admonishment and straightened her pose, looking directly at Hermione for the first time since her arrival before hiding her eyes behind her hair again. 'I apologise for my unacceptable, rash and ungainly behaviour and actions after our first Transfiguration lesson, and I deeply regret threatening and injuring you, Granger,' she said in a very formal tone. 'As you might be aware of by now, Harry is a… delicate topic for me, even though I do not wish to bring this forth in an effort to extenuate my failings.' Daphne's voice was calm and her articulation crisp, completely at odds with her usual speech. Hermione looked at the source of many of her nightmares as if she'd seen Professor Snape dance to a drinking song. To her complete discomposure, Greengrass bowed gracefully. 'Though my actions are beyond expiation, I would ask you to forgive my shameful conduct.'

Hermione looked from the still bowing Greengrass, to a smirking Draco, and finally to Tracey, who looked away from Daphne with a soft expression on her face, and motioned for Hermione to accept.

Biting her lip for a few seconds, Hermione awkwardly reciprocated the bow, as it seemed appropriate to her even though she did not really understand the custom. 'I'm sorry for unwittingly causing Harry pain, and I too hope we can put his whole affair behind us.'

Greengrass straightened her back and gazed at her, cocking her head a touch. After a while, she nodded curtly.

'Aww, how cute!' Malfoy leered. 'How about you two kiss, so we can be done with this?'

Daphne's prior composure exploded in a fit of rage. 'Shut up, you stupid Maltese! Brushed your fur already?'

Glad to have overcome the strangely serious atmosphere, Hermione couldn't resist paying Malfoy back a bit after these last few hours. 'Maltese?' she repeated appreciatively. 'I'll have to remember that one.'

'Watch it, you two!' Malfoy grumbled.

'Yes, yes, leaving breeds of dogs behind us, can we now focus on the problem at hand, please?' Tracey called out in exasperation. Everyone nodded, though they all spotted Greengrass soundlessly mouthing something towards Draco that was very easy to guess. Malfoy narrowed his eyes in return, clearly trying to come up with something in retaliation.

Tracey sighed again, rubbing her eyes as if she had a day's worth of hard work behind her. 'Can it, all of you! Salazar, what have I done to deserve this?! At least now I know that I'll never work with children in the future.' She paused again. 'Look, let's just go over the plan. Draco, you first.'

'We have a plan?' Daphne asked in astonishment.

'Of course, we do! Did you think we'd just storm the Gryffindor common room and hex everything in sight?' Malfoy asked sarcastically.

'You mean we're not? Pity,' Daphne returned, apparently crestfallen.

'The plan, please?' Hermione reminded them in a subdued voice, earning a thankful nod from Tracey.

'Right,' Malfoy coughed importantly. 'As you can all guess, our priority should be to find out who stirs up trouble for Harry. While it's easy to guess that some Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors are riled up by the Pillars, they are relatively easy to evade. On the other hand, those who might attack Harry from within our own house could do so with easy access to him at all times and are thus much more dangerous. After thinking all incidents through, and especially keeping the last one in mind, Tracey and I are convinced that some Slytherins either collaborate with the Pillars or have their own agenda against the Blacks.

'While you, Greengrass and Tracey, will do your best to keep Harry safe,' Greengrass looked up, ecstatic when Draco came up with an an excuse to keep close to Harry, 'Granger and I will do our best to further investigate these attacks, beginning with their methods, our fellow students, and our general assessment of the parties involved.' Spotting Greengrass, who had seemingly retreated into her own world at the thought of sticking close to Harry, he cleared his throat again, a bit more forcefully this time. 'The both of you will need to be discreet, Greengrass. For now, you'll do yourself no favours being seen with him.'

Daphne murmured something about 'blasted politics' before she nodded very reluctantly at Tracey's annoyed glare.

Draco and Tracey continued laying out the plan, while Hermione and Daphne kept on asking questions every now and then, completely immersed in the task at hand.

In the corner of the room, completely missed by the lot of them and pointing his wand towards the office every hour or so, sat an invisible old man in flowing robes of pure velvet, an exiguous smile filled with pride playing about his lips.

~BLHD~

A boy found himself in the void. He'd just, for lack of a better word, woken up to find himself surrounded by nothing at all: no sounds, no temperature, and no light. Instincts, however, were not something that easily bowed to the laws of logic, and once he had willed himself to move, he was mildly surprised to realise that he was indeed… shifting. This insight, too, was mysterious, seeing as the boy still could not see, feel or even hear to ascertain any motion.

Floating aimlessly for awhile, the boy began to wonder where he was. Strangely, he could not remember anything at all. It was as if all his thoughts were muffled or behind a curtain, somehow inaccessible for now. The harder he strained his concentration, the more he tried to remember, the sturdier this obstacle seemed to become in response. It was rather vexing.

Suddenly, a sensation pierced the veil that shrouded his consciousness. Some kind of phenomenon crashed repeatedly against the serenely floating form of the boy. After careful consideration, the boy decided it was sound. Straining his ears, he could almost make it out: it was a female voice, and it was bursting with emotion, shouting, crying; but specifics were hard to make out. After a while, more voices joined the first, another female first, then an old, male voice, both clearly as agitated as the first. They seemed to be exclaiming something over and over, but the meaning of their calls eluded him.

Still, now he had a sense of relative positions: he was here, and the sound came from somewhere else. Curiosity nudging him into action, he decided to approach. The voices changed, sometimes there were pauses for a while, which had caused him some concern at first, but in the end, the voices returned without fail. The boy learned to differentiate the voices better after some time. The easiest were the two young girls, who so frequently called out to him. But there were others, too. An older male voice that for some reason made him redouble his efforts, and the voice of a young woman among some others.

At some point in time, the boy saw something. At first, it was but a speck of light and dark on the horizon, but even the mere glimpse of something, anything at all to touch, see and interact with filled the boy with such excitement that he closed the gap in what he considered mere moments. Curiously enough, he hadn't found the source of the voices. No, those were even further onwards. What he had found… was a black waterfall that poured forth into a, by comparison, very small basin of crystal clear yet still dark water.

Inquisitively edging forwards, he looked into the small pond at his feet and smirked as his reflection looked up at him with an apathetic, cool grin. He wasn't thirsty, but he still could not help himself and tried to scoop a bit of water into his hand. To his great irritation, he found the water to be as insubstantial as a ray of light.

Furrowing his brows, he turned towards the waterfall, but jumped back almost immediately, eyes bulging in shock. It wasn't water that fell from the sky without any discernible source; no, it was a steady flow of images. In fascination, he beheld how the constant stream of pictures seemed to form a chain of events, comparable to a story maybe. He couldn't help himself and hesitantly reached out.

The images felt refreshingly cool and consolingly warm at the same time, but as if it had awaited his touch, the waterfall came to a sudden and impressive halt, allowing him to study the last picture without any haste.

He saw the outlines of a small boy who was bleeding so much that a sizeable puddle of his lifeblood had formed at his feet. He was leaning back against a wall, panting heavily and eyes drooping, wand held loosely at his side. Something silver and rather small seemed to be halted in great speed and was just about to vanish through a wall. In the background, the boy could see several dark, faceless figures, one of them in the process of raising its wand towards the injured young man.

The boy blinked. Something akin to… anger welled up inside him as he watched the frozen scene, yet he could not say with certainty why he felt that way.

His interest spiked; he waved his hand downwards on a hunch. The scene before him splashed into the lake and images flickered across the surface of the waterfall until he arbitrarily halted them once again. This time, he saw the same young man in festive robes dancing with a woman of almost blinding beauty. The boy seemed somehow younger than in the last picture. Not by age but rather by attitude: less guarded, more approachable. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the boy, in particular, seemed to have an adoring look on his face. Lots of people stood around them, watching them dance. Some with humorous expressions, others with slight frowns, and yet a few with something akin to exasperation. He couldn't help but smile a bit at the scene.

He flicked his hand twice. This time the scene showed a smaller room with several pillars, all but shrouded in darkness while several pink lights seemed to bounce across the room. Still, he could make out two people in the dark: the boy and the woman. The ravishing beauty stood cocky and brazen in the middle of the room, one hand in the pocket of her robes, the other calmly handling a very bright wand. The boy was hidden behind a column and appeared to be breathing hard, eyes closed. A bit of broken glass lay at his feet in several circles of runes, and something… something decidedly odd. The visitor came closer to the picture, focusing intently on the layers of runes and the broken glass, his nose nearly touching the image. Something black seemed to swell within the runes, about to erupt into the room, darkness condensed into a package of… calamity. Still edging closer and closer, the boy couldn't help but sense that something was wrong with the picture. Just as a shiver crept down his spine, the darkness stirred abruptly within the otherwise frozen picture, readjusting its focus towards the boy and stared back at him . The visitor jumped back and nearly fell over, hastily swishing the image away.

Breathing deeply to quell the sense of panic that had taken hold of him, the boy waited for a bit longer this time to halt the stream of images. He did so only when the pond was more than half-full with drifting memories.

He saw a library and within it a small boy who could not be older than seven or eight. He seemed to be reaching towards a book in a special casing.

A sense of shame made the spectator wave the image again, and halt it shortly thereafter.

An old man in very imposing black robes held the same small boy's hand. The boy was clad in identical robes of sombre black. At a respectful distance, circled all around them, stood a few dozen people with serious expressions, and before the pair, kneeling in the mud, was a small girl with flowing, sleek blond hair, crying heartrendingly in front of a marked stone with an abundance of flowers scattered around it.

Blinking repeatedly, the observer swiftly dismissed the scene. The last picture had left him with a heavy mood, and he decided to inspect just one last image, one last scene of the boy's life.

With yet another wave of his hand, the stream came to a halt, and the onlooker froze. He saw an even younger little boy, and an older, stiff-looking woman in her forties who was wearing some kind of uniform, her hand raised in a gesture of reprimanding the boy who looked to be nearing tears. The scene seemed ordinary. A boy about to face the consequences of his foolish or youthful actions. Yet somehow, the spectator felt drawn towards the image with a sense of terror and revulsion that surprised him, filled him to the very core with the urge to turn and run. The scene was ordinary, probably a daily occurrence, but it stood for something else: something worse, something important. Without a thought, the visitor dived head-first into the image before him.

~BLHD~

'How often do I have to remind you not to visit the kitchens, Master Harry?' The stern-looking woman berated the boy. 'This is no proper conduct for the scion of a distinguished family.'

'B-b… but I just wanted to grab a snack, Marietta,' stammered the boy, squirming before the woman.

'Nonsense! You will adhere to the proper times of your meals, and that is that. No further discussion!' said the woman, towering over the little boy who seemed to melt into tears under her imposing figure. 'And no crying either! You should play or study a bit until we get you for dinner, young master.'

As if on rails, the woman turned about and strode down the corridor, and a thoroughly defeated little Harry made his way through the mansion towards his rooms. Upon entering, the boy scowled. There were lots of books and equally as many toys, but there really wasn't anything he wanted or had asked for. The books were boring, most were fiction or political introductions that, for some strange reason, always seemed to lean towards portraying the Potters as the best family there was. The room was bright and decorated in an inviting, friendly manner, but Harry held nothing but disgust for it. He had once asked to paint the room differently, but-of course-his request had been thoroughly denied: 'This room was decorated by your parents, Master Harry. You will want it to remain the way it is to have something to remember them by,' Angélique, another of his maids, had claimed in an authoritative voice. That was Harry's life in a nutshell: He'd ask for something only for it to be denied. And while the maids were all excessively polite to him, they were just so… cold.

Suppressing a sad little sob, the boy climbed onto chair in front of his desk and very slowly deciphered the letter he had gotten this week.

' Esteemed Master Potter,

I have the distinct honour to formally invite you to our soirée at our humble abode in London next Friday evening. Your presence is requested from 4pm until 6pm.

Respectfully,

Bartemius Crouch '

All the letters were like this. Harry didn't know what a soirée was, but he had learned that it wouldn't do to ask such questions. He was expected to attend, and so he would attend, his maids would make sure of it. He would be paraded from guest to guest as 'Master Potter', shaking hands with foreign wizards, important witches, and sometimes he would be required to sign something he didn't fully understand. Usually, Marietta would accompany him, because, as she had put it, 'House-elves are just not acceptable for such an occasion'. Not that there were any at Potter Mansion any more. Harry dimly remembered a time when that had been different, but for the last years, it had only been his 'servants' (who oddly enough nevertheless ordered him around like an elf) and the occasional guest. He had once been foolish enough to ask why the maids, who were supposed to look after him, had so much say in his life, and he'd been grounded for a whole month for his impudence.

In the end, he'd just given up. His life had settled into a painful routine of denied requests and invitations to respectable families. He didn't have anything in particular against most of them. The Crouches and Prewetts were very distant but not unkind. The Abbotts were a bit deferential, as were the Bones, but Susan and Hannah were friendly enough. He had thought so at least, for awhile, until late last year, he had overheard Susan complaining to Hannah that they were 'supposed to play with that crybaby' again, and his outlook on their little gatherings had understandably dimmed.

Neville was alright, he supposed. A bit quiet, but much more earnest. He had even once snuck into the kitchens together with Harry, and his daringness had endeared him to the young Potter, who had been horrified at the thought of getting caught.

Unceremoniously throwing the invitation into the waste-paper basket, Harry got up and tiptoed towards the door, hand outstretched. Maybe he'd give it another go with the library? He had never actually managed to get inside, but Neville had shown him the Longbottom library once, much to his envy. There had been hundreds and hundreds of books, and none of them stupid fairy-tales. Neville had regaled him with the story of how he was to receive a tutor for magical education once he turned eight, and Harry had never been so jealous in his entire life. He knew he was supposed to be a wizard; his parents had been a witch and wizard, from what he'd heard. But when he had finally worked up the courage to ask, Marietta had said that he was much too young and would learn what he needed to succeed in life once he entered Hogwarts. She'd also made a point of saying that Harry, as the last of the Potters, had servants to perform any feat of magic that he desired (should it turn out respectable, no doubt).

Harry lowered his hand again, fighting a rising lump in his throat. No, he'd never be allowed into the library. The second time he had tried to stealthily gain entry at night, Marietta had informed him in a crisp manner, that even his eventual stay at Hogwarts was a 'privilege' that could quite easily be revoked if Harry didn't improve his unworthy demeanour, as there were private teachers who would only be too happy to teach him.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

'Yes?' Harry called out, slightly taken aback.

The door opened, and a man with light brown hair, a slightly lined face and a doleful little smile entered the room, crouching down to ruffle Harry's hair.

'Uncle Remus!' Harry called excitedly, giving the man a fierce embrace.

'It's good to see you again, Harry. Happy birthday! How are you?' he asked in his calming voice.

'Same as ever, Uncle Remus. I'm bored!'

His uncle chuckled in a friendly manner. 'Don't you have anything to read or play with?'

Harry gently disentangled himself from the embrace and looked down towards his feet. 'Oh, yes. Guess I do.'

'See, it isn't so bad,' the man said in an appeasing manner.

'Don't you think you could ask Marietta to let me into the room with the books, please?' Harry turned his eyes towards Remus, trying to look as innocent as possible.

But the man's smile only widened. 'That won't work on me, Harry. And I'm sure Miss Miller knows what's best for you.'

Harry grumpily kicked his waste-paper basket, making it spill its contents onto the scrupulously clean carpet. 'You're no fun anymore, Uncle Remus… Is Uncle Sirius coming by today? He gives me some really cool stuff to read sometimes!'

If Harry had been less preoccupied with kicking the crumpled invitations across his room, he'd have seen Remus' expression hardening ever so slightly. 'I'm afraid he won't be coming again at all.'

Harry turned around, his dismay easy to see. 'What? Why not? I like Sirius!'

His uncle grew thoughtful, and only after a while did he explained in a cautious tone, 'I'm sorry, Harry. But it's been deemed inadvisable to have him visit you any longer.'

Harry stood still, rooted to the spot. This was a disaster! Remus and Sirius were the only people remotely fun who came over to visit him. 'But… but you said that you and Sirius would look after me! Isn't that what you said last year?'

'That,' said Remus in a heavy tone, looking regretful, 'was a mistake. I'm really sorry about all of this.'

'NO!' young Harry shouted suddenly. 'No! I don't want this… I want Sirius to visit!'

'It won't happen,' Remus replied with a trace of coldness that shocked Harry. 'I need to be on my way. I'll… I'll see you around, Harry.'

'But you will still visit, Remus? You won't leave me alone, will you?' Harry called out in a small voice, almost too afraid to ask.

His uncle grimaced crookedly. 'I'll try, of course. But I don't think I'll be able to come over as often as I've done in the past. Just behave yourself and everything will work out, alright? Do as Miss Miller tells you, and it'll be okay.' The man walked towards the door and opened it.

Harry stood still rooted to the spot. This was the worst birthday ever . 'No, Remus! Don't leave me here!' he cried after the retreating figure. But the man in his robes that were slightly too big and rather worn-out didn't turn around again.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' he said curtly and closed the door.

Harry flung himself onto the bed and began to cry in earnest. Even now he could hear the voice of the head-maid reprimanding him, but as long as he stayed in his room and made no loud noises, he was usually left to his own devices. Harry whined and sobbed, cursing the unfairness of it all. He hated Marietta, Angélique and all the others who never let him do as he liked; who dragged him to parties where he was always nervous and couldn't play with his friends; who forbade him to read what he liked, play what he liked and go where he wanted to. He hated it all, this stupid house with the pictures of people he didn't know but who were supposed to be really important to him. He hated the people who invited him to their boring parties full of grown-ups who paraded him around like a well-bred dog.

And now Sirius wasn't allowed to visit any more, and despite what Uncle Remus might think, Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe that this had nothing to do with him. This was his punishment. Another privilege restricted because he wasn't their perfect little Master Potter, their respectable little scion, their subservient, most humble little Harry, best friend to the Ministry.

He wanted it all gone!

Just when Harry's desperation and self-pity had reached their apex, a shattering explosion rattled the whole mansion. Screams erupted further down the house, and Harry could hear some of his maids yelling in distress. Harry didn't get up but instead, almost apathetic, turned his head sideways so as to look out of the big window. Panicked shouts and what he believed to be magical incantations filled the air. Some white-blueish film around the estate seemed to flicker and die after another enormous blast shook the house and all its residents.

The little boy smiled a bit and closed his eyes. Perhaps someone had heard his late birthday wish and decided to answer his prayers.

~BLHD~

Miles and miles away, across a distance of nearly ten years, Harry awoke in the infirmary.

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AN: Well, you guys have asked why Harry so casually and gladly forsook the Potter heritage in chapter two, you guys inquired why he's with the Blacks, and some of you questioned me about Sirius and Remus. While I admit that I left many questions unanswered for now, the last few chapters should, as a whole, paint a (hazy) picture.

Next chapter: Inaugurations part II on the 25th of December . Sorry, I'm incredibly busy at the moment, but I promise that I'll never even consider slowing down more than updating every two weeks. Sadly, lying in bed hoping to recover did nothing to lift my workload. From afar, my desk looks like a project-study for a new building.

HD: Inaugurations part II and III

This chapter is dedicated to Haley and Daze for putting up with my dubious schedule. Without their efforts, I'd never be able to get this done. The both of you are awesome!

Inaugurations part II and III

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'I get it already, Draco. I get it!' Hermione snarled indignantly, clenching her fists. 'There's no need to talk to me like I'm a five-year-old.'

The Malfoy merely sneered at her condescendingly. 'What there's no need of,' he said with forced calm, 'is to place higher expectations on you, it seems.'

Both of them stared menacingly at each other before they closed their eyes at exactly the same moment to compose themselves, resulting in a moment of uneasy silence between the Muggle-born and the pure-blood.

Hermione broke first under the pressure. 'Why did you do that to my Christmas card, Draco?' she asked, her voice more hurt than angry now.

The boy, she observed, ran his hand through his hair in annoyance. 'Look, Granger. I presume you probably meant well, but have either Harry or Tracey responded or mentioned your Christmas card?'

'Ehm… no?' That had indeed been a matter of some worry to her. She had, at the very least, expected Tracey to respond.

'And that is mostly because it was much more of a slap than a friendly gesture of goodwill. If Harry didn't, for whatever inexplicable reason that so far eludes me, like you at all, he probably would have sent you a hex per return owl. And probably a really nasty one at that. I would sincerely advise you to not anger the Blacks in such a careless manner,' he said, stressing the last point as if talking to a loveable but slightly dim-witted toddler. 'Just so you stay safe, you know.'

Hermione squinted her eyes. That didn't seem like Harry at all. 'You're exaggerating, aren't you? Harry isn't as mean-spirited as you! It took me hours to clean up the tar, and that's not even including the grilling I had to endure from my parents,' she mumbled. 'That was tar, right? Please tell me it was just tar!'

Draco's usual smirk flickered for a fleeting moment across his face. 'Let's just go with tar and leave it at that,' he said in a maddening tone of superiority. Then, quite suddenly, his expression changed back to a deep frown. 'I assure you he would. Man, it's so wrong that I'll have to be the one to spell it out for you…' He seemed to ponder something for a little while before coming to some sort of conclusion. He sighed. 'Alright, sit, Granger, and pay attention!'

Hermione did not take kindly to Draco's allusions of megalomania, but she chose to heed his order in this instance. Maybe this would shed some light on the diffuse and incomprehensible social rules of the pure-bloods.

'There is a reason why there exist few friendships between traditionally minded pure-bloods and Mudbl… Muggle-borns these days. The Ministry has, contrary to what you might intuitively guess or perceive through experience, passed a great many laws and educational reforms to make the lives of students without magical background far easier than they have ever been before.'

'Which is a good thing!' Hermione insisted hotly.

'I presume it was done with good intentions, granted, but that is the most positive statement you will hear me say about it. As always with big political decisions, long-term consequences are hard to calculate, often hanging in the balance for a while until one or another finally prevails. Exactly like with this one. For nearly twenty years it looked like everything would work out-let's say-reasonably well. More Muggle-borns than ever attended Hogwarts and seemed to get along amiably enough with the rest. After the war, many ministerial or commercial positions were severely understaffed, and there was a general need for able wizards and witches, no matter their background. Thus, a lot of… non-pure-bloods rose quickly through the ranks, occupying very respectable and responsible positions like the head of the Goblin Liaison Office.'

'Which is also a good thing!' Hermione snapped at his tone that clearly expressed his disdain.

Malfoy gritted his teeth angrily. 'Shut your trap! If you interrupt me every time something arouses your approval, I'll hex your lips together!' No hint of his usual swagger and rompishness remained by now in his expression. Cold, hard fury took its place. 'And regarding your uneducated and preconceived views, the first Muggle-born head of said office nearly started a war between the British Ministry of Magic and the Goblin Nation!'

Hermione sat on her chair and stared at him slack-jawed. 'How?' she asked quietly.

'Because he was prematurely promoted, which, in all fairness, was an oversight a pure-blood made in the first place.' Again, he ran his hands through his white-blond mane that magically held its billowy barnet in stylish shape. 'Look, I'm not trying to insult you this time, but Muggle-borns are different than those raised within traditional pure-blood culture.'

Hermione tried her best to keep her feelings to herself and asked in a quiet voice, 'Why do you insist on saying something mean like that, Draco?'

He looked, she noted with a small feeling of placation, just a touch troubled by her expression. Or maybe with what he had to say. 'It's because you were raised in a different society that values different attributes in a person of standing, tells an altogether different-meaning wrong-history, has other customs, manners, morals, goals in education… The list goes on forever! The person I spoke of nearly endangered a very fragile peace at the time because he misjudged his own actions, and, unwittingly I'm sure, offended the Goblins with his non-existing knowledge regarding our postal formalities. A joke, right? He nearly killed thousands because he couldn't write a formal letter…'

Hermione sank a bit in her chair, and Draco, shifting from one foot to another for a while, sat down and looked her straight in the eye that just barely managed to stay tear-free. 'I mean, I'm not saying that Muggle-borns are an inferior race or anything. A pure-blood raised by Muggles is no different to me than you and vice-versa, though I'll be honest with you that I still believe that people from a certain background make better wizards or witches.' He paused again for a while, frown firmly etched on his face before he lightened up. 'Look, if you moved to another country, say China, you could probably learn most essential customs within the span of a few months, provided you could speak Mandarin, of course. You agree?'

Hermione nodded dejectedly, seeing where this was going. 'But your background knowledge is still never quite the same, is it? Even if you get by for ten years without being outed as a foreigner, socially at least, you still could, at any time of the day really, make a blunder because you didn't know a particular children's story, or an old politician, or a very specific custom that fell out of practice.'

Draco looked thankful that she had gotten the point so quickly. He shifted his pose to sit up straight and coughed in a curiously academic fashion that reminded Hermione instantly of Harry. 'Very good, Granger! Trivial yet socially relevant knowledge is, in general, not easily acquired through secondary means, as our good Harry might say.' He smiled crookedly. 'Sadly, the cultural span between Muggle China and Britain is considerably easier to bridge than the one between Muggle Britain and pure-blood, traditional magical Britain. The country was already split way before the Statue of Secrecy was actually enforced, and 350 years of isolation contributed the rest. Imagine what Iceland would look like if they built a steel dome around the island and refused to let anyone enter for more than half a millennium.'

Hermione couldn't help herself and looked droopily at her feet. In all honesty, she just wanted to leave and cry herself to sleep. Never before had she felt so much an outcast than right at this moment. Even the thought of forsaking the magical world completely crossed her mind briefly, and she had to admit that it didn't appear half as appalling as she would have considered it to be a few moments ago. 'So it'll never be exactly the same for me?' she asked in a hushed voice, turning her head away from Draco to hide her stinging eyes.

'No,' he said without mercy or pause.

Her body quivered a few times as she suppressed the violent urge to break into tears. I will not cry! At least not right here, right now, she admonished herself over and over inside her head. In the end, though, her will succumbed to the horrible feeling of disconnection that distorted everything she had previously so ignorantly and innocently thought delightfully different. Maybe I really just don't belong here…

She sat on her chair for a long while, silently spilling bitter tears of disillusionment. Eventually, Draco, whom she had completely forgotten by this point, awkwardly cleared his throat. 'Damn Tracey! I'm so going to get you for this,' he muttered more to himself than to her. She looked up at him and saw that he was offering her a silken green handkerchief with small animated snakes embroidered on it. The snakes winked at her cutely.

She couldn't help herself and let out a puny little laugh that got caught up with another sob along the way as she gingerly dabbed at her eyes. Eventually, she calmed herself a bit. 'Thank you,' she said shakily, trying her best to ignore her slightly hot cheeks. 'T-that is kind of cute, you know. I never figured you to be the kind of person to have something like this.' She indicated the hanky he had given her.

'My… my mother gave it to me,' he chuntered reluctantly.

She turned her gaze from the twee and merry little snakes to Draco, who looked intently back at her. To Hermione's surprise, she still saw the slight discomfort in the cool armour of his demeanour. 'So?' she croaked, intent on getting everything out in the open this time. 'What's the deal with the Christmas cards?'

Draco sighed, seemingly readopting his previous displeasure at her ignorance, which she found perplexingly reassuring. 'We don't celebrate Christmas, Granger. Traditionally, in magical Britain and most of Europe at least, we have Yule.' Seeing her look, he hastily added, 'Which is something like winter-solstice if you aren't familiar with the term.'

Hermione scoffed at that, suppressing a hiccup. 'But why the strong reaction just because you celebrate a different holiday? It seems to be around December too, so what's the big problem?'

'The problem,' he suspired for what she estimated to be the twelfth time this day, 'is not Christmas. Do you believe us so hypocritical and bigoted that we would shun you for your own beliefs and upbringing and expect you to unquestioningly accept ours?'

Hermione bit her lips and looked through red eyes at her feet again, not daring to affirm his suspicions.

Draco, however, didn't seem to need her confirmation. 'Look, the situation isn't as easy as that. Don't you think it's strange that Harry and I know all about Christmas but you've probably never heard of Yule before?'

'Yes, that is strange. I thought it was tradition! Shouldn't Hogwarts refer to it at least on some rudimentary level?'

Draco grimaced. 'It should. I hadn't finished my little explanation before we steered off topic, but prove to me that you're the smart little girl Tracey says you are and figure it out yourself.'

Hermione thought back to the ill-advised promotion with its nearly catastrophic outcome and to the situation that had led to it. 'You said there were lots of open posts and not enough pure-bloods, or as you said, people of the right background?'

Draco nodded slowly, urging her on.

'Which, I take it, led to an influx of Muggle culture to a previously sheltered little society?'

Her interlocutor repeated himself before adding, 'There were other factors too, of course. For example, in the past, many Muggle-borns refused to enter magical Britain and were obliviated, their magic forcefully bound. Inconveniently, the prejudices against what the public perceived as strange talents weakened a bit, leading to many more Muggle-borns actually attending Hogwarts.'

'And that wave, of course, smashed against the witches and wizards who were already weakened after the war.' She nodded to herself, still rather mopey.

'More or less,' Draco said reluctantly. 'But it only gets more complicated from there. Several popular pure-blood clans tried to forestall the inevitable surge of power the Muggle-borns would eventually receive and brought about massive and radical change.'

'The Pillars,' Hermione whispered.

Draco did actually smile this time. 'Good to see you keeping up. They prematurely appeased something that would, given enough time, probably have turned into a radical and volatile part of society. The only problem is, the resulting situation does not sit well with pretty much anyone. The Muggle-borns realise that, though many things have on the surface changed in their favour, the old ways don't die out quite as easily as they had hoped, and let me put it this way: we are not only talking about festivities and manners. Not to mention that the Pillars are, of course, pure-blood clans and still herald most of the really important decisions.

'Now, the Pillars themselves stand between two fires, as the traditionalists and the Muggle-borns both vie for more power and influence, both with popular support, I might add. Not to mention that they had to sell part of their identity to stay in control and power. So far only their shiny reputation as war heroes has managed to keep them firmly settled in their seats.

'The traditionalists, as you might imagine, despise the Pillars for several reasons, most notably for selling out our identity under the pretext of peace while they conveniently secured themselves something which is slowly turning into a dynasty, not that anyone would be daring enough to use the word in public. At the same time, they regard the Muggle-born movement with hardly concealed contempt, because they were, as some put it, coerced to give up traditions they held dear for more than a thousand years because some upstarts made a grab for power.

'Truthfully, it's all still a lot more complicated. All the factions are further splintered down, often championed by particularly famous or powerful families with varying degrees of radicalness. Only the Pillars have, so far at least, managed to present a united front, led by the Prewetts. Though, in recent years, some of those families that have strong ties with the Ministry have distanced themselves from the Pillars and formed their own little circle around Crouch, who, as you might have gathered yesterday evening, is our current Minister for Magic.'

Spotting her completely overwhelmed expression, he smirked. 'Got all that, Granger?'

Hermione shut her eyes and leant back in her seat. 'Yes,' she said in a tired voice before she braved a very feeble smile. 'In short, it's a mess.'

'Couldn't have put it better myself!' Draco returned solemnly.

Hermione absent-mindedly chewed on her lips a bit, before she threw Draco a calculating look. 'You said that I should never expect to completely bridge the gap created by our different upbringings.'

Draco nodded curtly. 'It's better you face the truth of it now than be disappointed later on, Granger.'

'Yes, well, but now that I think a bit more clearly about the whole thing, how can a few years make so much of a difference?' she asked challengingly to make up for her rather embarrassing outburst earlier.

'It's not so much the years but the opportunity.' He waved his hands to indicate his helplessness in the matter. 'Where do you expect to get the information you need?'

'A book?' she said automatically, feeling slightly foolish for suggesting something so easy.

Draco shook his head. 'It's not that simple. By tradition and once upon a time for need of security, most magical societies pass on their knowledge verbally. That is why books that are older than two or three hundred years are extremely rare and expensive. I heard that Flourish and Blotts recently sold a magical monograph about some long forgotten but revered wizards and witches for more than 800,000 Galleons.'

Hermione gasped, slightly unbelieving about the exorbitant sum. On the other hand, she mused, it did make a certain amount of sense. In a world where knowledge was tangible power, tomes like that would be coveted by all who had the resources to buy and the wit to understand them. Still, that's a rather frightening amount of gold.

'Who could afford that, though?' Hermione asked, honestly in awe of who had that much money to burn through.

'Who indeed,' Draco returned, smiling as if enjoying a private joke. 'What I'm saying, Granger, is that you'd have to hire a tutor who spends at least a few hours a day for several years to give you a thorough insight into our world, not that that service is even something anyone offers, as far as I know. Even then, you'd need time to adjust. Learning something and living it naturally and without thought are just not the same. Most people wouldn't ever be able to pull it off convincingly.'

'So you're saying I couldn't manage?' Hermione demanded, her voice rising a bit.

Draco looked thoughtful for a second, cocking his head back and forth. 'I'm not sure you can,' he said honestly. 'I know you're quite smart and you definitely read a lot, but this is about more than just books, you know.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'I don't see how that's a problem! Even if I mess up every once and again, as long as I get the gist of it, I should at least be able to passably move in your circles without offending people left and right, shouldn't I?'

'I don't know,' Draco said, clearly amused while looking at her sceptically. 'Could you?'

'Yes, I definitely could, you conceited jerk!' Hermione shouted in his face defiantly, her performance, she had to admit, probably slightly ruined by her puffy eyes and somewhat frequent sniffing.

Draco stared at her unflinchingly, clearly gauging her reaction. After several painful seconds, he grinned and reached behind him. Hermione, completely nonplussed by yet another incomprehensible reaction, saw that he was reaching into the bag that held his school supplies, from which he seemed to procure three books, two of which looked old and battered. Carefully, he laid them on the table before her. Hermione just stared at him as he seated himself opposite her again, a big smirk on his face. Then she took in the titles of the books: Distinguished Families of Great Britain; Manners or Malevolence? A Study of Muggle Sociology; Political Events of the 20 th Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies .

Again, she looked from the books towards Draco, whose smirk seemed to gain power with each passing second of her obvious befuddlement. Eventually, she found her voice again. 'You… you scheming schizophrenic! You did it again! I can't believe I fell for it another time, you stupid Maltese,' she shouted, completely scandalised. 'Can't you for once just ask me if I want to pull through with something? Really, are all pure-bloods such psychos?'

Draco watched her with great amusement, just barely, and quite obviously, holding in the urge to laugh at her.

Flaring her nostrils angrily, Hermione turned away from the infuriating little ponce to have a second look at the books. Then she blinked and had a third look that was reserved for the second title. Wordlessly opening it, she quickly found out that it was a sociological dissertation from the year 1782. 'Where did you get that?' she demanded, still fuming. 'It somehow doesn't seem to be up your alley, and didn't you tell me that old books are valuable?'

'Don't ask, it's not mine! It belongs to… a friend who has a passing and morbid interest in Muggle society. And yes, while that book is only a transcribed copy, as the original is in either Russian or German or something, I kind of forgot. What you hold in your hands is still probably worth at least 3,000 Galleons,' he explained casually. 'If you found someone barmy enough to buy that stuff,' he added in a slightly lower voice. 'The book is, as per usual, charmed to not take unnecessary blemish or damage when worked with, and you won't be able to copy the contents directly or indirectly out of it.'

'How does that work,' Hermione asked curiously. 'Can I write down my thoughts on what I learn from them or take notes?'

'Don't ask me how; it's a seriously complicated piece of enchantment. Most private libraries are secured like that to prevent espionage or theft of knowledge.'

'Does this have something to do with why you are all so… guarded with information about your families?' Hermione asked anxiously.

'Yes and no,' Draco returned while rolling his eyes. 'Third book, chapter seventeen. Make sure to pay special attention to chapters three, sixteen, and forty-two as well.'

'I thought you said that there were no books to help with this problem,' she said scathingly.

'Nope,' he said in an intentionally infuriatingly Muggle way of speaking that she only now understood to be quite ironic. 'I said it wouldn't be easy. Still, be happy you have those books. There are probably only three people in our year that could get their hands on something like the first or second one. The history book is, on the other hand, a standard introduction for the children of traditionally minded families.'

With that, he got up from his seat and stretched his back. 'Well, I'm off. We'll postpone our meetings until you can greet me without mortally offending me or my family. Bye bye, little Granger.' He waved his hand lazily as he strutted towards the exit.

Hermione's glare followed him until he was out through the door. Why can't that arrogant prat just tell me anything straight up? Why does it always have to be so circumventive? One of these days I'll pay him back! And Harry too for his little stunt with the Sorting.

Grinning eagerly at the thought of one-upping those blasted schemers, she collected the three books Draco had lent her and put them away rather gingerly, seeing as her parents could buy a small car for the price of just one of them. Just when she turned to leave, her eyes darted to the small dress handkerchief with the diminutive snakes that batted their eyelids so adorably at her. She picked it up. Fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, she stuffed it into her robes and went off towards the Slytherin common room.

Maybe it's not all that bad.

~BLHD~

'Water, please,' Harry called out, his voice raw and unsteady, a slight feeling of déjà-vu that he could not quite understand further confusing his already clouded mind.

He heard hasty footsteps. 'Mr Black! My word, just a second…' The matron swept off, ripping open at least a dozen cupboards and drawers all over the room and quite clearly paying absolutely no mind to closing them again.

'How are you, Harry?' Harry tried with all his might to turn his neck to look the other way, but it hurt so much that he nearly cried out in pain.

'Don't be ridiculous, Harry,' said Arcturus soothingly as he settled himself on the other side of his bed.

'Grandfather,' Harry called out calmer than he had felt before. 'I-I don't feel too good… How late is it?' He was surprised how thin and weak his voice sounded.

Arcturus offered him his wand, and Harry just managed to close his fingers around it in a weak grip. 'It has been nearly eleven days since your fight. Your injuries were quite severe, I'm afraid.'

'Eleven days?' Harry shouted out, immediately regretting the impulse as his throat started burning while his brain seemed to dissolve into painful and liquid mush. He closed his eyes again as his vision blurred.

'Don't overexert yourself, Harry,' Arcturus said as he gently pushed him down again. 'I do believe that you will have to spend a few more days in Poppy's care. I will not allow you to overtax your body.'

Harry simply grunted his agreement, not daring to open his mouth at the moment, when he sank back into the bed and tried to relax.

'I wish you were here more often, Lord Black.' Pomfrey approached them with a tray full of potions, tonics and salves. 'I've never seen him so compliant in my care.'

Harry winced involuntarily, even as a new streak of pain shot up his head.

'Oh, pray tell, Poppy. For some reason or another, this matter has yet to be brought to my attention. Curious.' His grandfather spoke in a scolding, if still rather affectionate, tone.

'Lord Black, I mean no offence, of course,' Pomfrey said in a voice that seemed to relish in her inevitable victory over Harry's reluctance. Harry opened his eyes and shot her a huffy look. 'But your grandson tends to hide his wounds from me if he thinks he can get away with it.'

'Really now?' Arcturus asked, eyebrow raised, holding Harry in a steely gaze. 'In that case, I think I'll lend Hogwarts one of our house-elves. You may call upon Minnie should Harry prove uncooperative in the future. She will know what to do. If you'll excuse me, Poppy, I have to clear some matters with the headmaster.'

'Grandfather,' Harry croaked once again.

'Rest up, Harry,' Arcturus overrode him. 'We shall speak again soon.'

'What about, you know…' His voice died away before he had finished the sentence, the shame of what had happened slowly creeping into his face.

'Worry not. The matter has been dealt with.' He leant closer and placed his body between Pomfrey and Harry. 'Now all you and the others need to do is flush them out. That shall remain your task, my son,' he whispered.

The old man squeezed his shoulders in a reassuring way before he straightened his posture.

'What did you do?' Harry asked with wonder in his eyes.

'Oh, nothing much,' Arcturus said with the innocence of a demon. 'I just informed all the Wizengamot families that I will, most regrettably, be forced to declare blood-feud against the perpetrators, their families, their political allies, their connivers and any and all who try to aid them from this point forth.'

Harry gaped in awe at the figure of his grandfather, not even registering the shocked outcry of the matron who had seemingly dropped a few jars in alarm.

'But I am not an unreasonable man,' Arcturus continued in his voice of apparent civility. 'Should they accept life-long exile, I shall content myself with sparing those underage at the time of their misdeeds. There still is so much to do. We will speak soon, Harry.' He presented Harry with one last sincere and clearly relieved smile before he turned to leave. 'And do remember my offer, Poppy.'

Harry looked up at the ceiling, listening with all his might to every footstep the retreating figure left behind.

'I think he was here with you the entire time, you know, Harry,' the matron said eventually, her voice slightly wispy.

Harry looked at her. 'How very forward of you, Madame Pomfrey.' They stared at each other for a few seconds before Harry cracked a friendly grin. 'Thanks for patching me up again.'

'Well, it is my job, so don't worry about it.' She gave a small laugh. 'But now that you're awake you'll have to pay close attention to what I do.'

'Ugh,' he complained. 'Is it just me or is it a bit morbid to study Healing with your own battered and broken body?'

'Keep your witty Slytherin remarks to a minimum at this point in time.' Smiling warmly, she added, 'Now, drink this, and then we'll change your bandages.'

~BLHD~

Hermione had her nose nearly pressed against her book, as she lay on her bed in the dormitories. The book with the strange red cover, Distinguished Families of Great Britain, had turned out to be a rather boring if informative compilation. Hermione had, at this point, more or less skipped through it, only reading the parts that interested her the most. She had read about the Malfoys, the Greengrasses, Prewetts, about the Minister's family, and even about some of her classmates like the Bones and Abbotts. The biggest surprise had been the Longbottoms, though. Who would have thought that the soft-spoken and likeable if somewhat unremarkable Gryffindor was part of a very important clan of pure-bloods that were nearly on equal grounds in prestige with the Prewetts? Their political pull might, in fact, be even greater. The book speculated about political connections that were way over her head, about ancestry, foreign connections and a lot more. The Blacks, she thought, had the most frustrating yet insightful entry of them all.

'Of the Black family that has been heralded throughout Britain and Europe, we shall not say too much. From believable rumours, we are fairly certain in stating that this particularly influential, semi-patrilineal clan of magicians has been prominent for at least 800 years and originally hailed from eastern France. Stories of their vast fortunes are at least as prominent as those of their legendary vengeance if it is ever called upon. Due to recent political events, all records, notes, paintings, family trees and letters are lost to us.'

Hermione carefully read the last sentence yet another time. What do they mean, the records are lost? How can all records suddenly cease to exist? It was a mystery, and Hermione loved solving mysteries. Due to recent political events, she repeated in her head again. Hesitantly, she reached for one of her other new treasures. She would have preferred to read Political Events of the 20 th Century and their Impact on European Magical Societies last, so that she could not only recognise the big names but also understand the underlying strife and conflicts due to her study of Manners or Malevolence?, but, apparently, it was not to be.

She was just about to have a look at around 1946, the date when the almanac on pure-blood families had been written, in her new history book when the door to the dormitories slammed open with a bang. Jumping a bit, Hermione looked up from her books. Daphne was thundering into the room, Tracey being dragged along in her wake.

'What's going on?' Hermione asked curiously.

Daphne whirled around, looking at her. Then she ascertained whether any of the other girls was present as well. When she finally was sure they were alone, her face broke into childish delight, and she nearly screamed in excitement, 'Harry's awake! We're going down to see him right now!' Her face was so positively glowing with giddiness, that Hermione had to fight down a laugh.

'Really?' she asked eagerly. 'Can I go see him, too?'

Daphne's smile collapsed like a building that suddenly missed its first few floors. 'I… don't want that. Not tonight.'

Hermione looked down in disappointment. 'Why not? I want to see Harry as well…' she said earnestly.

'It's just… I don't… But…' Daphne stammered, her eyes flickering from Hermione to Tracey until the shorter girl came forth and gently took hold of Hermione's hand.

'You can come with us tomorrow, alright, Honey? Daphne and Harry are really, really close. I don't think he'll be able to talk very much tonight anyway to be honest, but tell that to the overzealous little child behind me.'

'I'm not a child!' Daphne stomped her foot petulantly. 'And I'm not overzealous!' She quivered for a second. 'Come on, Tracey. Let's go already, we're wasting time!'

Tracey snickered and rolled her eyes. 'See what I mean?' she whispered to Hermione, chuckling brightly.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, giving the diminutive witch in front of her a small smile. 'Okay, but you promise you'll take me along tomorrow?'

'You bet,' Tracey said, her eyes dancing merrily. She looked down at Hermione's bed and raised an eyebrow before crouching down to pick up the work on British families Draco had given her. Tracey softly shook her head. 'Honey, you really should want to hide illegal intelligence reports better than dropping them on your bed.'

Hermione wagged her head like a child trying to get water out of its ears. Surely she hadn't caught that right. 'Ehm, you're kidding, right, Tracey?'

Tracey grinned at her obvious cluelessness. 'I'm totally, deadly serious right now, Honey. If you get caught with that, it's expulsion and, at the very least, permanent surveillance for life for you,' the girl with the golden eyes informed her happily, ignoring the blabbering sounds Hermione tried to articulate into coherent words. She also had a look at the other books. 'Ooh, I know that one,' she said, pointing at the sociological study. 'That's a good one, good on you to have been given that.'

That broke her out of her reverie. 'You know whom it originally belongs to?'

Tracey's amusement grew, if possible, even further. 'You're saying you don't?'

'Traaacey!' Daphne's whiny voice floated in from beyond the door. 'Hurry, hurry, hurry!'

Tracey tittered again. 'Look, I've got to go. Daphne won't calm down until we see Harry. Do take care of those books, Honey. Oh, and go for chapter seventeen in the political introduction. See you later!'

With that, the bubbly witch shot off towards the infirmary. Hermione blinked a few times. She was joking, wasn't she? Carefully, and with no small amount of fear, she opened the last page of the genealogy.

There, in proud letters with many a flourish and a very important looking coat of arms, stood:

'This confidential report is the sole property of the Department of Mysteries, British Ministry of Magic. Unauthorised review or disclosure may lead to judicial seizure of property and person in accordance with Wizengamot enactment 12a1592.'

Oh for the love of… That psychotic jerk is just doing whatever he wants with me! I swear I'll get him for this one of these days even if it's the last thing I'll ever do!

~BLHD~

Harry was still lying in his bed, mulling things over in his head, at least when he was awake. He couldn't exactly fathom how it had come to this, but he felt disconcertingly drained and weak. Maybe he was expecting too much too soon, but he couldn't help but worry slightly about how he periodically fell asleep due to fatigue. By now, it was night, and Harry, having been awake for nearly an hour now (which-sadly-was a record), tried to analyse the events that had led to his injuries as best as he could. He had followed… Tracey. A wounded Tracey. That much he remembered. Then a fight had ensued, during which Tracey was only noticeable by her absence. An imposter, then.

Merlin, it's good they unwittingly picked Tracey as their target. If it had been Draco or even Hermione, I'd probably have had to consider unpleasant alternatives…

Harry heard the door of the infirmary open. Oh, please no! Give me a break already! Gripping his wand under the sheet as tightly as he could, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Two pairs of footsteps approached with what he considered careless levels of noise. Harry sighed inaudibly.

'Harry!' Daphne called excitedly. 'Harry, we've just heard that you've woken up. I've been worried sick, you kn…' The colouring of her voice changed so abruptly from enthusiasm to disappointment that Harry had to fight down a laugh. 'Aw, he's asleep again.'

He felt one of them coming even closer, probably examining him. 'Are you sure, Daphy?' Tracey eventually said, and Harry could just imagine her grinning. Damn, Tracey!

'What you… you think he's pretending?' Harry rather had the impression that Daphne considered feigning sleep a highly sinister crime worth unspeakable punishment.

'Well,' Tracey said with a chuckle, 'if he's really not awake, he won't mind us… checking, will he?'

'Oh! I like your thinking, Tracey!' Daphne returned eagerly. Before Harry knew what was happening, Daphne had climbed onto the bed, straddling him. 'He totally won't mind a little good-night kiss, don't you think?'

'Nah, just go for it, Sweetie!' Tracey egged her on, laughing friskily.

Harry snapped his eyes open as fast as he could. 'I'm awake!' he proclaimed as loudly as he dared, sitting up a bit.

Daphne looked equal parts happy to see him and playfully disappointed that she'd been robbed of the opportunity. Nervously, Harry realised that his cousin didn't bother to move from her rather precarious position. 'You know, Harry,' she said, grinning mischievously, 'I think I'll have to punish you either way for trying to weasel your way out of this.'

'Y-you wouldn't,' he protested, aghast.

Daphne steadily closed the distance between their faces, her smile slowly receding. 'Oh, I think I will. What are you going to do about it?' she asked matter-of-factly.

'I… b-but!' Before Harry could finish his weak protests, Daphne flung herself onto him, trapping him in a fierce embrace that really hurt his washed-up body, burying her face in the nape of his neck.

'I was so worried!' she cried out, her voice slightly muffled as she refused to let go of him. 'You pull some kind of crap again, land yourself here, seriously injured… T-they didn't even tell us if you'd be okay! And y-you not speaking to us either…' Harry felt something hot sprinkling his neck. 'I w-was so worried.' Daphne stammered on, holding him even closer as if to make sure he wouldn't suddenly disappear.

Harry relaxed a bit despite the embarrassment and pain in his ribs. Patting her back a bit, he mumbled soothingly, 'I'm okay, Daphne.'

But she didn't respond, shaking her head in denial, shedding tears without abashment. Harry cast an imploring look over Daphne's shoulder towards Tracey, who looked back at him, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

'It's good you're okay, Harry,' she said, smiling softly as her gaze alternated between Harry and her best friend. 'We've been down here to check on you nearly every day, you know? You really don't know how rude it is to make the ladies wait for you like that.'

Daphne nodded without easing her grip, causing Harry to grin sheepishly. 'It was not exactly my choice to stand you up. But it sure is good to be back…'

'What happened, Harry?' Tracey asked, her voice serious now. 'They won't tell us.'

Harry exhaled deeply. 'Someone… ambushed me. They lured me into an abandoned corridor. From what I remember, I think there were about half a dozen of them, probably third years and upwards.'

'How did they get you there?' Tracey's gaze tore into his eyes. 'Surely you're not stupid enough to just walk into a trap like that.'

'They…' he paused again. 'I'm sorry, Tracey. I believe they used Polyjuice.'

The little witch's eyes widened in understanding. 'You mean…?'

Harry nodded, still rubbing Daphne's back to help her calm down.

Tracey frowned. 'Well, that just confirms our theory about a Slytherin being in on this. It wouldn't have been difficult to nick a few hairs from my bed or something.'

'Probably,' Harry agreed.

'So, what happened, then? Did you fight them off?' Tracey asked, businesslike.

'No,' he admitted. 'They were too numerous, I barely held steady with my shield. When I thought I saw an opening, I did… some charm or something, I don't really remember. It must have really hurt in the dark corridor, though, because I incapacitated them all, I think. But I still got caught by a Blasting Curse in the process.'

Tracey winced a bit, and Daphne tightened her hold on him painfully. 'Ow, Daphne that hurts.' Harry tried to gently wiggle himself free. She shook her head again, loosening her grip a bit, but refusing to let go altogether.

'How'd you get out of there?' Tracey asked, smirking at their silent struggle.

'I… did not. I sent a message to Aenor,' he confessed. 'That's the last thing I hazily remember.'

Tracey, raising an eyebrow, spoke up at the same time as Daphne. 'Why her?' ' Aenor ?'

Harry, blushing subtly, cleared his throat nervously. 'I, er, don't know. She was the first teacher I thought of.'

Tracey threw him a dirty look as if to make sure that he realised that she didn't approve one bit of his choice in help. 'I don't trust her, Harry.'

Harry sighed weakly. 'This is not the time for that conversation,' he mumbled half-heartedly.

'Oh, I think it is!' she returned vehemently. Harry felt Daphne nodding in agreement again.

'I know she's got an agenda, Tracey, but don't concern yourself with her.'

The girl narrowed her eyes. 'What do you mean?'

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling the fatigue creeping up on him again. 'She's on a leash.'

Tracey looked at him for a while, struggling to understand before her eyes widened quite comically. 'She's got caught doing something stupid, then?'

Harry shook his head, chuckling a bit. 'More like was apprehended doing something unnecessary that my grandfather passively encouraged her to do.'

Daphne laughed gleefully. 'Uncle Arcturus is the best!'

'Of course, he is,' Harry admitted unblinkingly. 'Hey, wait a moment, you're not crying anymore!'

'Well, this is really cosy,' Daphne shot back unabashed, snuggling even closer to him for emphasis.

Tracey broke out in laughter, while Harry struggled for a few moments to disentangle himself from Daphne's hug. Eventually, she relented and sat back on her heels, still trapping his feet.

He glared at her half-heartedly.

'Aww, come on, Harry,' she pouted kittenishly, still rather beautiful, Harry had to admit, despite her red eyes. 'I know you didn't mind it all that much! Is it because of Tracey? I'm sure she'd give us a little space if that would make you feel more comfortable…'

Harry chose not to answer that question, mostly because he didn't really know how to respond. He wearily sank back into the pillow. 'I'm tired,' he mumbled.

'We'll let you get some sleep,' answered Tracey, swiftly moving her hand over Daphne's mouth to forestall the inevitable objection. 'Do you mind if we bring Hermione with us tomorrow?'

'I do not think,' he murmured sleepily, 'that matters very much at this point…'

~BLHD~

Hermione stared eagerly at the page below her. She had barely left the dormitory since yesterday, completely swept up in her new reading.

'Chapter 17: Britain Going Dark

In the direct aftermath of the hard-won battle against the tides of evil that befell Europe in the form of the Dark Lord and his followers, the British Ministry turned its remaining power and focus inwards, reacting to the persistent rumours and accusations of corruption in the highest of echelons. For about a year, more than a dozen agents worked to gather evidence until, bolstered by the support of the recently and partially empowered Muggle-borns and half-bloods, a few popular pure-blood clans took it upon themselves to privately investigate several British departments, prominent political figures, and all those that had refused to join the cause against the aggressor alike, against the explicit wishes of the Chief Warlock Arcturus Black and more than half of the honourable members of the Wizengamot due to the inadmissibility of illegally acquired evidence in court.

But where the official investigators failed, the private research, not restrained by the slow turning wheels of bureaucracy, soon unearthed a baffling network of treasonous organisations and individuals that not only sought to profit from the war that laid waste to more than half of Europe, but actively sabotaged the allied countermeasures to prolong their window of opportunity or obfuscate the trail or their misdeeds.

In the following days, Minister Gerold Prewett, father of the prominent, young Head-Auror, acting in concert with the investigations, called for a highly controversial emergency meeting of the Wizengamot and proceeded to expose all those the investigators had, with a reasonable amount of proof, found guilty of high treason.

Amongst the cries of outrage from the Wizengamot against the highly irregular proceedings some understandably labelled a 'witch-hunt', the name Sirius Black II¹ rang loudest. In the ensuing ruckus that temporarily culminated in a scuffle in the ancient halls of the Wizengamot, many fervently called out for the heads of the families that had cost the country nearly fifteen years of war and victims beyond number amongst both the magicals and those these brave defenders so desperately tried to protect.

In an apparent response to the drastically effervescing minds all around, Arcturus Black III, in his last act as Chief Warlock, invoked the ancient law of recondebamus familias, an obscure and thitherto long forgotten magical act last invoked more than a thousand years ago, that effectively declared most knowledge of the ancient families associated with the British Wizengamot, the most pertinent being all external records of their family trees, forbidden, essentially depriving the frothing mob of any base from which to accuse further families.

It has often been speculated whether this was done to protect Arcturus Black's family from the backlash of Sirius Black's notional guilt, but the truth is that as soon as the enactment came into force, all public knowledge regarding possible family ties between the two Blacks became void. Arcturus Black fled from the Ministry long before the masses had even taken note of his deed, vanishing with the rest of those called Black for about twenty-five years from the face of the earth. Arcturus Black was, despite his laudable and immaculate administration until that day, deposed from his office within the hour, marking him as one of the most controversial figures in modern British history.

In the following years, many families unilaterally revoked the recondebamus familias, making their family background once again a matter of public record. Some, however, chose to embrace the anonymity offered to them, and to this day continue to shroud their familial ties, to the deep suspicion of the public, who, incited by those that felt offended by the special privileges offered to the old families, coined the term 'Darker' in reference to the Muggle proverb 'to go dark'. The Blacks, by now believed to indeed form a single main branch, remain special even among those that refused to reopen their files: through powerful magic unknown, this clan of pure-bloods has managed to hide not only their family ties and members, but also their whereabouts and history, ultimately obscuring most knowledge of their family line. In fact, only the knowledge of Sirius and Arcturus Black, as well as the general understanding of their relative importance remains behind now, and even the most celebrated Occlumens of our age prove to be susceptible to this phenomenon. According to specialists of the Department of Mysteries and famous Sorcerers all around the world who have extensively studied the magic that was called upon, only newly acquired information seems exempt from these frustrating locks on our memories.

For more information, see also pages 229, 395, 402 and 742.'

Hermione looked up, shivering involuntarily, an echo of the warning Tracey had spoken to her in late fall spooking unbidden through her mind: 'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey…'

~BLHD~

Later that evening, Hermione stood uneasily between her two housemates. She hadn't been sure if she wanted to come at all, but in light of her determination to bridge the gap between their upbringings and her decision to apologise to Harry, she had convinced herself to not duck out.

Tracey eyed her, grinning slightly. 'You read chapter seventeen, I take it, Honey?'

Hermione was careful to avoid both girls' gazes, nodding guardedly. She didn't want them to think her weak-willed or mousy, but, on the other hand, she really couldn't deny that the article had left a very strong impression on her. It's really hard to gauge the age of old wizards and witches. I would never have guessed Dumbledore's real age if I hadn't read about it in a book. If the wizard who took down Professor Prewett really was Lord Black, then it is not completely unthinkable that Arcturus Black III, Lord Black, and Harry's grandfather of whom he told me are one and the same person. Hermione shivered again. 'It really is quite chilly in the corridors, don't you think?' she asked conversationally, her voice rather shrill.

Daphne smirked viciously at her. 'Having second thoughts, Granger?'

Tracey looked at her with an unreadable expression. 'Well, it's good to have a healthy dose of respect, Hermione, but it still is Harry we're visiting. Just Harry.'

Hermione unclenched her fist and nodded again, smiling ruefully at the both of them. 'It's just a bit much to take in, I guess.'

Daphne shrugged, but Tracey smiled back. 'Of course it is, Honey. And don't get me wrong; I'm not saying we withhold information because of reasons like this, but what do you think you'd have done if I had told you everything you so far know about Harry on your first night at Hogwarts?'

Hermione jerked to a halt. 'I,' she admitted in a small voice, 'I don't think I would have been able to try to get close to him thereafter.' It was a shameful thing to say, but she couldn't deny the truth of it.

'I bet,' Daphne commented dryly. 'Well, try your best, Granger. Harry really doesn't need another gawker, fan, enemy or anyone who fears him for who he is. If you want to do yourself and him a favour, just try to act the same way towards him like you did on your first day at Hogwarts.'

Hermione nodded, more determined than before.

Tracey beamed at Daphne. 'Daphy, it's so nice of you to give Hermione such good advice!'

'What?' Daphne shot back, eyes wide open.

'You've just buried the hatchet, and now you're giving her such cool, mature advice. I'm so proud of you, Sweetie!'

Daphne looked away from Hermione. 'I'm just doing this for Harry, just so we're clear. Got it, Granger?'

'Ehm, yes. I think so, Greengrass,' Hermione responded, not sure that she really did.

'Good,' the girl returned, more forcefully this time. 'Now, can we hurry along?'

Not too long after their little interlude, the girls entered the infirmary. But, contrary to what they had anticipated, they weren't the only visitors.

'You!' Tracey snapped, pointing her finger rudely. 'What are you doing here?!'

Daphne immediately stood shoulder to shoulder with her best friend, arms crossed. 'Is it really proper for teachers to visit their students alone?' she asked angrily. 'Some people are prone to gossip, you know.'

Professor Rose smiled sweetly in return. 'So good of you to join us, Miss Davis, Miss Greengrass. Though I did enjoy the hours I spent in private with Harry, a bit of comic relief is very much appreciated now and then.' She peered behind the wall of angry girls. 'Oh, Miss Granger! You're very welcome here, by the way.'

'What do you mean, private hours?!' Daphne demanded hotly, nearly running towards Harry, taking a demonstrative stand on the other side of his bed. 'And did you mean to infer that we're not welcome here?'

'Oh, dear me,' Rose returned in apparent horror. 'I'm simply startled how you reached such a conclusion, Miss Greengrass. But you really needn't worry: I won't overtax the half-empty brains of hormone-driven, snotty-nosed brats with innuendos if I can help it. After all, why waste my breath?'

Harry coughed loudly, but Tracey's shrill voice easily drowned him out. 'Oh? Big words! But here you are: embarrassingly desperate to hide your own age by trying to get the attention of someone you should by law, custom and profession, be responsible for!'

Harry coughed again but found it as futile as the first time.

'The way I see it,' Daphne nearly shouted at their smirking Defence professor, 'you're just jealous. Did you know that I was here yesterday night? Harry was very affectionate, and afterwards, he cuddled up with me!'

'That's not how I remember it at all!' Harry shouted out hotly, his entire face red by now. 'And Tracey was here, too!' Yet once again, Aenor and the two girls chose to ignore him.

'Ehm, hello, Harry,' Hermione finally called out in a low voice.

He slowly turned towards her, clearly reluctant to discontinue protesting his innocence. 'Oh hello, Hermione. Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' she said, avoiding his eyes. 'I'm glad that you're awake again. You don't look so bad.'

He shrugged dispassionately, though she still saw him cast a worried look towards the girls and their teacher every once in awhile. 'I'm mostly very sleepy, and my ribs are still quite tender. Other than that, I feel fine, I guess.'

'That's good to hear,' she said earnestly, nodding over the increasingly hostile noise in the background. 'I… I want to apologise, Harry.'

He looked at her, blinking twice.

'I know I overstepped my bounds that one time after class, and I'm really sorry I hurt you. I know it's not much of an excuse, but I just didn't know any better. I'm also really sorry it's taken me so long to apologise…'

Harry looked at her, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. 'Yeah, well, please let's just forget all that. I'm not too eager to talk about it.'

'You don't need to!' she said hastily. 'I just… I just wanted to ask you if we could… move on… as if that Charms lesson never happened.' Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. Hermione thought that he did look very tired. She couldn't believe that she'd indeed been a bit afraid of him. It must be quite hard for him to actually make friends with anyone. With pure-bloods, he might always be wondering if they're just friendly because of the Blacks. 'Please?' She looked him in the eye. 'I really just want to be… friends.' He still seemed to be struggling, but she just stood next to his bed, awaiting his decision and, like him, completely tuning out the angry tohu-bohu behind her. Was that the sound of a spell being cast? Can't be…

Finally, Harry nodded slowly. 'Well, alright, I guess. Let's just start over. But please don't do… that… ever again, Hermione.'

'I promise, Harry,' she vowed earnestly.

He nodded. After a while, he seemed to shake something off and levelled a much friendlier smile her way. 'So? I gather you've been receiving some rudimentary lessons? Who's teaching you? Tracey? I somehow don't think it's Daphne…'

'It's Draco, actually,' she returned, grimacing slightly.

Harry laughed loudly, and she was glad that it seemed genuine. 'I bet he's being a sneaky bastard about it.'

Hermione didn't hold in the groan that rose within her. 'You have NO idea. He's already had me fear for my life and crying all over him. At least he had the decency to console me a bit afterwards.'

Harry looked rather taken aback. 'He did?'

'Yes, he did. Why?' she asked, unable to decipher his expression.

'Oh, nothing. Well, if you can put up with him, I suppose he would make a fine teacher. He is rather knowledgeable about such things.'

'Yes, I figured as much.' Hermione nodded in thought. 'But so are you, aren't you?'

He smirked a bit. 'I suppose so, but I still think I should lay low until this whole mess is resolved. Stick to Draco for the time being. If he gives you trouble, just try asking him questions that subtly massage his ego. You'll see what I mean.'

Hermione looked up, eager to file this bit of information away. 'Oh, I'll be sure to test it out!'

'What in Merlin's name is going on here?' Hermione looked around to see the matron entering with Professor Snape in tow. Following her gaze, she spotted Greengrass and Tracey lying on the ground, rubbing their behinds, wands at their feet. Professor Rose, arms crossed and a small, smug grin on her lips, stood above them.

'How dare you throw spells in the infirmary!' The matron protested more in shock than anger.

'We need to have a word with Mr Black now that he's on his way to recovery. I suggest you all clear out, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis, Miss Granger. Aenor, this is a matter of House Slytherin. Your presence is not required.'

Aenor's eyes twitched for a second. Snape looked in calculating scrutiny at his colleague, clearly weighing the unusual reaction of the otherwise aloof Defence professor. 'As you wish, Severus.' She shot one last look towards the younger Black, and he smiled at her. Harry couldn't be quite sure, because she turned around exactly that moment, but he rather had the impression she had winked at him.

'We need to talk, Mr Black.' Harry blinked, having difficulties to return to the present from his thoughts. Surprisingly, it was the matron who had addressed him. Even more surprising was her tone: it was icy, disappointed and very strained.

'What about?' Harry asked, complete baffled, looking from one serious face to another.

'About this!' Pomfrey hissed irately, pulling up his left sleeve and forcefully turning his arm around.

'Oh,' Harry said weakly. 'That.'

'Oh? That's all you have to say? If I didn't know you so well, I'd have called the Aurors straight away! Now don't play games with me, and make me reconsider!' Pomfrey shouted at him.

Harry just blinked again. Well, as often as I've been here, it's a wonder it took her so long to find it. He looked towards the long, purple scar that disfigured his arm. A certain amount of honesty may be needed here… 'What do you wish to know?'

Snape stepped forward. 'You are aware that the use of blood magic is strictly forbidden and justiciable for no fewer than five years in Azkaban?' His voice was cold as usual, but his eyes bore into Harry's with a ferocity that made him turn his head away.

'Yes,' he said demurely.

'Harry,' Pomfrey said gravely. Harry noted the renewed use of his first name. 'We have so far refrained from informing the headmaster, but if you don't cooperate with us and tell us about it, we will have little choice.'

Harry turned his head around, glaring fiercely and defiantly at her. So, they wanted to hear a story? Well, that shouldn't be any problem!

'It's no use. It is obvious that he will tell us no truths,' said Snape peevishly.

'Couldn't you…?' Pomfrey seemed hesitant about whatever she hinted, but the Potions Master only shook his head.

'No. Whatever his other deficiencies, I can clearly see that we will have no luck with that approach unless I use extreme amounts of force.'

'No, out of the question.' Pomfrey shook her head.

'We might,' Snape said silkily, 'have another option.' He reached within his robes. One second later, his fingers held an adorned green little phial with a very clear liquid.

'Merlin, no! Do you realise that you're committing a crime just threatening me with that?' Harry cried out in shock, reeling back.

'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.' Snape sneered. 'What choice do you leave us? We will not leave the matter as it is, I assure you.'

Harry spun his head towards the matron and felt his heart sink. Even though her trepidation was easy to spot, it was clear that she was beginning to look rather determined.

'I want a guarantor,' he hissed angrily, 'who ensures that you ask no questions that are of no consequence to this!' In this situation, it was probably better to salvage whatever he could.

Snape nodded.

'Cranky!' Harry commanded. The ancient creature apparated directly on his bed, miraculously without disturbing his wounded body.

'Master Harry called?' the old creature asked with a sense of urgency.

'I will submit myself to Veritaserum, Cranky.'

The elf's eyes bulged in alarm. 'NO!' he shouted in a croaky voice. 'Cranky cannot allow Master Harry to do that! This is pure folly!' The old elf look extremely spirited all of a sudden, the docile severity shed like a skin.

Harry looked up at the elf who towered over him, his arms crossed like a miniature avatar of defiance. 'Cranky…' Harry mumbled softly.

'No! Cranky will not allow Master Harry to take such a risk, no matter the circumstance!' The elf's glare was quite fierce for one of their kind.

'Do you really think I'd do anything to endanger the family like that?' Harry hissed menacingly. 'And mind your tongue in present company!'

The elf didn't even turn around, as if the Potions Master and matron were clearly beneath him. But he still held Harry in a fiery glare.

'If Professor Snape asks any question about the Blacks, my personal history, or those of our affiliates, kill him!' Harry commanded the old creature.

'Harry!' the matron cried out.

At the same time, the elf's expression turned into a nasty grin, and he stood above Harry, his fingers outstretched and pointing at Snape. 'With pleasure, Master Harry.'

'I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey, but there is absolutely no middle ground for this. If you can't agree to my conditions, then I'll take my chances with the Wizengamot and charge you for threatening the heir of a noble house with magical enslavement.'

Pomfrey looked in clear betrayal at her student, while his Potions professor examined him in cool composure. 'It seems we have reached an impasse.' His voice was still smooth, no hint of concern detectable at all.

I have to admit his control is somewhat unnerving. Or does he think Cranky isn't able to harm him? Every wizard worth his salt should know that any normal house-elf is dangerous enough when ordered to harm. Without a wand, he's basically already a pile of gore on the floor. And Cranky is not exactly normal by any standard. This is anything but ideal, but the threat of Azkaban is at least as real for him as it is for me. Even with Dumbledore's protection, should he have it, the case is by no means a forgone conclusion. Maybe I should push a bit more…

'I will also not stand any question regarding the specific time, place or even the nature of the magic involved in the incident.'

'This is no game, Mr Black!' Snape spat, and Harry was glad to see that he had broken through his facade.

'I agree. But this is no investigation either, Professor. You just wish to make sure that your poor student hasn't strayed from the path of the true and just, don't you?' He smirked confidently.

To his overwhelming surprise, his Head of House slowly broke into a mean grin himself. 'I see that your grandfather has not only been teaching you magic. Maybe you are indeed more of a Black than I gave you credit for, but still you have severely underestimated me, Mr Black. I consent to the terms of your proposal.'

Harry nearly jumped in shock, eyes widening. But there was nothing for it now. He had bluffed and Snape had called. Merlin, I hope he knows what he's doing. If he asks the wrong questions, Arcturus will have his head, and I don't think I'd be able to return to Hogwarts…

Harry squirmed a bit, but in the end, allowed Pomfrey to dose him with three drops of the tasteless potion. How I wish I was an Occlumency prodigy right now.

'I think it would be best if you didn't speak for the next few minutes, Poppy. In the interest of your own security.' The woman paled but nodded nevertheless.

Snape fixed him with his small coal-like eyes, one arm supporting the other while he scratched his chin. Then, he smirked. 'Have you used forbidden or restricted magic during your stay at Hogwarts.'

'Yes,' Harry answered through gritted teeth.

'Did you harm anyone with your attempt?'

'… Only myself.' Harry tried with all his might to resist the effect of the potion, but it was like swimming up a waterfall. He could-maybe-prolong the inevitable for a time, but the pressure just kept building up.

'Did you intend anyone harm? Besides yourself, I mean.' Snape narrowed his eyes.

'No,' was the answer that forced itself through Harry's unwilling lips.

'Is there any residue of the spellwork left that could potentially pose harm to anyone who unwarily stumbles upon the place where you performed your magic?'

'No, do you think I'm stupid?' Harry blinked. That… was a pleasant surprise. It seems as if his inhibitions were partly removed by the potions. 'Sorry, sir,' he added with a grin. 'Wouldn't have said that if it weren't for the highly restricted and illegal potion you made me consume, I assure you.'

Snape scowled at him, though Harry had the distinct impression that Pomfrey's mouth quivered for a second.

'Do you intend to bring about, plan, or foresee a situation where you will resort to… whatever forbidden magic you used?'

Harry grinned roguishly before he let loose. 'Sweet Morgana's tits, no! That one time hurt like shit already.' He refrained from laughing at their faces, but it really was quite humorous in his humble opinion. As long as he was speaking true, he could phrase it however he wanted.

But the next question stifled his good mood as effectively as a pillow to the face in the dead of the night. 'Did Aenor Rose teach you that magic?' Snape asked shrewdly.

'No,' Harry answered darkly, thunderclouds for all who cared to look easy to see in his expression. 'But if you go further down that road, I think I may have to rethink the terms of our arrangement,' he growled.

Snape looked as unimpressed as ever, but Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Harry,' Pomfrey spoke up, shocking not only him but Snape as well. 'Have you ever injured a student at Hogwarts in anything but self-defence?'

'NO!' he shouted furiously. Then he turned his head away from them and spoke in a lower voice. 'I wish all those people would just leave me alone.'

Harry didn't turn back towards them again. After a while, he heard Pomfrey break the silence again. 'That's enough, Severus. It's clear enough that he didn't mean harm with whatever's been done. I won't condone any more questions.'

After a few seconds, Snape silently administered the antidote to Harry, who eyed him with an expression of pronounced disgust.

'It might have hurt your pride a bit, Mr Black,' he said as he nodded to Pomfrey and turned away, 'but I feel like a bit of credibility will make your stay at Hogwarts a good deal easier for the foreseeable future. Especially with the headmaster and Prewett.' He shot one last and swift look towards him, gazing straight into his eyes as if devouring them. But then the moment passed, and just as abruptly, he turned away and stormed out of the infirmary. 'I'll be watching, Mr Black.'

Pomfrey fussed a bit and gave him several potions to drink. But he didn't respond to her ministrations. While he felt touched by the amount of faith she had in him, it was a very foolish question to ask him.

When the matron had vanished to her study again, he finally turned to Cranky, who had taken a seat at the end of his bed and stared soulfully at him. His eyes burned with a question he seemed to be unwilling to ask.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. 'You may tell Grandfather, Cranky. But be sure to tell him that I'd rather like to let the matter rest for now. It is true that Snape has just gotten his hands on compelling evidence to support my case should the need ever arise.' He thought for a bit, before sheepishly adding, 'Arise anew, I should probably say. And seeing as the evidence is completely useless in court, it shouldn't prove to be too much of a problem later on.'

Cranky nodded. 'Cranky will do as Master Harry commands. But what about the Potions Master? He's a sneaky one.'

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'I suppose he is. I appreciate that you didn't react when he mentioned Aenor, Cranky. I think he actually wanted to find out how close of a connection she has with us.' The elf nodded emphatically. 'Maybe we should dig something up, just in case. But then, I didn't have the impression that grandfather was all too concerned with him. I think he'll know how to handle him.'

'Master Harry should rest now,' the elf said with a force that brokered no argument. 'Minnie has been instructed to provide aid for you from within the castle for the time being.'

'I know,' Harry mumbled drowsily as he let his head fall back towards the cushion.

'Thank you for your hard work, Master Harry.' He vaguely saw the elf bow, and a small poof later, the young Black was alone.

~BLHD~

Days passed without anything particularly dramatic happening to Hermione, which, she thought, was a good thing. She had secretly visited Harry a few more times and was very glad that he was just about to be released by Madam Pomfrey. Their little talks had also gone a long way in reassuring her that her current course of action wasn't absolutely hopeless, though Harry still made a point of telling her that Draco had indeed not lied about the difficulties even dedicated Muggle-borns faced in traditional pure-blood circles.

Still, the books Draco had lent her were truly captivating, though she had to admit that the discovery that one of them could potentially land her in prison had made her rather jumpy for a few days. But all the same, it felt like diving into a strange new world all over again, yet this time she could peer at the root of it; she simply couldn't resist the temptation. Even though the books were uniquely helpful for her, she still could soon see the limitations in their use. While she could, for example, glimpse what wizards and witches perceived as especially irksome about Muggle society and therefore deduce the differences in their mannerisms, there were no positive examples given: While she knew by now that magicals had a very specific way of greeting one another, there was no picture or… tutorial on how to do so.

She sighed. It was probably true that she was at the mercy of Draco and Tracey. Maybe Harry would give her a few hints as well. He had promised to help when the general situation improved for him, after all.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. This was ridiculous. She would just have to go for it and learn what she could as she went by. Maybe Harry had a few books at home she could read. There really had to be some perks to coming from a vilified family of notoriously powerful witches and wizards. Hogwart's library, she was disappointed to find out, had nothing on the topic. After Draco's angry rant, she couldn't help but suspect that those books had been removed at someone's behest to appease the Muggle-borns.

The whole discussion had not been easy for her. At first, she thought it was so simple: Muggle-borns were new, eager and generally meant well, how could that pose a problem? She had only slowly come to understand that the wizarding world was a living and rather slow moving construct to which the Muggle-borns were… an outside influence. Not malicious certainly, but still volatile. And now that she thought about it, it was easy to see what angered the pure-bloods. For many Muggle-borns, the robes, the owls, the parchment; that was all nothing more than a commodity, a costume at most. They did it because they mimicked it, because it was expected, but they never truly believed in that style of living, in the philosophies taught to them.

It was, she mused, for the most part just an act.

A Muggle-born felt as comfortable in robes as an oyster in the Sahara. As soon as classes were over, most of them tossed their robes away and started talking about some TV-show or something that alienated the pure-bloods and only served to divide them further. It was easy to blame both parties, Hermione thought, but by now she could at least comprehend how those that embraced pure-blood society felt offended when Muggle-borns refused to integrate. From their perspective, Muggle-borns were immigrants.

~BLHD~

It was curfew by now. Hermione hurried through the cold corridors, shivering slightly as a particularly icy draught swept through the ancient castle. I'd better get to the dungeons soon. A Gryffindor or Hufflepuff Prefect would just love to get Slytherin's pet-Muggle-born for something like this. Hermione coloured a bit at the thought that she had simply forgotten the time in the library until Madam Pince had informed her that curfew was five minutes off.

Hermione walked speedily around the corner. Just one more corridor and I can get down into the dungeons.

'Gotcha, little firsty!'

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, one foot in the process of taking another step. Slowly and very regretfully, she turned around to have a look at who had caught her.

In the frame of a window that stood gaping wide open sat a female prefect that seemed rather familiar, even in the dark gloom that veiled her presence. No wonder it's so cold if people sit in the open windows in the middle of the night! Who does that?!

'Miss Fawley?' she called out, cursing the slight quiver in her voice.

The figure cocked her head. 'Oh, Hermione!' the fifth year prefect called out, much friendlier. 'Didn't recognise you there for a second. What are you doing here? It's surely past curfew by now.'

'I kind of forgot the time in the library, to be honest.' She smiled guiltily. 'Madam Pince just kicked me out.'

Fawley chuckled good-naturedly. 'That old boot, yeah, she does that.' The older girl returned to staring out of the window. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have guessed that she was trying to soak the night right up. Fawley seemed to be in a rather melancholic mood.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione asked curiously. Then, she remembered their positions. 'I… I mean, if you don't mind me asking. Aren't you cold? I'm freezing!'

Fawley smiled gently and swished her wand in Hermione's direction, who felt her robes begin to warm up from within. 'Wow!' Hermione sighed, purring contentedly. 'That feels nice with the breeze from the window.'

'Doesn't it?' the prefect asked, nodding chummily. 'And to answer your question, I love the night.'

Hermione didn't quite know if she was supposed to ask or not, so she settled for looking questioningly while keeping her mouth shut.

'Haha, I see you've gotten a bit better with your conduct.' The prefect winked at her, smirking at the faint blush that crept up into Hermione's face. 'Don't sweat it so much. Sometimes you have to let loose.' The blond with her curly hair turned towards the open window again, her mane fluttering gently in the winter breeze. For a time, they enjoyed the companionable silence. Hermione was especially fond of the warming charm the older girl had so effortlessly demonstrated and vowed to look it up in the library the very next day.

'You know, I always thought the night was the most interesting time of the day. Most people are asleep, the air is fresh and cool and everything is a bit quieter. No noise, no tedious tasks, no boring people. Everything you do at night is simply a bit more special.'

Hermione squirmed a bit under the cheeky yet friendly compliment the other girl had given her. But Fawley laughed again. 'Oh, come on, Hermione. You're the first Muggle-born in Slytherin in an eternity, and you're not doing too shabby for yourself right now. I'd gladly have more of you if that meant fewer Yaxleys.' She grinned rascally. 'You don't happen to have any brothers or sisters, do you?'

'Ehm, no, sorry,' she said meekly, completely swept up in the friendly, if strange, girl by the window.

'Aw, I guess you can't have everything.'

'Do… do you have siblings, Miss Fawley?' Hermione asked quietly.

'Yeah, a little brother. He's such a sweetie.' Her gaze returned towards the night. 'I think I'd do anything to protect him…' After a while, she spoke again, even though her mind seemed far away. 'That's what matters, in the end. Sure, there are politics and whatnot, but if you really think about it, most pure-blood families just look out for their own. If you protect those you love, it's not so difficult to think in terms of "them" and "us"…'

Suddenly, she jumped down from the windowsill. 'Come on, I'll escort you back to the common room. If you wander into a teacher, he might think you snuck off to meet with a boy.'

'What?' Hermione exclaimed loudly. 'I've never… I wouldn't…' she stammered.

The girl nudged her in the ribs conspiratorially. 'You sure? Are you really suuure? I think Black will turn out pretty hot in a year or two…' She giggled. 'It wouldn't hurt to stake your claim early, don't you think?'

Hermione was deep red by now. 'It's not like that! We're just friends, honestly!'

The other girl broke out in exuberant laughter, putting an arm around her shoulder. 'First years are so fun to tease! Man, I'll never get tired of this! It's good we met tonight, Hermione.'

'W-why?' Hermione asked, still fighting her embarrassment.

'Why not, I say!' She gently squeezed Hermione's shoulder as they walked down towards the dungeons. When they were nearly at the entrance, the other girl smiled down at her. 'You never know when you get the next chance. That's my motto! Make every night special for as long as you can.' She gave Hermione a friendly little shove. 'You better get inside, Hermione. I'll have to complete my rounds, or Snape will chew my ear off again.'

'You call hanging out on the windowsill "completing rounds"?' Hermione asked, grinning back.

'Aw, come on, give a girl a break or two.' Still chuckling, the prefect waved at her and turned around, her measured and confident stride taking her into the depths of the louring night.

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she turned towards the entrance of the common room. I wanted to tell Draco that we should do his little test, but now I really don't want to ruin my mood. Let's just pretend everything is fine and do it tomorrow. Once in awhile, it really can't hurt, can it?

~BLHD~

Hermione knocked twice on the door, feeling quite nervous.

'Enter!'

She entered and surveyed their usual meeting place. The seventh corridor was one of those that was completely devoid of regularly used class or clubrooms. Draco had once told her that more than half of the castle wasn't actually used, and as far as he knew, it had always been a bit like that.

Hermione bit her lip as she saw Draco, who was seated in what had once been the teacher's chair. He sat by the windows and stared at her. He gave no sign or reaction at all, except for his… somewhat creepy gaze.

Hermione bowed like she had seen others do at times. Then, she remained silent, observing him in turn. Every fibre of her body urged her to break the silence, but she forced herself to remain quiet.

Eventually, Draco spoke up. 'Good evening.'

'Good evening, Mr Malfoy,' she said timidly.

'Ugh, your posture is bad. You need to keep your back straight when you bow. Also, as long as you are socially beneath the one you bow to, lower your eyes. Never raise your chin to look into someone's eyes, except if you want to insult someone, or if you feel superior. Your bow should also, at least in Europe, reflect your relative social standing, meaning accentuating the bow deeper if you consider yourself beneath the other. You need to keep your feet together and your arms straight but relaxed. Try to make them parallel, in front and behind your body respectively. It does not need to look overly strained, try to make it graceful and slow instead. Also, don't bite your lip. It's a sure sign of your insecurity, and you do it all the time. At least refrain from doing so on official occasions. Now, I'm glad you had the sense to wait for me to speak, but, and I am quite serious here, never ever call me Mr Malfoy!' He shivered as if something cold or slimy had touched him. 'It sounds wrong on so many levels…'

She looked at him questioningly, forcing him to sigh again. 'Well, to be honest, you failed abysmally in about twenty seconds, but I'm not sure you'll do better on your own even if I give you the time. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I won't mince my words, you know.'

Hermione snorted. Oh, really?! That's completely news to me! 'Yes, I want to go through with it!'

He fixed her in a cold and measuring stare.

'Don't pull that crap with me again!' she mumbled angrily. 'Use your stupid psycho tricks on somebody else!'

He smiled proudly at her. 'Okay.'

'Wait, that's it?' she asked the infuriating jerk, surprised by his switch in attitude to what seemed like genuine comradeship.

'Of course, Hermione. I'd never do anything you wouldn't want me to,' he said in an honest voice that made her take a step back to look if she was still talking to Draco.

Then she blinked. 'Argh! Stop it!' she shouted, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

He laughed rambunctiously and got up from his seat. 'You're too easy, Granger! We'll start tomorrow night. We'll have a look at the background of a few people at Hogwarts and try to figure out who could have a motive or shoddy connection to Harry. Meanwhile, we'll also look at who's been acting particularly suspicious and try to find out if those people could have the motive to involve themselves with the Blacks, no matter the risks.'

'And how are we going to do that?' she asked suspiciously.

'Oh, I've been gathering a few notes on some people. Nothing excessive. I told you we'd be doing some paperwork.'

'Just… paperwork, right?' she asked, her eyes narrowing.

'Of course, Granger. Just a bit of paperwork,' he said, his grey eyes shining with mirth.

This can't be good, Hermione thought with a remarkable sense of foreshadowing.

~BLHD~

Again, Hermione found herself standing in front of a specific door on the seventh corridor in the middle of the night. She knocked and entered when he called for her. Everything seemed peaceful. Malfoy sat in his chair, serenely drinking a cup of steaming tea. His wand lay before him on the huge, dark desk. The cool air of the Scottish winter brushed against her face, and a peaceful moon shone down at them. Oh yes, and let's not forget the truly impressive formation of mountains. Papery mountains, that is. Wait a second!

'You're kidding me, right?! This is "just a bit of paperwork"? Do you seriously expect me to work through that?' Hermione asked, justifiably outraged as she took in the hundreds and hundreds of different pieces of parchment that lay in front of the calm, tea sipping ponce.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Good evening,' he said in maddening serenity. 'No, Granger. I expect us to work through those.'

'This is what you meant with "minor non-school-related paperwork"? You can't be serious! What are those?!' Hermione shakily indicated a heap of parchment that towered nearly four feet high, swaying gently in the breeze.

'Oh, that?' Draco waved his hand dismissively. 'Those are my collected dossiers on all students at Hogwarts with suspected connections to the old families. I've had my father send them to me and collected a few on those that he had no information on, which were few, let me tell you. Except for fourth, and sixth years, of course.'

'Why not include them?' Hermione asked, trying her best to ignore the humongous stack of private and probably illegally gathered information. She had to admit that she admired Draco's thoroughness, even if his methods were scaring her slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Think, Granger! Do you think someone would be daft enough to get roped into a petty political plot during their most important years of study? I think not.' He hesitated for a second before continuing matter-of-factly. 'Well, I guess there may be a few blithering idiots stupid enough for that… I have those files in my trunk, but for now, I think we should concentrate on these.'

Hermione looked towards the spire of documents and idly wondered how Malfoy had gotten the parchment to stick together. She sighed. Somehow it should have been clear to her that it would turn out to be something ridiculous like this. Rubbing her temple, she decided to play along for now. Hermione took a seat in front of Draco (not that she could see much of him through the heaps of documents) and put her quill, ink and a few loose sheets of parchment on the desk. Chewing on her quill, she remembered his explanation and blinked suddenly. 'Ahm, is there a difference between "family members" and "students suspected of connections to old families"?'

Draco clicked his tongue patronisingly. 'Of course there is, Granger. If you were to become engaged to Harry, for example…'

'Engaged?' Hermione echoed in shock.

'Yes, engaged, Granger. I take it you're familiar with the term?' He rolled his eyes again. 'Hypothetically, if you were to become engaged to Harry, you would have a certain influence with the House of Black without actually being a member of the household, at least for the time being, right? The same could be said about childhood friends, subsidiary houses, branch families, treaties of friendship and so forth… You shouldn't rule out that anyone can have friends in high places, just because he doesn't have the right family name, or even the right background, as appalling as it is.'

'Why do the old families share their power then?' Hermione asked, honestly confused. She hadn't gotten the impression that the old houses were into charity… at all .

'Naturally, because they stand to profit.' Malfoy sniffed at her query. 'By collecting valuable associates to their name, the ancient families gain prestige and pull for themselves by magnifying their power base. Simply put, publicly linking talented individuals to their names is as much acquiring resources as it is showing-off. The other party, in turn, gets the benefit of political sway and protection they could not have afforded otherwise.'

Hermione blinked again. 'So… no Muggle-borns?'

'No Muggle-borns,' Draco repeated coolly. 'Only particularly distinguished individuals are scouted while still at school. I have a list of those, too, though I find the thought rather unlikely.'

He produced a small stack of about twenty records and put them down beside the wobbling tower of parchment that reminded Hermione of Babel. 'While we are on the subject,' he continued, 'make me a list of all the people you've spoken to, either on the train ride or during your stay at school!'

'What? But… but you can't be serious? Isn't that totally excessive?' Hermione stammered in shock, aghast at the breach of privacy.

'I am completely serious, so stuff your pathetic preconceptions about ethics where I can't see them, and make me that list. I've already checked Tracey's, Daphne's and Harry's contacts. Oh, and mine, obviously,' Malfoy answered in a collected fashion, still engrossed in the paper before him.

'Your own friends? You spied on your own friends?' Hermione asked, agape.

Malfoy only shrugged.

'But… that's so wrong! Why?' Hermione asked meekly.

Sighing, Malfoy looked up. 'Start using that overly big brain of yours, Granger! Anyone who messes with a Black has to have backup plans, contingencies and ways to assess the situation, meaning contacts. You're a Mud… Muggle-born in Slytherin. Whoever approaches you does have either an agenda, a death-wish or some severe cerebral dysfunction. Or is a Gryffindor, now that I think about it, but it's particularly hard to ascertain lack of mental faculties in that house. Happily, you have no contacts in either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor; I've already checked, so we can rule that bit out.'

Hermione just looked at him for several moments, time flying by unnoticed by her. 'I just now realise that you're a lot smarter than I thought for the first few months,' she admitted grumpily in the end.

'Please, Granger.' Though he tried to suppress any reaction, Hermione gleefully took notice of his complacent look. Thanks, Harry! 'Not all of us like to flaunt our wits or are insufferable teacher's pets, you know? Look at Tracey, for instance…'

Tracey? Hermione thought, taken aback. Well, she is annoyingly good with Transfiguration, granted. I think she's in the top five in Charms, too… Wait, now that I think about it, isn't she in the top ten of pretty much all the classes, except Potions…?

Struggling to cope with the realisation that she had drastically underestimated her little informant, a small 'Oh…' escaped her lips.

Quickly recovering from her surprise, Hermione immediately decided to ask another question, but as soon as she opened her mouth again, Draco's snarling voice interrupted her. 'Last question, Granger! We really have better things to do than to rectify your deplorable state of ignorance concerning the time-honoured traditions of the wizarding world, for now at least.' He sighed again and rubbed his eyes in annoyance. 'I'll allow you three questions each evening we work on this, I don't think I'll live through our sessions otherwise.'

Hermione shot him a scalding look and huffed indignantly. 'Oh, fine!' Thinking about it some more, she decided that the offer wasn't so bad, really. Most questions she had regarding traditions and such were not exactly featured in books, even those she had recently acquired, but taught to the young witches and wizards by their parents. Therefore, Malfoy's proposal would help her avoiding further shame; dropping a clanger in Slytherin was as much embarrassment as it was a risk of bodily harm for her, after all.

'You mentioned branch families. What are those? Is it simply a split family tree? Like if I had a great-great-great-grandfather who had a younger brother whose descendants flourished, and I had a lot of fifth cousins who share my name but are really far down the, er, line of succession?'

Draco looked at her curiously. To Hermione's great confusion, his expression became stone-hard soon after, and he answered as if selecting each word with great care. 'Mostly, it is exactly that…'

'Mostly?' Hermione asked shrewdly, determined to dig deeper.

Draco set down his own quill, looked deeply into her eyes and nodded. 'Mostly, yes. You have to understand that the head of a family has nearly unlimited power over any member of his household. It's been like that since ancient times. He can do almost anything: Arrange marriages or disown someone for going against his orders, for example. Even harsher still, he can actually cast people out of the family as punishment, though that is-thankfully-rather rare, as that person would also lose all the protection the family name grants, making him or her something akin to an outlaw until they take on a different name by marriage or adoption.'

Hermione was amazed to see that Draco actually shuddered at the thought.

'There were times when the most important families in Britain, and Europe in general I guess, protected and hid their branch families by forcing them to take on different names and swear a magically binding oath of fealty to the main branch. That custom is not only harshly frowned upon nowadays but actually highly illegal and thought of as a cultivated form of slavery. It's pretty much died out… for the most part.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'For the most part, right?'

Draco's face gave as much away as a blank sheet of paper. 'Yes, Granger. For the most part.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------

¹ NB: Not to be confused with Sirius Black III, brother of Regulus Black II.

AN1, about pure-blood culture : I am aware that my take on pure-blood culture is a bit different from canon, but I really don't like following explored paths.

By no means is this to be taken as apologetics or anything. While Rowling's descriptions of ridiculous preconceptions and prejudices are, in fact, quite realistic (You only need to review the Nazi's completely barmy classification system for the ancestry of Germans. It's basically exactly the same as canon: if one of your grandparents [and to politically inconvenient people this could go back as far as a few hundred years] was a Jew [proven or believed to be, it mattered little], your family line was, in their eyes, completely and irrevocably tainted.), it (Rowling's setting) lacks a believable background (even if you decide to heed the patch-up that is Pottermore). You have strife, you have opposing parties, but there is little explanation given as to how this came to be. It needlessly simplifies the situation by refusing to arm the pure-blood bigots with even a single valid argument to fight their cause. I'm sorry, but that's just silly. Maybe Rowling didn't want to overtax her young readers by presenting an actually believable moral dilemma. I, on the other hand, have a higher opinion of those who read in their free time and will present you a believable political background that's neither too one-sided nor out-of-the-world implausible.

AN2, about pairings : I want to make one thing clear at this point. This fic features (what I consider to be) realistic relationships (that are, of course, at times exaggerated). I'm just saying this because some people seem to think that Harry will end up with a multitude of lovers. That will, most definitely, not be the case.

HD: Hidden gears

Hidden gears

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A few days later, at the break of dawn, Harry awoke in his irksomely familiar bed in the infirmary, blinking a few times to shut out the dazzling morning light.

'Good morning, Master Harry!' Minnie's shrill voice rattled his brains, serving its purpose better than a few dozen alarms. 'You is looking very fit today. Is Master Harry wishing for some breakfast?'

'Thanks, Minnie,' returned Harry grumpily, pressing the cushion onto his face to muffle the volume of her piercing shriek. He rather liked his family house-elves, but they were a bit much to deal with so early. Nevertheless, he suspected that Minnie was earnestly pleased to be able to serve him while he was at school, so he couldn't quite bring himself to order her to be quiet. She really was adorable.

'Ah, I bid you good morning as well, Harry. I hope you are faring better today?'

Harry ceased his antics with the pillow immediately. With as much dignity as he could muster, he sat up, ignoring the embarrassment as best as he could. He looked towards his visitor and just barely managed to turn his curse into a cough. 'Good morning, Headmaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?' Harry swore those damned eyes twinkled in amusement at the scene they had witnessed.

'Making sure one of our brightest is up to snuff, naturally. That is what I told Poppy, at least. She really is giving it her best with you, you know? I hope you've let her know that you appreciate her devotion.'

'Considering that she only yesterday threatened to jinx me if I were to further call her Madam Pomfrey, I'd say we're good, Professor,' said Harry with a weak smile. 'I am grateful for your concern, sir, but if this is more than a simple check-up, I'd rather have my Head of House in attendance.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'I am glad that you have found trust in a few members of staff, at least. But have I really done anything to warrant this level of mistrust in comparison to Professor Snape?'

'I… guess not.' Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes.

The old warlock, however, looked rather interested. 'Now, do I have to take this as a token of confidence or a sign that you've become a bit wary of Professor Snape, Harry?'

Harry mentally cursed himself for real this time. Dealing with one of history's slyest and most powerful wizards ten seconds after rousing from sleep was clearly beyond him. 'I'm sorry, sir. Please do not take my words at face value when I'm barely awake; I'm really not a morning person. In the interest of clarifying the matter, I do not wish to complain about my Head of House. If anything, I feel like I overreacted a bit when we last spoke in your office, sir. I still stand behind the sentiments spoken, but there was no need for that tone or my… theatrical departure. I have meant to apologise for that, but with one thing and another…'

Yet Dumbledore merely smiled benignly, waving his hand as if to dispel the bad air. 'Don't worry, my boy. You may have trouble imagining it, but even your grandfather and I weren't born with a beard, you know.' His eyes shone jovially when he spotted a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that Daphne had left for Harry. 'Indeed, sometimes our youthful desires catch up to us even at our ripe age.' With great care, Dumbledore picked a single bean of a warm yellow colour. 'If I may?' he asked hopefully.

Harry raised an eyebrow and shrugged. He really couldn't tell if the eccentricities were meant to throw him off or part of the real Dumbledore. Taking in the garish mint green robe, he surmised it to be the latter.

'Ah, most excellent: peach! Maybe our luck is finally having a turn for the better.' Dumbledore chuckled happily, apparently oblivious to Harry's disbelieving look. 'But in earnest, I wanted to inform you that three older students of House Gryffindor have been temporarily suspended for their part in the incident that has landed you here.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Three, sir?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed, three, Harry.'

Harry hesitated for a bit. 'There were more than three people involved, Professor. Besides me, I mean.'

'I am aware of that. Sadly, only three people came forward and openly admitted their guilt. They claimed it to be a prank that may have gotten out of hand when you used advanced defensive magic.'

'Sir, with all due respect, as you said, I used defensive magic.' Harry scoffed. 'I find it hard to believe that more than a handful of students picked a Blasting Curse at random in their panicked effort to-as you say-react to me casting a S hield Charm .'

'A reasonable assumption. I, too, find the explanation given somewhat lacking, especially considering the remarkable destruction they wreaked. Still, you should know how these things would go if an official inquiry were to take place. The evidence is mostly circumstantial, and there were no witnesses. In fact, it would not be impossible to construe the events in a way that would present you in a less than inculpable light.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'So you're saying that I should take all this as a token of justice because I cannot hope for better, sir?'

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

'If I were to take a guess, I would say that there was probably no one suspended who belonged to any major family with a Wizengamot background?' Harry spat.

Dumbledore lowered his head slightly. 'You are correct, Harry. It is most curious.'

'Gryffindors indeed,' Harry sneered, turning his head away from his headmaster, not willing to let him see the anger that burned in his eyes.

'I wish I had better news. Given your grandfather's actions, I doubt you will have to face any more ambuscades in the foreseeable future. Only a truly desperate person would dare risk facing your family's wrath. A small silver lining, at least.'

Harry remained silent. Yes, I'm probably somewhat safe for now, but no thanks to anyone but Grandfather. Shouldn't have expected anything to begin with, I guess.

'Well, if you'll excuse me, Harry. I look forward to seeing your academic results at the end of the year.'

'Thank you, sir,' the younger Black murmured absentmindedly.

~BLHD~

'So, that's everything, really! I know it's not the most interesting of topics, but it can't all be duels and catching bad guys. Merlin knows, I wish it were. So, any questions? And I really wouldn't mind queries about something other than the history of Alchemy, if you catch my drift.' The man grinned rascally.

'Professor Prewett? I have a question, but I fear it really doesn't fit with the topic of the lesson…'

'Finnigan, two points to Gryffindor!' Their History of Magic teacher laughed. 'Now, what is this intriguing question you have for us?'

'Sir, I wonder. You know, there was all that trouble a few weeks ago, with all the rumours and stuff, and I wondered if you could tell us a bit about the Blacks…' His voice trailed away weakly.

Hermione sat up straight, and she wasn't the only one either. A lot of people who had been in the process of packing up their belongings suddenly sat very still.

'Ah, yes,' Prewett responded, the grin sliding off his face. 'Well, it's only natural to be curious. Let me tell you two things about the Blacks.' He sat back on his desk, taking out his wand. 'First and foremost: they are dangerous in every way known to wizardkind.'

'You mean like in a duel, sir?' Finnigan asked.

'Yes, but that's not everything, I'm afraid. It's true, though; I personally don't know of any person called Black that was not at least above-average in matters of duelling.' He winced slightly and rubbed his side. 'I'm sure you remember what that big-headed son of a bitch, his grace, Lord Black did. That one's particularly nasty, let me tell you. You'd all better stay clear of him until he finally bites the dust. Don't mess with a Black unless you're really sure of yourself.'

'You're exaggerating, sir. Their little prince has been beaten pretty soundly, hasn't he?' someone called from the backline.

'Don't be daft, Ron. Their last scion's… personal history aside, I'm sure Harry Black would blow most of you to smithereens before you'd have drawn your wands. It's true that you or Neville here probably know more about Defence than him, but I hear he's dabbling in some NEWT level stuff in Charms, so I wouldn't call him exactly harmless. Still, you don't get what I'm really talking about here. It's not all about magical prowess, don't you see? Some blasting idiots really upset the old tosser, and now the shit has really hit the fan.'

'What do you mean, sir? You, ehm, you're talking about Lord Black again, right, sir?' Hermione asked carefully, trying not to upset her teacher who clearly harboured a deep dislike for the man.

'Right, right, you wouldn't know of course. You're Muggle-born, correct, Granger?' Prewett asked.

'That's right, sir,' she returned a bit stiffly.

He smiled faintly. 'No need to glare at me, young lady. I don't give a rat's ass. What I'm talking about is that some complete buffoon provoked the Blacks long enough that they've now publicly declared vendetta against all those that attack their kin. Barmy, right, but still really dangerous.'

'What?' Finnigan shouted loudly. 'You mean that's for real?'

Their professor chuckled spiritlessly. 'Yes, sadly that bit of gossip is true.'

Another one in the back row raised her voice. 'Vendetta? How can the Blacks get away with that? Why don't they do something about them in the Wizengamot or something?'

'It's not that easy, you know,' said Prewett. 'Don't ask me that stuff, I can't be bothered with all that really intricate political crap.' A few people snickered appreciatively. 'I always was more the hexing first, talking later guy, but, apparently, or so I've been told, there exist those really old laws that practically nobody knows anymore, and if there is such a thing, you can count on those conniving bitches of Blacks to be aware of them. So, as long as there are sufficient grounds to invoke those laws-Merlin alone knows what exactly those are-then it seems it's completely legal to attack all disputants of major Wizengamot lines.'

'But, sir, why don't they change the rules?'

'They can't, that's why.' The muscular former head of the Auror Office leant his back against the desk and tossed his wand high in the air, catching it with alternating hands without really paying attention. 'Some laws are bound to the institution of the Wizengamot itself. You should know by now that the Wizengamot precedes the British Ministry of Magic by several centuries. It's not possible to change or abolish some of them. But those are not even the worst. There was a time when case-law was mostly done verbally.'

'Sir, you mean there are laws that aren't written down but are just as binding as all those you can read up?' Hermione asked, horrified.

'That's exactly what I mean, Miss Granger. Glad to see you realise the magnitude of the problem,' he replied in a falsely cheerful tone.

'B-but how can such a law even be followed if there are no records,' she asked, aghast.

'I never said there were no records. I just said there were no public records.' He sighed dramatically. 'Look, let's not get into that right now. We've gotten way off topic here. Point is, the Blacks can legally and practically declare war on any family that attacks their offspring for the foreseeable future.'

'And those without Wizengamot connections, Professor?' Finnigan asked apprehensively.

Their teacher actually seemed to wince at the thought. 'You'd better not even ask.'

After a few seconds of pensive silence, Hermione decided to steer the conversation back to the beginning. A little bit more can't hurt, right? Greengrass and Harry aren't here anyway, and I can't really imagine Draco minding me asking questions, so… 'Sir, you said there were two things we should know about the Blacks, didn't you?'

'Ah, right you are, Miss Granger,' he said with forced joviality, clearly relieved to have escaped the topic somewhat. 'Right, here's the second thing: don't ever assume that you really know what their game is. If you don't share their name, they'll never be completely open with you. I want to stress this point especially since we have you Slytherins in this class. I'm sure you think Harry Black looks right harmless and friendly. I'd wager most of you believe he's some kind of personable, reclusive kid who likes his studies and fancy robes.' Prewett's airy personality was by now a mere memory. He looked tense, not unlike a predator ready to pounce or, Hermione mused, flee. 'If you really think so, then you've already lost the game before you even know you're playing. Listen up, kids: if a Black has to choose between his family and his friends; his family and his love; his family and justice; hell, if the Blacks have to choose between the lives of hundreds and their thrice-be-damned family, then they'll always pick their own cursed brood without a second thought.'

They all gaped wordlessly at their teacher whose eyes had a slightly mad gleam to them. He was shaking, Hermione realised. Oh my god! What could've happened to make him hate the Blacks like that…?

Professor Prewett made a grotesque face, gripping his wand so hard that the knuckles turned white as snow. 'Right, don't tell me later that I didn't warn you. Now trot along or I'll have to endure another of Minerva's lectures about "proper behaviour for educational figures".'

Hermione packed her things and shot out of the classroom as fast as she could, eager to leave the awkward atmosphere behind, never quite noticing the cold look she had been receiving for the last ten minutes.

~BLHD~

'Isn't this enough, Ma…' Harry coughed sheepishly, cringing slightly when Pomfrey raised her wand threateningly. 'I mean, Poppy?' he amended hastily.

The matron glared at him for a second before smiling back. 'Well, truthfully, I could've let you loose days ago, but you've been sleeping so much I thought you were still recovering. Maybe you're just bored with the lessons, hm?'

'What?' Harry replied in a suitably outraged voice. 'Never! I love healing! Granted, I would love it even more if I could learn it without ending up here heavily injured sometime soon, but you can't have everything I guess.' He smiled back at her. 'And you're a really good teacher, Poppy!'

She beamed at him. 'That is sweet of you to say. Now sit still, and don't think I'll go easy on your last check-up just because you heap praise on me.'

'Yes, ma'am,' replied a grinning Harry, earning himself a sharpish poke with a wand to his ribs.

Fifteen minutes later, the matron finally seemed satisfied with her findings. 'Well, everything looks in order. You still seem a bit weaker than I'd like, but we'll have to go with it for now. If you think anything is off or you think your sleeping habits get even worse, come by and we'll have another look.'

Harry snorted. I really have other problems than my sleeping habits for now.

Pomfrey, reading his expression, raised her finger in lecture. 'Harry, if you don't take this seriously, maybe we should confine you to the infirmary for another week or so? Or maybe I should have Minnie follow you all day?'

Harry eagerly shook his head, trying with all his might to arrange his face into an expression of remorseful insight. 'NO! I mean, no, that won't be necessary, Poppy.'

She seemed far from convinced but obviously decided to let it go. 'We shall see. Now off you go. I bet you can't wait to resume your studies.'

'Thanks again for everything!' Harry said to the retreating form of the matron.

'If you want to do me a favour, Harry,' she replied on her way to her office, 'please make it at least a fortnight before you end up here again.'

Harry couldn't help himself and chuckled a bit. Swinging his legs from the bed, he turned towards the small creature at his side. Minnie, doing her utmost to be prepared, held out one of his new Hogwarts robes for him with an expectant expression. Not wanting to waste his energy trying to argue with a zealous elf, Harry let her help him dress.

'Thanks, Minnie. You may retreat to the kitchens if you want. I'll call you should I need anything. And please don't appear on your own when I'm in the company of outsiders.'

The small elf drooped. 'Minnie will do as Master Harry commands.'

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 'You were a big help, Minnie,' he said gently, 'and I promise I'll call upon you often, alright?'

'Master Harry will?' Minnie's pout instantly turned into a radiant and hopeful smile when she saw him nod. 'Minnie will be doing her bestest then!' She smoothed some imaginary creases on his robes, bowed deeply to him, and disapparated with a big smile and a loud crack.

Harry gripped his wand and craned his neck, flexing the muscles in his shoulders. Right, now onwards to take charge of my own fate again. His mind made up, he purposefully strode towards the exit of the infirmary.

~BLHD~

Hermione sighed-again. It had been a long day, like all the other days recently. While she personally didn't mind the school work, even in light of the 'upcoming' exams, her agreement with Draco had resulted in her spending at least three hours a day pouring over private information she was really still convinced she had no business knowing.

She couldn't deny that she'd learned a lot, of course. She also took advantage of the three questions Draco granted her each session they spent together. But even in light of her newly rekindled friendship with Harry, she couldn't quite help herself and wondered if she was doing the right thing, all in all. She knew enough by now to take all the stories Professor Prewett spouted with a pinch of salt, but they did leave a really nasty aftertaste, as if they were somehow polluting her memories, worming their way unbidden into the depths of her imagination, showing her housemates in an ugly, disfiguring light. She couldn't quite keep herself from brooding over how her parents would react if they knew what she was doing every evening…

Hermione sighed-again. At least I've got this part down. Most Slytherins seem to be either sighing, smirking or sneering half of the time, so I think I'm making progress.

Walking in front of a large group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who were also headed to the Great Hall, her sarcastic insights were suddenly disrupted when she felt the weight of her school bag drop. Looking back, she saw all her parchment and most of her books widespread on the floor.

Hermione sighed-again.

She kneeled down and made to collect her belongings, ignoring the taunting remarks and occasional 'unintentional' kicks that scattered her homework across the corridor. Just when one of the last Hufflepuffs was about to casually strike out at her copy of Hogwarts: A History, she heard a small pitiful yell before said Hufflepuff did a runner, blue horns sprouting from his behind.

'Need any help, Hermione?'

She looked up and returned a grateful little smile towards her aider. 'Thanks, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect sniggered. 'No need to thank me; I've been looking for a chance to try that jinx for weeks. I wonder how he'll sit down for dinner.'

With the help of the older girl, Hermione had soon arranged her possessions in an orderly pile.

'Blasted idiots. Sorry, Hermione.' Fawley indicated Hermione's bag that now sported a long and precise cut. 'Looks like something hit by a Severing Charm if you ask me.'

Hermione nodded, keeping her head down. 'Why do they insist on doing this…?'

Fawley put her arm around her, dragging her gently to her feet again. 'Come on, it's not so bad. Here, let me help you.' She murmured something and swished her wand in a complicated pattern until a wiggling mass of colourful wrapping papers packed her school material in one chequered box. 'Meh,' the older girl said critically, 'my mum somehow manages to do it a lot more elegantly. Well, it'll have to do.' She smiled and picked up the parcel, carrying it under one of her arms. 'Come on, let's get you to the common room.'

'Thanks,' Hermione muttered dejectedly.

Fawley laughed warmly. 'It's nothing, Hermione.' She looked around in a playfully conspiratorial manner. 'Hey, do you have anything planned after dinner?'

'Well,' Hermione said guardedly, 'I'm supposed to meet someone, but why do you ask?'

'Ah, well, if you've got something planned already,' Fawley answered loftily. 'And here I wanted to let you in on the secret that the house-elves here make really great ice-cream if you ask them nicely. But, I can see that you have an important meeting, of course…' She grinned at Hermione again, her long, curly blond hair dancing to the tune of her suppressed laughter.

Hermione bit her lip. 'Well,' she responded slowly, 'well, I suppose he won't really mind if I'm late for once.'

Fawley beamed with joy. 'Awesome! But first, let's get your stuff into the dormitories. A friend of mine is really good with Knitting Charms . That'll last longer than trying to mend it with a simple Reparo .'

This time, Hermione returned a much more earnest smile. 'Thank you.' She spoke in a soft tone that bordered on whispering.

Fawley winked at her. 'Come on, I haven't had my ice-cream for days now! The sacrifices school demands!' She threw her free hand dramatically towards the ceiling. 'I'll show you how to get into the kitchens while we're at it. I'm sure not many first years know…'

And Hermione, again, could only smile back.

~BLHD~

It was much, much later in the evening that Hermione finally returned to the common room. Draco was sitting by the fire talking with Harry, who was gesticulating wildly, his face grim.

'Where have you been?!' snapped Draco. 'I've been waiting for two hours. At least tell me before you decide to ditch me, Granger!'

Hermione looked vaguely embarrassed. 'Sorry, Draco. I just… something came up. It won't happen again, sorry.'

Harry and Draco exchanged a short glance before Draco gave a great shrug. 'Well, if it's just this once…'

Hermione grinned guiltily before addressing Harry. 'It's good to see you out of the infirmary again!'

Harry smiled back. Odd, thought Hermione. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looks kind of sad.

'Thanks, it is good to be back. At least I don't have to worry about catching up on coursework. I'm grateful you kept me up to date, Hermione.'

She gave him a small smile. 'It was nothing. I'm looking forward to having someone who takes the end of year exams seriously. Tracey and Draco insist that they're ages away and keep putting off their revisions.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'You're barmy, Granger. We've still got four months. Four months! I'll be damned if I start revising already.'

'Ah, well. Don't mind me showing you up in Transfiguration again, then,' she said delicately.

Draco's eye twitched almost indiscernibly, forcing Harry to stifle his laughter.

~BLHD~

Harry climbed the stairs to the seventh corridor, inwardly steeling himself. Last chance to reconsider, Harry. He paused, clenching his wand again. Shaking his head, he proceeded towards the room Draco had told him about.

Knocking twice, he turned the handle. He was barely one step into the room, his eyes glued to the impressive amount of documents Draco had gathered when he heard a voice shouting.

' Flippendo! Expelliarmus!'

Harry whirled around, batting the first jinx into the wall by pure instinct, ducking the Disarming Charm in one smooth motion, before pointing his wand in the general direction of the spells, twirling his wand left twice before jabbing it violently forward.

A giant soap bubble sprang from his wand with a sound like a vinyl coming to a grinding halt. The bubble soared through the room and hit a figure that crouched in the shadows to his right. The assailant raised his wand again but, instead of another incantation, blew a great blue bubble from his mouth.

'Now, now, Draco. A bit overeager, aren't we? Good to see you, too.' Harry smiled evilly. 'Is it already time for me to put you in your place again?'

Draco raised both of his hands in panic, letting go of his wand in the process. 'N-no, Harry, I…' But he couldn't keep protesting his innocence, as another soap bubble, even bigger than the last grew from both his mouth and nose. It took at least ten seconds for the frantic Draco to pop it, and even then the ordeal seemed to have taken the strength out of him. Fighting for breath, he lay on the floor, spitting soap.

'You know,' Harry said, smirking, 'I've always wondered if those bubbles taste of lye. If they do, I can't imagine it's a very pleasurable experience, in addition to the little problem of respiration, of course.'

Draco looked up resentfully, throwing up another mouthful of smaller bubbles.

Harry kneeled down in front of him, shooting him a grandfatherly look. 'This may be the time to asseverate me of your humorous intentions, Draco. Otherwise, I might just, in equally good spirits, forget the counter-charm, you know?'

Draco nodded emphatically. 'I'b dobby, Habby!' he pleaded through the foam that by now engulfed his entire mouth.

Harry looked unconvinced, levelling a playful smile in Hermione's direction who'd observed the spectacle in silence the whole time. 'What do you think, Hermione? Does this constitute an apology?'

She seemed torn between reproof and amusement, and shrugged, an insecure smile on her lips. 'I'm not sure, Harry, but I don't want him spitting on the floor the whole time. Could you do something about that?'

Harry laughed and hit Draco hard on the head with his wand. The bubbles disappeared in an instant.

'What kind of counter-charm is that?! Hitting me like that…'

'Oh, it was nothing, really. The actual spell had nothing to do with that, I just wanted to take the opportunity.' Harry smiled down at the usually poised Malfoy and held out his hand.

Draco reluctantly decided to take it but shot Harry a nasty look all the same. 'There was no need for that, I just wanted to make sure you haven't gotten rusty, you know. Lying in the infirmary for weeks and all that.'

'You're doing these things regularly?' Hermione asked, eyes wide open.

'Yeah,' Harry returned. 'Every once in a while, Draco seems to think he can get me.'

'How often has he, then?' Hermione asked inquisitively.

'Nowhere near often enough,' grumbled Draco, brushing the dust from his robes and taking a seat in front of Hermione, trying very much to ignore the feeling of biting into a large piece of soap.

Harry turned towards Hermione, smirked, and mouthed, 'Never.'

'Yes, yes. As amusing as it is, I'm sure you haven't come here merely to ruin my tea for me. Merlin, I can't drink this anymore! Can't you do anything about the lingering taste, mate?'

Harry shrugged uncaringly. 'I'd try brushing my teeth, Draco.'

'Haha, really witty, man,' Draco shot Harry one last shirty glare. 'Speaking of witty.' All of a sudden, the Malfoy seemed to regain his fervour. 'How have you managed to escape Tracey and Greengrass? It sure didn't look like Greengrass wanted to let you out of her sight ever again. You can bring her into our dormitory if you really want, you know? I don't mind.'

Harry shuddered. 'They, uh, I may have led them to believe that I'm taking a bath right now, actually.' He sheepishly looked down at their assorted lists and documents, avoiding their gazes.

'Harry,' Hermione interrupted the boys, 'why don't you simply tell her to back off a bit? You're letting her walk right over you. That's why the situation's become like this in the first place.'

Harry smiled in a slightly embarrassed fashion. 'Yes, I'm aware of that. It's… complicated.' He looked at Hermione's list of the people she'd met this year. Catching Draco's glance, he nodded subtly.

'I don't know, Harry,' started Hermione again. 'There really has to be a better way to deal with her.'

'Concerning Greengrass,' Draco looked positively alight with glee for some strange reason, 'are you sure you want to encourage her wondering why you're taking so long in the bath? What if she decides to check when you don't come back for an hour or longer? If she overcomes her inhibitions once, you'll forever be in danger of her doing it again, you know?'

Harry instantly dropped the paper and strode towards the door, never even looking back. 'I… Good point, Draco, thank you. I think I'd better head back right this instant. I'll see the both of you later.'

Harry did, in fact, not head straight for the common room. He made a brief detour to the library because there was something he might end up needing if his plans were to come to fruition. It took a lot of begging, but in the end, Madam Pince gave him the tome he requested. The magic he sought to learn was not exactly forbidden for first years or even in the restricted section, but the staff rigorously discouraged the students from learning it. Professor Flitwick had once told him that he usually avoided the topic altogether before OWLs. There existed countermeasures of course, but the problem was specifically detecting if the charm had been cast in the first place. Not to mention that only very rare individuals would end up casting it correctly, but precision was not, Harry reminded himself, what he had in mind in any case.

Serviceable Secrets of the Synapse firmly lodged under his arm, Harry sped towards the common room, slightly worried Draco may have had a point with Daphne. A few minutes later, he carefully opened the secret passage, peering into the room. There were only two people visible, and Harry immediately recognised the silhouettes of Tracey and Daphne. Tracey looked up when he entered, and to his immediate worry, her face looked dead serious, not a single trace of playfulness, fake or otherwise, perceivable.

With a slight sense of apprehension, he drew nearer, making no effort to soften his steps. Daphne raised her head a bit. She looked like a person that has been to hell and back-several times. Her hair was dishevelled; her clothes wrinkled; her gaze was dull and downcast. When their eyes finally met, her body trembled, and she gave a puny wail, her eyes welling up immediately.

Harry rushed to their side, sitting down on Daphne's other side. 'What's happened?' he asked urgently.

Tracey, uncharacteristically, grimaced. 'Five minutes after you decided to make your getaway,' she shot him a scolding look, 'Daphne got an owl.' She sighed, rubbing her eyes. 'It's not good. You better read it yourself.'

She gently nudged her best friend, who seemed to fight off her stupor briefly. Her trembling hands passed him a fairly important looking piece of abraded parchment, one of those that were usually reserved for official business. On the front, nearly unrecognisable from the stains of Daphne's dolour, stood the proud coat of arms of the Greengrass family.

Harry looked in confusion over to Daphne, but his cousin was hiding her sobbing face from him, her arms clasping her legs. Tracey gently rubbed Daphne's back but nodded towards the envelope again. 'Read it, Harry.'

Bewildered, Harry unfolded the parchment.

' Daphne,

It has come to my attention that, despite all the ongoing chaos and malicious rumours surrounding a certain person, you still insist on associating with him on a daily basis. As I've explained to you previously, I intend to manoeuvre the Greengrass line into a more advantageous position, and that is mutually exclusive to any form of continued, permanent association with the Blacks.

You will, therefore, cease your interactions with Harry Black during your stay at Hogwarts, lest you endanger my plans for our family. If you go against my will in this matter, I will immediately have you and your sister out of Britain.

I'm sorry it has come to this. Stay put until my current negotiations are finished, or I'll arrange it so that you'll never see the boy again. The same will happen should you complain to your mother. Don't test me.

Your grandmother,

Esmerelle Greengrass '

Harry narrowed his eyes. The instant I am about to put my plan into action this happens? I admit we were a bit careless, but the timing is beyond coincidence. And because of the special circumstances in regards to the Greengrasses, Grandfather won't be able to help me with this one… Damn!

'Harry…' He turned his head and looked down at the shrunken, near lifeless figure of his cousin. She gazed at him with a pleading, fearful expression, an endless stream of tears springing from her ocean-blue eyes. She grabbed a fistful of his robes, lowered her head and whispered so quietly that Harry, at first, wasn't sure that she had murmured anything at all, 'Please don't leave me…'

'Two weeks,' Harry answered softly, his green eyes blazing with determination. 'Give me two weeks.'

'You promised,' she said under her breath. 'You promised that you wouldn't leave me, too.'

'And I won't,' he said solemnly, throwing one arm around her shoulder in a somewhat lopsided embrace. Daphne broke out in tears again, holding onto Harry's robes as if her life depended on it. Over her head, Tracey and Harry exchanged a meaningful glance.

HD: 14 Days or Road to Ruin

Welcome back to 'Black Luminary'!

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Considering it's been some time since my last update, I thought I'd give you guys a very short summary of the story so far, just so you don't lose the plot. I still recommend that you check out my prior chapters if you think you can't follow as I will not be able to emphasise some of the more subtle plot points and developments without spoiling the whole thing. This chapter, in particular, relies heavily on rather… consistent changes in the behaviour of some characters.

Also, please don't hate Harry too much. Be patient! The next two chapters will reveal everything regarding his actions in a, I hope, satisfactory way. No further lengthy introductions or interludes lie in wait in the foreseeable future.

Without further ado, let's begin with the summary:

Harry Black, adopted scion of Arcturus III of the House of Black, finally starts his long-awaited first year at Hogwarts in a general climate of hostility and antagonism. Forced to watch his every step, a chance encounter with Hermione, whom he previously befriended on the train, results in him fleeing through the castle. Daphne Greengrass, his 'cousin', starts a mad dash through the school in an effort to find Harry, who turns out to have collapsed in an old storeroom due to some unknown magical condition. Not willing to accept an evasive answer, Daphne finally forces Harry to reveal that has to cope with a new and strange perception of magic that threatens to overwhelm him at every step should he ever lose control.

When they finally make it back to the Slytherin common room, Harry is shocked to find his fellow Slytherin Theodore Nott bloody and sprawled over his own trunk, obviously murdered. With the help of Cranky, the Black's strange head elf, and Professor Snape, Harry just barely manages to avoid the attention of the DMLE, who are revealed to be quite eager to lay blame at the Black's doorstep. Despite his legally proven innocence, Harry finds himself subjected to even more open hostility that results in him spending a large portion of the following months in the care of Madam Pomfrey, whom he manages to convince to teach him the art of healing. Seizing a chance, Harry also invites the strange, beautiful and terrifying new Defence teacher, Professor Aenor Rose, to the grand ball the Blacks traditionally hold on Yule.

On the way back to one of the Black's estate, Harry's new-found ability once again threatens his very life, as he shows an adverse reaction to the ancient and usually infallible wards of his own family. After a brief spell of recovery, Harry spends most of the winter holidays and all of the actual ball with Aenor Rose, the teacher his politically shrewd grandfather has invited to stay over for the whole holidays without consulting Harry.

Confronted with the expected questions regarding Harry and Aenor's rather inappropriate friendship, Harry storms out of the headmaster's office in a fit of rage - right into the waiting hands of assailants unknown.

In the wake of the tragic and near fatal ambush set for Harry, the resolute pair of Tracey and Draco force Hermione and Daphne to bury the hatchet and form an alliance of sorts to battle the hidden foes within and outisde Slytherin. Draco, in particular, starts a team with the rather reluctant Hermione, enlisting her help to review hundreds of illegal dossiers of their fellow pupils in exchange for brief lessons about pure-blood culture for Hermione's benefit. Arcturus, meanwhile, seething with rage at the serious attempt on his grandson's life, publicly invokes an ancient law that allows his family to legally punish any future attackers with lethal force until the perpetrator is revealed. But just when Harry is finally released from the infirmary, one of his invisible opponents seems to strike again, this time in the form of a letter Daphne's grandmother sends which expressly forbids her any contact with Harry under the threat of taking her out of Hogwarts and Britain…

14 days or Road to Ruin, parts I and II

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' Startling new evidence concerning recent shadowy activities of House Black in Hogwarts has come to our attention, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. It is all but common knowledge that a great many dubious dealings take place behind Hogwarts' prestigious facade. We have, so it sadly seems, already come to terms with the house politics, agendas, interventions and ambitions plaguing our honoured halls of learning. Our conscience has been dulled by the never-ending, bizarre plans and ploys polluting what should, by right, be an innocent place of learning for our children, many of whom stumble into our world, nary an idea of what awaits them in their youthful minds. Yet even though parents continue to entrust their children to us and our famous school in good faith, we sit idly by and let them learn side by side with well-bred miniatures of their plotting parents. But why?

Minister Crouch indicated as recently as last month that, even though "Headmaster Dumbledore has, of course, my personal trust and confidence, we grow wary of the social environment the school seems to facilitate as of recent decades. In this regard, we aim to put a stop to the political parties and houses that misuse our premiere educational establishment as a recruiting ground for collaboration."

In light of these ambitious and long overdue proclamations, I personally feel it is my duty to draw attention to the highly questionable events of the past weeks at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where an allegedly failed political deal resulted in the hospitalisation of several students, one of whom had to be treated with great delicacy for weeks. Even worse, if possible, than the malicious manhandling, it seems that Harry Black, youngest scion of the disgraced House of Black, seems to have been at the heart of the incident. Considering the shady history of the Blacks, suspicions inevitably fell onto their youngest, yet the moment several popular political figures called for an investigation into the incident, three older students seem to have taken the fall for Harry Black, getting temporarily suspended from school, allegedly confessing in a way that an informant described to us as "very well rehearsed".

The Prophet understands that even though the events could be linked to the infamous Prince of Black, no punishment-or any consequence whatsoever for that matter-has been issued. It comes as no further surprise that two of those that were sacrificed for the unholy ambitions of the most notorious Slytherin in decades were Muggle-borns, the other a half-blood. We are appalled that those the Blacks would rob of their rights were even forced to take the blame, no doubt prompted to do so with promises of riches and influence - or maybe yet more sinister dealings?

We of the Prophet demand that swift and just actions be taken, especially in light of Arcturus Black's scandalous proclamation regarding matters of his house, to ensure…'

'As popular as always, mate,' said Draco, contemplating the article in question with a smirk.

'Thank you,' replied Harry sarcastically. 'It is gratifying that the Prophet thinks so highly of me. It's not easy to have your enemy take the blame for your failed scheme, after all.'

'Doesn't this infuriate or even worry you, Harry?' Hermione eyed the paper with disgust. 'I know it's a lot of rubbish, of course, but some will believe everything that's written in the paper. Don't you think this will reinforce the way people already think of you?'

The three Slytherins sat at the far end of their house table, hoping for as much privacy as the Great Hall allowed, which was, in the best of cases, hardly any at all.

'And what would you have me do?' Harry asked with slight irritation. 'Even if I intended to make a public statement, I would never be able to convince the Prophet to print it. Most here have listened to this kind of news for years.'

'I don't know, man,' muttered Draco, apparently thoughtful.

Harry arched an eyebrow critically. 'You can't be serious…'

'Nah.' Draco waved a hand impatiently. 'No, not about correcting your hilarious image of the devil in disguise; you'll totally have to live with that your entire life. It's Skeeter! I think she's getting old, soft, desperate for money or…'

'I am sure I don't want you to finish that sentence.'

'What?! I guess she's a little old for you, Harry. But seeing as most witches would rather curse themselves than marry you, I think you should consider every opportunity that presents itself. Maybe she's into younger men.'

Harry slowly put down his cutlery with a vacant and slightly green expression. 'Thank you for ruining my breakfast.'

Hermione blinked in confusion, though she too looked faintly disgusted. 'You mean she's usually even worse?'

'Oh, yes!' Draco answered enthusiastically. 'I think my all-time favourites were "unremarkable, pampered brat", "brain-washed political catastrophe in training" and "twisted pet of monsters".' He smacked his lips, eyes closed in silent bliss like a connoisseur presented with the immensely difficult and equally pleasing choice between several quality vintages. 'I think I still prefer the first one.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm so glad it serves to amuse you, at least.'

Hermione ignored Draco's antics, returning her gaze to the article in question again. 'You really believe she's toned it down? Still, why would they print it at all? I know she didn't outright lie, as far as I know, but she still puts her credibility at risk if someone asks the wrong kind of questions, doesn't she? I mean, it's all twisted and half-truths.'

Harry had to muffle his laughter. 'Credibility?'

Draco, on the other hand, looked vaguely impressed. 'You know, Granger. You're starting to think like a Slytherin. Maybe you aren't a total waste of my time, in the end.'

Hermione scoffed, though Harry privily presumed that she was, at least in part, quite pleased with Draco's rather peculiar 'compliment'. He shook his head, slightly amused by the thought that both Draco and Hermione shared the same weakness. He would have to be careful to never divulge this particular epiphany though; both would likely not appreciate being compared to one another.

'On the other hand,' Draco continued, clearly ignoring both of their reactions, 'it's really obvious that someone put a bit of pressure on the Prophet. If I were to guess, I'd say it has to do with… that .'

Hermione looked puzzled, but Harry's mood darkened. 'Yeah, well, if you've all now decided whether or not I'm the target of a new political scheme or desperate journalists, I think I'll head to the library for a bit before classes. I really have other things to worry about right now.' He looked a bit further down the table where Daphne sat beside her best friend, moodily stabbing at her meal, dark shadows under her eyes. It had taken a lot of convincing, but-eventually-Tracey and Harry had convinced her to, once again, keep her distance for the fortnight. Despite Daphne's tantrum, it remained a fact that the Head of House Greengrass was undoubtedly the kind of person to do what she thought was best for her family, even against said family's explicit wishes.

Draco and Hermione watched him get up and leave without another word.

'Oops, forgot about that.' Draco grinned ruefully.

'Hm?' Hermione asked, her gaze riveted on the retreating form of her clearly irritated friend.

'He's kind of grumpy in the morning. I doubt he's seriously annoyed with us, but he really prefers to spend his mornings in silence.'

'Is that true?' said Hermione, a faint smile playing about her lips. 'The mysterious, calm and collected Harry Black?'

Her interlocutor merely shrugged. 'Whatever. But stop your gawking! A bunch of people are looking, you know?'

Hermione looked down, embarrassed. 'Oh, right. Sorry.'

'No matter. Anyway, please do turn up tonight. There's something you need to know, and this isn't the place to talk about it.'

'So you mean to tell me that we'll have to hasten our "research" and find the ultimate perpetrator in 14 days now?' Hermione's shocked eyes almost pleaded for Draco to contradict her.

Draco calmly stirred his tea, inhaling the fumes with closed eyes. 'Basically, yes. But considering we've wasted almost the entire day by now, only 13 days remain, you know.' In one graceful motion, he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. He sighed contentedly.

Hermione stomped her foot. 'How can you be so calm about this?! We have so much to do! And all of this had to happen shortly before the end of the year, too. This will really disrupt the time I set aside for studying.'

'It's still weeks and weeks until the tests, you know?' Draco repeated himself exasperatedly.

'We've talked about this, Draco,' Hermione raised her finger. 'It's always better to be prepared. If it turns out that you allotted too much time for reviewing, you can still repurpose it for something else.'

'Just don't include me in your insane schedule!'

Hermione clicked her tongue in mild annoyance. 'You'll see. When the tests come and I beat you in all of them, you'll rethink your stance next year!'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'If you beat me in all the tests, I'll stick to your arduous work ethic next year, I promise.'

'Really?' Hermione replied, the fires of ambition burning in her eyes. 'You think you can beat me in Transfiguration? I'll have you know that it's been two weeks since the last time you got the spellwork down faster than me,' she said smugly.

Draco's eye twitched. 'Let me worry about that, Granger. But we have better things to do right now.'

Mumbling something about 'strange priorities for a student', Hermione sat down again, pulling some random parchment from the huge stack that, she privately suspected, kept growing overnight. Lost in thought, she chewed on her quill until a new thought distracted her from the dullness of the task at hand. 'You didn't tell me why we're in such a hurry all of a sudden, Draco. Shouldn't we change the way we go about this when our time is in such short supply?'

He didn't even look up. 'No, I did not and will not tell you why. But I have discussed the matter with Harry, and we have come to the conclusion that our current course of action will… yield the best results - in the end.'

'Would it really hurt you to show a bit of trust in me now and then?' she asked quietly.

'That's neither here nor there, Granger. The problem is not mine to share. Therefore, I will not.'

'Does it have something to do with Greengrass moping around and Tracey desperately trying to distract her?'

'Granger?' the Malfoy interrupted her abruptly.

'Ehm, yes, Draco?' asked Hermione meekly. She recognised the tone.

'Now would be a good time to shut up and get back to work,' he said coolly, not even looking up from his own considerably larger stack.

Harry awoke with a start, the blood-smeared figure of Nott etched into his vision in painful detail one more time. His stomach turned uncomfortably. Swallowing the rising bile and acid, he called for Minnie in a shaky voice, not surprised in the least to see the sweet, if overzealous, elf appear in an instant.

'Master Harry called for Minnie?' The elf seemed to positively glow at the prospect of being able to serve, radiating an admittedly slightly pathological willingness to help in any way imaginable: her big eyes were friendly and upturned; her uniform straight, carefully ironed and spotlessly clean. Yet when she truly laid eyes on her young master, her ears drooped slightly, and she whispered in her trademark squeaky voice, 'Is everything alright, Master Harry? You is looking not so good.'

'Water, please, Minnie,' Harry croaked hoarsely.

The servant of House Black vanished and reappeared with slightly more noise than what could be regarded as polite, especially given Harry's current whereabouts. Looking around (and especially down at the book that, to his embarrassment, was now covered in drool), he surmised that he'd fallen asleep in the library again. Tapping the book absent-mindedly with his wand to remove the stains, he wondered how often this had happened since his long stay in the library. I suppose my sleeping pattern is completely messed-up. Smiling gratefully at the elf, he gulped down the exquisitely cold drink. 'Thank you, Minnie.'

She looked up at him in concern, her tiny hands resting against her cheeks in a disturbingly motherly gesture. 'Master Harry is sure that you is feeling better already, sir?'

Harry tried to smile reassuringly, though going by the elf's reaction it might have turned out to be more of a grin of grim determination. 'I'll be fine, Minnie. I promise I'll call you for anything should the need arise.'

The elf nodded sadly and disapparated with a loud crack. Harry suppressed a yawn, looking down on the object of his daily studies. He was getting there. He had to admit that it had turned out to be slightly more complex than he'd anticipated although he should probably have expected that, especially after Flitwick's words of caution.

Draco is doing everything humanly possible right now, probably, and Daphne… Harry sat up as if lightning had struck him. What am I doing moping around here? I need that spell! Otherwise, the whole plan is in jeopardy.

He closed the book, packed the writing tools and parchments that were spread out over the two tables he'd pushed together, and strode towards the library exit.

Harry was still deep in thought when he crossed the multitude of ever-moving staircases that made up a large portion of every student's daily routine. A cheerful body of students was ahead of him, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, presumably just leaving their Defence class. Harry squeezed his way through the throng, his hands in his robes gripping the wand so tightly that he felt his whole arm shake slightly in the effort of keeping up the tension. But everything seemed peaceful.

Students laughing, whining, boasting, their carefree voices ringing through the halls, filling the whole corridor with what Harry automatically labelled 'school atmosphere'. He relaxed slightly. The somewhat disturbing smell of some foul bog-dwelling creature wafted towards him, clearly stemming from further down the hallway. Relaxing his control on his mind, he suddenly started to perceive the faintest of currents underlying the foetid miasma. It was… magic, he was startled to realise, filled with intent, though of which kind he could not tell. Maybe the creature uses the malodour in some way? Still, if he didn't know better, he would have guessed that the stench was actually meant to cover up the traces of the magic it spread, as ridiculous as that assumption was. I don't know any people and precious few creatures able to perceive magic through… sniffing. Get serious, Harry!

Without any advance warning, an indescribably complex smell that faintly reminded him of mustard seeds filled the hall, originating from behind him. The corridor was still rather dim, yet Harry could have sworn it had shone in an eerie blue light for the briefest of seconds.

Acting purely on instinct, he turned on the spot, raising his wand, and battered the incoming spell towards the ceiling.

Harry stared numbly after the happily chatting group of his condisciples. Not a soul had turned his head.

He was still standing there, wand in his hand and arm outstretched, when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching. One, as it turned out, was Aenor, who had obviously just packed up her notes in the classroom. The second person, to his slight irritation, proved to be Snape.

'Is there a reason for your standing here like a statue, wand raised, Mr Black? Is this, perchance, some new form of dramatic acting?' Snape's lips curled in an unfriendly manner.

'One of those who just passed by threw a curse at me,' Harry answered in a mild trance. He really couldn't quite believe his own words.

Silence thundered through the corridor like a big cannon that hadn't fired even though everyone had been bracing for the noise. 'Are you quite sure, Mr Black?' Snape asked softly, his hostile undertone gone along with his sneer.

Wordlessly, Harry pointed towards the ceiling, where a small yet clearly distinguishable burn mark bore witness to his story.

Harry heard Snape clenching his teeth. 'Of all the foolish, degenerated things to do…'

'Did you see who cast the spell?' Aenor asked quietly.

'No,' Harry admitted, quite grateful that was the case.

'Would you have told your grandfather if you had?' She pressed the matter, eyeing him curiously.

Harry did not respond. Truthfully, he had been standing there, wondering about that, too. His grandfather could be a very generous man, kind to those he cherished, loving to his family. He was a fair man, too, and Harry was inwardly extremely proud that he'd never seen the man completely lose control of a situation or his temper. Most of his happy childhood memories revolved around the figure of his adopted grandfather; his inexhaustible patience, his willingness to go the extra mile wherever Harry was concerned, his uncompromising determination to do well by his family. But there was no doubt, absolutely not a single shred of doubt, in Harry's mind that Arcturus would stay true to his word and butcher the whole family of all those who That thought made Harry rather uncomfortable.

'If you are unharmed, I suggest you head towards your next class, Mr Black.' Snape's eyes flickered between the corridor and Harry.

'No. With your permission, Severus, I'd like to borrow Mr Black for a second.' Aenor suddenly laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and motioned for him start walking towards her office.

Snape looked like he was about to protest but then seemed to think better of it. 'As you will, Aenor. I shall have a word with Pomona regarding this… idiocy.'

Harry was forced into the chair, his head still a mess. 'Why would they do that? Surely they don't think Grandfather is joking?'

Aenor took a seat on the other side of her desk and leant back. 'No. They don't think at all, that is the problem here. In all likelihood, someone told the perpetrator that they shouldn't overthink the matter and just keep doing like before.'

'He'll kill them,' croaked Harry with an equal measure of dread and bewilderment. 'Grandfather will kill them all! Don't they understand?'

'And you care… why?' Aenor's voice was as cold and dark as the bottomless sea.

'I-I…' But Harry hesitated, desperate and at a loss for words. Then he sighed and slumped down. 'I just want to learn, Aenor. I don't need my life to get any more complicated than this…'

She seemed to relax and flashed him a brief smile. 'Understandable. But even though you may choose how to spend your time, who to befriend, what to aim for, and even what to forget, you may never be able to choose who to be, Harry. That goes doubly so for someone like you. And if you want my honest opinion, it could have been a lot worse.'

'You think so?' he asked sceptically.

'Well, imagine being a poor uppity wimp that nobody likes. I mean, at least you still got all those Galleons going for you.' She winked at him.

Harry couldn't help but snort a bit, returning something akin to a very weak smile. Straightening up, he examined his counterpart. 'Glad to see you're not being so distant any more. When you were visiting in the infirmary, I was half expecting you to call me Mr Black again, going by your tone alone.'

'Well, you know,' Aenor responded, her head slightly tilted. 'We're still at school, so there's that, and don't forget that…'

'Grandfather told you to distance yourself and keep an eye on me,' Harry interrupted her mercilessly, smirking a bit.

Aenor, apparently dropping all pretence, shrugged theatrically. 'He told you?'

'Not as such,' he returned, still grinning.

Aenor stared wordlessly at him, her expression sour. 'Well, I guess you also got that wit of yours going for you. See? You may be a bit snotty and the occasional wuss, but at least you're not as clueless as most of your fellow pupils.'

Harry laughed. 'I'm so glad you approve,' he returned sarcastically. 'So? What did you actually want, Aenor? I don't think you invited me here to keep my spirits up. Not that I don't appreciate it.'

'Oho? Are you doubting my honest concern here, dear Harry?' His Defence teacher leant further back, idly balancing her chair while half the legs were in the air.

'Not really, but I don't consider letting Snape in on more than necessary to be the smart option. Having considered this, I guessed you must have some more pressing business if you were willing to have him take notice of our private dealings.'

'Ha!' She exhaled dramatically. 'And this right here is why know-it-all brats are no fun.' She abandoned her balancing act and the dangling legs of her chair crashed onto the office floor with a loud snap. 'I wanted to ask you if you honestly think that plan of yours is such a good idea. You're playing with fire there, Harry. Are you really willing to risk a person just to get things done? She's got a temper, that one, and even should everything go smoothly, she'll throw a tantrum. A justified tantrum, I might add.'

Harry's face fell as if it had been subjected to a sudden increase in gravity. 'How do you even know about that?'

'I have my talents, Harry,' she answered vaguely, smiling suggestively.

His brows furrowed, he asked, 'Do you think anyone else knows? Dumbledore maybe?'

'I don't think so. But, then again, Dumbledore plays the long game. If he knows, he hasn't let anything slip.'

'I'm honestly surprised that it's you who asked me this,' Harry grumbled, slightly annoyed. 'Tracey and surprisingly Draco had their initial reservations, but never would I have thought that you would disapprove.'

She didn't answer, staring out of the window.

'Do you? Disapprove, I mean,' Harry insisted.

Aenor didn't look at him, her gaze still locked onto something apparently beyond the reach of her sight. 'I once did something comparable to what you're about to do. It… didn't work out the way I had planned.'

'So?' asked Harry, who was desperately trying to hide his nervousness at this point. 'Is that a yes or a no?'

Aenor sighed and finally turned to look at him. 'I'm not the best person to answer that question. I'm inclined to act in much the same way you do, but I can't pretend that there isn't some amount of regret still lingering.'

Harry fell silent.

'That doesn't mean that it will necessarily have to turn out that way for you. We're not quite the same and the bigger difference in the equation might be the other person.'

Harry kept silent, his expression not readable.

'In the end, just stick to whatever you perceive to be the right choice and don't hesitate. I can't say anything more.'

Harry nodded slowly. In truth, he had made up his mind long ago. It was regrettable, but sometimes a harsh lesson is what is needed. 'It is a hard choice, and it isn't fair. I'll never pretend otherwise. But I will stick to the plan. Everything is already set up.'

Aenor sighed and stood. 'I hope for your sake that this one turns out better. Just… stay safe this time, alright?'

Harry, smiling a bit, followed her lead and got up as well. 'I will. I'll keep her safe, too. I promise.'

'Like any gentleman should. Oh, by the way, your final Occlumency lesson will take place in the countryside. It is not… feasible to do it here. Once you pass, I'll also fulfil my part of our other bargain.'

'Feasible?' he repeated. That didn't sound ominous at all!

'Yes,' she answered tersely, looking him up and down, her brilliant eyes steely for once. 'I must warn you, though. I will give you no quarter for that test, despite my affiliation to your grandfather or our personal… understanding.'

'I'll bear that in mind,' he responded warily. Looks like I'll need to step up the training when this whole thing is resolved. I really don't want to fail that test.

'You better, Harry,' Aenor responded huskily to his thoughts, opening the door, not meeting his gaze. 'If you don't, it is likely that I'll end up killing you…' Harry silently passed her, yet he could still make out her pleading whisper. '… and your grandfather me.'

Hermione was chewing on her quill, her expression one of intense concentration, but the columns and rows before her still threatened to evade her, forcing her to blink rapidly. 'This is hopeless,' she cried out in desperation, her eyes falling on the still towering heaps of documents. 'We'll never be able to get through all of them!'

'If there's something in there,' Tracey answered, patting Hermione's hand, 'then it's not unreasonable to assume that we'll stumble upon it before we've finished it all.'

'You want to bet the outcome of this all on pure luck?' Hermione looked horrified. 'No, that's just not acceptable!' With gusto, she bent her bushy head back over the reports she was currently reviewing. 'Anyway, I'm grateful you're lending a hand tonight, Tracey. How's Daphne?'

Tracey looked as if she'd seen someone stepping on a landmine. 'Not so well.'

'Be honest here, Tracey. She's a mess!' Draco's voice reached them from somewhere beyond the paper mountains.

'Yeah, alright, she's a mess. At least she's getting some sleep right now.'

'It's rather perplexing that she can keep crying for days, you know. One would assume that she'd run out of salt or water at some point.'

'Stop being so mean, Draco!' shouted Tracey hotly. 'You know how this Harry stuff gets to her.'

'She told me her family is trying to forbid her from meeting Harry, is that true?' Hermione asked quietly.

'She told you, huh?' Tracey rubbed her temples. 'Yeah, her gran is a really tough nut. She'll take her out of Hogwarts if Daphne refuses to obey at this point.'

Not so many weeks ago, Hermione would have scoffed and asked if there wasn't something child protection could do, but now she knew better - sadly.

Minutes crept by like lazy snails, accompanied only by focused if slightly awkward silence.

'I've been thinking,' said Draco after one hour of rigorous study of what Hermione still considered 'spy-stuff'.

'Don't hurt yourself now,' Tracey interjected, grinning broadly.

'Really funny, Tracey. Say, we've been going over all these documents about students, but what if the culprit is somewhere in our blind spot?'

'You mean a teacher?' Hermione asked, horrified. 'B-but surely they wouldn't…'

'Do you think Rose has any connection with the Blacks, Tracey?' Draco overrode Hermione's weak protests. 'Considering Arcturus' and Harry's indulgent attitude, don't you think it's possible that she's a Black?'

Tracey seemed to ponder this for a while before she answered in a slow and steady voice. 'I don't think so. I don't really get that impression. Besides, I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like something was said that made that seem particularly unlikely. I just can't remember…'

Hermione scoffed scathingly. 'That's ludicrous, Draco! Harry's clearly never seen Aenor his entire life before he saw her at the feast. I remember how Daphne kept elbowing him when he tried to sneak a glance at her at the welcoming feast.'

Tracey giggled. 'Yeah, there was that, too. And if she really was a Black, Arcturus would have prevented them from ever meeting publicly.'

'I suppose so,' Draco admitted. 'We should still keep an open mind about the faculty though. Just in case.'

'You're getting jumpy, Draco.' Hermione rolled her eyes.

'I'm never jumpy, Granger!' replied the Malfoy heir disdainfully.

'Oh, yeah?' Tracey was clearly trying not to laugh. 'I remember that one time on Harry's birthday when you laughed about that present he got from Bellatrix.'

'Shut up, will you?!' snapped Draco hotly.

'Every time she raised her right hand to wave or clink glasses, you'd give that really big and embarrassing twitch all over the place. Sort of like a full-body jerk.'

'Will you finally shut up, Tracey?!' Draco snarled grouchily.

Tracey giggled once more and stuck out her tongue in Draco's general direction, causing Hermione to smile faintly. At the same time, she couldn't help feeling slightly envious. Whenever Draco and Tracey or any other pair of Harry's friends were together, they'd inevitably revel in old stories of their apparently long friendship. Harry really seemed like a good person underneath it all, and Tracey was so likeable it was slightly frightening. But she was still sceptical concerning her temporary peace with Daphne and Draco… She shook her head. Draco would always be Draco.

Hermione sighed. There was still, apparently, a mountain to climb.

Four days later, Harry casually settled himself against the frame of the door leading to the dormitories for Slytherin's first year girls, absent-mindedly twirling his wand, his gaze on the sleeping form of his cousin.

'How did you even get up here? Isn't there like some charm or something to keep the boys out?' Tracey asked exasperatedly.

Harry shrugged. 'There is. But, as you correctly stated, it is just a charm. A good bit of old spellwork but-honestly-nothing that can't be overcome with enough determination.'

Tracey sighed, rubbing her eyes. 'Figures. I sure hope you work on the important issue with the same grit, then, instead of wasting your time like this.'

Harry didn't answer, though he fixed Tracey in a rather cold glare.

'Oops.' she laughed nervously. 'Sorry, didn't mean it quite like that.'

The young Black nodded slowly, his eyes still on her. 'No problem. How is she?'

Tracey looked at her best friend, who kept thrashing around in her sleep. 'Honestly? It keeps getting worse! I don't think she's gotten any peaceful sleep for the better part of the last few days. I have to force her to eat, too. She's also been skipping pretty much all the lessons.'

Harry stared at Daphne as she murmured something, crying silently in her sleep.

'I-I think she keeps dreaming about her dad… You know. Harry, you need to do something or she'll snap and take some brash, drastic and totally Daphne-like stupid course of action!'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, messing up his rather dubious haircut even further. 'It's not such a simple matter. You should know that well enough. I can't just keep pressing or… slacking as it were. Can't you keep her calm and out of harm's way for a little while longer?'

'Just a bit, please! I know it puts the plan at risk but she won't stand it for the whole fortnight. Even if it becomes a bit more obvious, I still think we're in the clear here…'

Harry turned around, sighing deeply. 'Alright. I'll see what I can do, though that is really all up to Draco in the end.'

Hermione was as busy with her studies as she'd ever been. Not only were the end of the year tests (from her perspective at least) looming ever closer, but she was also currently devoting a lot of time to Draco's and her contribution to helping Harry. While Hermione was really not one to have problems with organising herself or her schedule, the four to five hours she was now regularly spending with Draco were starting to cause problems.

Right now, she was desperately trying to do her homework justice without devoting too much time to it, which basically meant that she refrained from re-checking all relevant background information in the library, as much as this irked her. So far, her grades hadn't suffered, of course, and she really would not allow that to happen in any case. This was school, after all!

Grumbling unhappily about the lack of time that caused her to make dire sacrifices, she opened another book she had borrowed from Madame Pince for her schoolwork. To her increasing distress, Snape seemed to have gained new levels of vindictiveness as of late, setting them vicious essays and incredibly hard or frankly obscure questions. Most of her fellow students just seemed to give up, resigning themselves to being chewed out by the snarky Potions Master. But that thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

'You're looking busy, Hermione. Is this maybe not a good time?'

Hermione looked up and was momentarily taken aback when she realised that Jermaine, her first friend she'd made in Ravenclaw, was standing near the bookshelves, a stack of Transfiguration books in his arms.

'Oh, no, not at all! Please take a seat. We really haven't crossed paths often recently.'

He smiled kindly. 'True, though I haven't changed my habits. How is it that you're spending so much less time in the library? You used to be here for hours each day.'

Hermione fought for a smile, trying to bridge the awkwardness. 'Yes, well, I have been really busy with some non-canonical school stuff.'

'I see.' He nodded. 'In that case, I sure do hope your efforts bear fruit. Well, I need to finish my essay for McGonagall. I'll be seeing you around!'

'Uhm, yes, thank you. Take care!' She waved after the retreating figure.

Hermione was just about to dive straight back into her homework when a familiar voice scared the living daylight out of her. 'Seems like a boring bookworm to me.'

'Draco, don't sneak up on me like that!' she admonished him in a hissing tone. 'And keep your voice down. This is the library. You know, in case you haven't been here often enough to tell.'

Draco rolled his eyes lazily. 'Sure, sure.' He took a seat in front of her and looked disdainfully at her Potions research material. 'You're still bothering with that? I don't know what's gotten into Snape, but I don't think he really expects us to finish all this stuff. It's more about having a reason to shout at Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors if you ask me. He won't dock points of Slytherin anyway.'

'That's not the problem,' huffed Hermione, shooting him a disapproving look. 'I'm sure we can learn a lot if we follow his schedule.'

'Sure,' Draco admitted easily. 'About exhaustion and burn-outs, I suppose.'

Hermione, who was slightly puffed up about him mocking her earnest effort, chose to ignore his statement and dragged the books closer to her as if to partially block Draco from her vision.

'Has Jermaine approached you often these last few weeks?' Malfoy asked out of the blue.

'W-what?' responded Hermione, totally bewildered by the question.

'I mean,' said Malfoy slowly, 'has he come to talk to you on a regular basis. And what sort of stuff does he want to talk about?'

Hermione stared at him, completely transfixed.

'I think it's slightly suspicious how he kept asking what you were up to. Don't you think he could be in on this? Him approaching you despite all the bad blood between the houses and all that.'

'Oh, no! No, no, no! Don't, just don't, Draco! Jermaine is not spying on me! I've been friendly with him for almost my whole stay here at Hogwarts.'

'Even more suspicious.' Draco leant forward as if to let her in on some big secret. 'He could have this planned from the get-go. And now you're so convinced of him being your friend that you won't even question his motives…'

'Sometimes,' Hermione shot up, looking down on him with a certain measure of fury, 'I can't help but wonder who really is my friend, Draco, and that includes you! You're getting paranoid! You can't just accuse everyone I know of being up to some nefarious plot!'

Without another word, Hermione stormed out of the library, leaving a blank-faced Draco behind.

'No… no! Leave him be… Father…' Daphne rolled around, tears still flowing from her eyes, her voice dripping with agony and a feeling of helplessness.

Tracey clasped one of her hands in both of hers, exerting a comforting amount of pressure. 'I'm here, Daphne,' she mumbled softly.

The familiar voice seemed to rouse Daphne from her slumber, as she slowly opened her eyes, staring into the golden eyes of her best friend. She abruptly sat up, trying to wipe the stains the tears had left on her face with the blanket, gently freeing herself from Tracey in the process. 'How late is it?' she asked in a small voice.

'About nine in the evening,' her friend answered with a slightly crooked smile.

'You should've woken me! I just wanted to have a short lie-down…'

Tracey shrugged. 'You haven't missed anything, and you really could do with a bit of a nap. Even if it might not have been very peaceful sleep.'

Daphne turned her head away. 'I was talking in my sleep again, wasn't I? I told you not to pay that stuff any attention.'

Tracey grabbed Daphne's hand again. 'You don't have to play tough with me, you know?'

Daphne didn't answer. Instead, she laid back down and turned on her side so that her face was hidden in the shadows of the room, still clasping Tracey's hand. Unspoken words passed in painful silence.

'Tracey?' Daphne eventually whispered when her best friend was finally convinced that she'd fallen asleep again.

'Yeah?'

'I won't forgive whoever tries to meddle with or drive a wedge between me and my family.'

Tracey looked with growing concern, down at her best friend. There hadn't been a shred of a doubt in Daphne's voice.

Hermione finally reached the Slytherin common room after her long detour through the castle to cool her temper. Draco really got to her sometimes. Clicking her tongue in displeasure at the thought of her annoying partner in crime, she straightened her pose, walked towards the hidden entrance, and said the password, 'Superiority'.

It was rather late by now, so it didn't come as any particular surprise that the room was mostly deserted. A few third years were still huddled around some kind of paper, laughing and pointing. Some Slytherins in their NEWT or OWL years were still awake, too, frantic looks of pent-up desperation clearly discernible in the hectic movements of their quills. Hermione's eyes, however, were glued to the isolated character in the corner, book in her hand, eating an apple in a distracted manner which caused her to miss her mouth at times, and a shiny prefect badge on her robes. Smiling a bit at the scene, Hermione walked over to her.

'Good evening, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect gave a tremendous start, followed by a squeal of embarrassed laughter. 'O-oh, hey, Hermione! Sorry, I was kind of drawn in by this.' She held up the book she'd been reading: Forgotten Feats or Fantasy? A study of ancient magic by Typhonius Titus.

'Wow!' said Hermione in a suitably hushed voice, her eyes glowing with shared enthusiasm and reverence. 'That does look fascinating.'

'It is.' Fawley grinned. 'Remind me to hand it to you when I'm done with it.' Putting the book on the small table next to her, she adjusted her pose to face Hermione properly. 'So? How's it going? Still busy?'

'Well, yes,' responded Hermione hesitantly, her gaze still on the marvellous tome. She sighed longingly. 'But it's not going so well, to be completely honest.'

Fawley smiled encouragingly. 'Sometimes, we just have to pull through despite how fruitless our endeavours seem at the time. Breakthroughs only follow hardships.'

Hermione returned a weak smile. 'That is true, I suppose. But it's not just all the work, you know… I wish people were as easy to read as books.'

Fawley stood up, her eyes glinting mischievously. 'You look like you could use a bit of motivation. I was just about to start my rounds, but how about I show you my favourite spot in Hogwarts first?'

Hermione bit her lip, her gaze flickering from the door to the Prefect. 'It's rather late, isn't it? Wouldn't we both get into trouble? The rules regarding the curfew clearly state that…'

'Oh, come on, Hermione!' Fawley slapped her chummily on the back. 'Don't go all McGonagall on me. It won't take longer than an hour anyway. And today's supposed to be a clear night. It's really beautiful up there with all the stars, you know.'

When Hermione still looked torn, Fawley added with an amused grin, 'You should check out the place right now before you get yourself a boyfriend, you know? Or you might soon find yourself desperately in need of a private and romantic location and no clue whatsoever.' She laughed.

'Oh, stop that!' Hermione playfully nudged her back. 'I really have other things on my mind right now.'

'And that's why you need to take a break sometimes. Come on, I promise the place is great!'

'Well,' Hermione answered, still unassertive. 'Well, I suppose I could do with a distraction.'

'Splendid!' Fawley smiled victoriously, positively dragging her towards the secret entrance and out into the obscurity of the night.

'Good morning, everyone!' Hermione cheerfully greeted Daphne, Tracey and Draco, who were all sitting at the breakfast table.

'Morning, Honey!' Tracey answered with a gigantic grin.

"Lo,' was all a downcast-looking Daphne uttered. Hermione didn't fail to notice that her plate looked mysteriously clean.

'Hello, Granger. What's gotten you into such a good mood so early?' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Oh, you know. Lots to do, no time like today. Right?'

'If you say so,' Draco returned with a shrug.

'Where's H-' A sharp kick from Tracey interrupted Hermione's innocent question. 'Ow!' Locking eyes with the petite witch, Tracey's eyes moved towards the side, in the direction of Daphne. Greengrass had slumped down, her face pressed against her empty plate, her enviably glossy and long blond hair flowing like a carpet over a sizeable part of the table.

'He's not here, Granger…' she grumbled.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Could you make yourself just a tad more transparent, Greengrass? I think some Hufflepuffs down the hall haven't seen you sulking at the sound of Harry's name yet.'

'Piss off, dog-face!'

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but before he could retaliate, Tracey placed a placating hand on both of their shoulders. 'Now, now. Could we please just get along and enjoy our meal? I know we're all a bit stressed out but you could at least make an effort to get along…'

Daphne shrugged. An impressive feat, considering her face was still lying on the dinnerware. 'Whatever. Ask your questions, satiate your curiosity, Granger. I'm beyond caring at this point…'

Hermione looked with uncertainty from Daphne's collapsed form to Tracey, who returned an equally awkward and helpless little smile. 'W-what's he up to? I mean, I know about all of your situations, but what has he been doing all this time? I've seen him in the library, combing through some tomes about charms, but surely that can't be all, right?'

Daphne turned her head, her eyes racing between Draco and Tracey, obviously equally expecting.

'He's… learning some kind of spell,' said Tracey slowly. 'I'm not sure about the specifics, to be honest.'

'That's all?' said Hermione, slightly taken aback. 'Draco and I go through about a thousand documents and he's learning… one spell?'

Draco placed his teacup carefully and without any sound on the table. 'You can switch, go right ahead, Granger. Har-' His eyes shot towards Daphne for a second. ' He admitted to me that even Flitwick advised him against learning it. Apparently, it's only really research material and there are no practical instructions that you can find in the library here. It's definitely not something students are supposed to learn.'

'Is it dangerous?' Hermione asked suspiciously.

'Of course, it is.' Draco loaded another fried egg onto his plate, not even looking up. 'Equally dangerous as a Tripping Jinx at a set of stairs or Jelly Legs when standing atop the Astronomy Tower.'

Hermione, gurning slightly, sent a punitive glance towards Malfoy. 'Why is your imagination so dangerous?'

'It's just a matter of fact, Granger. Blinding yourself to the potentially lethal uses of what most consider harmless first year charms or jinxes is nothing but a show of ignorance.'

She turned towards him, slightly surprised. 'That doesn't sound like something you'd say.'

'Yeah, well, okay,' he conceded grumpily. 'That one belongs to Harry.'

'Haaah.' A long sigh of suffering escaped Greengrass' lips on cue to the H-word.

'Will you give it a rest already, Greengrass?' Draco snapped, clearly irritated.

'Fuck you,' she responded with her famously civil tongue.

It was another three days later that a severely stressed and sleep-deprived Hermione made her way towards the greenhouses. Her hair that always threatened to cross the border to bushy mane was standing up in all directions, giving her a wild and slightly demented look.

Muttering to herself under her breath, she tried to keep track of everything she still had to do that day. History of Magic had been relatively tame today, thankfully, and Professor Prewett had refrained from giving them any additional work. But then there was McGonagall's tricky task about Switching Spells, not to mention Snape's positively horror-inducing essay topic of 'The usage of dried fungi in medieval potioneering.' Then she was supposed to meet up with Draco, of course, which was in and of itself not too bad, except there was now a definite sense of dread at the prospect of not getting any results. There wasn't even a week left by now, and they were no closer to identifying anyone than they'd been seven days before. Draco had also gotten rather moody as of late, probably due to the same kind of duress she was under, she mused.

Usually, Tracey would keep her company, and she never failed to improve Hermione's mood, telling hilariously exaggerated stories, funny anecdotes of her past, or just sharing vicious-if entertaining-gossip. But everyone, even Hermione, could see that Daphne was a walking disaster, ready to explode anytime nowadays. So now Tracey was more or less devoting all of her time to keeping her entertained, cheering her up in any way possible, be it smuggling butterbeer into the girls' dormitories, or somehow getting her hands on a giant dartboard with Professor Rose's head on it. The board also winced and complained when hit, which, to their relief, turned out to distract Daphne for nearly a whole day.

The only person she had to talk to, aside from the peculiarly grumpy Draco was Fawley, seeing as Harry was ever so busy. And indeed they had spent two evenings in a row now chatting idly about their problems and playing chess or Exploding Snap. Yesterday, they'd simply hung out, enjoying each other's company in relaxed silence. Fawley, Hermione was surprised to realise, was rather isolated within the Slytherin common room, too, though the reason for that completely eluded her. She was likeable, clever and a Prefect - it really was baffling. When Hermione had tried to ask her about that in a kind way, Fawley had simply ruffled her hair and laughed the issue off, saying that she'd rather enjoy the company of those she could honestly cherish than those who only pretended.

A small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth at the thought of the open and friendly witch, Hermione continued her stride with a spring in her step until she saw a lone figure resting in the grass, quite obviously asleep, a book on top of his head.

It was Harry.

Positively flummoxed, Hermione halted her steps. That can't be Harry, right? What's he doing here? I know he doesn't attend History of Magic, but surely… Is he really just taking a nap?

Hermione approached slowly, biting her lip. When she was two feet away from him, she softly called his name. 'Harry? Harry, you've got to get up, you'll miss Herbology!'

'Whazzup now?' Harry, clearly startled, bolted right up.

'Have you been sleeping out here? It's much too cold for that, Harry!'

'Oops.' He paused for a second and tried to covertly rub the sleep out of his eyes. 'I guess I must have fallen asleep, then. Thanks for waking me.'

'You shouldn't force the issue, Harry. I'm sure you'll get the spell eventually.'

'Ah, don't concern yourself with that. I finished working on that three days ago already,' he returned groggily, straightening his tie.

'You… finished already?' she asked, bewildered.

'Yes. Don't have a lot to do right now, to be completely honest with you. I was just having a look at some future course work and must have forgotten the time. Thanks for waking me, Hermione!' He smiled at her.

'… don't have a lot to do…' she repeated, stunned and confused.

Stretching sleepily, Harry finally stood up. 'Well, the wind seems to have played a prank with my belongings.' He laughed sheepishly. 'You go on ahead, Hermione. It'll take a while to gather it all.'

'Harry?' she asked in a fit of daringness that stemmed from confusion and anger.

'Yes?' He turned around to look at her, his hair messed up in a lazy manner, his clothes wrinkled, his expression blissful from the sun shining down on them in early spring.

'Professor Prewett… He always goes on and on about how the Blacks have an agenda for socialising with people. I-I don't want to believe that, of course, but you know… I thought that I'd ask.' She bit her lip and stared at her shoes. 'Do you… I mean did you have some kind of reason or… plan in mind when you first opened up to me? Do you have some kind of… profit in mind that will ultimately benefit you thanks to our friendship?'

He looked at her as if she'd asked if he wanted to trade his wand for some obscure perversion of Muggle origin. 'Of course, I do.'

'I-I see,' she replied quietly, forcing herself to avoid his eyes. 'I'll go on ahead if you don't mind.'

She turned on the spot, burning with shame, and nearly ran down the path, fleeing from her own stupidity and naïveté.

So this was it. Her dream demolished; her friendship fought for and forfeit; her bonds battered and broken. Harry was facing her in the dark corridor, his strangely dark wand outstretched and aiming straight at her heart, a foreboding and deathly ill, green spark already at its tip, the cold body of Professor Prewett lying at his feet.

'How could you, Harry?! I thought we were friends!' Hermione shouted hotly to make herself heard over the strong gust that blew through the halls, tears dancing like leaves in the wind.

'Friends?' Harry repeated the word as if to taste it. 'You're so simple, Hermione. And here I thought Draco's lectures were starting to rub off…'

'I wonder why I even bothered,' Draco sneered with pronounced disgust. 'For a second, I thought she might be useful, but she's just different from us. Too different. She'll never make it!'

'NO… no! I'll learn, I promise I will!' she pleaded desperately.

'Please! Stop listening to her! We don't need her! Look at how she's wearing those Muggle flop-flops with her silken robes.' Daphne laughed in a shrill manner at her. 'Muggle through and through.'

Hermione looked down at her feet, eyes widening in panic. 'No, please listen to me! It was an honest mistake, I promise I'll never wear orange flip-flops and black robes again!'

'Sorry, Honey,' interrupted Tracey's tiny frame. She was almost invisible, standing in the shadow of the giants named Harry and Draco, her usually friendly smile twisted into a mad grin of insanity. 'I'll just be friends with someone else instead. I can be friends with whomever I want, after all. Unlike a bookworm such as you.' A malicious thought seemed to have struck her, as her grin gained even more diabolical power, her blindingly white teeth and glowing golden eyes illuminating the hallway. 'Oh, I know! How about I make friends with Miss Fawley and Jermaine? Then you'll just be a nobody.'

'A nobody,' cooed Daphne happily, nodding in agreement.

'A nobody.' Draco crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Harry.

'Harry… please,' Hermione whimpered, staring into the eyes of her former friend. 'Please!'

'A nobody,' Harry agreed with the rest, his voice falling like the final blow of the judge's hammer. He raised his wand.

'Nooo!' Hermione screamed, raising her hand to shield her face against the vortex of green light.

'Death-magicus horribilis!' chanted Harry nefariously, just as the giant green parchment of destruction smothered her face.

Hermione awoke in the dormitory, soaked in sweat, her ears ringing, her heart beating furiously in her chest as if threatening to burst free. She stared wide-eyed into the dark, keenly aware of the other girls' soft breathing. Slowly, she got up, wrapped herself in a light mantle, grabbed her wand and went down to the common room. The warm and thankfully bright fire there had never seemed so inviting before.

To her surprise and immediate discomfort, the common room still wasn't empty. Incredibly unwelcome and unbidden, Draco sat near the fire, calmly filing what seemed to be an endless list of reports. He didn't turn his head when he addressed her. 'Good evening, Granger. Still up so late?'

'N-no… couldn't sleep,' she replied, cursing her shaking voice.

Draco looked at her, taking in her shaken and clammy appearance, causing Hermione to tighten the fastenings of her mantle.

But he just shrugged. 'Take a seat by the fire to warm yourself. It gets really cold down here in the dungeons.'

Hesitantly, she followed his advice, making sure to seat herself as far away from him as possible without appearing impolite. 'Do you often work down here so late at night?' she asked to distract herself, staring into the familiar fiery glow, watching the flames dance their endless struggle for domination.

'Yup, fairly often. I like it down here, but I can't really work on personal stuff when Zabini or Parkinson are around. So I usually end up doing that bit when it's empty. A few others seem to value the night for its privacy too, of course, but we don't trouble each other.'

'Doesn't it bother you?' she eventually asked in a hushed tone, still not looking up from the flames, basking in the ingle that promised safety and light.

'What do you mean?' he asked in a neutral tone, still busy with his papers.

'That you have to hide a lot of your true self from people like Zabini and Parkinson.' Hermione's voice was barely even a whisper at this point.

A log in the fire cracked as loudly as the roar of a fierce wild beast, ripping the conversation in two for the merest fraction of a second.

'No,' said Draco simply, his voice echoing through the looming dark where shadows clawed at the edges of reality.

When Hermione eventually awoke in the morning, she found herself all alone, her only company the cold ashes hinting in sad despair at the shattered illusion of sheltering warmth of the bygone day.

'I'm telling you, Draco, a few days ago I saw him lying in the grass, enjoying a nap in the sun! There's no way he's busy if he can afford to take it so easy!'

'Stop your complaining, Granger. I'm sure he was just taking a break,' Draco rubbed his eyes, sighing in clear annoyance.

'No! The thing is, he told me that he'd finished his work on the spell days ago. He was just lazing about; he practically told me as much! I just don't see why we have to go through this completely insurmountable workload when he's not even helping. We're doing this for his sake after all!' Hermione shouted loudly.

'Shut up, Granger!' snarled Greengrass. 'You don't know anything about Harry. Did you actually think to ask if he's working on something else now that he's finished with the spell?'

'N-no,' admitted Hermione after a small pause. 'But nevertheless, he frankly and openly said that…'

'No, Hermione. You need to trust Harry if we want this to work. Even if he said something stupid, that happens to all of us at times. If you want my advice, take it up with him once this is all over. Don't pay too much attention to the small stuff!' Tracey, positioning herself between the two girls, was clearly trying to douse the flames, arms raised in a peaceful and conciliatory manner.

Hermione turned around, pulling her own hair in chagrin.

'Come on, Honey! We're all under stress here. Let's not make a big thing out of this, alright? Let's… let's just get on with it. We've only got three days left!'

'Even though I still don't know why we're in such a hurry all of a sudden,' grumbled Hermione, obviously still dissatisfied. 'Well, I suppose you're right. But I'd really appreciate it if you could just be a bit more open with me.'

'We will be as soon as you start earning our trust,' muttered Greengrass scathingly, causing Tracey to kick her shin and Hermione to glare at her.

'Shall we get on with it?' Draco interrupted the girls. 'Granger, didn't you say yesterday that you found the whole order of events somewhat strange? Let's go over that again now that the girls are here. Perhaps they have some sort of idea.'

'I'm a girl, too, you know,' she hissed angrily before collecting herself somewhat. 'Well, I just had a thought that, while Harry was having it rather rough the moment this whole… Nott-thing came to pass, it only got particularly ugly once he returned from the holidays. I mean, before that it was mostly jinxes and pranks, no outright willingness to endanger his life, right? But all that changed when he returned.'

'Well, it's obvious it has something to do with the ball, isn't it?' Draco repeated the argument he'd made to Hermione yesterday. 'But I just don't see the connection. I mean, Rose is supposed to be a stranger here, right? Why would they attack him more ferociously now that he has some kind of friendship or something with her, no matter how inappropriate it might be?'

Daphne snorted derisively. 'Maybe because she's a lying floozie that chats up her own students?'

'I, uh, I actually think it's kind of the opposite, Daphy,' interposed Tracey, smiling awkwardly and bracing for the storm.

'Excuse me?' Daphne flared up instantly.

'Look, Daphy. It's, uhm, it's no secret that most of the boys kind of fancy Rose, right?'

'I suppose so,' Greengrass admitted grudgingly.

'Now, wouldn't it be kind of easy to manipulate those jealous types into doing something rough?'

'Well, that's as easy as pie,' chipped in Draco. 'I mean you'd literally only have to say something like "Oh, hey, look at that upstart hogging our Professor Rose. Let's teach him a lesson!" or something. I mean those Gryffindor and Hufflepuff types aren't exactly brainiacs.'

'Well, that does, admittedly, make a certain amount of sense, but there's just one bit that doesn't fit,' Hermione insisted, stomping her foot in frustration. 'The attack on Harry was done before the rumour about Harry and Professor Rose spread through the castle. I heard Neville telling it first hand to his housemates, and that was after the attack.'

'Well.' Draco waved her concern aside dismissively. 'He could've just said that because he knew you were overhearing him. I've told you so already, Granger!'

'And I'm telling you that he wasn't just telling tales! Not everyone's as manipulative as you!' Hermione shot back angrily.

Tracey harrumphed loudly. 'If we accept that the attack happened before the rumour spread, then someone who knew either first or second hand about that Rose thingy was the culprit for stirring things up back then. It's easy, isn't it?'

'I suppose it's possible.' Draco recognised the point. 'But there were dozens of people who could've been told by their relatives that Rose and Harry were a bit, er, close during the Black Ball. It wasn't exactly hard to see, you know?'

Daphne flicked her tongue in displeasure. 'They danced a bit. Big deal!'

Tracey and Draco exchanged a silent glance. Everyone knew better than to challenge Daphne's point or to remind her of her dark mood during the ball.

'Were there any other students actually at the ball? I only saw Tonks, and she finished last year, right?' Draco bravely stepped into the breach of being the next target of Daphne's foul mood.

'Let me check on that.' Hermione sprang to action. 'Your reports also include attendance to social events, so it shouldn't be too hard.'

They all stared at her expectantly as she worked through the mountain of papers with slightly worrying speed and efficiency. 'Well, this is easy. According to your information, only Harry, Neville, Tracey, Draco and Greengrass attended as students. Oh, and Miss Fawley, I suppose.'

'Fawley?' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Oh, now that you mention it, I saw her there. Harry pointed her out, in fact.' Tracey looked slightly surprised at her own words.

'Fawley…' Daphne repeated, still as a stone. 'Did I hear that right? Fawley?'

'Yes, Greengrass,' Hermione responded easily. 'But we already agreed that everyone could have gotten the fact second ha-'

But Hermione froze. She'd seen the Greengrass heiress angry, or so she had thought, when the girl had smashed her knee and screamed at a volume that threatened to tear her vocal cords. But all that, she realised now, was nothing in comparison to the icy glare of mad rancour she now displayed while staying as still as water. Hermione took a step back. 'H-hold on, Greengrass. Let's think this over carefully!'

'What do we have on Fawley, Granger?' asked Draco curiously, ignoring Hermione's protests.

'No! You can't be serious! It wasn't Miss Fawley! Don't start with your paranoia again! It wasn't Jermaine, and it wasn't Miss Fawley!'

'I didn't know you knew the Fawley girl, Hermione,' said Tracey, apparently caught off guard.

'Listen!' Hermione forced herself to remain calm, quelling the rising panic. 'I've talked a few times with her, especially recently since she seemed somewhat alone.'

'Alone…' Daphne repeated softly, her cold glare flashing with intense hate.

'Yes, alone,' Hermione agreed. She hadn't seen Daphne's expression. Even her previous gaze had been a bit too unhinged, so she'd decided to look at other people for the time being. 'She's been very kind! Showing me a few things, like the kitchens or the Ravenclaw roof top. We've talked about her problems as a prefect in Slytherin and such things…'

'Have you told her anything about Harry or what we're currently up to?' Draco asked coolly, standing up.

'What? N-no! I mean, well, we might have brushed the topic a few times, but that's beside the point…'

Once again, Draco ignored her protestations. 'I've seen her talking to Harry, now that you mention it. In the Great Hall. At the time, I thought it must have been an attempt to ingratiate herself, but, thinking back, it might have been something entirely different…'

'You can't be serious!' Hermione cried out loud. 'Stop it with that stupid fixation on my friends, Draco!'

'I think she's our most likely candidate,' he continued mercilessly.

'STOP IT!' Hermione screamed hysterically, close to panic. 'I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT HER! IT ISN'T HER!'

'I say we should bring her in,' mumbled Draco, one hand supporting his chin. 'We should ask her a few questions. She should know something helpful, in any case.'

'And what if she doesn't want to?' asked Tracey sceptically.

Draco shrugged. 'I wasn't about to ask,' he responded nastily.

'NO!' Hermione snapped. She aimed her wand at Draco and furiously shouted, 'Furnunculus!' Not bothering to look back, she ran towards the door, her head a mess, yet one thought was clearly discernible among the confusing maelstrom of emotions as she ran through the corridors, desperately hoping to get to her friend first.

This is madness! I need to warn Miss Fawley!

HD: Run, Hermione, Run!

Run, Hermione, Run!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This isn't how it was supposed to be!

Hermione took flight through some haphazardly chosen corridors of the ancient castle, doing her best to ignore both the various looks of outrage or consternation and her very personal misery. As if it had been their fault, Hermione viciously wiped the tears from her eyes with a fury that suggested a personal affront. Yet, as the rampaging rage slowly ebbed away, Hermione came to a halt, her body shaking, her mind as still and cold as a frozen lake.

Nervously, she took a peek over her shoulder. Her current whereabouts seemed strangely deserted, and the sudden silence and encompassing loneliness felt equal parts welcome and depressing. She couldn't help but feel a small amount of disappointment that neither Draco nor Tracey was following her, desperately trying to calm her down, attempting to explain that it had been a misunderstanding, that all of them had overreacted, that everything was going to be fine.

A few moments passed while Hermione stared in shameful hope back the way from whence she'd came. The passage remained cruelly devoid of solace.

She crouched down, hugging her knees. Why is this so messed up? She lowered her head.

But eventually, her thoughts began to clear up again. Well, she thought fiercely, maybe this just simplifies things. Draco had always been a person that was, from her perspective, dancing near the edge of the abyss, at all times threatening to fall off the figurative ledge of morality. Everything he'd done, even when he had seemingly been of assistance to her, had been roundabout, and strangely alien or even hurtful. She couldn't help comparing the obsessively manipulative Draco to the warm and sisterly prefect who'd helped her on so many occasions, be it cheering her up or helping her gather up her parchments. No, it really was Draco who had forced her hand. She wouldn't have chosen one side over the other, but the Malfoy heir had left her no other choice. Now, it was either help Draco or Miss Fawley.

Clumsily getting to her feet, Hermione clenched her fist. I'm sure Tracey and Harry will understand. And if not…

She grabbed her wand, wiping the last traces of her breakdown from her face. Maybe it's better this way.

With renewed determination, Hermione rushed as fast as she dared towards the Great Hall.

~BLHD~

Tracey and Draco stared at the door through which Hermione had just dashed.

'Salazar, I really hate this,' admitted the short girl, massaging her temples. 'Are you sure she's going to be alright? If she loses her head completely…'

'It'll be fine,' replied Draco. 'I guess,' he added a short while later.

'You guess?' Tracey fixed him with a critical glare.

'Well, I don't know either,' shouted Draco unexpectedly, startling his counterpart with his rather unusual outburst. 'Harry insisted. I asked him the same question, and he said to do it like this.'

'Sometimes I really wonder why I put up with him,' grumbled Tracey unhappily.

Draco clicked his tongue. 'Well, I tend to ask myself the same thing occasionally. But you have to admit that his insane schemes work out more often than not.' He smiled smugly at her. 'And it's not like you have a choice, Davis .'

'Shut up!' Tracey growled dangerously, her left hand twitching.

Draco's expression didn't change, even though he seemed content to let the point go. 'Anyway, shouldn't we be explaining everything to Greengrass now? Or have you forgotten about that part of the plan?'

'Oh!' She blinked a few times. 'No, of course not. So, Daphy, I guess you have some questions, don't yo-' Tracey's eyes darted to the spot where her best friend had been standing the whole time. Problem was, she wasn't there any more.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' Draco cried out. 'You've got to be kidding me! Can't she just keep still a few seconds?'

'Daphy? DAPHNE!' called Tracey desperately. Only silence answered her yells. 'Oops!' she grinned embarrassedly. 'I guess we messed up.'

'Stop grinning like an idiot! We've got to catch her before she gets someone killed!'

~BLHD~

Daphne flew through the ancient hallways like an avatar of fury, her long blond hair blowing in the wind as if it was the golden banner of her righteous cause.

'I can't believe this shit!' she snarled angrily at nobody in particular, shoving a second year who stood in her way. 'THEY SURE HAVE NERVE!' she roared at the school in general, completely tuning out the strange looks and complaints her mad sprint elicited. She was blind with anger, enraged, that Tracey and that stupid Malfoy had planned the whole thing over her head, leaving her to wallow in misery while they planned and plotted. She was angry about the fact that Harry had apparently been bringing the whole thing about without involving her. As if I was some kind of damsel that needed his help with all of my problems!

Mindlessly elbowing a few Ravenclaws who just happened to have chosen an unlucky route this day, she grit her teeth. Worst of all, that stupid and pathologically naïve Mudblood had unwittingly been forced to play the bait. Even she wouldn't have gone that far, though Granger was, admittedly, bloody annoying at times. No, she corrected herself silently, an all-consuming fire of hatred rising in her. The worst is definitely that I couldn't even spot my own detestable cousin acting up. She took hold of her wand in a death grip, her fingers digging painfully into her own palm. A mistake I intend to remedy for good. Sorry, Gran!

~BLHD~

Hermione had problems making her way through the crowd. It was almost lunch time now, and she was fighting with all her strength against the pull of the mass that gravitated towards the Great Hall like a planetoid happily embracing the black hole.

Suddenly, she saw a hint of curly blond hair among the upper years. 'MISS FAWLEY!' she shouted, not believing her luck. 'Excuse me! Please, this is urgent! Excuse me!' She proceeded through the crowd as fast and politely as she possibly could. 'Sorry! Please let me through! Miss Fawley? Miss Fawley!' She doubted her words reached the target of her desperate attempts over the never-ceasing excited hums and chatter of the other students. 'Miss Fawley!'

She was only one corridor away from the Great Hall when a hand shot out of a small alcove between two statues. 'What's up, Hermione?' The prefect eyed her dishevelled clothes and her red face. 'Have you been running here? You realise that I'm supposed to curb such behaviour, right?'

'Miss Fawley! This is no time for jokes, please!' The prefect looked rather amused that Hermione was labelling her duties a joke and was about to retort when Hermione cut her off. 'Please! This is urgent! Y-you've got hide or something. They're after you!'

Fawley's eyebrows rose in confusion. 'What are you talking about? Are you alright?'

'I'm not joking, please! You've got to listen to me!' Hermione pleaded desperately.

'Okay, okay!' The Slytherin prefect raised both her hands in an effort to calm her younger housemate. 'So, uh, who's after me now?'

'Draco! He thinks you're behind all those attacks on Harry!'

'Malfoy?' Fawley asked sceptically. 'How do you know?'

'He just told me!' Hermione tugged at the prefect's robes. 'Please, you've got to get out of here! They want to bring you in and force you to tell them what you know!'

'What makes him think I know anything?' Fawley returned, bewildered.

'He's paranoid! He keeps saying ridiculous things like "Everyone approaching you has motives" and such rot. Please, I-I think he's serious. You've got to tell the teachers or something!'

By now, the Great Hall had swallowed most of the hungry students, leaving Hermione and Fawley free to exit their little hideaway.

'Please, Hermione. What am I supposed to tell Snape? "Some first years are after me. Please protect me"?' She grinned, likely imagining the ensuing reaction.

'I'm not joking, Miss Fawley!' Hermione insisted passionately.

'Alright, keep calm, Hermione.' Seeing the clearly distraught state of the younger girl, Fawley stopped grinning and produced her wand. 'I know a place where they won't find us, and then I'll get in contact with a few people to sort this all out, alright?'

Hermione was still unconvinced her friend was taking the situation seriously but nodded nevertheless.

'How long do you think we have until someone finds us he-'

A flashy curse cut Fawley's sentence short, forcing both of the girls to duck. They looked up, both of their eyes widening. Where not a second before both of their heads had been, a sickly green substance seemed to sizzle at the masonry, eating its way through the stone. Wary, Hermione turned towards the source of the magic. There stood a girl, brass and brazen, with long and sleek blond hair not unlike Miss Fawley's, her wand outstretched and murder in her eyes.

'Oh, crap,' Fawley muttered.

Hermione looked in confusion from Fawley to Greengrass. 'What?' she uttered eventually.

'No time to explain!' Fawley grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the nearest staircase that led away from the Great Hall.

'STAND AND FIGHT, YOU FUCKING BETRAYER!'

Fawley hastened her steps, dragging Hermione along with her.

'Can't you do something to stop her?' Hermione shouted in panic when two jets of orange light overtook them with blinding speed, missing by a hair's breadth.

Fawley drew up her wand. ' Stupefy! Reducto!'

Hermione winced, imagining being hit by the combination of both spells. But her momentary worry was clearly misplaced as another set of jinxes shot after them. 'STOP PLAYING AROUND AND LET THE CLUELESS IDIOT GO, DAMN IT!' Daphne howled after them.

Wait, she's not after me? Hermione thought, annoyed but otherwise quite sure that Greengrass was referring to her.

'Hermione,' Fawley whispered as quietly as she could while sprinting along the corridors, still holding the younger girl's hand. 'I think you might have had a point. Let's get out of here!'

'STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU DECEIVING WENCH!'

Fawley broke out into an all-out run, dragging a thoroughly confused and exhausted Hermione after her, shooting spells over her shoulder non-stop. Hallways and side corridors flew past at a speed that led Hermione to believe that Fawley must have been using some kind of magic, yet even that incredible pace was nothing in comparison to the firework of jinxes and hexes that threatened to hit both of them at every turn. Most of them, Hermione realised, seemed to be aimed at the prefect and, with her helping Hermione keep up, it seemed that she just barely managed to keep them from getting hit.

Another door vanished beyond Hermione's sight just when a hex finally made contact. She toppled over, bringing her friend down with her. As the both of them cried out in shock, Hermione's eyes darted to her feet that had somehow turned into unresponsive wooden replicas of their actual counterparts.

'Ack!' she cried out in panic. 'I can't move! Y-you have to go on alone, Miss Fawley.'

Fawley, jumping to her feet, her wand pointing in the direction the spell had come from, threw a quick glance towards her feet. 'Don't worry. I know that hex, they'll turn back in a few minutes.'

'What is that?' whined Hermione, shaking her legs. The wooden shoes dangled pitifully and uncontrollably in the air. 'That spell's not in my Defence books!' she said indignantly.

Fawley snorted in response. 'Of course, it's not. Hush now, she's here. Try to stay behind me, and let me work this one out.'

Daphne stumbled into view mere moments later. Only now did Hermione realise that some of the curses the prefect had shot over her shoulder had to have hit, as not much of Greengrass' usually impeccable appearance was left in shape: her hair was dishevelled, her robes torn near her knees, and she had a nasty cut on her brow that had forced her to shut her left eye. She rather looked like the last survivor of a medieval massacre.

'Well, you've got guts; I'll give you that, Daphne,' said the prefect, gauging the other girl's condition.

'Shut your ugly trap, you filthy harlot in heat! Granger, get away from that lying mongrel if you know what's good for you.'

'You can't talk to me like that, Greengrass! First you hex me and now you presume to order me around? What's wrong with your head!?' Hermione shot back, indignant.

'SHUT IT!' Greengrass yelled, her voice easily drowning out Hermione's. 'You don't know what's going on, you stupid girl. That slattern you just warned has been using you the whole time.'

Frowning, Hermione looked at Greengrass, who was patting her side and holding herself up by leaning against the wall. 'You're delusional! And you dare talk about using me?! Look at what Draco's made me do all this time.'

'I don't know anything about the crap that stupid little monkey has made you do, but it's clear as day that bitch right there in front of you has been using you. Wake up, Granger!'

'That's going a little too far, Daphne.' Fawley smiled, wagging her finger in a scolding manner. 'Is that any way to talk to your cousin?'

'Second cousin, actually. And not much longer if I have anything to say about it!' With what must have been an enormous effort, Daphne flung herself away from the wall and lunged at Fawley.

The prefect, however, merely waved her wand wordlessly, and Daphne was sent crashing into the wall again. 'Please, Daphne. You need to learn to apply yourself more. At least try to hex me or something.'

Daphne snarled angrily, spitting blood on the floor.

'I-Isn't that a bit extreme, Miss Fawley?' Hermione asked fearfully.

'Don't worry about her, Hermione,' the girl responded soothingly. 'She's pretty tough for someone who flounces about like a princess.'

'B-But she looks hurt,' said Hermione, clearly conflicted. She crawled a bit towards Greengrass. 'Shouldn't we at least make sure it's nothing serio-'

'Expulso!' screamed Greengrass. A bang that threatened to deafen Hermione was followed by an incredibly shrill yelp from behind her. Looking back, her eyes fell on Miss Fawley, who had her wand in front of her, her curly hair even bushier than usual, as if charged. She wasn't smiling any more.

'Failure, failure, and failure. You lose, Daphne. I'm nearly impressed that you managed to get it close to working, but in the end, you simply fail with your pitiful attempts at magic beyond your abilities.' With a lazy flick of her wand, Daphne's wand shot out of her grip and into the waiting hands of the prefect. 'Your grandmother won't be happy that you're disrupting the negotiations, deary.'

Daphne, who had clearly been in the process of trying to get up again, froze. She blinked several times, before she snarled in a dangerous and gurgling voice. 'So it's you. Now, I finally understand. You're about to sign a marriage contract, aren't you?'

'Ah, so you're more than a brutish warrior princess. I'm kind of impressed.'

'You're about to be married?' asked Hermione, completely lost in the conversation.

'No, no, silly. My little brother will sign a treaty to marry feisty Miss Greengrass here. Or, in the case of her defaulting, her little sister, I guess.'

'What does that have to do with anything?' asked Hermione.

'Well, if you really want to know, the Greengrass family was, for a time, deeply connected to the Blacks, but that just won't do. Neither my family nor Daphne's grandmother wants anything to do with those lunatics.'

'So you're forcing her to cut ties?' Hermione asked in shock.

'Well, more or less. It's for her own good, but she's a bit too pig-headed to understand that.'

'Fuck you! I'll never marry the crippled brother of a megalomaniac whore!'

Fawley's eyes narrowed, and she aimed her wand at Greengrass again. 'Flipendo!'

Daphne's body jerked for a fraction of a second before she was sent crashing brutally into the wall. She screamed terribly, her voice holding Hermione's body in a cold grip of horror. Then, the voice cut off abruptly.

Hermione stood up; the hex impairing her feet had lifted. 'Oh my god! Miss Fawley, what did you do?!'

Fawley looked uncertainly from Hermione to the crumpled body of Daphne Greengrass. 'Damn! I, uh, lost it a bit there.' She rushed towards her cousin, slowly and carefully turning her on her back. She tried to reach towards Daphne's carotid but immediately retracted her fingers, hissing angrily. 'She's one tenacious customer. She bit me!' Standing up, she wordlessly stunned her cousin and headed towards Hermione. 'You alright, Hermione?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you,' she responded weakly.

'What the hell's going on here? Daphne? DAPHNE!' Suddenly, Tracey and Draco shot out of the corridor. Their eyes fell on the still form of Greengrass and then fixed Fawley with a cold glare.

'What the hell have you done to her?' shouted Tracey.

'Granger, get away from Fawley!'

'Why, look at that: a congregation of nosy midgets. I didn't do anything, Davis. Greengrass attacked me first physically and later magically. I just had to defend myself. We'd best hurry up and get her to the infirmary, though.'

Tracey rushed towards Daphne, her eyes moist and worried. Suddenly, a jet of fierce red light clashed against a shield inches before Tracey's face.

'How stupid are you, Tracey?! Don't lose your head now!' snarled Draco, his wand still outstretched.

Fawley, in contrast, flicked her tongue in displeasure.

'M-Miss Fawley?' Hermione's voice quivered a bit as she eyed the prefect's wand warily.

'Just a second, Hermione. Let me deal with this first,' the prefect answered blandly. She slashed her wand viciously, and-again-Draco tried to shield from the blast, yet this time his effort was in vain as he was gripped by some invisible force and hurled twenty feet across the corridor, his back hitting the stonework with an audible crunch that made Hermione wince.

She shrieked and jumped just as Fawley pointed her wand at the still shell-shocked Tracey. Her tackle caused the blue flames to miss Davis by a few inches. Tracey, finally coming to her senses, made use of the momentarily confused prefect and shot a clever Tripping Jinx at the pair. Fawley, however, merely shoved Hermione in the way of the incoming spell and shouted, 'Stupefy!'

Tracey fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Hermione got to her knees and looked in confusion from Draco and Tracey to the prefect who was slowly brushing the dust from her robe. 'W-what's going on, Miss Fawley? They wanted to help Greengrass, why did you attack them?'

'Because they were trouble. I'll never trust a Malfoy, and Davis is a bit too sharp for some random half-blood. Simple!'

'B-but Greengrass!'

Fawley waved her hand dismissively. 'She'll be okay.'

'You attacked them without reason!' Hermione took a step back, her eyes wide with horror.

'Oh, you misunderstand, Hermione. I had reasons. Heaps and heaps of reasons.'

'I-I don't follow.'

'Think, Hermione! Sometimes, you just have to… defend before the attack. Your "friends", the Malfoy brat and Davis, would be trouble. In a few days, Madam Greengrass and my grandmother will seal the deal and then this whole farce will finally be up. Those two will have to take a little break for the time being.'

Hermione stumbled over some stones Greengrass' curse had blasted from the wall. 'Like you did with Harry?' she asked in a horror-stricken whisper.

Fawley laughed excitedly. 'That was the easy part, actually. Most didn't even need much convincing. Sure, after the elder Black's little Wizengamot display, my standing in the house has been ruined, but all that won't count come tomorrow. The Greengrass family will cease its flirt with the Blacks, and my family will finally have enough pull to rid the Wizengamot of wretched pests like the Notts and challenge those hypocritical Pillars. The Blacks have had their chance, and they've ruined it! Now it's time for a new family to take the helm!'

'No!' Hermione shook her head, crawling backwards, away from Fawley. 'No, no, no, no…'

'Yes, Hermione. But Black has a good eye for talent, I'll give him that.' Fawley stored her wand and held out a hand in Hermione's general direction. 'You don't need to grovel at Malfoy's or Daphne's feet. You just need to help me sort this out, and then we'll be set up for life. Might makes right, Hermione!'

'And what exactly, Miss Fawley,' a new voice echoed through the corridor just as a silver jet of light hit the prefect from behind, knocking her off her feet, 'does that make you?'

Harry stepped calmly over the wreckage of the half-demolished wall…

HD: Oblivion

Oblivion

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione's eyes were wide with hope as she beheld Harry's magnificent entry. 'Harry!' she cried in happiness and relief. 'Thank goodness. You've got to d-'

'I surrender.' Harry's succinct words echoed through the corridor, bouncing harmlessly off the walls, eventually finding their way into the ears of Miss Fawley and Hermione, where they started a riot.

'WHAT?' cried Hermione.

'You what, Black?'

Both Hermione, who'd been caught up in the act of cheering for Harry, and the rising Fawley stopped in their tracks.

'B-but Harry… !'

Harry, however, merely stowed his wand and put his hands in the air, glancing towards his unconscious friends. 'I give up. I surrender myself into your custody, Miss Fawley.'

Hermione goggled at him. There was no other word to describe her expression.

Fawley aimed her wand somewhat hesitantly. 'Expelliarmus!'

Harry merely shrugged as his wand flew from his sleeve and landed in Fawley's outstretched hands like a cold fish. Fawley gazed at him suspiciously, eyeing him and the wand in turn. 'Is this really a wand? Feels dead to me.'

A brief flicker of a smug grin flashed across Harry's face. 'Ask Hermione. That is the only wand I have.'

Fawley walked towards Hermione, who backed away until she hit a wall. 'What does Black's wand look like, Hermione?'

'I-I' Hermione hesitated. Her eyes desperately sought out Harry's as if to confirm what she should do. Harry, to her astonishment, had sat down and assumed a formal looking pose, not unlike a diplomat awaiting negotiations. He didn't meet her eyes. 'I-I don't remember.'

'Hermione, if you keep lying to me, I'll have to test both wands on Black.'

'I always believed it was a tropical wood, a dark one. Approximately eight inches,' Hermione answered in a quiet voice.

Fawley stared at the wand. Then, she waved it about. Nothing happened. Scrunching her face, she levelled it at Harry's face. 'Tarantallegra!'

But yet again, there was no reaction. Fawley's brows furrowed in confusion. 'How come it won't do anything?' she snarled angrily. Inspecting the wand more critically this time, she brought it very close to her eyes, turned it over slowly and even gave it a short experimental sniff.

'What in Merlin's merry…' She raised her own wand. 'Accio wands!'

Hermione's faithful wand jumped out of her pocket in addition to the wand in Fawley's other hand making a little jerk. 'So this really is your wand. Or at least the only wand you brought,' Fawley said, astonished.

'Yes, Miss Fawley,' responded Harry politely.

'Harry! What are you doing?' shouted Hermione, waking from her befuddlement. 'You had her knocked over! Couldn't you have done something to disarm her?'

Harry shrugged dispassionately. 'Not necessarily. Miss Fawley still retained control of her wand when she hit the ground. Therefore, she was likely to defend against any further spellwork once the element of surprise was lost. I'm no hero, Hermione. You only get one shot at such things.'

'But… but you can't tell me that knocking her over is everything you can do!' Hermione stared at him accusingly.

'Hermione, please be realistic. I know some advanced material in Charms, and I quite like the subject. But, except defending myself, I'm no genius at duelling. Look at Daphne; frankly, that girl's twice as tenacious as me, and she knows some really scary hexes. I don't know if I could beat her in a duel, and even still Fawley wiped the floor with her in a matter of seconds. How do you expect me to win against a prefect who's at the top of her year?'

Hermione couldn't help but notice that Fawley seemed to regain a bit of confidence at those words. Even though she knew that Harry was being sensible, she still couldn't shake off the thought that something was very wrong. And if the last few weeks (and especially the last hour) had taught her anything, then it was to never let go when you thought something was off.

'B-but the spell you've been learning, Harry!'

'Oh.' Harry smiled at her briefly. 'That wasn't something you'd typically use in a duel, Hermione.'

'So, you just give up? Is that it?' Hermione asked in a slight panic.

'Well, as you've heard, I surrendered myself to Miss Fawley. It's up to her now.'

'Yes, and this little bit doesn't make sense, Black.' Fawley approached him, her eyes still distrustful. 'I know you're not that stupid. If you surrender, then there's some iron-clad reason why I can't blast you to smithereens.'

'You mean besides the fact that my family will wipe out everyone you hold dear in retaliation?' Harry asked mildly.

Her eyes narrowed. 'Yes, besides that.' She flicked her wand, and it briefly pointed towards Harry and Hermione. 'I know we're alone here, and we're in an abandoned part of the castle right now, so even if you overheard me earlier, there's no guarantee that you'll live to tell about it.'

Harry shrugged. 'An astute observation.'

'M-Miss Fawley?' Hermione whined pleadingly.

'Shush, Hermione. So? What's your angle?'

Harry indicated the floor opposite him. 'Please be seated, Miss Fawley.'

'Don't go crazy on me now, Black! It's me who's holding the wand, you know.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that. But I'd still like to conduct our negotiations in a civilised manner,' said Harry, still clad in an eerie air of composure.

Fawley hesitated. Then, to Hermione's astonishment, she sat down in a similar fashion to Harry. 'So, you'd like to negotiate your terms of surrender, huh?'

Hermione stared at the pair of Slytherins as if they were aliens from the moon. Not a few seconds ago, they'd been at each other's throats, yet here they were, talking. Something was going on, something somehow related to this incomprehensible pure-blood stuff.

'No. Instead, I'd like to discuss your own situation, Miss Fawley. I'd very much like you to cease your attacks on me and my friends, personally or by a third person, to desist from meddling with Hermione, and, lastly, to stop your agenda to further your family's politics at Hogwarts.'

To Fawley's credit, Hermione thought, she didn't burst out laughing. 'And why the ruddy hell should I do such a thing?'

Harry smirked humourlessly, startling Fawley. 'Well, Miss Fawley, let's talk about your motivation for a second.'

'What are you talking about, Black? Have you gone nuts?'

'Your family, Miss Fawley. Do you love them very much?' Harry asked, still polite, yet there was something behind that little grin, and that little something was starting to give Hermione the creeps. They still have power, and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey… Tracey's words rampaged through Hermione's mind, nearly deafening her to the conversation. A shudder ran down her spine.

'What the hell are you up to? Of course, I do! I'll do anything for… for my…' Her eyes widened in panic, darting across the room as if trying to remember something. 'What the-' She jumped up, walking around in a circle in an agitated fashion. She began murmuring, tapping her head with her wand once in a while.

Hermione slowly turned towards Harry, who still sat rigidly and formally on the floor.

Fawley stopped. She pointed her wand at Harry and shouted wildly, her voice thick with fury and, Hermione noted in astonishment, fear. 'What the hell have you done, Black?! Tell me! You tell me right now, or I promise I'll make you! Did you cast a second spell after your Knockback-Jinx? Did you have Hermione cast one? Tell me! TELL ME!' she screamed hysterically.

'Why, what gave you the impression that I cast such a Jinx at all, Miss Fawley?' Harry smiled predatorily.

'What… what have you done?!'

'Well, assuming that you're not really interested in the technical answer, I'd have to say that I cast an incomplete and modified memory charm on you.'

Fawley froze. 'A memory charm?' she repeated in a husky voice. 'Undo it!'

'It's not quite that simple, Miss Fawley. Usually, it takes a lot of time to use the charm with any degree of efficacy. Since I didn't have that sort of leisure, I skipped a few parts of the spell here and there. It took a while for the spell to work, and it will take a lot longer to unravel it. And before you get any smart ideas, Miss Fawley: without knowledge of which steps I skipped and precisely which memories I targeted, St Mungo's will need years and years to undo the damage.'

'You don't scare me so easily!' Fawley screeched, though her voice betrayed her dread. 'Memory charms can be undone. There are even potions for that sort of thing!'

'Usually, you would be correct, Miss Fawley,' Harry responded, lowering his head politely in acknowledgement. 'Yet it is quite possible to overload the spell with as much power as you have, and, without any intention to boast, please rest assured that my personal affinity for charms is rather substantial. To quickly undo the damage without permanently damaging your brain, you'd need an individual of uncanny skill and at least several times the power invoked in the original spell. Incidentally, such an individual exists at this very place, but I do wonder if you'd like to negotiate with our esteemed headmaster, who, I'd like to kindly remind you, would be honour-bound to present all criminal actions to the Wizengamot in his function as Chief Warlock. Naturally, healing such damage would include him reviewing your actions of this very day via Legilimency.'

Fawley continued to stare at him. It was almost comical, Hermione thought, at least if you had a really black and twisted sense of humour; the gifted prefect, armed, dangerous, cunning and superficially in control of the situation, looked completely at a loss for words when confronted with the frail, politely smiling fourteen-year-old first year.

'What have you done, Harry?' Hermione asked eventually when she couldn't bear the silence any longer.

'I destroyed all connections between her memories and her family,' he replied easily, coldly eyeing Fawley as she sank to her knees and began muttering. 'She can vaguely recall everything, but the people are missing. It's like cutting the faces out of pictures. She'll never be able to see them like she did in the past. If she were to meet her mother right now, she would likely walk past her.'

Hermione shivered again. 'That's… that's really cruel, Harry,' she said in a sad voice.

'In comparison to what? Beating her senseless in a duel? Threatening her family? Have a good look at the situation, Hermione. As soon as Miss Fawley and I come to an agreement, everything will be resolved and nobody will have suffered any lasting harm. If you can tell me a better way, any single better solution, I'll gladly consider it.'

Hermione gawked at him. She didn't have any better method, of course. How was she supposed to think of a better plan in the brink of the moment like that? Deep down, she knew that this might be a way, not the best way, true, and certainly no honourable way either. Nobody would come to harm, everything would be resolved as peacefully as possible, but still she felt pity for Miss Fawley, who had confided in Hermione that her family, especially her little brother, meant the world to her. And now that world had vanished like a cruel awakening in the morning.

'Give me back my family,' Fawley whimpered. 'I-I know I love them… B-but I can't remember! WHO ARE THEY?!' She screamed, clawing at her face with her fingernails.

Hermione, despite the disillusionment, regret and animosity she held towards the prefect she had thought her friend, stumbled towards Miss Fawley and embraced her. Fawley sank into the embrace and began sobbing heart-rendingly. 'Harry, are you sure you can reverse the effects of the charm?'

'Yes,' he answered earnestly. 'It won't even take an hour. But first: the terms, Miss Fawley.'

The prefect, however, continued to shake and sob in Hermione's arms. 'Give me back my family,' she whispered again.

Hermione shot an imploring look at Harry, whose eyes flickered away from his beaten cousin to give Hermione a cold look of determination. 'The terms, Miss Fawley.'

'Miss Fawley, as soon as you come to an agreement, this will all be over!' said Hermione in a strange mix of soothing and urging.

Eventually, the girl nodded very slightly, still buried in Hermione's arms.

Harry, taking this as a sign to begin, unrolled a long and heavily adorned parchment. 'You will publicly admit that, against the wishes of your family, you attacked me and my friends in an effort to strengthen your political clout. You will try your best to keep the House of Greengrass out of any potential trouble resulting from your confessions. You will never again mention the political dealings between your family and the House of Greengrass. You will never directly or indirectly approach Hermione, me or my friends again unless we expressly invite you to. You will never again try to instigate any other person to meddle with the House of Black's affairs or try to achieve the same end on your own.

'You will also never disclose the contents of this agreement. In exchange, the House of Black will refrain from its lawful right to attack the House of Fawley. The House of Black will make sure that, publicly, all guilt will fall to you personally, leaving your house in the good graces of the Wizengamot. I will personally guarantee that your memories will return this day if you agree to this. And, lastly,' Harry added, rolling up the scroll and handing it to Hermione, who was surprised to see some kind of magical contract spelled out, from which Harry had been citing, 'as a bit of a favour, I promise you that I'll be keeping your brother from harm next year, should any vultures descend upon what they consider weakened prey.'

'And if I refuse?' Fawley asked weakly.

'You'll forever wonder if the people who claim to be your parents aren't puppets of the Pillars or even the Blacks. In all honesty, you'll likely go mad with paranoia. You might even accidentally attack your real family. Should such a thing come to pass, your family will be finished. The Greengrass family or any other line with a better claim will likely absorb what's left of your pull and wealth at that time.

'Or, alternatively, you'll spend the next thirty years in a hospital bed wondering the very same things. Either way, as soon as the word gets out that you were responsible for the attacks on me, which, given that this is Dumbledore's school, is likely to happen, your family will cease to exist the very next day.'

Harry calmly stood up, straightening his robes. 'Take the deal, Miss Fawley, or watch helplessly as your family gets swallowed by your very personal and equally real nightmare of oblivion.

HD: Loose Ends

Loose Ends

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry shuffled through the castle, delaying the unpleasant bit that was to come for as long as he could while his mind wandered back to his last encounter with Fawley. The girl had been broken and only too eager to tell him anything he wanted in the end.

'So, tell me,' he had said while he was performing the necessary steps to restore her memory after she'd signed the contract. 'Why did you kill Nott?'

It had taken a while for the sound of his voice to provoke any kind of reaction from the girl, who had only just stopped sobbing and crying for her family. '… dnofm…'

'Come again?' Harry remembered asking.

'I didn't off the brat,' she had said, her eyes empty and her voice hoarse.

Harry shook himself, bringing his mind back to the present. He had other things to think of at the moment. Things that would, sadly, more than likely prove to be equally tricky.

Merlin, they're not going to be happy with me. He felt guilty pleasure at the fantasy of Daphne and Hermione at each other's throats while he slunk away unnoticed. Sadly, with Tracey acting as a buffer of sorts between his spoiled pure-blood cousin and their Muggle-born friend, that outcome seemed even more unlikely than both (or maybe even all three) girls ganging up on him. Shuddering at the thought, Harry resigned himself to accepting his comeuppance.

Carefully peeking around the corner and completely ignoring his somewhat tarnished dignity, which scoffed at his actions, he was relieved to see Daphne apparently asleep. He wouldn't run from her, but he did seriously doubt that he had the mental fortitude to deal with two headstrong girls at the same time. Neediness in the form of a constant starvation for attention from him, or the never-ending silent demand for more information; both were equally tiresome.

'Stop skulking at the entrance, Harry, and come in already!' Madame Pomfrey stood by the doorway and motioned for him to enter.

Harry fidgeted a bit but eventually sighed again and entered. At least Poppy wasn't raging at him.

'There you are. It's good to see that you're in one piece. When I heard there was spellfight in the abandoned part of the castle, I was sure I'd be hosting you again here all too soon. Are you sure you're healthy?'

'Yes?' Harry answered, uncertain.

'Eating enough, are you? You're looking a little peaky.'

'Er…'

Harry was spared the need for a more sophisticated answer when a thoroughly disgruntled Hermione shouted so loudly that both Harry and Madame Pomfrey winced. 'HARRY BLACK, YOU GET HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!'

Madam Pomfrey patted him comfortingly on his shoulder. 'Ah, yes. Miss Granger and Miss Greengrass have both been rather… vocal in their demand to see you.' Turning away from him, she approached the shirty Slytherin first year, poking her with a wand, quite obviously admonishing her for having the audacity to shout in the infirmary.

Nervously looking towards Daphne, who still hadn't moved, Harry slowly made his way down the empty beds until he stood next to Hermione, a pitiful attempt of a smile on his face. 'Er, hello, Hermione. Good to see you're so lively. How are you?'

'Don't give me that nonsense, Harry! Professor Dumbledore's just left, and I'm bored out of my mind. Even though I've told Madam Pomfrey that I wasn't hurt, she refuses to let me go. But never you mind that! Draco woke up some time ago, and he's been rather forthcoming.'

'Whatever do you mean?' Harry asked neutrally, glancing at Draco's bed, which was nearest to Hermione's. Its occupant, however, had the good grace to at least feign sleep, though Harry found his smug grin to be a little implausible.

'Don't lie to me, Harry…' Her voice sounded frail now and so deeply disappointed in him that his guts turned uncomfortably.

Harry's shoulders slumped, and he sat down on the chair next to her bed. 'I didn't lie. In fact, I don't remember ever lying to you.'

'Why'd you do it?'

'What do you mean?' Seeing her narrowing her eyes, he quickly raised his hands to pacify her. 'I mean, what exactly do you mean. I'm not denying anything, but you'll have to be a bit more specific.'

'You knew Fawley was using me. You knew or suspected that it was Fawley who's been riling up the other houses. You had Draco form that little "spy group", and from the beginning you were going to use him to influence me. And you did. You had him become unbearable just so-' She paused for a moment. 'You had him become even more unbearable than usual so that I'd feel pressured into choosing Fawley over his work.' She fixed him with a fierce glare while her bottom lip trembled slightly.

'So, he told you,' Harry answered, blank-faced.

'Yes, he did! And he apologised and mentioned he'd been against this, I quote, "stupid bullcrap" from the start.'

Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Eventually, he nodded. 'Yes, I admit I brought that all about to make you realise that you shouldn't so readily trust anyone in the first place.'

Suddenly, the infirmary rang with the sound of a steak smacked on a cutting board. Blinking, Harry wondered where that thought came from until his face started hurting as if burning tar was melting his skin off. Hermione looked at him, her hand still outstretched, tears in her eyes. 'You're no better than her!'

'Hermione,' Harry tried to pacify her, bravely ignoring the pain that made speaking somewhat difficult, 'I couldn't be entirely sure. Surely you see that I can't just do something until I have incontrovertible proof. The only thing I knew for certain was that she was taking advantage of you.'

'Exactly like you did,' Hermione shot back scathingly.

'Well, not exactly like that, but I appreciate that you must feel rather angry with me.'

'I'm not angry, Harry; I'm hopping mad at you! You weren't better than her at all! I was so glad when I saw you, so relieved that you'd come. And then this!'

Harry kept his mouth shut this time, avoiding her gaze. He'd known she'd be livid, and, what's worse, he had to admit that she had every right to be cross with him. 'Draco told you you'd be a spy for him. While I admit that it would probably have been more appropriate for us to tell you when and what you'd work on, the matter of the fact is that your cover was so good that, well, not even you suspected.'

He levelled a small smile at her that instantly shattered when it met with her frosty glare. 'Don't you dare talk to me like this is a game. You've used me! I've trusted you, and you've used me all along! I don't even know why I'm still talking to you.'

'Hermione, I promise everything I've done in regards to Fawley was to stop this whole situation without any escalation and to help you realise that she's been manipulating you.'

'Exactly like you did, you mean?' she hissed furiously, her eyes red and still laced with tears.

'No,' he replied honestly. 'I was always upfront that I had plans. And while I admit that I used that fact to push you when you found me near the greenhouses, that doesn't mean that was part of some grand deception. Listen, if you don't start realising that Hogwarts is a political machine filled with poisonous vipers, you're going to come under fire, literally.'

'So how does this make you better than them again?' she shouted, pointedly ignoring the matron's shushing gestures.

'The difference is that I don't lie to you, and we've told you everything, haven't we?'

'Just… go. Just go, Harry. I don't want to deal with you right now.' Without another word, Hermione turned around, though that didn't help to muffle her snivelling.

He felt like a jerk. Harry couldn't quite explain it, but somehow his guts squirmed as if he'd done something fundamentally wrong despite knowing quite well that Hermione really needed a wake-up call if she was to survive the next few years, whether she remained in his circle of friends or not. Furrowing his brow, he was about to leave when his eyes met Daphne's furious onslaught of ocular power.

Imperiously, she motioned for him to come over with her hand. He complied with her… request.

'I'd quite like to slap you myself, Harry, though I have to admit Granger did a good job of it.'

'Look, I thought you had enough on your plate, especially with Fawley being your second cousin an-'

Daphne's eyes caused him to falter. 'Harry, I'll give you another chance to start this conversation. Otherwise, I will smack you one even though my whole body feels like shit right now.'

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled sheepishly. 'You know how your grandmother thinks of me. I didn't want to give her any more ammunition. Especially regarding the Fawleys, seeing as her own sister is one of them.'

Daphne seemed to calm down a bit at these words, though she still looked mightily unimpressed with him. 'Harry?'

'Yes, Daphne?'

'You're an idiot!' Her hand grabbed a fistful of his robes and drew him nearer. 'I thought I told you,' she went on, whispering now. 'I won't ever allow you to duck out. I will never allow my gran to make me decide.' Her eyes, full of anger, sorrow and insecurity, needily devoured his. 'You promised me…'

'I… I'm sorry. I'll never leave you out again,' Harry answered meekly, offering her a little smile. It was sincere.

'You'd better not!' Daphne returned his smile briefly. Then, she pushed him away from her, though not too unkindly, her voice thankfully calm again. 'Still, to show me how very sorry you are, you will now spend two Hogsmeade weekends with your favourite beauty, acquiescing to my every wish and whim.'

Harry's smile broke somewhat, but he persevered. 'Yes, Daphne.'

'Good, now go.' She yawned pointedly. 'I need to sleep some more, and I'm still angry with you.'

Sighing again, Harry walked towards the door feeling like a beaten dog.

'Harry?' Tracey called out to him, grinning pertly.

'Yes, Tracey?' Harry closed his eyes in resignation. Why do they all pretend to be asleep?! Is it so enjoyable to watch me squirm?

'You're so whipped!'

Harry shot her a look. 'Thank you so much for informing me.'

~BLHD~

Hermione stared blankly ahead of her, eyes lowered, not really registering her surroundings, her company or her own thoughts as she more or less floated down the road on a cloud of denial.

'Hermione? Hello, anybody home?'

Hermione blinked in confusion, looking around. Tracey stood next to her, smiling at her gently in an uncomplaining way. 'I'm sorry?' Hermione croaked, using her voice for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

'Oh, come on!' Tracey protested, stomping her delicate foot in a rather cute fashion. 'I'm pouring my heart out here, and you've missed the good stuff.'

'Sorry, Tracey. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but…' Hermione bit her lip, not quite sure how to continue.

'Hah.' Tracey gave a quiet sort of sigh. 'Let's grab a Butterbeer. I didn't really want to meddle, but it seems I have to - again. You guys might be all brainy, but you couldn't even talk to your own friends to save your hides! Salazar, I feel like a child care worker…' Shaking her head in annoyance, she grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her into the Three Broomsticks, smiling and waving to a few people she knew. When they'd found a table, she ordered two Butterbeers and nearly downed her bottle in one go, smacking her lips blissfully. 'That's the stuff!'

Hermione just sort of stared at her drink, nervously playing with the label.

'You're thinking about Harry again, aren't you?'

Hermione first considered denying it, but Tracey's knowing smile disarmed her resistance before she'd even started mounting a defence. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'Kind of hard not to,' she added after a while, pointing out of the window, where a beaming Daphne dragged a thoroughly embarrassed and painfully smiling, stiff-looking Harry through the streets of Hogsmeade.

'Look, we all thought he was being a bit stupid. Merlin, even Draco thought he was in over his head, playing you like a fiddle for the better part of the last few weeks. I'm not excusing any of that - quite the contrary. The very fact that even a Malfoy had reservations should have tipped him off, but there you go.'

'Why didn't you or Draco tell me about it…?' Hermione eventually asked.

Tracey rubbed her eyes before before squeezing Hermione's hand gently. 'Would you rather have suffered for nought?'

'What?'

'Well, once Harry had initiated his insane scheme of forcing Draco into playing you to expose Fawley-Salazar, it sounds even more idiotic phrased like that-this outcome was more or less inevitable. I don't want to say Harry's plan was perfect because it really wasn't. His general idea was solid even though he should maybe start working with his friends instead of just using them as a resource…' She grumbled unhappily before clearing her throat and continuing. 'Be that as it may, you don't know yet how truly pig-headedly, infuriatingly, incredibly single-minded he can be. If you want a guess, his grandfather wanted him to find whoever caused his problems, and from then on that was all his mind was focused on. He's like that, you'll see.'

'So what? That gives him the right to mess with my life?' Hermione asked angrily.

'No, of course not. I thought I'd made that clear. What I wanted to say was that he'd just have continued his plan. If I had warned you, what would have been the consequences? An even greater loss of faith in him and a further delay of uncovering the perpetrator.' She took another gulp from her bottle. 'We were lucky, Hermione. You've heard Fawley babbling on and on about it; if we'd waited a few more days, the thing would've been set in stone. There would have been hell to pay… Daphy and Harry would have totally lost it, believe me. You've never really seen Harry get mad. He can be positively Daphne-sque, believe me.'

'I'm still waiting for you to convince me. Just because it kind of worked out, I should just bow down and forgive him?'

Tracey laughed at that, ordering another round even though Hermione hadn't taken a single draught. 'No, of course not. Actually, you should milk it for all it's worth. Whenever a guy does something so mind-bogglingly barmy, you should let him squirm for a bit. I mean, look at Daphne! I hear she plans on getting him into Madam Puddifoot's. He'll be scarred for life!'

Hermione couldn't help herself and snorted a bit at the thought, smiling at her short dormmate for the first time that day. 'But I don't want that. I mean I'm not into Harry that way.'

'Oh, I think you're misunderstanding something. I don't think Daphne is actually interested in him that way either. Or maybe she is, it's hard to tell with her. It's more about doing something she kind of enjoys while he feels like he's being dragged through hell and back again. Can you imagine something more humiliating for Harry than being seen with Daphne there? Especially given how, er, overbearing she is with him?'

'What? She just does all that to annoy him? All that touching and attention seeking, too?'

'I never said that. Urgh, it's complicated. I don't think Daphne truly knows what she wants in regards to Harry. Just keep an open mind about it.'

Hermione nodded sagely, though she couldn't truly say that she did understand one bit about Daphne's strange fixation on Harry, or-more importantly-why Harry indulged her so.

'But we've strayed a bit off topic. Look, I'm not telling you to readily forgive him. But you can be sure of two things: first, Harry's not the kind of guy to just lie to you. He's always been fairly upright in a strange kind of way.' She squinted her eyes for a moment before a smile spread nearly from ear to ear. 'Like a corkscrew!'

'A corkscrew?' Hermione repeated, aghast.

'Exactly! Like, you don't really know where's up and down or even the direction of his thoughts, but you can be sure that he gets the job done in the end. Harry's like that: curly thoughts to accomplish a straightforward goal.'

Hermione stared at the girl in front of her, frantically trying to keep up. Out of sheer desperation, she took a gulp from the first bottle in front of her.

'But that's not all,' Tracey went on. 'What he said in the infirmary was, I hate to admit, kind of true. Fawley is a bitch; she used you, Daphne and everyone else to increase her own station in life. She's like a cuckoo's egg in a way; nice to look at until she begins to gobble you up. Harry, on the other hand, is more like-I don't know-bitter medicine.'

'Bitter medicine?' Hermione repeated, clutching her bottle.

'Yup! His actions leave a foul taste in your mouth, and you don't immediately feel better afterwards, but you can be kind of sure that all will be fine, eventually. And he doesn't pretend to be anything he isn't. Unlike that cow.'

'Eventually…' The Muggle-born echoed again, taking another drink. 'So what am I supposed to do?'

'Well, like I said, let him stew for a few more days; he's really messed it up this time, after all. Especially with us ending up in the infirmary and all that. Then, when you're ready, let him apologise again, and be sure to grab whatever you want from him.'

'What I want?'

'You confirmed that it wasn't your secret ambition to have him set foot in Madame Puddifoot's, so you need something you want from him. Anything really.'

'And you think he'll give me what I ask for?' Hermione asked sceptically.

'I'm sure he will.' Tracey smiled earnestly. 'I've known Harry for years; he's principled like that, you'll see.'

~BLHD~

Harry walked calmly down the hall, pointedly ignoring the cat calls and whistles of half the Gryffindors and the disparaging or provocative sneers of many a Slytherin.

'Hey, Black! Nice date!' Some Slytherin third years down the hall were positively leering.

Harry's expression didn't change, though a perceptive observer might have seen his eyes twitch slightly. Daphne was still hanging tightly onto his arm, as she'd insisted on doing since they'd entered Hogsmeade.

When they'd finally sat down, Harry made a disgruntled noise and reached for the roasted pork with apple sauce only for Daphne to grab his hand once again. 'On, no, Harry. I don't think you want to eat that tonight. Or any of that sweet stuff later, for that matter. Today, Tracey and I get to decide what you eat. And we want you healthy, so it'll be loads and loads of vegetables. Just like you prefer, I'm sure.'

Harry just stared at her, dumbstruck. Then he lowered his hand, his ears slightly red. 'Yes, Daphne.'

'Do you at least get to decide how you dress, Black?' Zabini asked off-handedly.

Harry's mouth morphed into an angry snarl, yet his cousin put her hand forcefully under his chin and cut off his response. 'Of course he does, Zabini. As long as he doesn't mind changing again if Tracey and I don't approve.'

Harry wanted nothing better than to scream his protests, yet-for now-he decided that he'd better let Daphne play her games. At least for the day. In the end, instead of a biting remark, he settled with low grumbling to vocalise his dissatisfaction.

'Don't you, Harry dear?' Daphne smiled at him, shifting subtly on the bench to sit even closer to him.

'Yes, Daphne, d-dearest,' said Harry, trying hard to look as relaxed as possible.

On the other side of the table, Hermione beheld the spectacle with an open mouth, whereas Tracey was just barely restraining herself from roaring with laughter. She elbowed the Muggle-born witch and winked. 'See? He'll do anything!'

Hermione just nodded, blinking rapidly. 'It kind of hurts to watch. Not that I'm particularly sympathetic at the moment.'

'Oh, what's that?' Someone from further down the bench called out, pointing at the large windows where a majestic eagle owl appeared, carrying a whole bundle of letters and a small package.

To everyone's astonishment, it landed right in front of Harry, who smiled at the bird and petted it while removing the letters. Daphne leant over his shoulder to have a look, but the owl barked loudly until she leant back again, looking annoyed. Harry fed the bird a bit of bacon before it took off with one last punitive look at Daphne.

'Oh, it's tomorrow's Prophet .' said Harry, holding the paper.

'How does one even get tomorrow's paper?' asked Hermione with a scowl. 'Isn't the printing done overnight?'

'Well, you have to-'

'How does one get the Prophet one day in advance, Draco?' asked Hermione again, completely drowning out Harry's previous attempt at an explanation.

'Easy,' said Draco, his eyes flickering for the merest fraction of a second from Harry to Hermione. 'If you know the right people, the editor might hand you a provisional pre-print.'

'So? What's it say?' Daphne crossed her arms grumpily, clearly unhappy with how the situation had slipped from her control.

'Well, it's about Fawley,' replied Harry.

'Don't make me grab it, read it out already!'

' New scheme revealed at Hogwarts!

Headmaster helpless in the face of countless complots?

A new day dawns with yet another terrible revelation of Hogwarts' increasingly unstable environment, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. As recently as a few weeks ago, the Prophet voiced its concern with our prestigious school's apparent inability to control its socially volatile elements only to now unearth the latest scandal. Slytherin fifth year Terese Fawley was found guilty and has confessed to various acts of violence, fraud, bribery and coercion in collaboration with forces unknown. In a public statement, Miss Fawley stated she acted independently and against the express wishes of her family to fight against the public menace that is the Blacks. She has chosen to quit Hogwarts pending ongoing investigations.

While the Head of House Fawley has not been available for a statement at this time, we of the Prophet hope for a fair if merciful judgement for a girl who, through ill-advised and misguided methods, still had the heart to do what she considered best for all of us.

This latest matter of concern comes at a time when violence and attacks on students run rampant at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. According to exclusive sources, no less than thirty-two deliberate attacks on fellow pupils have resulted in the hospitalisation of students in the infirmary for a course of at least three days. Many attribute this detestable deterioration of public morale with the recent emergence of House Black, whose young heir, Harry Black, currently attends as a first year.

Do we have to suffer these insolent and blatant attacks on the public order every time a Black actually does choose to attend Hogwarts?

The board of governors admits to being "concerned over the regrettable increase of physical violence" and vows to found a committee whose sole purpose the…'

' Well,' said Draco drily. 'It's astonishing how you still make it in there despite being the victim, Harry. Good job!'

'Well, even I have to admit that's pretty anticlimactic. I mean, even Harry just attending Hogwarts made bigger news than the revelation of Fawley's schemes. What's with all the letters?' asked Tracey nosily.

'The first one… Merlin! W-well, the first one is from an aunt of mine,' said Harry over the rustling of parchment. Hermione noticed that Draco and Daphne seemed to perk up a bit. 'She, ahem, she asks me if I want her to… Emeric's Evil Eye, that's distasteful!' Harry hastily put the letter down, looking slightly disgusted.

'That bad, ey?' asked Tracey sympathetically.

'Erm, yes. Suffice it to say that it's probably better that Fawley is not at Hogwarts anymore.' Carefully, and making sure that only Daphne could have a look at the letter, he opened the other envelope. He'd recognised the handwriting immediately.

' Harry

I'm glad you've finally managed to oust your immediate opposition, even more so since I now can be sure of your relative safety at Hogwarts. I have followed your request on keeping the deal with the Fawleys, though I might not have chosen to be so lenient if it hadn't been for your plea. Still, it seems like a small price to pay to ensure your well-being - for now. Let me tell you that I've lost many hours of sleep over your situation in Scotland, and it was all I could do to somewhat downplay it all when being interviewed by our family. Now, however, it seems Bellatrix has finally gotten wind of the actual events. I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to write you this instant. Also, seeing as the twins will attend next year, please be sure to placate her as much as possible. You might rightfully ask why I'm writing this in a letter; well, two of your aunts have accused me of giving you too much leeway, though they might have phrased it differently, especially concerning matters of your security. Thus, it will probably be one of them who will fetch you when your term finally ends this year. Seeing as I still have some business to attend to on the mainland, this does suit me just fine, though I do promise that we'll see each other during your holidays.

If you have any further concerns or problems, do not hesitate to contact me at once.

Your grandfather,

Arcturus Black '

'So that other letter was from Bellatrix?' asked Daphne in a whisper, peeking over his shoulder at the letter.

'Yes.'

'Show me!' demanded Daphne in a low voice, nudging him in the ribs.

'You really don't want to read that,' said Harry carefully, fighting the urge to lean away from her.

'Don't be like that, not today. Show me already!'

Harry sighed and handed her the letter, watching with great satisfaction as her face first turned subtly red, then violently green. Eventually, Daphne thrust the letter back in his hand. 'Urgh, that's foul! Even I don't think she deserves that.'

~BLHD~

Harry hastily closed the door after Selwyn came through, spying around the corner to make sure nobody was in the corridor.

'There's nobody else who'll turn up?' Marceus Selwyn was a fifth year prefect and the older brother of the younger Selwyn, who was in Harry's year. He had a big and bulky stature, though his facial features were quite sharp and refined. His attentive blue eyes always projected the impression of amusement through the curtain of coffee brown hair. 'I hope you didn't invite any Notts.' He scowled angrily.

'No,' Harry replied simply.

'And Hannah says she'd rather snog a Dementor than follow up on your invitation,' said Neville. 'Sorry, Harry,' he added with a guilty little smile.

'It's okay. Nothing unexpected.'

'Well, I bet you didn't invite any Weasley to represent the Prewetts, so I guess this is it then?' Selwyn sat down and began playing with a snitch replica.

'Oh, dear me,' replied Harry, patting his pockets. 'Now that you mention it, I seem to have misplaced my invitation for Mr Percy Weasley.'

'Don't bother looking,' grunted Selwyn.

'Let's just get started,' said Neville nervously. 'Why did you call for us to meet, Harry?'

'Right. Well, I just wanted to inform you of what transpired between me and the elder Fawley girl.'

'And why would you do that?' asked Selwyn, not bothering to look up from his snitch.

'Because I want Neville and Abbott to stop their House's juvenile attempts to disrupt my life at Hogwarts.'

Selwyn laughed rancorously. 'And why should they follow your suggestion?'

'Because I can't guarantee their safety anymore.' Turning towards Neville, who looked rather uncomfortable at being in a meeting with those who represented his family's political enemies, Harry inclined his head and continued speaking in a calm manner. 'You know my family, Neville. My grandfather has truly lost his patience in this matter. If anyone, Muggle-born or pure-blood, continues this moronic crusade, they'll be dealt with - harshly.'

'Is that a threat?' asked Neville grimly.

'No, Neville. That is what will happen.'

'What do you offer then?' Longbottom asked.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?' he asked, annoyed. 'Come on, Harry. This isn't how it's done.'

'I'm offering nothing because this is a service, not a request. I know it wasn't you who instigated them, and for all of Abbott's obvious deficiencies, she's still not quite stupid enough to do something that could backfire so spectacularly. I'm speaking about those degenerates who fell prey to Fawley's promises. Don't deny it!' Harry raised a hand to forestall the inevitable reply. 'I know she did. If you want to keep your loveable and bribable housemates, wash their heads. Otherwise, there'll be a few more empty beds. I got their names, Nev.'

Neville sighed. 'Yes, alright, Harry. I get your point. I'll talk with Hannah, too. But what exactly did happen with you and Fawley? Her family is washing their hands of her like there's no tomorrow. It's a bit embarrassing to watch how eager they are to cast her out.'

And so, Harry told them - some of it anyway. Neville's brow creased as he listened attentively. Selwyn, on the other hand, gave no indication that he was listening at all, his hand snatching the little ball out of the air with practised ease every few moments.

'So why did she kill Nott, then? Has she told you?' Neville asked in confusion. 'I mean, framing you like that was incredibly risky and prone to failure in the first place. You would have needed to be apprehended standing over him, wand outstretched and screaming "Take that, Theodore!" to get a conviction, and, even then, I'm not sure that your family couldn't have pulled something off. Sure, it was a nasty bit of business and your, well, what remains of your reputation's taken a hit, but I doubt your grandfather even had to do something.'

Harry hesitated for a second, a small frown on his own face.

'Harry?' Neville asked again.

'Don't you get it, Longbottom? It wasn't Fawley.' Selwyn's voice was thick with suppressed laughter. 'Oh, this is just precious. Do you actually have any idea who could've done it, Black?'

'… no,' admitted Harry eventually, deciding that it wasn't worth the effort to hide the truth.

'Well, this is hilarious! After more than half a year of suffering Fawley's little games, you're telling me there's another maniac loose? Great, just great!'

'Well, that is… unsettling. I'm really sorry, Harry. For what it's worth.' Neville smiled at him, and Harry suspected he meant it. Despite them ending up on different fronts, he'd at least managed to always remain civil with Neville. Something he was, especially when considering Abbott and Bones, not taking for granted. 'Have you told Professor Dumbledore?' Neville inquired in a worried tone.

Harry and Selwyn just snorted in reply. 'Yeah, right. Silly of me to ask, sorry. Well, I'll speak with Hannah, and we'll see about talking to those who don't have an inkling of what's really going on. Still, I hope we don't have reason to do this more often. Even, er, even without Nott, this is a rather uncomfortable experience for me.' He stood up and walked towards the door. 'Sorry, nothing personal, Harry.'

'Don't worry about it. So long, Neville.'

'Take care, Harry. Selwyn.'

They both watched Neville leave, though Selwyn remained seated. 'So, what's the reason you actually invited me, Black? I'm not as naïve as Longbottom, you know.'

'Isn't it strange how confident the Fawleys were, Selwyn?' Harry's voice was smooth as silk, but his eyes drilled into Selwyn with a ferocity that might have unsettled a normal wizard his age.

'Why would you say that?'

'Well, while both the House of Greengrass and the House of Fawley are respected members of the Wizengamot and the British wizarding community in general, wouldn't you agree that the both of them working together to attack a Greater House is a little out of order?'

Selwyn stared blankly at him. 'I'm not sure I'm following, Black. Spit it out already.'

'Oh! I'm sorry. I'm just surprised you don't think it strange that two Lesser Houses even dare challenge the Blacks when every witch and wizard on the streets can tell you how futile or possibly suicidal such an act might prove to be.' Harry was still staring at him. 'Politically speaking, of course.'

Selwyn looked back, his face as calm as a frozen lake.

'Wouldn't you, therefore, be forced to agree that a third party would have had to have given its silent approval?'

'An intriguing thought,' replied Selwyn, who still seemed relaxed, though his snitch had been resting in his hand for some time now.

'Yes, but who could be so bold, I ask. Surely, the Ministry faction wouldn't associate with anyone who's even remotely connected to the Blacks. The same could very well be said for the Pillars or Dumbledore.'

'I suppose,' said Selwyn coolly.

'Then, I ask, would either the Fawleys or the Greengrasses stoop so low as to ally themselves with the Notts and the rest of the degenerates?'

Selwyn said nothing.

'No, that really seems unlikely. Now then, that leaves only two of the greater factions: the Blacks and the Selwyns.' Harry looked suddenly mildly shocked and puzzled. 'Oh my!' he said, raising a hand to his mouth. 'How awkward.'

Finally, Selwyn's facade broke into a cold sneer. 'Spare me the antics, Black. So what? Are you going to threaten me again? I'm neither dumb nor helpless like Fawley, and you know it.'

'Please, Selwyn, there's no need to be so defensive. This is only a friendly little chat.'

'How quaint,' replied Selwyn, rolling his eyes.

'Incidentally, do you know the name of the last Greater House that challenged the Blacks?'

'No, I don't.'

'Well, funnily enough,' Harry returned, throwing Selwyn a feral smile, 'I would have to look it up myself.'

Selwyn snorted and got up, walking towards the door. 'Well, I admit it's going to be a bit more fun with you around. On the other hand, purely hypothetically speaking, what do you think this outcome would mean for my family? I mean, Nott's still dead. You still took all the blame and lost what little credibility you had. A Lesser House that was closely linked to you is now trying to hastily pick up the pieces of a broken deal, while the Fawleys are just trying to weather the storm. Crouch and Dumbledore look like idiots because they haven't really done anything to help resolve this. The Pillars don't look too good either; what with their little underlings acting like common thugs.'

When Selwyn reached the door, he turned around. His voice was light, but his eyes, Harry realised, were as friendly and warm as the endless reaches of the Arctic. 'Why, now that I think about it, I'd say that the only family not to lose anything due to this unfortunate chain of events would be mine. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Better luck next time, Black!'

~BLHD~

And time finally passed peacefully. It wasn't long until the thick blanket of snow finally melted, and the thawing castle started to glitter and gleam so blindingly that one could hardly look its way. The majestic icicles, hanging from the ridges of the countless towers, that had graced Hogwarts like the kings of winter made way for the inevitable banisher of frost, spring, as it engulfed the ancient masonry with its warming and life-giving breath.

In the second to last Quidditch game of the year, Gryffindor devastated Slytherin, setting a new record by winning with a lead of 490 points. Professor Snape was not amused, and there were rumours of permanent detention every weekend should the team fail to win even a single match next year.

But all that mattered fairly little to Harry, who was sitting in the common room, idly playing with his wand and working through a small stack of books and notes in preparation for the end-of-year exams.

'Have you guys given any thought to the electives?' asked Hermione, looking up from an impressive stack of informational material about the different courses Hogwarts offered.

'It's more about what you get than what you want, obviously,' opined Draco. 'Some teachers are utter rubbish, whereas some electives are easy Es with little to no effort.'

'I wish they'd stuck to letting us choose later. I haven't really had the opportunity to judge the teachers based on their skills yet,' complained Hermione, holding up a small leaflet that read ' Envision your future in Divination' . 'What are your picks?'

'Well, I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures and Runes. Hagrid's an oaf, but it'll be an easy Exceeds Expectations if ever I saw one. And Runes is easy, too. I'll probably need to work a bit, sure, but Babbling is said to be fairly competent.'

'Hagrid's not an oaf! He's been very kind whenever I've stumbled into him. Wh-' Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a while before she continued. 'What do you think, Harry?'

'What?' Harry looked up from his book and blinked a few times, his brain replaying the last few seconds of Hermione and Draco's conversation, mildly surprised that she was willing to rope him into their talk. 'Oh, electives, right. Hagrid's a bit of an oddball, but-apparently-he knows his subject well enough. He's a bit of an, ahem, unique teacher though. And a bit too closely tied to Dumbledore for my taste. I'll be sticking with Runes and Arithmancy.'

'Well, Arithmancy does look fascinating, I have to admit,' said Hermione eagerly. 'But they all look so good! Think I can take more than two?'

'You can, but you shouldn't,' said Draco. 'I mean, it's really your business, but I've been warned by my relatives to not take too many subjects. Not that I would do so in the first place, of course.'

'I don't know,' replied Hermione, clearly unconvinced. 'Maybe I'd better have a look at all of them, and then drop some?'

'Divination is useless unless you're really talented. Given your… heritage, I doubt you'll do well,' remarked Draco. 'And Muggle Studies? Come on, don't waste your time like that. If you really want to have a look at that crap, just borrow a few old school books from the library and give it a glance. No need to take up any commitments, especially when Snape might decline your request to drop a subject.'

'That… seems rather sensible, I guess. Alright, I'll go with Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures, then.' Hermione made a few sweeping movements with her quill before holding up her application form with distinct pride.

'What are you guys up to?' asked Tracey as she emerged from the girl's dormitory with Daphne in tow.

'Choosing electives!' announced Hermione in a good temper before sighing happily, sinking back into her chair while Tracey sat down on the arm rest. 'This is what school is supposed to be like! None of that conspiracy stuff or wild chases across the castle!'

Harry briefly looked up from his revisions and involuntarily locked gazes with Selwyn, who smirked confidently. 'Sure,' he said neutrally.

'Well, technically, you were more into the fleeing bit, and it was us who gave chase.' Tracey poked her tongue out at Hermione, grinning in good humour.

'Very funny,' commented Hermione darkly, though she too smiled briefly.

'Can't you summon Minnie again, Harry? I want some more cocoa!'

'Snape said I wasn't to call her into the common room anymore. It's apparently frowned upon to have your own elf serve you at Hogwarts,' Harry returned, not bothering to look up again.

'Well, I don't care!' announced Tracey loudly. 'I want my hot chocolate! And it's not like anybody thinks you could get any more conceited, arrogant or braggy anyway!'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Thank you, Miss Davis.'

'Well, for once I agree with Granger,' added Daphne as she sat down next to Harry and winked at Tracey. 'With spring rolling in, there's lots of interesting things going on. Did you know that there are at least three new couples already within just our own year?'

Harry decided to completely tune out the conversation at the point of fourteen-year-old girls discussing matters of the heart. Shrugging, he called for Minnie and ordered a round of drinks for everyone from the thoroughly delighted elf. Sitting back and enjoying his tea, he closed his eyes and mused that, just maybe, Hermione might have a point in so far as the peaceful, uneventful and thoroughly relaxing days they'd shared as of recently had been a balm for his soul.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Daphne say, '… and then I would want him to trade wands with me just like in those classic romance books to see if we're compatible and…' causing Harry to accidentally spray most of the tea in his mouth across the common room.

'Ew, Harry, what gives?' Tracey cried out, jumping from her seat.

'Er, choked on the tea, sorry,' he invented wildly, his brain racing in panic. 'W-what was that bit about trading wands?'

'Oh, you were listening?' asked Daphne ardently, rewarding him with a beaming smile. 'Well, there's that old marriage custom. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it yet. It's sooo romantic; a witch and a wizard, trading their wands as a symbol of trust, faith and commitment, assuring themselves of their compatibility. It's not really magical or binding, but don't you think it's just…'

Harry lost it again at that point. His movements stilling completely, he sat stock-still, his eyes wide with horror.

'… and so many of Magical Europe's most famous weddings ended with the ceremonial trading of wands. I would just lov-Harry, are you listening to me?'

'What, oh, yes. Fascinating,' Harry answered, fighting the rising blush in his face like never before in his entire life.

'I'm delighted you approve!'

'You're not supposed to tell them, Daphy!' Tracey shrieked with playful indignity. 'It's ruined if they're only doing it because they think we expect them to.'

'Oh, don't worry; I can always pretend that my future husband's a romantic genius, no problem.'

Hermione was watching him, one eyebrow raised and a stunned expression on her face. 'Harry?' she asked slowly.

'Pardon? Oh, er, it's nothing. Don't worry.' Merlin, Daphne will absolutely butcher someone if ever she finds out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN1: Pacing, first year and general remarks. Greetings! As you may now realise, we are nearing the end of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. I know the abrupt ending may be a surprise for a lot of you, but the first year always was, in my mind at least, more about introducing lots of characters, relationships and concepts. And that I did; I've introduced the prosecuted yet frighteningly powerful Blacks, Harry's and Arcturus' good relationship, the mystery surrounding their family, Aenor Rose, the Pillars, Hermione's struggle to integrate into Slytherin and much more. The actual plot, meaning Fawley's scheme to politically trounce the Blacks and Harry was, while certainly present from Harry's first night at Hogwarts, not exactly the main selling point of the first 25 chapters.

However, as you might have noted, I've been able to establish a lot of information that contradicts canon without resorting to information dumps or too many flashbacks after chapter three. From my perspective, the first book was needed to establish the world where everything will take place. If you think about it, Harry's first canon year wasn't much different, except that my people and especially the politics are rather more complicated. As a contrast, take a look at this somewhat crude summary: Harry's being introduced into the magical world while stumbling upon his nemesis, who just so happens to be stupid enough to be thwarted by an eleven-year-old while fighting over an invaluable magical artefact that is being hidden in a school of nosy brats.

That being said, the next few years may now build upon that which has been established so far, so expect the second and following years to be much more plot-centric and streamlined. In hindsight, I might have arranged a lot of chapters differently (or cut some backstory here and there), but I do not necessarily regret how book one turned out (also, I would've had to endure even more pms accusing me of just wanting to annoy my readers by withholding information).

AN2: Hermione and Harry. In case you're wondering, their situation will be resolved in a satisfactory manner in the next chapter.

AN3: The last chapter. I originally intended to publish one big chapter to close out the first year. Now, I have decided against that. Firstly, the chapter would have been too long, threatening to break 20k words. Secondly, it felt even more abrupt to end the first year with only one chapter after Fawley's downfall. Thirdly, I want to use the peaceful and quiet time between their victory and the next year to end it all on a light-hearted note. I know some of you may think that the last bit somewhat breaks with the established mood rather abruptly, and I agree. Still, the end of the first year deserves a peaceful ending. And lastly, I want to finish Hermione's inauguration. It's taken nearly 150k words, but, finally, Hermione has managed to acquire the skill set necessary to somewhat survive at Hogwarts in general and Slytherin in particular.

HD: Inaugurations part IV

Inaugurations IV

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The time for the end-of-year exams was nearly upon them, and Harry, who, while meticulously preparing himself, didn't want to expose himself to another of Hermione's little rants, was currently exploring, drifting aimlessly through the castle with the faint hope of coming across some distraction.

His footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. Most of the school was outside, watching Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff duke it out on the Quidditch pitch, which was exactly why Harry chose to roam the castle in its empty and barren glory. No teasing teenagers, no galloping ghosts, no terrifying teachers, no clingy cousins; it was just him and the ancient, historic building bursting with magic. He felt liberated.

Smiling serenely, he allowed his Occlumency to relax a little, but it was difficult. Even though he'd been constantly practising (indeed, he had used most the time he had originally told Hermione he'd needed to 'study the charm' for this very thing), it was still a struggle. It felt like opening the tap only a little bit with the pressure of a giant lake bearing down on him, making him want to rip off the spigot and let it all rush out, make way, to have release. But he did not. He still remembered when he'd accidentally done so the last time. But even beyond that, he felt too elated, too intoxicated when he let loose. He couldn't quite help being a bit suspicious about that.

The colours were still as fantastical and strange as ever, though; the portraits that decorated seemingly every wall of the castle shone in an alluring seawater green, thousands and thousands of barely perceivable strands of animating magic weaved throughout the canvas. It was magnificent - and humbling.

The walls, even the walls, glowed in fiery red colours, murmuring of forgotten enchantments of old, hinting at magic forgotten, every single brick and stone a symphony to his senses.

In the next room around the corner, however, just barely within the reach he allowed his vision, there stood a raging inferno of magic, a vast pillar of unbound, wild and blinding brilliance. He blinked. He'd seen it before.

Harry groaned softly as he pushed his enhanced vision behind the veil of his efforts again; it felt so much better to just let go…

Nevertheless, he walked around the corner, hesitated for a second and knocked politely.

'Come in,' called a muffled voice.

Harry opened the door and entered. It was an old classroom, probably out of use for a century or so. One might happen across dozens if not hundreds of these rooms all over the castle. In the centre stood Aenor, her wand loosely in her hand, in front of her a dark blue… blob with strange red orbs. It seemed to be oozing. A lot of its ooze, Harry noticed, also seemed to have been flung across the room, with Aenor being the only notable exception.

'Fascinating,' she said, not turning around, her eyes focused on the strange thing on the floor.

'What is?' Harry inquired politely, walking up to her, trying not to step onto any of the foul-smelling substance.

'Ever wondered about the original shape of a boggart, Harry?'

'Aren't they thoughts given form? How could they have a shape?'

'Well, that's what I thought, too. But look at that.' She kneeled down, prodding the ooze with her wand. 'Fascinating,' she said again.

'What did you do?' Harry asked carefully, slightly creeped out by the misshapen mass of… something, not to mention that half of it seemed to decorate a substantial part of the room.

'Oh, well, I was experimenting, as a matter of fact. I always thought there was something familiar about the way boggarts transform, so I had a closer look. It wasn't very cooperative, but it turns out it's some primitive-if complex-application of Self Transfiguration. Well, as you know, any Transfiguration can be undone. Sadly,' she continued, still prodding the ooze, 'it seems like it did not survive the procedure. I may have been a bit forceful, perhaps.'

'So, that's a boggart?' asked Harry sceptically.

'I suppose so?' she said, apparently contemplating the point. 'It looks nowhere near like what it used to intimidate me, so I must assume that this is either its natural form or some kind of… accidental reaction to my rather energetic Untransfiguration.' She inclined her head a bit, giving the dead boggart one last prod.

Harry immediately decided that whatever there was that could scare this woman, he really wished he'd never have to deal with it.

'No matter.' She idly waved her wand and the boggart vanished. 'Did you want to have a word? I suppose I have a bit of time on my hands, if you wish.'

'Well, I was just passing time, so why not.'

She nodded and twirled her wand once, ending the motion with a violent swish. Her movements seemed so utterly casual, so offhand that Harry couldn't help but marvel when he saw the whole room start repairing itself; cracks in the wall fixed themselves, the dust on the floor (and the rest of the… ooze on the walls) disappeared, and the windows cleaned themselves to such a degree that even an elf would not have found any reason to complain. Even the brass of the doorknob seemed polished. It was a ridiculous display of magic, Harry decided silently.

Aenor, not even paying attention, wordlessly summoned something through the now open window that looked suspiciously like the desk from her classroom and conjured a pair of rather comfortable looking chairs.

Harry only raised an eyebrow when she sat down behind the desk and gave it an affectionate pat.

'What?! I love this desk!' she said defensively. 'Jealous?' she asked coquettishly, switching gears in an instant.

Harry just shook his head in exasperation and sat down.

'I'm surprised you're not at the match, Harry. I believe more or less the whole school is in attendance. Even Dumbledore's there, letting his hair down - so to speak…'

'Well, I appreciate the castle even more when it's empty.'

'Ah. Already tired of Greengrass and Granger?' she asked knowingly.

'Well, Hermione's still cross with me, so I am her elect target whenever she gets stressed out, which happens a lot with the exams around the corner. And Daphne… Well, Daphne has actually been rather bearable since Hogsmeade. A bit giggly, granted, but otherwise quite nice, really.'

'It really must be nice to be young and stupid,' she commented with a smirk.

'Shut up!' he retorted eloquently.

'Well, I'm sure Granger will come around eventually. She's at least talking to you again; so that's a start.'

Harry shrugged. 'I hope so. She really is pretty smart. I doubt I'll be able to beat her at the tests.'

'Oh? Already preparing your excuses?'

'Please,' Harry waved his hand dismissively. 'I doubt she'll beat me in your class. And I think I'm a touch more skilled than her with Charms too, not even speaking of my head start. On the other hand, all subjects requiring a purely academical approach or practical courses that have us start on even ground will probably be her win. I have to admire her dedication; she really does go to great lengths with her studies and homework.'

'She does,' Aenor agreed. 'She'll be useful for sure. But you'll have to work on her tendency to trust, her belief in authority, her suppressed emotions and her craving for attention.'

'How can you be so mean without even trying?' he asked amusedly.

'Want me to start on analysing you?' she shot back with a wry grin.

'No, thank you,' he refused drily. He leant back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Then, something came back to him that he'd not thought about since the end of the winter break. 'May I ask something about Hogwarts?'

She raised an eyebrow, inclining her head. 'Why would you need to ask for permission? Or why would I know much more than you, for that matter?'

'Well, it might have come up when you were given the job. It also might be something Dumbledore briefs his new teachers on.'

Her expression changed from idle curiosity to puerile delight. 'And why would I give two Knuts about anything the old man says? You're Occlumency is coming along nicely, so I don't see any reason why I shouldn't share whatever he forbids me to. Just ask!'

'I've been wondering,' Harry started slowly. 'About Occlumency.'

'I see. The library, I assume?'

Harry just nodded, watching her closely.

'Well, Dumbledore did indeed say something about that. But you might be surprised to find out that it wasn't his decision to remove most of the books. In fact, that you managed to gather any helpful material about the topic at all should be interpreted as silent protest on Dumbledore's side.'

'Crouch, ey?' asked Harry. Aenor smiled briefly, twirling her wand again to summon two glasses and two bottles. Harry took the butterbeer, choosing not to comment on her consumption of what smelled strongly like fruity liqueur during the day. 'I really don't like the man, but you have to hand it to him. On one hand, he uses the Muggle-borns and half-bloods to empower his own position. On the other hand, if he deprives them of any chance to effectively learn about mind magic…' He took a sip and smiled, looking down at the unlabelled bottle in surprise. This is some seriously good butterbeer. Tracey would sell her soul for this stuff. 'Nice drink,' he complimented her absent-mindedly.

'Thank you,' she replied gracefully, pouring herself another near-fatal dose. 'It's from my private collection. You Brits have your good points, but they're not food and drinks. Except your gin, possibly.'

'I beg to differ, my lady,' said Harry stiffly.

'I'm sure you do.' She smiled playfully at him, raising her hand to drink from her delicate-looking nosing-glass, licking her lips sensually, clearly enjoying the taste to its fullest.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he hastily looked away. 'How rare is Legilimency anyway?' he asked, just for something to say.

'Quite rare. Very rare even, though you might find it slightly less so at Hogwarts. In Crouch's defence, he has actually forbidden the unsanctioned study or practice of Legilimency. Talent also isn't really a factor; everyone has to study it, doing ponderous meditations, lengthy self-studies along with a lot of practice. A fairly able witch or wizard needs at least ten years to reach competency this way. That's why most who don't need it professionally don't bother. And even then, most can't really do much except interpreting some surface thoughts. Which is also why the average level of Occlumency is so woefully abysmal in the first place.'

'You still seem rather "competent" if you ask me,' Harry remarked, unconvinced.

She just smiled proudly. 'I had a really good mentor, Harry. And it still took me years and years. Why, are you interested? If you think Occlumency is gruelling, I'm not sure you're cut out for Legilimency.'

'I don't really dislike Occlumency,' he retorted. 'In fact, I've spent most of my time recently improving upon it.'

'Well, that's a good idea, Harry. I really don't want to be hunted down by your family for killing you. No pressure.'

Harry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help feeling slightly nervous. At first, he wasn't sure if he should take her seriously, but now… Unsure what to say, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind again. 'Why didn't you tell me about that wand trading business?'

Aenor looked at him, startled before she broke out in exuberant laughter. She was laughing so hard that her chair was in danger of falling backwards. 'Well,' she snorted with laughter, 'it just was too cute, Harry. Don't worry, it doesn't count if you don't know what you're doing. I had assumed someone had talked you through that whole business with witches and wizards, but at least now you're in the know.'

'Come one, don't make me out to be some kind of innocent child!' Harry protested indignantly. 'How am I supposed to know every stupid marriage custom there is?!'

'Of course, Harry. Whatever you need to tell yourself.' She laughed again.

Harry clicked his tongue in displeasure and turned around to avoid her seeing his burning face. 'At least I could use your wand. So even if I was a bit clueless, your wand didn't seem to mind that part!'

Her laughter ebbed away, and after a moment of silence, she said, 'You're right. You're the only one except for my mentor who's ever been able to wield it, after all.' Harry turned around again and found her smiling at him rather kindly. 'So, for now, you're still my best bet, I guess,' she said, winking kittenishly at him.

'How about it?' she asked after a while, probably tired of Harry staring at her. 'We probably still have some time until the boys who just float around doing nothing catch the ball that doesn't do anything except decide the outcome of most matches while the others are needlessly preoccupied.'

'Wow, that's some enthusiasm.'

'What can I say? I'm not into men riding sticks. Ready?' She slowly lowered her glass.

'What fo-' And then, Harry's head exploded with pain.

~BLHD~

The final exams rushed by in a hurry, at least Harry thought so. Hermione was a mess, and it was all Tracey could do to somewhat soothe her nerves so that the Muggle-born could find sleep the days before. Daphne didn't seem really interested at all, except in her Potions test, which she didn't shut up about for hours. Tracey and Draco just took it in stride, and Harry really wasn't worried they'd mess up. He personally thought he'd done reasonably well. Charms and Defence was a walk in the park. Flitwick had asked him to make a pear walk around the room, and Harry had, without much thought on the matter, made it dance and sing for the tiny professor, who'd cheered and laughed like a gleeful child. After that, it had become slightly strange, with Professor Flitwick asking him increasingly difficult questions and ordering him to perform some rather advanced magic. Harry had managed to perform the Banishing and nonverbal Freezing charms easily enough but eventually had to admit defeat when Flitwick asked him to cast a charm to perpetually refill his tea cup.

Harry made a note to look that one up later.

Still, the questioning had left him rather exhausted, despite Flitwick's beaming attitude, so Harry had barely been able to stay awake through the rest of the day.

It wouldn't matter anyway. He wouldn't fail, and he knew his strengths and weaknesses without his professor's assessment.

~BLHD~

'And another year comes to a close,' began Albus Dumbledore, standing up and beaming down at every one of his students before his features settled into contemplative gravity. 'Probably never before have I so wished for a year to finally finish, and never before have I felt so helpless, ashamed even, to be the headmaster of this time-honoured school. It has been a long time indeed since a student lost his life here at Hogwarts, but-I fear-it might never be long enough. Today, we mourn the loss of Theodore Nott-'

'… not bloody likely,' whispered Draco, making Harry nearly choke on his pumpkin juice.

'Shhh!'

'… the fourth and youngest son of the House of Nott, who was taken from us and his family this year when he'd just set foot in what should have been his sanctuary for six years of learning and finding friends. I cannot find words to express how much it grieves me to stand here, knowing that I and the staff failed to uphold what should be your most basic commodity: safety.

'It saddens me that only his family and older friends here truly got to know him.

'How does one cope, you then might ask, with a loss that was never felt. How does one mourn a friendship that never blossomed? And I answer: every bond, regardless of its age, regardless of its ferocity, regardless of the love you feel, starts as a seedling, starts as strangers approaching each other.

'And we must treasure our friends, treasure these bonds that make us truly human. But tonight, I ask that you remember how you might have had another bond, another friendship, another love that was taken from us before it could truly blossom. I ask you to raise your glasses and drink to the friendship that was taken from us; drink to Theodore Nott.'

And they raised their glasses - at least, Harry thought, most of them did. Draco didn't, and a lot of other Slytherins and-ironically-Gryffindors didn't either.

Nevertheless, the feast had definitely started off rather sombrely. There was a low murmur instead of the rambunctious and elated chatter that usually wafted through the Great Hall. Harry idly wondered how many were truly sorry that Nott was gone. It was an ugly thought, he decided.

'Harry?'

Harry gave a start and turned towards the person who'd raised her voice. It was Hermione. 'Er, yes, Hermione?'

'I want to talk later tonight. And I've also decided how you can make amends.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Tracey, who was pointedly engrossed in her talk with Daphne. 'I see,' he said curtly. 'And what is it, if I may ask?'

'I want you to trust me with knowledge regarding yourself. I-I want to be your friend, but you have to start being a bit more open with me, too. So… so I want you to tell me about yourself. A-And about the Potters.'

Harry stared blankly at her, watching her fret as she seemed to be getting second thoughts as to her request.

'Nice one, Honey!' Tracey slapped Hermione on the back. 'Going all-in, I see. Well played!'

'Tracey…?' Harry growled in annoyance. The petite witch winced a bit before turning back to Daphne.

'Alright. Let's discuss this later,' Harry offered tersely.

'Otherwise, you just have to wait until Greengrass forgets you're there again, Granger. Has a loose mouth, that one.'

At this point, a well-aimed potato smashed into Draco's face. 'You better shut up right now, you conniving son of a…' Daphne stopped there for a moment, her gaze flickering to Harry and back to Draco again '… Malfoy!'

Harry chose to lean back at this point, lest stray vegetables hit him, too. He idly inspected the blazing red banners that celebrated Gryffindor's win of the house cup for the third time in a row and gave Hermione one last nod, silently vowing to pay Tracey back in kind at some later date.

~BLHD~

Whyever someone would choose the top of the astronomy tower to meet late at night was truly beyond Hermione. She climbed the next set of stairs, considering the possibility of Harry just wanting to get one over on her, but she quickly dismissed the idea, deciding that Harry was probably not the type to carry petty grudges. Puffing and blowing, she finally reached the top of the long and windy staircase, pushing against the heavy and ancient-looking wooden door. It gave way with a foreboding rattling noise, the rusty hinges creaking in the wind.

The platform on top of the highest of Hogwarts' towers was huge. Bigger, possibly, than it should have been able to be. It was enclosed by a beautiful old brass fence and varied slightly spooky stone statues. Hermione had always hated those things, especially since they somehow seemed to be moving whenever you weren't looking. She never spent more time up here than necessary during Astronomy for that very reason.

Harry was leaning on the fence, looking relaxed, his silken robes fluttering in the wind. The wind! Hermione thought with a shiver. Isn't he freezing? What's it with people meeting in cold places at night?

'Isn't this a little dramatic, Harry? Meeting at the top of the highest tower in the dead of the night? Common room too pedestrian for a Black?'

Harry seemed to find her comment rather amusing, going by his friendly chuckle. 'Well, at least you're not deferential, that's good,' he said over the howling of the wind. The night was as black as tar and the wind biting. Even though she stood barely twenty feet from him, the gale swallowed most of his words. Sighing, and pulling her mantle as tight as possible, she walked up to him, careful not to slip.

'This is creepy and cold, Harry. Can't we go back to the dungeons?' she asked, feeling vaguely unsure about the connection of those last two sentences.

'I'd rather not. There's always someone listening, and I really like it here. I'm not too comfortable with crowds, Hermione. And about the cold…'

He moved his right hand within his robes which, she suspected, held his wand, as they so often did. Immediately, her clothes started radiating a comfortable amount of heat from within, effectively shielding her from the harsh weather. This time, she recognised the charm, too.

I doubt he'd appreciate being compared to Miss Fawley, but it is quite amusing. They weren't too different in this regard; meeting at a lonely place in the middle of the night would have been a very Fawley-ish kind of thing to do…

'I really need to learn that charm,' she said, slightly irritated with herself that she hadn't gotten around to having Miss Fawley show it to her.

'I can show you some other time,' he offered politely, his gaze still riveted on the unseen horizon.

'I'd like that.' She paused for a bit to gather herself. There was much she needed to say, but the start was always the worst. And Harry, it seemed, had no inclination to begin the serious part either. He could at least make this easier by apolo-

'I have to apologise.' Harry's voice suddenly broke the silence and her train of thoughts. 'Looking back, I may have been a bit blinded by my desperation to remedy the situation with Fawley as soon as possible.' He was still looking out into the dark as if searching for something, his hair more unruly than ever before, long strands of his black hair dancing chaotically to the tune of the storm. 'I really did want to help you with Fawley, and I really do think you were, possibly are, a bit too trusting to really make all of this work, but I should still have been able to find a better way.'

He turned around to look at her. His face was calm, completely at odds with the raging weather, but a deep determination shone through. 'Tracey was right, too. I do need to work with my friends, instead of just using them. I'm sorry.'

She smiled at him, her own hair nearly blinding her, blowing in the wind like leaves. 'Thank you for saying that. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, could you maybe explain to me what it was that you did to… bring about the events you desired?'

'I see you're trying hard not to say "manipulate",' he said with a bit of a lopsided grin.

'I am trying,' she replied in kind.

'Well, pretty much everything since my hospitalisation. It was one of the plans I had discussed with Draco beforehand. We decided on the last few things when Draco showed me Fawley's dossier. You may remember it - you were there, after all; it was the night Draco threw up soap.'

'A fond memory.' Hermione couldn't help but giggle.

'I agree. Well, everything you and Draco did after that was according to our plan. My plan, mostly, as Draco did indeed have reservations. Tracey knew and disagreed, too, but she's always been a big old softy. We actually intended to make it all a bit more subtle, but there were… circumstances that had us hasten the plan a bit. You finding me sleeping in the grass, or Draco following you into the library were such measures. I was really worried you might see through it, too. I mean, with all the bullying happening, it was a bit strange for me to just lie down there, wasn't it?'

'I guess it was,' Hermione admitted, embarrassed. 'I-I didn't think clearly, I was just so angry, so disappointed… So, Draco being so mean and annoying to me was also a part of the plan?'

This question seemed to trouble him somehow. In the end, he said, 'I certainly told him to be off-putting. But Draco may have a certain kind of talent in that area, regardless.'

Hermione couldn't agree more. 'What was it that made you speed up the plan?'

'That is not for me to share.'

'You mean it's something that happened to Draco? Or was that why Greengrass was so gloomy and dejected?' she asked to clarify.

'I couldn't say,' he replied delicately, and she knew from his tone that he would say no more on the subject.

'That was still a very Gryffindor thing to do, Harry. If I had stopped to think a bit back then, I might have realised you were actively pushing me away.'

'I am aware of that.' He presented her with a small smile. 'And calling me Gryffindor is no insult to me. I believe Gryffindors and Slytherins are maybe the closest of all the houses in spirit. Slytherins have a goal in mind and do everything necessary to achieve it. Gryffindors sort of blunder through the world but do whatever it takes to fight for their conviction when push comes to shove. It's like two sides of a coin, really, and, in the end, it often amounts to the same thing altogether.' After a while, he added good-naturedly, 'Don't call Draco a Gryffindor, though.'

She couldn't help laughing at that. 'Don't worry.'

Suddenly, a particularly fierce gust rattled the fence, nearly deafening her. The door to the tower shut close with a loud bang, making her jump a foot. When she calmed down a bit, she realised that she was holding onto parts of Harry's sleeve. He looked down at her hand, his expression unreadable.

She smiled sheepishly and let go, though she refrained from backing off. He, however, turned away again, leaning over the fence.

'That's dangerous, Harry,' she heard herself say.

'Not particularly. A sufficiently strong gale could probably push both of us over the edge with the fence in tow anyway.'

Hermione just stared at him in horror.

'That was a joke,' he said hastily, smiling briefly to calm her down. 'The fence is quite sturdy, don't worry.'

She looked down, not wanting him to think she was being silly. Eventually, she voiced another question she'd come up with in the past month. 'Have you ever obliviated me?'

'No,' he replied simply.

'Did you consider lying in this circumstance?' she asked curiously, biting her lip and gauging his reaction.

He chuckled a bit at that. 'I believe the question is redundant, but the answer is still no.'

'Why not?'

'There's no real reason to. If I don't want to tell you something, I won't tell you. If I want to make up for my own shortcomings, then I'll do so.'

'Yes, I figured it'd be something like that. Tracey mentioned that you seldom lie, but what's the difference between a lie and misleading someone? You can't take the high ground just because you didn't lie if you still aim to deceive someone, after all.'

'It's not about that.' Harry waved her objection aside. 'Lying is mostly not worth it. You run the risk of contradicting yourself, and keeping up with several lies at the same time may be straining, especially if you have to juggle them when several people to whom you told different things are present. Also, most people don't pay enough attention to really understand what you're saying to begin with. You have to… appraise the situation. A lie should be treated as an auricular acknowledgement of defeat, that's what my grandfather always used to tell me.'

'So why wasn't it worth it to lie to me? You could still make yourself appear better by doing so.'

'Better than what? I'm not in the habit of changing myself just to appease my environment. Well, you tell me why it isn't worth it for me to lie to you regarding this.'

After a short pause to ponder his question, she said in a low tone, 'Because I might find out.'

'Exactly.' He rewarded her with another small smile, before looking back into the night.

'That's so cold, Harry. I-I know it makes a certain amount of sense, but it just seems so cold. Don't your friends mean anything to you?'

That question seemed to upset Harry, as he turned around abruptly, his brow wrinkled in annoyance. 'That's different. I will never sell out my friends, and if I didn't consider you as such, we wouldn't be having this kind of conversation. But I have a lot to lose and little to gain from personal relations. It will take time for me to trust someone, anyone. And there will never be a shortcut. The more you pressure me on this, the more I will have to consider that you have a motivation to force your friendship on me.'

She stared at him, taken aback. 'I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, Harry, really! It's just… so different from what I'm used to.'

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 'I know. I apologise for my outburst. Just… just imagine a block of ice between us. The more we spend time with each other, the more it will melt and we'll be, in turn, able to understand more of each other. But it will take time.'

'That's fine,' Hermione assuaged him immediately. 'I'm fine with that. Well, no, I'm not fine with that, but it will have to do, I guess.'

He nodded. 'It will have to do.'

'Don't you ever get tired of all this? I mean, you always have to consider everything politically, you always consider using people if you perceive them as enemies. Don't you get tired of it all?'

'It can be difficult,' he admitted. 'But I believe my perspective is a bit different from yours. Everybody, everything really fabricates preferable outcomes of events, but most people just choose to not think about it like that. When you subtly let somebody know that you approve of their action, with a kind and innocent little smile perhaps, you're still manipulating a person. Whenever you scold a child, you mould a person. Whomever you ignore, whomever you choose to pay attention to, either way, you're still a factor in what makes him the person he is. You cannot choose to not influence people. We are, to a certain extent, what we are made to be. But even still, and this is the important part, even still you have to fiercely believe that, in the end, despite the differences in upbringing, the subconscious machinations, the events in someone's life, everyone can make his own choices. Otherwise, the world stops spinning. Otherwise, a murderer might as well be the victim. Otherwise, justice is little more than a means of oppression.'

'That sounds like philosophy.'

'It is,' he acknowledged, bowing his head.

'I'm not sure philosophers approve of your applications of their theories,' Hermione remarked, grinning.

'I try to not let it bother me,' he answered wryly.

They shared a moment of silence, though this time Hermione did not mind it as much. 'So… about the Potters,' she began eventually.

'I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Hermione.' The wind blew some stray drops of rain into her eyes, making her blink a few times. 'But I can show you if you want,' Harry continued smoothly.

'Show me?' she asked sceptically.

'Do you want to know or not?' he asked, clearly amused by her hesitance.

'Of course!'

'Then give me your address. I will come over and show you what you wish to know.'

Hermione blinked. 'You want to… come over?'

He inclined his head. 'That is the only way for you to learn. But if you don't want me in your house the-'

'No! That's not it. Er, you can't conjure up some parchment, can you?'

'I'm afraid not. But I do have some parchment with me. If that will do?'

Harry produced a small bit of parchment and tapped it twice with his wand.

'What'd you do?'

'I made it waterproof. Also, you'll be able to write on it with your fingers by subtly applying pressure. It's anything but perfect, but it should do the trick here.'

'What year are those charms from this time?' she mumbled, slightly envious.

'Second and sixth, I believe,' he answered with a roguish smile, as he watched her write down her address with her index.

She held out the parchment to him, and he pocketed it without further ado. 'I will contact you so that we can arrange a time. I have some other business to take care of this summer, so I'm not entirely sure when it will be, but I promise I'll get back to you during the break. I hope that is acceptable?'

'It is,' she replied happily. 'Now let's get out of here before it begins to rain in earnest!'

'Good idea. Descending the stairs when they're wet and slippery is likely more dangerous than staying up here during a thunderstorm.'

'Harry!' She turned towards him in shock again, but he was only grinning. 'Stop doing that! Your humour is awful!'

He shrugged, still grinning.

'Harry?' she started again, after a brief contemplative silence.

'Hm?'

'Draco once told me that "everyone who approaches you has either an agenda or a death wish".'

'Overly dramatic but essentially correct,' Harry commented.

'So, what's your agenda?' she asked, biting her lip.

'I have lots of dreams that have yet to come true,' he answered immediately, slightly surprising Hermione, who hadn't expected an honest answer. 'Changing the way society views me, House Slytherin or my family might be a more achievable plan. But my real goal, my true ambition, is to dethrone the usurpers and turncoats, to undo the great injustice that we have to bear.' He stopped walking, turning towards her, and she could, for the first time, see a kind of childlike euphoria in his features. 'I do not want to regress. I do not want dead traditions to be passed on to the next generation just for their own perpetual sake. But I don't want progress for progress' sake either. And as long as the middle ground is barred, as long as those currently in power seek to oppress us, I will fight tooth and nail to break free of their bonds and shackles, and I will mercilessly crush what they call peace and I repression.'

He stared at her for a second, before beginning to walk again. Hermione just blinked a few times, before following him hastily. 'That sounds a lot like… revolution, Harry.'

'I'm still at school, Hermione. Don't worry. I will tell you once I aim to challenge our glorious leaders, so you can safely detach yourself from my criminal influence in time.'

She hit him playfully on the shoulder 'Prat!'

Hermione silently followed him down the stairs, ignoring the rising headache Harry's little oration had given her. She couldn't really approve, and she had difficulty imagining herself changing so much that this would no longer hold true. Still, she couldn't deny that, in a very crooked and depressing way, Harry's and Draco's actions made a certain amount of sense. They weren't evil. They weren't good either. They definitely weren't kind or honourable. But they were principled, as much as it annoyed her to admit it. 'I think it only now dawns on me what Draco really meant with different values and upbringing.'

'I imagine so,' said Harry quietly.

'But you know what?' She turned towards him and presented him a small smile. 'I think I'm willing to give it a shot.'

~BLHD~

Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of Draco arguing with Zabini over the proper way to fold robes. Groaning softly, he turned around in the faint hope of shutting out their pointlessly animated and heated debate.

'And I'm telling you: we're not in Italy! I don't care how you do it over there. Over here, however, we're doing it right. Stop desecrating your wardrobe!'

'I'm only mildly disturbed how interested you are in my clothes, given how much attention you seem to pay to the boys in the showers,' Zabini replied with a smirk.

'Why, you little-' Malfoy had clearly taken a leaf out of Daphne's book and thrown something at his fellow Slytherin.

'Can you two stop bickering like old laundresses, ladies?' remarked Harry acidly, popping his head out from behind the curtains. He was quite annoyed that his sleep had been so rudely interrupted, especially as he'd been talking with Hermione in the common room until late at night.

Yaxley and Shafiq laughed appreciatively, quite possibly enraging Draco even further.

'You shut up, Black!'

'Yes, shut up, Harry! And start packing already.'

'Yes, mother,' Harry replied sarcastically, grudgingly standing up.

'Hey, Black. I've always been wondering…' Yaxley suddenly asked, looking strangely serious all of a sudden. Yaxley was a lanky boy, easily distracted and equally easily entertained. Harry hadn't really interacted with him so far, same as with Shafiq and the younger Selwyn.

'Yes?' Harry asked tersely.

'I may have a bet on the outcome of the question, so I'd appreciate honesty. If you don't want to tell me, just say so.'

'Alright,' Harry agreed, deciding to humour him.

'How much pocket money do you get?'

Harry just stared at Yaxley, flabbergasted. Draco, however, began laughing shamelessly.

'This is utterly ridiculous,' commented Zabini.

'So?' The Yaxley asked curiously.

'This is the important question you bet on?' asked Harry to clarify.

'Yes!' He replied defensively. 'I bet Macmillan that it's more than fifty Galleons a month.'

'How much did you wager?' inquired Draco, straining to keep himself from bursting out again.

'On the difference between his actual allowance and my guess.'

'Dude, I can't believe how gormless Macmillan is. How the mighty have fallen! I really feel sorry for his ancestors; they must be turning in their graves, wishing they could die all over again to escape the shame,' said Draco, his expression an amalgam of pity and amusement.

'What do you mean?' Yaxley asked, likely confused because he wasn't used to Draco switching gears like that.

'What Draco means to say is that, in the worst of cases, you stand to lose fifty Galleons,' drawled Zabini, looking bored.

Yaxley gulped audibly; it couldn't have been clearer that he did not, in fact, possess the money he bet.

'On the other hand,' Harry continued with a smirk. 'Your possible winnings aren't limited, as such. I doubt you'll get him to pay you more than a few dozen Galleons, but still. Anyway, I don't really have an allowance per se. If I want something, I'll just buy it. There's no real… limit as long as I don't go around buying real estate or something.'

'Wait, what? You don't have an allowance?'

'No, you dimwit,' corrected Zabini. 'He means that he can spend as much as he wants.'

'That's not something I can work with, I can hardly expect Macmillan to give me infinite money. Say, for the sake of the bet, how much money do you have with you right now, Black?' Yaxley asked with a frown.

'I don't know,' responded Harry slightly puzzled. 'Let me check.' He rummaged in his trunk for a while, the others watching him expectantly. 'Hm,' Harry said without any excitement in his voice. 'I guess I have around 750 Galleons here.'

'YOU WHAT?' screamed Yaxley and Draco simultaneously.

'That seems a bit excessive. Even for you, Black.' Zabini shook his head in exasperation and turned around again to finish packing.

'What do you need all that for?' asked Shafiq disbelievingly. 'You expecting to buy brooms at Hogwarts or something?'

'I don't know. I didn't really think about it, to be honest,' replied Harry earnestly.

'This is nuts, Harry. That's much more than what most people need for all their years here combined.'

'I guess,' said Harry with a shrug. 'It's just money.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'And they say I'm spoiled. Well, have fun getting those 700 Galleons, Yaxley.'

Yaxley only now seemed to realise what this meant for his bet, jumping into the air and laughing loudly. Harry, not really caring for his dorm mate's childish antics, shrugged again and began packing himself, with Draco waiting impatiently for him by the door. 'Will you hurry it up? We're going to miss the train, mate!'

'Relax,' Harry replied calmly. 'There's still loads of time.'

'If you want to skip breakfast, you mean.'

'You're annoying in the morning, Draco.'

'Less talking, more packing!'

Ten minutes later, a thoroughly irritated Harry was dragged to the Great Hall by Draco, who was clearly set on not giving up his first meal of the day.

Daphne and Tracey were already there and had, as expected, already finished.

'There you are!' exclaimed Tracey. 'Can't you fix that habit of yours, Harry?'

'I see no reason to,' he replied grumpily, sitting down and grabbing a bit of toast.

'They've handed out our results, you know? I aced Potions!' proclaimed Daphne proudly.

'Nice,' Harry replied without much enthusiasm. Daphne's face fell comically. 'I mean, well done,' he remedied immediately. 'Your mother will be proud. And so am I.'

'Thanks, Harry.' Her frown vanished in a moment to be replaced by the most dazzling of smiles Harry had ever seen.

'And here comes the number one student of the year,' announced Tracey when Hermione walked up to them. 'Where were you off to?'

'The staff room,' Hermione replied, taking a seat beside Harry and staring at him. 'Good morning,' she said, and Harry noted how her voice seemed quite hard.

'Good morning?' he replied, unsure what was wrong. They had actually managed to sort out a great deal last night, or so he'd thought, so he was understandably confused by her attitude.

'Morning, Granger,' said Draco, smiling over his cup of pumpkin juice. 'What's up with you?'

'I'll beat you next year, Harry!' Hermione declared, clearly disgruntled.

Tracey laughed loudly. 'What are talking about, Honey? You've got the top spot in our year: Seven straight O's!'

Hermione muttered something inaudible.

'What? Speak your mind, Granger! I don't want to suffer your murmuring during the entire train ride,' grizzled Draco.

'My "top spot" is not as high up there as you believe it to be, Draco,' Hermione said darkly. 'If you go by the combined points of our exams only, Harry beat me by an accumulated 170%, however he managed to do that. When I was in the staff room just now, I "overheard" Professors Flitwick and Rose rave about it on my way to our Head of House.'

Daphne, Draco and Tracey looked at Harry in shock.

'Oh, I guess that would be because I got 280% on my Charms test. Flitwick told me already,' Harry admitted absent-mindedly in a low voice, his slowly awakening mind already enjoying the prospect of his family library at home.

Silence followed this most extraordinary statement. After a few seconds, Harry's mind caught up with his mouth, and he stopped dead, his toast dangling a few inches in front of his mouth. Damn! Didn't I just tell Hermione… Oh damn!

Having suffered at least ten seconds of shameless gawping, Harry started fidgeting uncomfortably. 'Eh, I… I believe I forgot something in the library. I'll see you guys later!'

Someone grabbed his shoulder forcefully and made him take a seat again. Hermione's look reminded him of the one she had given him after his slip-up in their first ever Charms lesson. He raised his hands defensively, bracing himself for the inevitable.

'Two hundred…' Tracey repeated as if under hypnosis.

'… and eighty!' Daphne finished the sentence for her. 'I didn't even know you could get more than 100%.'

'Look, Hermione!' Harry coughed delicately. 'An O is an O. Can't we just drop it? I mean, you likely beat me in every other exam except Defence.'

Tracey snorted and very quietly muttered something to Daphne. Harry tried his best to ignore this and steer clear of that particularly dangerous water.

'It's you who got seven Outstandings; so, I think you thoroughly deserve the top spot. We all know how much effort you put into your studies,' Harry pleaded.

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'How many points did you get in your Defence test, Harry?'

Harry tried to fight down his impulse to run away. 'What does that have to do with anything, Hermione?'

Tracey pursed her lips and said in an innocent sing-song voice, 'Hey, Harry! Now that I think about it, didn't you fall asleep during your history exam?'

Another silence washed over the group while everyone (except Harry) did some quick calculating in their heads.

'Harry!' Hermione and Daphne exclaimed simultaneously.

Draco just laughed loudly. ' Another result around 200%, mate? I knew you were a glutton for books, but don't you think you're overdoing it?'

'I-I really think I should be looking for my anthology… I'll see you all later!' Harry said hastily and, standing up, hurried towards the great portal that would lead him to tranquility.

Harry ignored the cries of disbelief behind him, but the moment he heard someone making a few loud steps in an obvious effort to catch up to him, he broke into a full-out run.

Merlin, I just want some peace and quiet!

~BLHD~

The train ride was a bit awkward after that, with Daphne and Hermione both grilling him over his exams. In the end, he gave up and just recounted what exactly had happened. Tracey and Draco thought it was all good fun when he described the increasingly implausible tasks Flitwick had told him to try his hand at. Harry was only mildly surprised that Hermione had apparently worked half-way through the second-year curriculum already and was quite able to cast the Freezing Charm herself, though she lacked a deeper understanding of nonverbal spells for now.

In the end, Harry managed to calm the clearly upset Muggle-born when he insisted that she had, quite fairly, beaten him in all other subjects.

'You'll still, of course, attend my birthday party, will you, Harry?' Daphne reminded him in a suspicious voice when they'd nearly reached King's Cross.

'And you will really come visit, Harry?' Hermione asked nervously.

Daphne shot Hermione a dark look but didn't say anything. 'Yes,' Harry said without gusto. 'Yes, I will.'

'Excellent!' said Daphne, clearly happy with the outcome. 'It'll be a small party, of course. A few classmates, perhaps. Nothing too grand.'

Tracey nudged her a few times, and Harry could see Daphne scowling as a reaction to whatever the petite witch was whispering to her best friend while gesturing urgently.

'Fine!' Daphne finally snapped. 'Granger?'

'Er, yes?' Hermione asked, startled.

'You want to come, too?' Daphne asked rather insincerely.

'Er, no. I wouldn't want to intrude. Thank you for asking though.'

Daphne didn't even try to hide the relief she seemed to feel over that answer. 'Okay, then,' she said merrily, ignoring Tracey making a face at her.

They finally arrived only a few moments later, with Harry being ordered to gallantly carry Daphne's and Tracey's trunks, though he suspected Tracey was really just too lazy to do it herself. Having long since learned not to argue over something small like this, he just sighed, pointed his wand at the trunks and said, ' Locomotor trunks !'

Hermione watched him interestedly. 'No nonverbal spell this time, Harry? You're slipping,' she teased with a smile.

'Hardly,' he replied curtly, not blinking. 'It's more difficult than it looks with several trunks.'

He levitated the trunks out of the train. Hermione was the only one still sticking around at this point, but Harry didn't voice his dissatisfaction, no matter how thankless his friends could be at times. Two Aurors were watching him with leery eyes, obviously disapproving of his use of magic.

'They don't seem to like you moving them with magic, do they?' Hermione asked, looking at the pair of professional Dark wizard catchers.

'Well, it's a bit of a grey area if this is underage magic or not. But they know better than to stick their noses where they could get burned.'

'That sounded really arrogant, Harry,' Hermione responded reproachfully.

'Still true, though,' he returned with a grin.

'Oh, look! It's my parents! Let me introduce you.' Hermione grabbed his sleeve and ran towards a pair of nervous-looking Muggles, who were clearly overwhelmed with the blatant displays of magic. Harry had difficulty trying to keep up, not stumble and hold onto his Charm, but he just managed to not embarrass himself, while Hermione embraced both of her parents.

'Mum? Dad? This is Harry. I've written you about him. Harry? Meet my parents.'

'It is good to meet you, ma'am,' Harry took the woman's hand and brushed his lips against it. 'And you, too, sir,' he added, shaking the man's hand firmly.

Hermione's father looked kind of overwhelmed, while her mother seemed amused by his formal and antiquated greeting. 'It's good to meet you, too, dear,' she said. She was a friendly-looking woman with big, round eyes, and a seemingly inextinguishable smile on her lips. Hermione's father was of rather a lean stature, even if he did look visibly fit. His hair was very short, though that, Harry thought as he gave the wiry and retreating hairline a glance, might just be his way of dealing with what was apparently Hermione's bushy and untamable hair.

'So, you're the, I quote, "infuriatingly incomprehensible young man" our daughter keeps writing about?'

'Dad! Don't embarrass me, please!' Hermione whined pleadingly.

Her father smiled and squeezed his daughter again.

'How have you been, Hermione? You kind of stopped writing letters a few weeks ago,' Mr Granger asked.

'Oh,' Hermione replied with a blush. 'There was just so much on my mind, sorry.'

'She means to say that she worked very hard for the exams. Your daughter's the best in our year!' explained Harry.

Hermione beamed at him, while her parents looked at her daughter fondly.

'HARRY!' All of a sudden, a small blonde rocket slammed into him, nearly toppling him.

'Hello, Tori,' Harry said with a strained smile, patting her awkwardly on the back.

'Oh, and who is this, Hermione?' asked Mrs Granger.

'I, uh, actually don't know either,' Hermione admitted uneasily.

'Oh! Pardon my manners.' Astoria untangled herself from Harry and dropped a practised curtsey. 'Are you Miss Hermione Granger, by any chance? Daphne's told me all about you. Considering she went to great lengths to portrait you in a bad light, I think we might get along just fine.' She curtsied adorably again, smiling at the Muggle-born.

'Yes, that's me. And who might you be?' Hermione asked kindly, graciously ignoring the elder Greengrass' malicious gossip.

'I'm Harry's bride!'

Harry closed his eyes, though he felt like he could still see the accusing and judging stares of Hermione and her father. Oh, for Merlin's sake…

'We've married three times already!' Astoria added as a boast.

'Oh! That's so sweet!' Hermione's mother cooed in a motherly fashion, bringing a hand to her cheeks. 'And he's said yes all three times?'

'Eventually!' the small girl responded triumphantly, raising her chin and causing the adults to erupt in wild fits of laughter.

Oh, please, kill me now!

Daphne and Tracey rescued him from the little bundle of energy shortly afterwards, with Daphne making him promise to attend her party no matter what. 'I don't care if a dragon burns down your house or if you're deathly sick. You will attend my party, understood, Harry?'

'We can nurse you back to health. It'll be fun!' Astoria giggled, clearly on board with the thought.

Harry tried to play it cool but he was finding his patience wearing thin. Tracey, perhaps picking up on that, came to his help. 'Let's get going, Daphy! You'll see him soon enough.'

'Okay,' she replied reluctantly. She walked up to Harry and gave him a quick hug, and Harry was quite surprised that he didn't really mind her doing so. Daphne, to his dismay, seemed to pick up on that as well and, pushing her luck with a cheesy grin, gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

'Hey, no fair!' protested Astoria, stomping her foot, and looking jealously at her older sister.

'See you this summer, Harry!' Daphne turned around with her trunk, giggling at Harry's failed attempt to look like nothing happened.

'You're fairly popular,' remarked Hermione's mother with a knowing smile, watching the sisters banter as they retreated with Tracey.

'Not my choice, I assure you, ma'am,' he said honestly. 'Well, I must be off, too.'

'Wait, Harry! Mum? Dad? Can Harry come over this summer for a day?'

'Not only popular but bold as well, it seems.' But Hermione's mother was still all smiles.

'What's this about, Harry?' asked Mr Granger neutrally.

'I'll only be borrowing Hermione for a few hours. I'll return with her before it's dark.'

'Please, Dad?' Hermione shot his father a pleading look, which seemed to cause his hesitation to wither.

'Well, alright. But I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, Harry,' he said sternly.

'Of course, Mr Granger. It isn't a date, though, if that will ease your concerns.'

'Oh!' he said awkwardly, clearly surprised. 'Well, if that's… I mean - well. There shouldn't be- Well, alright.'

Miss Granger patted his shoulder affectionately. 'You can still ask our daughter on a date if you wish, Harry. It isn't his decision to decline,' she smiled gently.

'I wasn't… I mean… Well, of course, I'd be perfectly happy to-' spluttered Mr Granger.

'Relax, Dad! It's not a date, so stop making such a fuss about it!' said Hermione matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes.

'Well, it was nice to finally get to know you, Harry,' said Miss Granger, apparently taking pity on her husband. 'We'll be seeing you this summer, then.'

'Thank you for your hospitality,' replied Harry, bowing slightly. 'I'll be looking forward to meeting you again.'

'It's quite alright, dear,' she replied, smiling brightly.

'See you later, Harry! Write to me, will you?'

'I will,' he replied with a nod, watching Hermione dragging her parents through the barrier and off into the strange and alien world of the Muggles.

Looking around, he spotted Draco in conversation with his family. With nothing better to do, he wandered over.

'Harry! It is so good to see you!' Narcissa gave him a quick smile, looking him over. 'You're looking well. Did you enjoy these last few weeks?'

'As well as could be expected,' he answered. 'Hello, Lucius.'

'Harry,' the man said without inflexion and with only the most minimal of nods.

'Are you coming with us, Harry?' Draco asked confused, craning his neck, obviously looking for Arcturus.

'I don't know, to be honest,' said Harry. 'Someone was supposed to pick me up.'

'Don't worry, Harry. I'll be dropping you off, today. Your grandfather couldn't make it.' Narcissa pointed her wand at his trunk, and it shrunk until it fit into her purse, where she promptly stowed it away. 'You have everything, Sweetheart? Want to grab a snack before we're off?'

'There you go pampering Harry again, Mother.'

'Let them be, Draco. A wise man never stands between a woman and the target of her pampering.'

'Very true,' replied Narcissa Malfoy, beaming at her favourite nephew, whom, very much like her sisters, she refused to acknowledge as a second cousin. 'Let us be off, Harry. Bella will only wait for so long.'

'She's at home?' Harry asked, slightly alarmed.

'She is. With Arcturus out of the country for a bit, she has insisted that one of us should look after you.'

'Are Amy and Leo there as well?'

'No, they're with the rest of the Lestranges for now. Come now.' She gently took his hand and motioned for him to prepare himself. 'I'll be seeing you tonight, my little Dragon.'

'Yeah, alright. See you at Greengrass' party, Harry!'

'Okay. Bye, Draco. Goodbye, Lucius.'

The man nodded silently, his eyes flickering to his wife and back to him again.

And then the world blacked out, and Harry felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. Not a second later, he appeared in front of their house in the city. 'I thought it might be better if you entered on foot this time, given what happened when you last apparated through the wards.'

'Good thinking,' remarked Harry, quite relieved that his aunt was as thoughtful as ever.

'I still don't comprehend what happened back then,' she remarked, her elegant features creased with apparent confusion. 'Nothing like that has ever happened before.'

'I don't fully understand it either,' said Harry carefully, slowly stepping over the boundary of the wards, focusing as much as he could on his Occlumency and feeling immensely relieved when nothing out of the ordinary happened.

'Well, better prepare yourself to face Bella,' said Narcissa with a wry smile. 'She's been really upset.'

Harry sighed. 'So I gathered.'

The door opened to a soft touch of his hand. 'Ah, welcome home, my boy!' cried one happy painting of a wizard that hung beside the door.

'Finally! Decent company of good repute, welcome back, indeed,' said the portrait of Walburga Black.

Harry smiled at them, especially when he saw a lot of occupants of other portraits rushing through the now empty frames in the staircase with various degrees of dignity to welcome him back.

'Harry!' a shrill voice echoed through the house. 'Did you hex the degenerates? Did you chasten those filthy heathens who besmirched our noble house by daring to lay a hand on my darling nephew? Dogs should know their place when the masters go for a stroll - and those mucky mongrels will only ever learn the hard way!'

'Hello, Auntie Bella,' Harry replied with practised ease, allowing himself to be swept up in her fierce embrace.

And later that night, when Harry was nearly asleep, he allowed his body to completely relax for the first time in nearly a year, laying his wand on the bedside cabinet and out of his immediate reach for the first time ever since he'd left home. There were things to consider, difficulties to overcome, years of Hogwarts ahead of him, but, at this very moment, his mind was finally completely at peace.

And somewhere else, in the deepest bowels of the British Ministry of Magic, half a mile underground, in a dark and nigh-forgotten hall with rows of empty lithic seats, witnessed by nobody and without leaving any evidence of it ever happening, a veil began to flutter .

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Black Luminary - Houses Divided

fin

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AN1: Heya! This is it; the first year is finally finished. For those who want more adventure or tension-heavy plot, be at ease; the next year will have plenty of that. Just to give you a short heads-up of what to expect: I will not dilly-dally too much, and we will be returning to Hogwarts fairly soon. In the meantime, Madame Greengrass (Daphne's grandmother and the head of her family, not to be confused with her mother), who (as you might have picked up) does not approve of Harry one bit, makes a short appearance and so do the Lestranges. Bellatrix has been a challenge to write, I don't mind admitting. That is mostly because, like Draco, she does not have any character whatsoever in the books; she's as violent and obsessed as Draco is mean and antagonistic. Still, I think you'll find my take on her mirrors these attributes in some way or another. On the other hand, I've had lots of fun actually imagining what Bellatrix' children would have been like (with her not in Azkaban and completely demented, obviously). The siblings will, I think, be rather well-received, though I don't want to foreshadow too much right now.

AN2: I'll be adding this note again because I know this is something that a lot of you are rather passionate about. There will be no harem or anything like it. I know this chapter gives the impression that every female seems to have a thing for Harry. That is not the case. Hermione has, so far, not shown any tendency to go down that route. Neither has Tracey. Amy, one of Lestrange's children, is not exactly ladylike. Now, Daphne is a bit of a special case, but I think I've made it fairly obvious by now that she and Harry share a Past that justifies the capital letter. She's dependent on him, she craves his attention, sure, but despite her playfulness, she hasn't actually expressed any genuine romantic love so far (not that most teenagers that age would be able to, anyway). Astoria, too, shares her family's past with Harry, though her affection is really totally innocent and rather along the lines of admiration and wanting to compete with her sister. Also, without spoiler, Tori will probably remain a secondary character, seeing as the number of friends Harry has at Hogwarts is already taxing my ability to do them all justice. And lastly, Aenor has proven to be extremely ruthless, cunning and calculating even if she seems to have opened up to Harry a lot.

Now that we have gotten that out of the way, I do NOT want to allude that Harry will not end up with one of them. Because he will. Which one, well, I doubt you'll get it right at this point in time. But you sure are welcome to guess. Bragging rights for whoever gets it right about a hundred chapters in advance! If someone should actually guesses right and also predict correctly how it'll happen, I'll write a minor character in his (or her) honour that'll probably die a horrible death.

VoD: Summer memories

Black Luminary

Book 2: A Veil of Death

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Summer memories

The unbearable heat. The putrid smell of brimstone. Every breath he took felt as if his lungs would melt from within, while swirling clouds of biting ash blinded his vision, seared his skin.

'Promise me, Harry!' the man shouted pleadingly, his usually cold grey eyes burning with desperation. 'I need your promise!'

A supporting beam cracked with a deafening crash as the left wing of the manor succumbed to the fire. 'Take them!' the man cried over the thunderous roar, wand in his hand, a nasty cut under his left eye. 'But promise me!'

Something exploded. The images grew hazy. Then, suddenly, there was the voice of a girl. 'You promise you won't…?'

The fire didn't seem as fierce now, the air was almost cool. 'I promise.' Careless, naïve words of a boy, that-while spoken in truth-would now have to be upheld for all time to come.

~BLVoD~

Harry slowly opened his eyes, looking at his bright and tidy room, a complicated expression on his face. He could still smell the ash and desperation thick in the air; a good memory, he decided, had its downsides. Sighing, he got up and grabbed his wand, pointing it groggily to air out the bedclothes. Looking around, he briefly regarded his own reflexion in the mirror; he looked as if he hadn't slept in a while, which was a bit odd since he'd done practically nothing but read and sleep since he'd come back home, much to the growing annoyance of his aunt.

Frowning a bit, he dressed in the clothes Cranky had laid out for him and descended the prominent set of stairs.

Bellatrix was already awake, sitting at the table in the kitchen, shrouded in the familiar atmosphere of a mildly suppressed case of bipolar disorder. 'Serves them right! These wretched traitors will get what's coming to them one of these days,' she growled menacingly at the paper in her hand. 'Oh, good morning, Harry!' Her expression changed at the speed of light to a bright smile.

'Morning,' Harry replied curtly, leaving the 'what's so good about it' part unsaid. He really detested mornings.

'Sleeping in, I see,' Bellatrix continued as if unaware that he hated long talks when he got up.

'How late is it?'

'Half past eleven. Have any plans for the day?'

'Not really,' Harry admitted. 'Reading, I guess?'

'Dull, dull, dull, Harry. Come on, let's do something fun!' Her eyes widened dangerously.

'And what would that be?' he asked warily.

'Remember that cleaver I got you?' she asked with an excited smirk.

'We are not going to hunt Griffins!' he said decidedly.

'And why ever not?' she asked, crossing her arms and pouting like a disappointed child. 'I assure you; it's genuine! It even has an enchantment so that the beasts can't fly if you strike them once.'

'No,' he said strongly.

'Come on! I finally get to see my favourite nephew again, but you only want to spend time in your precious library.' She blinked a few times, her prominent eyes scanning the room as if on the lookout for something fun to do. 'Can we at least play a bit in the duelling room?' she asked eventually, obviously willing to settle for a compromise.

'Fine,' Harry agreed. 'But nothing weird please!'

'When did I ever do anything weird?! Shocking accusation!' she said, flailing her arms dramatically.

He just looked at her. 'Remember that one time you had me fight that giant spider with a knife and my wand, back when I was eight?' he asked, dead-pan.

'But it was perfectly safe!' she said, looking hurt again. 'I told you I had the antivenom on hand.'

Harry rolled his eyes, choosing not to comment that the mandibles of the spider had been as thick as his arms. 'Or when you insisted I had to be desensitised to blood and made me swim throu-'

'Water under the bridge,' she said, cackling at the memory. 'And you did it, didn't you? And you're not afraid of blood anymore, are you?'

'Well, I suppose that's true.' He refrained from saying that he now harboured an intense dislike for the taste of blood instead.

'See? Your Auntie Bella knows best! I have just the thing in mind…'

Harry sighed. Why did only his grandfather understand that quiet and relaxed vacations in the library were his idea of fun?

Blowing on the steam that rose from the cup of tea in his hand, he looked out of the window, ignoring the malfeasant stream of expletives his aunt directed at the Prophet.

'Anything interesting in there?' Harry asked after a bit of time, leaning back in his chair.

'Ridiculous, more like. Ministry lost two of their employees.'

'Lost? How can one lose personnel?'

'Woeful incompetence,' she said loftily. 'Arrogant upstarts, the lot of them. The whole Ministry is riddled with filth and parvenus.'

'And traitors,' Harry added absent-mindedly.

'And traitors living on borrowed time,' his aunt corrected him with an approving nod.

They fell silent. Eventually, Harry cast his gaze out of the window. 'Are you expecting a letter?' he asked, furrowing his brow as he observed the little speck in the sky that seemed to be heading their way.

'No,' she said, looking at the approaching bird shrewdly. 'But it does seem to be heading straight this way, doesn't it? Little Miss Greengrass, perhaps?'

'No, I've gotten a letter from her only yesterday…'

Harry walked to the window and opened it cumbersomely. To their surprise, it wasn't an owl at all. Crowing importantly and showing off his darkly shimmering and impressive plumage, a giant northern raven circled the kitchen twice, his mighty wings clipping a few glasses that crashed onto the floor, which caused the animal to crow even more fiercely, as if to announce its inevitable victory over the household. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes dangerously.

'Have you ever seen one of those?' Harry asked dumbfounded.

'Well, there are a few held captive in London, but wild ones? I'm not sure and certainly none that ridiculously large.' She reached for the small capsule the bird had strapped to his leg, but the animal crowed even louder, picking at her hand with his black and sharp-looking beak. 'Stupid birdbrain,' cursed Bellatrix hotly, quickly retracting her bleeding hand. 'If it picks at you, too, I say we put it out of its misery!'

Harry slowly reached for the capsule. The raven regarded him imperiously, widening his wings, gazing into his eyes with a soulful look. 'It seems rather intelligent, I think,' said Harry in a low voice.

'Intelligent?' Bellatrix shrieked. 'No wonder those nasty critters have nearly been eradicated, I say.'

The raven crowed at her again, pointing his sharp beak at Bellatrix and moving his head jerkily, his eyes never leaving the woman with curly hair as dark as, ironically, a crow. Ruffling his feathers again, it slowly stuck out his foot with the message to Harry.

Cautiously, Harry tried to take it, making it a point to keep his fingers from the apparently not to be underestimated claws or beak. The raven, however, jumped from his perch and made rounds through the kitchen again (and smashing a few more things out of spite, Harry suspected) before finally settling himself rather comfortably and surprisingly gently on Harry's shoulder, allowing him to take the message without any problems.

'You're not so bad, are you?' said Harry eventually, caressing his beautiful coat.

The bird crowed, softer this time, and rubbed its head against Harry's hand.

'Degenerated, plague-ridden chicken,' muttered Bellatrix under her breath. 'Get stuffed!'

Harry curiously unfolded the bit of parchment.

' Harry,

The summer's been pretty damn awful so far, and I need to leave for the mainland in a few days.

Do you think it's possible that we hold your little Occlumency test this week? If you think you need more time, tell me so.

In any case, write back as soon as possible, and don't you dare bully my beautiful Bambi!

Aenor '

'She's named you Bambi?' Harry asked the raven, laughing out loudly. The bird regarded him coolly, clicking its beak in a way that suggested that it refrained from taking offence as a personal favour.

'That's not exactly the name I had in mind,' commented Bellatrix scathingly.

'What would you have picked?'

'Pillow Padding,' she replied with a smirk.

' P.S.: In case you're wondering; my lovely little raven once killed a full-grown wild doe. My tip: don't annoy him. '

'That's more like it,' said Harry with a smirk.

'Who is it from?' Bellatrix asked, pointing her wand at her still-bleeding finger.

'Oh, I don't believe you've met. My defence teacher at Hogwarts.'

'Wasn't she the one you danced with all night?' she asked, looking mildly surprised.

'Er, yes, her. She'll be coming over for a day. Some sort of Occlumency test or something.'

'She's keyed into the wards?' Bellatrix continued to question, raising an eyebrow.

'The outer ones for this house, yes.'

'Interesting. Occlumency, huh? But that sounds so boring, too! No wonder you keep in touch.'

'I rather think her tests would be right up your alley,' said Harry with a wry grin.

'Anyway, even if you want to play with your little friend, I'll still hold you to that promise from earlier,' she said, her tone brooking no protest. 'I want you to show me that you can handle yourself, in case the vermin try anything again.'

~BLVoD~

First, Harry stared. Then, he blinked and decided to repeat himself, just in case he was seeing things. 'Are those real people?' he asked, his voice subtly higher than usual.

Bellatrix smirked. 'Does it matter? But no. It's a complicated bit of enchantment that makes the dummies look and behave just like real people. They're good, though, right? Very life-like. Cost a fortune, too.'

And Harry couldn't help but frown. Thirty feet in front of him, chained to the wall, held in cages, pleading for help, was a variety of very human-looking things, clad in rags, sobbing and crying for their loved ones. Harry shot a brief look towards his aunt. He was pretty sure that she wouldn't just lie to him, but this was a bit too much… Dropping his grip on what Daphne had dubbed 'the whole colour situation', he inspected the figures again - and finally dared to breathe. They were indeed magical constructs, though the specific enchantments were completely alien to him.

'What are they?' he asked baffled, and, even if he was loath to admit it, at least as impressed as he was creeped-out.

'Oh, they're not from around here. A friend of mine has some rather distasteful hobbies, so he… compromises. These are-how does he put it-"speciality goods to accommodate his refined taste".'

'Don't tell me…' Harry asked, looking disgusted.

'Apparently,' Bellatrix replied off-handedly. 'He says they have full functionality, too.'

'Urgh,' commented Harry over the wailing of the dolls. 'You know some sickening people.'

'Don't be squeamish, now, it's not like I make use of them. There's at least one perk to having a husband.'

'Can we get on with it, please?' asked Harry, getting the overwhelming sense that it had been a mistake to indulge his aunt.

'What would you do in a life or death situation in which you needed to overwhelm a superior number of enemy wizards in pursuit of you and your lover?' she demanded suddenly, her voice harsh.

He looked at her, his expression puzzled. 'Stun them and break their wands?'

The answer did not seem to please her. 'You stun your current pursuer, summon his wand, and break it with a curse. Sadly, since you've taken your time to cast three spells to deal with one lone opponent, two others are on to you now.'

' Cutting Curse,' said Harry, his brow furrowed.

'Naïve, messy and inconclusive! One of them manages to reanimate the one you stunned. The other sustains heavy wounds but is still somewhat conscious,' she continued her scenario mercilessly.

'Wide area Blasting Curse aimed not at the people but the floor to use the debris as shrapnel.'

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, looking grudgingly impressed. 'Can you actually do that?'

Harry smiled guiltily in return, which only seemed to darken his aunt's mood.

'For the sake of the experiment, let's say you can. You get the one who's still standing and with a wand. The debris also hits your girlfriend, and she's bleeding profusely.'

'I…' Harry hesitated.

'Faster!' Bellatrix shouted angrily. 'She's lost half a litre of blood by now.'

'I cast a wide area Blinding Hex and stop her bleeding myself.'

She nodded, narrowing her eyes. 'Can you do that for real, at least?'

'Yes,' he said, somewhat hurt by her implied accusation that he was useless in a fight. 'I can do both.'

'Fine. You stop her bleeding, but you have bad luck; the one you disarmed and who's been reanimated is an ex-Auror. With a bit of wandless magic, he summons his partner's wand and hits you and your sweetheart both with a Soundblast Curse that instantly defeats you, as you're currently preoccupied helping your woman. You're being shackled and disarmed. Your girlfriend, meanwhile, is raped right in front of you. Then, you are forced to watch them torture her the old-fashioned way until-finally-she breaks, begging for the mercy of death. They have their fun with her for a few more hours before granting her wish by blasting her mind to smithereens. They leave you shackled, bound, lost and hidden away in a cave without exit or food with only the corpse of the love of your life as company, where you curse the very short rest of your miserable existence due to your lack of power and determination. The end.'

Harry stared at her accusingly, feeling somewhat cheated. 'Let's start over!'

'This is no game!' she spat hotly. 'It might not be today and it might not be tomorrow, but, eventually, you'll have to face your opponents in earnest, and that means no more games, Harry James Black!'

'Fine,' he said snappishly. It's not like I'm useless!

'We're going to test a few curses and see which one you like best and feel the most connected with, and we won't stop until you feel like you've found something you can work with. Then, we'll train. Let's start with an old favourite of mine: the Blood-Boiling Curse,' she said, levelling her wand at one of the female-looking human dolls, an expectant smirk on her lips.

~BLVoD~

'I hate your infamous weather,' said Aenor by way of greeting, pointing her wand at her drenched clothes to dry them.

'Hello,' Harry said with a smirk, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

'Yes, yes, hello,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Not having a good summer?'

'The word "good" seems hardly applicable. It's been a nightmare!'

'How bad could it really have been?' he asked reasonably.

'Well, bad enough that someone's tried to kill me! Does that answer your precocious question?'

Harry shut his mouth, looking at her more closely. She looked unaccustomedly… tense, as if a serious attempt on her life was an inconvenience that merely served to really piss her off. 'What happened?'

'I don't know,' she admitted, handing him her jacket. 'I was at home late at night, and then suddenly all of my wards flared up at once. I grabbed my wand, jumped down the stairs and then… Well, there was something, someone, but they were already fleeing when I lit the lights.'

'Any chance of it being a malfunction of the wards or a mistake? Attempted burglary?'

She looked at him disbelievingly. 'Harry, I suspect most professional burglars would rather go to Azkaban than try their hands at my wards. And someone actually managed to break them in one go!'

'Well, that's unsettling,' he said earnestly.

'Tell me about it,' she said with a scoff. 'What about you? You look a little pale. Are you ill?'

'What? Oh, no!' he responded quickly, shaking his head. 'Just a little worn-out. My aunt is watching over me this summer, and she can be a handful at times.'

'She making you do all the chores or what?' Aenor asked with a grin.

'Not exactly. She wants to go hunt merfolk or decapitate griffins with a sword,' he said poker-faced, causing Aenor to laugh wildly. 'But mostly, she insists that I train with her at least once a day.'

'She any good?' Aenor asked inquisitively.

'Very,' admitted Harry, rubbing his shin. 'And she doesn't know how to hold back.'

'Well, then what is there to complain about? Be glad she makes herself available for your convenience.'

Harry shrugged, motioning for her to lead the way towards the sitting room.

'By the way, do you mind if I crash for the night? It'll take ages to set up all the wards again, and I need to leave Britain for a few weeks, so I intend to do that later. At least here I can feel safe.' She softly brushed her hand against the wall, jerking it back as if hit by an electrical current. 'Circe, your ancestors practically soaked the place in wards.'

'True,' Harry replied proudly. 'It would take even a full Auror corps at least a few days to strip down all the enchantments. You can stay if you want; we have a few free rooms to spare.'

Leading her through the house, Harry dejectedly recalculated the odds of having a nice and quiet summer from 'unlikely' to 'you wish'.

~BLVoD~

Later that evening, Harry found himself sitting stiffly at the big, oaken dinner table, his eyes firmly directed at some empty point in front of him, acutely aware just how true his prediction had been. He'd suffered through two houses banding together to make his life at Hogwarts a living hell; he had managed to survive four of Tori's little pretend-marriages (and he had learnt the hard way never to say 'no' during the ceremony ever again); Merlin, he'd even survived his aunt's demonstrations of the Unforgivables. But this was a true nightmare that was bound to haunt him for quite some time. This was the single worst dinner, if not social event altogether, he'd ever had to sit through, and he even counted the endless banquets he had had to attend as a Potter, back when he'd been a pitiful pawn.

As slowly as he dared, he cut the steak and brought the alluringly flavoursome and extremely tender piece of meat to his mouth, all the while politely staring at nothing in particular, his head held high and straight. At least the food was good.

'Tell me, Miss Rose: is your family pure-blood? I can't say I've ever heard of them. Obviously, it couldn't have been your money or connections that managed to impress Arcturus and Harry,' said Bellatrix delicately, her voice neither exactly polite nor rude, managing to keep a fine 'balance' Harry could only identify as condescending.

'I'm proud to say that I can look back at a rich tradition of wizards and witches in our line, so yes; we are pure-blood. But I must say I am impressed! Usually, you Brits are quite content living on your little isle and ignoring the rest of the world, save for your old colonies that have long since managed to eclipse you. I'm so glad you consider yourself an expert on continental families of note.'

Yes, the filet mignon was really good, Harry thought with all his might. He'd have to give Cranky his compliments later.

'Oh!' said Bellatrix, trying hard not to laugh. 'I hope I did not offend you, little Missy. It is quite alright to be proud of what little proven ancestry you have.'

The chard was excellent as well, Harry duly noted to himself.

'Offend? Why, I'm never offended, Mrs Lestrange,' Aenor insisted, smiling beatifically. 'Please do not worry; I have long since learned not to lose sleep over the prattling of politically irrelevant side branches of truly respectable families.'

Maybe I should order a glass of wine? I doubt Bellatrix is paying enough attention to mind me.

'Speaking of irrelevant, I've heard rumours. Knowing very well how blown out of proportions such talk usually is, it is still rather perplexing that a witch of your probably rather average capabilities decided to waste away her youth teaching. I mean, shouldn't you have left that to someone who actually has some experience with, well, anything?'

'Cranky?' Harry croaked, his voice raspy. 'A bottle of our finest Pinot Noir, please.' The elf nodded compassionately and disappeared silently to fetch the bottle and some glasses.

Aenor regarded her vis-à-vis calmly. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Lestrange. But it was, in fact, Arcturus Black who helped secure that position for me. Surely, seeing as you're related, this cannot be news to you, can it?'

Harry nodded gratefully towards his favourite elf and proceeded to pour himself a rather generous measure of his grandfather's finest.

Bellatrix smiled, waving the jab aside like an irksome fly. 'I did not question how you got the job. Leaving your doubtful qualifications aside, I was merely speculating about your motivation.'

Harry tasted the wine with a rather enthusiastic swig and smiled, leaning back and relaxing a bit.

Aenor grinned back at her counterpart, reaching for an empty glass and the bottle of wine. 'I'm so glad that you wish to impart the considerable experience you've managed to gather in your long and fulfilled life so far. Is it true that your children will be attending Hogwarts, starting this year?' She closed her eyes and took a sip, her expression museful. After a few seconds, she nodded approvingly and positioned the bottle just a bit out of Harry's reach, who gave her a defiant glare that she pointedly ignored. 'I mean, it must be a soothing thought that, finally, your life has come to fruition. Now, you only need to lie back and relax as everything play out.'

'How droll,' replied Bellatrix with a smirk. 'Well, I'll be glad to recommend your class to my delightful little children. I'm sure they'll be paying a special kind of attention to you. But speaking of children, have you considered marriage at all, Miss Rose? I mean, while you're still young for now, not many families of good rapport will consider granting you a social haven by marriage if you protract the matter for much longer. Though maybe you still have a chance if you consider a somewhat different approach; I'm sure Nott senior wouldn't mind having you as his new plaything. I've heard his latest wife recently passed away.'

Harry dearly wished he hadn't started off so zealously with his drink. Now, his glass was empty, and it seemed as if both witches had just started warming up. Subtly pointing his wand under the table, he cast a very weak summoning charm, making the bottle creep across the table almost imperceptibly slowly.

'Ah,' said Aenor with a suspiciously mean smile, 'it is true; we can't all be as lucky as you with our husbands, Mrs Lestrange. It truly does my heart good to see such happy couples even after many, many years of politically forced marriage. I really respect you as a woman, knowing that you stand by your husband despite his, you know, appearance.' Her hand shot out and grabbed the moving bottle, not even bothering to look at Harry. She refilled her own glass instead of granting Harry the mercy of inebriation, placing the beverage directly in front of her afterwards.

Harry gaped longingly at his chosen deliverer from suffering, but the fine drink stayed traitorously near his guest, defying his silent prayers and pleas. With a look of determination, he raised his wand under the table again…

'No magic during mealtimes, Harry James Black!' snapped his aunt parenthetically, making Harry flinch as both witches turned their grim attention towards him for a second. 'Well, I can see how you are so focused on superficialities. Maybe we have uncovered your secret motivation to teach at Hogwarts at long last; if you enjoy the slavering looks of underage wizards, I suppose there's hardly any finer institution that allows you to dress tawdrily to satisfy your exhibitionist desires.'

Harry sent a pleading look towards his elf, silently begging for help. Cranky grinned and snapped his fingers. Harry, his eyes widening, reached for his cup that had originally held pumpkin juice, pleasantly surprised that it now held Butterbeer with just a hint of Firewhiskey. It wasn't quite the smooth wine that blended perfectly with the tender and lean meat, but you had to start somewhere.

'Charming,' said Aenor placidly. 'Me, personally, I find my position at Hogwarts to be a bearable compromise between-admittedly-dull teaching and engaging and fascinating studies. But I can see how you would jump to your conclusions about exciting sexual adventures, Mrs Lestrange. It's the nature of most humans to crave what we do not have, isn't it?'

Harry regarded his cup with some annoyance. The damn thing was clearly much too small. How could one manage to divert one's attention from the feral conversation taking place, when after a few polite sips the stupid thing was already half-empty again?

Bellatrix, meanwhile, laughed a genuine laugh of entertainment. 'Your loving concern is touching, if misplaced, Miss Rose. But you have my full confidence,' she said, winking at the younger witch. 'Just don't get caught. Apropos getting caught,' she continued light-heartedly, ignoring the nasty glare Aenor sent her way at her mention of those words, 'what are your plans for the coming Yule festivities? I hope you enjoyed our ball last year? I've heard you danced until you were positively beaten that night.'

Harry wasn't even feigning attention anymore. His wand in his sleeve, he concentrated with all his might on the cup in front of him, remembering the charm Flitwick had quizzed him on during his exam. He was rewarded with an almost invisible orange glow around his cup. Now all he needed was a drinking partner…

Mercifully, even the Dinner of Disaster eventually ended, though neither Bellatrix nor Aenor seemed in any particular rush to bring an end to the most thinly veiled verbal spat of recent wizarding history. Things got a little heated in between, with both witches politely offering to help demonstrate the proper casting of various hexes, while aiming at each other purely for demonstration purposes. But when they finally settled for a tentative armistice due to the advanced hour, they were quite astonished to realise that Harry was happily drowsing in his seat, a laughably childish, varicoloured party hat on his head and his snoozing house-elf lying curled up under his chair.

~BLVoD~

The next day began, as one might have expected, with the wigging of the century.

'… completely unbecoming of the future lord of the Blacks! Ignominious! Worse, raffish even! What were you thinking ?!' bellowed Bellatrix for what seemed to be the seventeenth time. Harry just stood there, trying not to scowl as his aunt's shrill and, worst of all, loud voice drilled into his head with the unnerving persistence of a mosquito. Harry also graciously refrained from remarking that slaughtering populations of merfolk was probably just as unbecoming of a future lord.

'… base behaviour totally unworthy of the Blacks. Such crassness!'

'Look, Auntie, I'm sorry! Can we please forget about this?' Harry asked in a polite voice, hoping to make the loud voice stop. It hurt his head.

'Oh, no, we don't! You're still fourteen. Fourteen!' she cried again for emphasis.

'How about this, then,' Harry snapped suddenly, the latent headache finally managing to break his calm. 'You refrain from telling Arcturus about this sorry episode, and I won't mention how you hassled and verbally abused my guest for the entire dinner.'

She took a step back, her eyes widening. 'What? I never…' Clearing her throat, she seemed to calm down remarkably fast, regarding him with a somewhat bemused expression. 'Well, I can see that maybe I've blown this little lecture a bit out of proportion. Just, you know, don't do it again. Or at least have the common decency to do so quietly in a lonely corner of the common room or in some broom closet where nobody will see you - just like everybody else.'

Harry gawked at her, arching an eyebrow.

'What?' Bellatrix said with a grin. 'You think you're the first to get drunk while underage? When I was your age, I'd already won two illegal honour duels in Hogsmeade and could drink some patrons of the Hog's Head under the table!' she boasted pridefully. 'But that doesn't mean my parents knew about that bit. Use your common sense, oh nephew of mine!'

Harry laughed a bit. 'Okay. Message received and understood.'

'Good. How's your head?'

'Could be worse, I guess.'

'Great. Meet me in the duelling chambers in fifteen minutes. Nothing better than a bit of adrenaline to purge the stuff out of your blood, trust me. And I promise I'll make it extra thrilling this time.'

'Oh,' he said with a sense of trepidation. 'Fantastic.'

~BLVoD~

Aenor silently watched Bellatrix push Harry around in the training area. The old hag was pretty good, she had to admit. Not quite in her league, and not as good as Harry might eventually become, but dangerous enough to give even her pause.

She watched with narrowed eyes as Bellatrix overwhelmed Harry's impressive defence with nothing more or less than undiluted power. Even though her movements were tranquil and had the air of a proficient and very experienced duellist, her spells were always completely tuned towards all-out attack. Aenor had little doubt that Bellatrix could use advanced defensive magic; it was just that she chose not to.

'Move, Harry!' Bellatrix shouted. 'Your mind needs to be calm, your feet quick, your aim true and your heart cold. Nothing else matters. Now do it in earnest! Try to harm me, at least!'

Aenor nodded absent-mindedly, watching Harry circle his aunt. Lestrange, however, already tired of waiting for the charge that was unlikely to ever come, snarled and twirled her wand twice. A stream of wild and fierce red Bludgeoning Curses erupted from her wand, all aimed directly at Harry's chest. The boy did-she had to admire it-not even twitch when he recognised the swirl of hexes that was more than enough to seriously threaten his life. Bringing his wand down in a grand arc, a thick layer of blue magic sprang to life in front of him. The Bludgers fizzled harmlessly and evaporated.

'No more hiding,' screamed Bellatrix, wrought-up. The air around her wand became distorted, and with the dull sound of a booming bass, Harry's shield suddenly began to rapidly heat up and change colour from deep blue to bright orange, causing the boy to look at it in horror. Not a second later, the tempered layer of protective magic exploded with enough force to rattle the mansion, catapulting Harry across the room until he hit the wall with a loud thump.

Aenor silently and grudgingly revised her opinion of the loathsome witch upwards.

'Strike at me!' the Lestrange woman commanded the boy, who had a few stray drops of blood running down the side of his head. 'You cannot hope to defeat anyone if you only cower behind your protection. Defences are meant to be overcome! We won't leave this room until you make some kind of effort!'

Harry snarled, standing up in a way that suggested some kind of problem with his left foot, though a more inexperienced duellist would probably not have noticed. Aenor admired his grit, though she, too, was becoming a bit concerned with his insistence to not use offensive magic.

He raised his wand and sent a few well-aimed Reductor Curses his aunt's way. The spells' aim was true but…

'Is that it?' Bellatrix laughed derisively, batting the incoming spells into the wall with her bare backhand, causing Aenor to frown imperceptibly. 'The Reductor Curse, my ickle little nephew? What next, Expelliarmus? I want you to try and hurt me, not make me scream with laughter!' She cackled again, her voice shrill and haughty.

Aenor's eyes darted to the place where the witch had directed the curses to. True enough, Harry's offensive spells weren't anything special, but still, there were some very noticeable cracks in the stone, definitely enough to seriously injure any witch or wizard.

Bellatrix straightened her pose, looking at her nephew with an expression that was difficult to read. 'You're forcing my hand here, Harry.'

'I'm trying,' the boy shouted back. 'You can't honestly expect me you to beat you!'

'No,' she said in a low voice. 'But I expect you to try! Now reap what you have sowed!' she shouted unexpectedly, pointing her wand at his feet. ' Confringo!'

The room exploded with an earsplitting, thunderous roar, chips of marble shooting all over the place as deadly projectiles, causing Aenor to raise her own wand for once. Hot winds howled, the floor creaked - and then it was over just as quickly as it had begun. She looked at the centre of the detonation with a certain amount of concern. Harry had been right, that much was clear; Bellatrix Lestrange really did not know how to hold back. An area of at least 250 square feet of marble was completely demolished, the epicentre featured an impressive crater of at least three feet. Fragments of marble had pierced nearly every wall.

Bellatrix still stood in her spot, wand at her side, her gaze focused on the big cloud of smoke behind and around the dent in the floor.

'Don't you think you overdid it a little, Mrs Lestrange?' asked Aenor, syphoning the dust from her clothes.

'The name of Black is not for show! If he couldn't survive something like this, he'd have never made it this far!' she said firmly, though Aenor noted that she too was looking for any sign of Harry in the debris.

Slowly, the smoke cleared somewhat. Aenor's chest seized up. Just a bit behind the point of impact, hidden under several larger chunks of completely ruined slabs of marble, several shreds of dark velvet were just barely recognisable under the debris - and the blood.

'Say,' she heard herself say. 'What's Arcturus going to do to you when he finds out you killed his grandson?'

'Silence!' hissed Bellatrix, her eyes wide. They slowly approached, wands at the ready. Now that the dust had settled, it was becoming apparent that parts of the ceiling had come crashing down, too. Most unluckily, Aenor noted with a groan, the ceiling had crashed precisely into Harry's direct escape route.

They silently advanced, surveying the carnage. Deep cracks in the floor and the collapsing ceiling must have made a particularly dangerous and treacherous obstacle course, Aenor imagined with a sinking feeling.

'There!' she said suddenly, pointing her wand. Underneath the biggest loose slab, not far from the torn shreds of the robe, something fleshy was just visible. Aenor flicked her wand and moaned with regret. 'You demented bitch! It's a fucking human arm!' she snarled, pointing at the mangled bit of flesh her spell had identified as the remains of a human corpse.

Bellatrix' eyes widened further, if even possible. 'No,' she whispered. 'No! No, no, no, no…' She raised her wand and, gently, lifted the wreckage from what shouldn't be the corpse of her nephew. 'Harry,' the woman whimpered. 'Oh, my poor little Harry… !' She crouched down, crawling towards the bloody mess on all fours.

Aenor, looking at the scene, grimaced. It was bad. She doubted even Asclepios himself could have saved the boy; the left side of his body was completely crushed, his face unrecognisable. The right leg was broken in at least three places, the knee completely shattered by a particularly brutal-looking hit of a hundredweight floor plate of exquisite Carrara-Marble. The hand was outstretched heavenwards in a wretched, heart-rending and wordless last plea for help. It hadn't done him any good.

The wand was nowhere in sight, Aenor noted over the wailing of the other woman, and while it was quite possible that the little bit of wood had been completely pulverised by the weight, this observation still had her on edge and gave her something to focus on. Without any expression on her face that betrayed her racing thoughts, she twirled her wand again, inspecting the corpse in even greater detail.

Yet no matter how hard she looked with either naked eye or spell, not a single splinter of wood was to be found anywhere.

Suspiciously, she flicked her wand forcefully at the direction of the corpse a third time. For a second, the air shimmered brightly, and she raised an eyebrow, applying even more force and pressure until, finally, the enchantment broke. The stature of the person in front of them changed into that of a mature, plain-featured woman clad in rags. She was still dead, of course, but unless Harry had been running some sort of hilarious bluff his entire life…

'WHAT DID YOU DO?' shrieked Bellatrix, enraged.

'Undo his charms. He's gone,' Aenor said with amusement. 'And we've been had. Who is this, incidentally?'

Bellatrix frowned, leaning over the bloody remains. After a while, she sighed, relieved. 'A puppet. I brought a few of them with me for training purposes. I hadn't even realised he'd snatched one.' Lestrange blinked a few times, then she began to laugh hysterically. 'I also didn't realise it was charmed. I'm glad he's not completely helpless.'

'Neither did I,' admitted Aenor reluctantly. 'But I've only ever seen him let go of his wand once. And it's not here.'

'I knew there was something I'd forgotten,' said a voice not far behind them. Harry calmly walked over the ruins of the room and approached the gaping witches. 'Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking,' he said after a while, when they both just stared at him in silence.

'What about your leg?' inquired Aenor. Indeed, her greatest worry had been that the injury had somehow hindered his escape earlier.

'Fixed it already.' Looking at his still staring aunt, he clicked his tongue. 'Now look at this mess, was it really necessary to go that far? You bloody nearly got me with that!'

Bellatrix seemed to inflate a bit under his scolding voice. But then, she rushed forward and embraced her nephew with so much force that Harry yelped in pain. 'I'm sorry, Harry! I'm so sorry! You know I never would… I'd never… But I'm so worried, and you're still so weak, and I just couldn't help it!'

Harry rolled his eyes at her mention of him being weak but reciprocated the embrace. 'I know,' he said kindly. 'I promise I'll take it a bit more seriously, alright?'

Bellatrix nodded, squeezing his shoulder and beaming at him. 'You did good, hiding your wounds,' she said, patting his chest a bit forcefully.

Harry's expression didn't change, but his eye seemed to water a bit. 'Yes, well, okay. I admit you got me with the blast. I haven't cast a spell to end the duel because my arm hurts like hell, too, alright?'

Aenor watched the exchange with an amused expression. Harry had done reasonably well, better than could have been expected, certainly. Lestrange wasn't wrong in reprimanding him for his lacking offence but on the other hand… She looked down at the puppet again, her expression blank. She hadn't noticed the enchantment, at all . Her eyes flickered towards her young charge, and she forcefully suppressed the hunger that welled up in her. Too soon, she thought.

~BLVoD~

'So, let me get this straight,' said Bellatrix disbelievingly. 'You want to take my poor little nephew and have him partake in a, even by my standards, particularly dangerous test without any supervision whatsoever? And all that outside of our safe premises?'

'Precisely,' Aenor replied drily.

'Are you quite sane, Miss Rose?' Lestrange asked casually. 'The sole reason for my being here is that it was deemed a risk to let Harry alone at home despite the extensive security measures this house features. And you ask me to just let him go with you? Just like that?'

'There's nothing to fear,' said Aenor, rolling her eyes. At least I didn't nearly kill my own nephew by accident, you crazy bitch. 'He's as safe from other witches and wizards with me as he is with his grandfather.'

'That would imply that I place any kind of trust in you,' objected Bellatrix bluntly. 'Which I don't.'

Aenor shook her head in an irritated fashion. 'And what would you need as a guarantee?'

'You have nothing of equal value to Harry's life,' said Bellatrix categorically.

'Don't be so pig-headed, Mrs Lestrange,' said Aenor, stressing the Mrs as sarcastically as humanly possible.

Both witches regarded each other coolly. 'As you wish,' said Bellatrix finally and stood up, to the slight surprise of the younger woman. She walked towards the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the roaring fire. 'Cissy! Come over for a second, I need you to deal with this!'

Aenor looked in confusion from the expectant smile of Lestrange that seemed so confident in victory to the puzzled-looking woman who emerged from the fire.

The witch seemed to be a bit younger than Lestrange. Where Bellatrix was dark, the newcomer was fair; while Lestrange had a strong jaw and heavy-lidded eyes, the arrival had refined, unobtrusive features. 'What is it, Bella?' she asked, sparing Aenor nary a glance. 'Where's Harry?'

Their voices, too were, different; Lestrange's voice was, at any given time, thick with emotion, whereas this woman's speech was plummy and crisp. Still, Aenor thought they could be related, which would also explain why this new person was able to get through the hundreds of wards so easily.

'Resting. We need a Bonder,' declared Bellatrix simply.

'Wait a second. You want me to take an Unbreakable Vow?' clarified Aenor, alarmed.

Bellatrix scoffed dismissively. 'You think it'll take any less to entrust my nephew to you, if only for a day?'

That seemed to garner the other woman's attention at last. 'What's this about Harry, Bella?'

'Miss Rose here wants to take him out of the wards for some stupid test. I told her it wasn't possible, but she insisted. That's why you're here.'

'And what is this test, Miss Rose?' the newcomer asked, her eyes cold and piercing. It was fairly obvious that she was at least as protective of Harry as the rest of those connected to him that Aenor had already gotten to know.

'An… antiquated test for Occlumens. It used to be the standard test in my homeland for those wanting to delve into what lies beyond what we consider journeyman level, Mrs…?'

'Unimportant. How dangerous exactly?'

'Potentially? Fatal or worse,' Aenor said with a shrug. 'If he's adequately prepared, no harm will come to him.'

'Fatality rate?' the woman asked flatly.

'About two in five.'

'We're done,' her counterpart said decisively, turning around again. 'Absolutely not.'

'Any test of worth has some inherent element of danger,' Aenor said with a bit of anger. 'He needs this. He will not break through the limit he is approaching otherwise. At least, not within the next few years. He has notable talent, I'm sure I don't need to patronise you, but he needs to call upon it. He has the tendency to be complacent. He needs to be pushed.' She watched both witches exchange a glance. 'And I thought his family approved of his Occlumency studies. His grandfather did, in fact, personally task me to help him in his efforts. This is everything I can do for him from this point forward.'

'Can you step in if he's in danger of failing?' the blonde asked in a worried tone.

'The test itself is already a tightrope walk. Straying from the path of success is death itself.' Watching them exchange another look, she added, 'Look, I'm not trying to get him killed. I have, as a matter of fact, a vested interest in keeping him alive. But he needs this. You can't coddle him for the rest of his life. Harry is capable of great things, but only if you let him break through his limits every now and then.'

'I'm with her,' grumbled Bellatrix to Aenor's immediate surprise. 'I know Harry has it in him, but he tends to favour his academics too much. Knowledge won't help him if he lacks experience.'

The blond witch looked conflicted, her eyes wandering from Lestrange to the ceiling, seemingly seeking out Harry. 'Are you sure, Bella? I'm not certain this is wise… Is this Rose person even capable of keeping him safe from others?'

'She's… capable enough, I suppose,' Bellatrix said with a shrug.

The newcomer still looked extremely unconvinced, her whole face an expression of reluctance. But eventually, she nodded. 'Alright, take hold of each other's arms.'

Aenor sighed. Apparently, there was no getting out of this. With slight hesitance, she grabbed Lestrange's forearm.

'Will you, who we know as Miss Aenor Rose, watch over Harry Black for the course of this, your test and the appertaining journeys, and keep him from harm to the best of your capabilities?'

Aenor stared at the wand resting where her and Lestrange's hand interconnected. 'I will.'

'Will you, when necessary, do whatever you must to fight any danger to his life during the course of these days?'

'I will.'

'And will you swear to never betray the trust we place in you regarding his safety?'

Aenor looked up and stared into the blonde's light-blue eyes, waiting for her to limit the extent of the vow for the duration of the test, as she'd done previously. The woman stared back, her expression calculating and as unbending as steel. And right then, she knew for certain that there would be no such convenient limitation with this one.

'What's the matter, little Missy? Having second thoughts?' came Lestrange's jeering voice.

Clenching her jaw, she gripped the arm of the other woman as hard as possible. 'I will.'

Hot flames danced across her skin, binding her life to the promises she'd made. When she looked up, still a bit in disbelief of what those two witches had made her swear, the blonde was already on her way back to the fireplace. 'A pleasure to meet you formally, Miss Rose,' she said, not looking back. 'My name's Narcissa Malfoy. Keep Harry safe, will you? Not just for the vow.' She turned around and gazed into her eyes once again. 'He's something special.'

Aenor nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. 'I will,' she repeated herself solemnly.

~BLVoD~

'Aenor?'

'Hm?'

'Have you ever met my aunt before?' Harry asked, carefully observing her expression.

'We have never been introduced, I'm sorry to say,' she replied somewhat sarcastically.

She's not being completely truthful. The inspiration was as alien, as strange, as unexpected as Harry inexplicably knew it to be true. She wasn't completely honest. Well, he didn't fault her for that, he wasn't either, after all. But how in Merlin's name did he know? Her expression was as calm, as unreadable as ever before.

'Have you seen her at the Black Ball?'

'Come,' she said, giving no answer. 'We have a time frame to adhere to.'

Harry frowned, but nevertheless took her outstretched hand. The instant their skin made contact, he felt himself getting yanked through space and time, twisted, compressed, until-finally-he could breathe again, his feet landing on something with a loud and dirty sounding splash.

'Urgh,' he commented volubly.

'Never travelled across nations per apparition? It's a bit rough, but you'll get used to it.'

'Where exactly is this?' Harry asked nervously, looking around. All he could see was a horizon worth of mud, sea birds, shells, small puddles of water and some more mud. That was all nothing in comparison to the overbearing aroma of the sea, of course. He'd never quite smelled it so intensely in all his life.

Aenor pointed towards a small elevation where an ancient looking homestead of archaic construction methods was enthroned on a small patch of green grass. 'That's a warft, though you may know by its more common English name of "terp" - an artificial mound. We are currently near the European mainland in what is usually the North Sea.'

'What do you mean, what is usually the sea?' Harry asked, perplexed. A second later, he came up with the answer himself. 'Oh. The Wadden Sea?'

She rewarded his knowledge with a genuine smile. 'Correct. That right there is one of my places. I don't use it often, but it is fairly safe. The wards are nothing special in comparison to those of your family, but the location itself is rather secluded, and no living soul knows of its existence. Well, besides the two of us, now.'

'And where exactly is that?' Harry asked, looking around. He could see other small patches of land here and there, yet none big enough to give shelter. Some strange objects seemed to protrude from the larger bodies of water, giving the whole scene a very lonely and slightly eerie atmosphere.

'Not too far from the coast. This place does, in fact, not have a name anymore. A few hundred years ago, a terrible and great flood sunk whole parts of the coastline. What you see there, for example,' she pointed to the spiky object Harry had previously spotted, 'is the old church spire. The whole island was deserted, and, eventually, without the dykes and dams, the sea reclaimed everything the storm did not. Except for my little hideout.'

She started walking, and Harry hurriedly followed suit.

'Best be careful where you place your feet. Sometimes what looks like a mere puddle can be a metre deep or worse. Better only follow my steps. This place is dangerous, even at low tide.'

And Harry did just that. He would be the first to admit that he didn't have any great knowledge about the sea, but he had no qualm confessing that he… respected it, just for the fact of how indomitable and dangerous it was, to Muggles and wizards alike.

Aenor made many strange turns and often chose not to cross pools Harry would probably just have waded across, but, in the end, they finally made it. Aenor came to a halt just before the green patch of land in a sea of dirty brown, pointing her wand at him and then herself to clean their clothes.

'I've deactivated the wards so you can step in. It would be wise to hurry it up, though.'

And he did. The warft, Harry realised with some concern, only seemed to be a few metres above sea level. 'Isn't this dangerous during a storm surge?'

She grinned at him. 'It's the best thing ever! As long as you have strong nerves…'

Harry could just imagine the raging waves of the sea crashing against the precious little land; a house at sea, surrounded by nothing but the storming tide. He shivered involuntarily.

She walked towards the great oaken doors that were decorated with, presumably, blessings in a foreign language, though Harry also spotted a few runes here and there. 'How old is this building?'

She looked towards him, her expression amused. 'Ah, I see you've studied your futhark. Well, paganism held out a bit longer out here. Especially ancient customs, superstitions and the like. It doesn't hurt that a few of them are actually true, too. This one,' she pointed towards the set of runes directly above the door, 'roughly translates to "a peaceful welcome to all strangers".'

'That seems excessively friendly,' commented Harry with a grin.

'Magic aside, this is a dangerous place to live, Harry. Back when there was a settlement here, magic folk and Muggles used to help each other in times of need. Facing the dangers of the sea, a wizard might well need all the help he can get, on occasion.'

'Really?' Harry inquired curiously.

'Yes. They were fairly respected, too. They got livestock and food in exchange for medicine and blessings. Apparently, they also used to help keep some of the more malevolent denizens of the sea at bay.'

'Give and take, so to speak.'

'Of course. Every relation worth a grain of trust is of equal value to both partners, after all. Come!'

She tapped the heavy door with her wand, and it creaked and rattled and groaned until it finally, slowly, opened in their direction.

The insides, Harry soon found out, were a bit dusty and rustic, but not unpleasantly so. Most of the furniture seemed to be hand-carved and preserved with spells against rot or vermin. But every single piece was, as far as Harry could tell, a marvellous work of art. Aenor had to positively drag him from the grandfather clock, promising to show him everything later. 'You can have a look, I promise, Harry. But now, rest. I know you're still sore from your aunt's little stunt, and you'll need all the strength you have. We'll be holding our test during the night. I'll show you to your room for now. No house-elves, I'm sorry to say. You'll have to make do with what you find.'

She led him, not upstairs he noted with surprise, but through the big room with an enormous fireplace that seemed to function as both kitchen and living room. On the other side of the wall was a huge bed that was, like everything else, adorned with magnificent if kitschy carvings.

'Wood can be a hassle to acquire out here. The fireplace used to serve as a source of heat to make food, to warm the parlour, and, as you can see, the bedroom. In thankfully long bygone times, the whole family used to sleep in one room, but you can have this one for yourself, don't worry,' she said with a wink.

'How generous of you,' he replied sarcastically, trying to suppress a yawn.

'Get some sleep,' she said with a little smile. 'I'll wake you when it's time.'

Harry nodded and, without bothering to take off more than his robes, shirt and shoes, slipped under the blanket and was asleep within a few minutes.

~BLVoD~

'Promise me!' the ghost of a voice demanded. 'Promise me you won't?' the other begged desperately. 'Promise… !'

Harry shot up, a thin film of sweat on his brow. The same dream again. Cursing softly, he let his head fall back onto the giant and fluffy pillow. It was so soft that his head was in danger of getting swallowed by the cushion. Calming his breathing, he strained his ears. A storm seemed to be arriving; the wind outside was a woeful howling interrupted by the occasional sound of a greater wave breaking, and he could just see it in his mind: the waves attacking the land relentlessly, wave after wave rolling in, trying to claim what should be theirs, clawing at the land, the sea foam angrily spraying out of spite.

As he'd done during the previous months to practice, Harry allowed his Occlumency to relax a little. The wards and preservation spells were as visible to him as his own hand, a thick green layer around the property and all the furniture. To his amusement, a few of the runes that decorated doors, windows, blinds or gables seemed to have a little magical life in them, too. Apparently, Aenor was right; some of those blessings seemed to be for real, even if their power seemed rather limited.

Speaking of his companion, Aenor was currently pacing in the other room, just outside of his door. But to his astonishment, she wasn't the most magical existence at the residence. The roof, specifically the room under it, positively reeked of magic. Wards, Harry guessed, and something else, something foul. The protection was so extensive, so ludicrously complex, that Harry's vision, for the first time ever, seemed to slow down, as if his perception was overloaded by the tight web of enchantments and wards that hindered his vision.

Blinking and shaking his head, he had a look at the other rooms. All of them, Harry now felt for the first time, were deeply soaked with magic. No particular spell or ward aroused his suspicion, but he couldn't help but feel that this place had once been bursting with magic. Someone had done a good job of ridding the most obvious of traces, and-indeed-Harry could see nothing, but the smell was there. It smelled a bit like Hogwarts, he thought for some strange reason.

Groaning, he got up and dressed again, making his way out of the room. Aenor was, as he'd previously seen, toing and froing between the fireplace and the stairs, clearly absorbed in thought. 'How late is it?' he asked in a low voice so as to not alert her.

Her head snapped in his direction, and he could see that she looked visibly tense. Tenser even than when he'd seen her just after the attempt on her life. What the hell is going on here…?

'Ah, you're awake. Good,' she said, though she didn't sound happy at all. 'Sit down.' She pointed towards an old wing chair, and she took a seat directly opposite him, mindlessly scratching her forearm.

'What is this place?' asked Harry, looking around for a second time.

'What do you mean?' she shot back with a small frown.

'It's… bursting with magic. Everything is. The floor, the ceiling, the land itself. Someone's tried to hide the traces… but it's not possible. It's like radiation,' he tried to explain.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she took a sip of what Harry easily identified as her favourite fruity liqueur. She looked incredibly nervous, and, to his astonishment, somewhat tipsy. That she was apparently drinking to soothe her nerves didn't help Harry one bit either.

'You're right. I suspect he… who removed the traces would be very pleased that you managed to find them still. But this is not the time for that talk. Listen to me, Harry, please.'

He looked at her, even more worried now. Only in correspondence by letter had she so far, truly, ever been really polite. In fact, her casual (though admittedly appropriate) arrogance was in Harry's opinion an integral part of her character. Seeing the aloof, sarcastic and ever-confident foreign prodigy before him so unnerved did not help his imagination of what was now to come.

'What's the matter?' he asked, fidgeting somewhat in his seat.

'We're about to conduct your test now. I need to give you some information beforehand. First off, do you know why Snape is such a great Occlumens?' she asked, momentarily stunning Harry into silence with this curveball of a question.

'He never drops it?' he guessed. 'Not that I know for certain, but his expression rarely even wavers.'

'Right on point,' she said with a fleeting little smile. 'He's allowed his Occlumency to seep into his very soul, his character. He's learned to shut down his emotions on such a level that it would probably take a highly traumatic experience to truly break through his control. Idle anger or contemptuousness may occasionally shine through, but they are still only the shadows of what lurks in his soul. That is why he is probably the most accomplished Occlumens at Hogwarts. Now, think of Dumbledore. What is your impression of him?'

'I don't know,' he said slowly, furrowing his brow. 'He doesn't seem as closed off as Snape for sure, but how can I know how effective his defence really is? I'm no Legilimens!'

'You don't need to be; you said everything I wanted to hear. The difference between the two is that Snape constantly fights his urges, he… suppresses them. But therein lie two weaknesses; firstly, he as a person has changed, and, arguably, for the worse. Secondly, as I mentioned previously, a big upheaval could possibly shatter his control, making him vulnerable again. No straight up attack, mind you - his defences against those sort of approaches are insurmountable. But precisely because he's incessantly locked in battle with his emotions, he will, inevitably, at some point in time, lose to them.

'Dumbledore, however, while objectively not quite as accomplished as Snape in this particular field, has taken a different approach. His Occlumency does not fight against emotions; he can laugh, cry, taunt and bristle with anger while still maintaining his grip. That is because his emotions are more or less in sync with his mind; he's learned to have his defences adapt to them; they, so to speak, swing with his emotions. Follow so far?'

'Yes?' Harry said cautiously. A few of the more obscure texts he'd found in the library suddenly started to make a great deal of sense.

'Tell me, in your opinion, which is the true path, and which isn't.'

'Dumbledore's,' he answered immediately. 'It may be overall more difficult, but it's potentially stronger. Not even speaking of how it doesn't cripple him emotionally either.'

'Quite,' she agreed with a nod. 'I, too, was instructed in that philosophy of Occlumency. He didn't found it, of course; there were countless before him. But there is one big disadvantage. While Snape is, objectively, as perfect as he'll ever be in Occlumency, the other path is a never-ending journey; a confrontation between your mind and your emotions, a quest for balance, you might say. Neither Dumbledore nor I am even close to what is theoretically possible and we might, thus, equally theoretically, still be susceptible to prodigiously strong attacks on our minds.'

'I understand,' he said, nodding slowly. 'If this is meant as a quiz, I choose your path. I don't want to stop being a human just to be a wizard.'

She smiled briefly, her features assuming a somewhat melancholic expression. 'I've heard that one before. Okay, truthfully, I fully expected you to make this choice, which is why we are here. At my old school and specifically the country I'm from, there's… an old custom. A rite of passage, so to speak, any aspiring Occlumens has to pass to be considered more than a student. It is also the first and last formal step in our approach to understanding the emotional concept of clouding our thoughts. Now, maybe you can get it yourself; what would be your method to bringing the structured, inflexible yet fragile and intangible mind in harmony with our fleeting, obscure and ever-changing emotions?'

He brooded over the problem for a while. 'Confrontation,' he said eventually with a turn of his stomach.

She smiled her brittle little smile again, taking another sip from the glass. 'Exactly. Now, what, in your opinion, are the most powerful and raw emotions of the human being.'

'Fear,' he said, with an uneasy feeling, 'and lust, possibly.'

She seemed to snort at that last bit for a second, fixing him with a somewhat amused gaze. 'Yeah, that would be so much easier,' she murmured more to herself. 'But it is, in my opinion, truly fear. Fear is part of more emotional states than any other: envy, jealousy, certain states of egotism, the list goes on, but I'm no mind healer. Fear is powerful; there is no other base feeling that is so difficult to control like fear. The more people fear, the less they think. It is… inbuilt, a feature of humanity. It has worked in the past, of course, and it still serves its purpose: the fear of mutilation, the fear of skulls, of dangerous animals, all that is useful for the survival of a human being. But it clearly challenges the supremacy of the mind. Thus, fear is an-emotionally not dulled-Occlumens' greatest enemy.'

He looked at her, letting her explanation wash over him. He had a feeling where this was going, and it sure was not going to be pleasant…

'What you are going to attempt this night is what we call the Harrowing, an, admittedly, long forbidden and nearly forgotten… ritual of sorts, where we pit a young witch or wizard against their base fears in the rawest and most primitive form.'

'What do I need to do?' he asked, steeling himself. 'And why are you so nervous? Merlin, I've never seen you like this.'

'We were talking about fear, weren't we?' she replied with a crooked smile, emptying her glass in one gulp. 'Follow me.'

She stood up and led him towards the stairs, and Harry quickly realised that they must be heading towards the garret. She slowly opened the door, swirling her wand in a vaguely familiar manner.

The room was dark and completely empty besides a single, blindingly bright source of light near the back of the room. That did not worry Harry, nor did the feeling of imminent danger worry him. What did worry him was the set of heavy chains that were attached to the sole chair in front of him, clearly intended to keep whoever sat down in place against their wishes.

'Sit,' she ordered in a steely voice.

Harry looked at her, second thoughts cavorting through his mind like venomous snakes. Could he really trust her? What if this was a setup? What if she was with someone else? The Notts? They wouldn't shy away from anything, he was sure.

'Please sit, Harry,' she repeated herself, not looking away. He gazed at her, her silvery blond hair, her eyes the colour of a glacier. They weren't their usual calm, though, he noted. Like the storm raging outside, her eyes were as furiously emotional and restless as the spraying foam of the sea. 'Please,' she repeated one last time.

And finally, he sat down, though the chains did not yet move.

'Give me your wand,' she said, holding out her hand.

'That's bollocks!' Harry snapped, his throat dry. 'Have you lost your mind?'

She smiled at him somewhat sadly. 'You remember yourself asking me to hand you a phial of my blood? I took a leap of faith back then. Now, it's time for yours.'

He opened his mouth to shout his protests but stopped before the first word formed itself. Looking down at his wand, he took a few calming breaths and handed it to her, looking away immediately when she cautiously stowed it in her somewhat skimpy robes. He didn't want her to spot the apprehension on his face. 'This is nuts,' he protested again. 'If I die tonight, I'll haunt you until the end of times.'

She gave a short bark of laughter, tapping the chains that began coiling around Harry's hands and feet, even his head and chest. 'Sadly,' she said in a strangely high-pitched tone. 'That will not be possible. You know, at first, I was worried your family might come to hunt me down after this. I told you as much… But, this afternoon, your Aunt Bellatrix and a certain Narcissa Malfoy, another relation of yours, I'm sure, spared themselves the effort.' She rolled up her left sleeve, showing Harry glowing lines of burning red. The skin underneath seemed to wither and die as he watched, turning progressively dark and sickly.

'If you die tonight, I'm afraid to say the vow I took will do me in, too, for what I'm about to do to you. So, I hope you can forgive me for getting a little drunk on possibly my last day in this world.'

She rolled down her sleeve again and motioned her wand towards the source of light in the middle of the room. It seemed to be growing bigger.

She walked around the chair until she was right in front of him and tenderly held his face in both of her warm and delicate hands. Then, she closed her eyes and gave him a very soft kiss on the cheek, near his lips.

'For good luck,' she whispered, smiling whimsically. She smelled of alcohol.

Harry just stared at her, unsure what to make of all this, apprehension creeping through his bones like a disease that made his spine brittle. 'What am I supposed to do?' he asked rather anxiously. He could see that the light did, in fact, not seem to be getting bigger but rather closer. It was a fiercely glowing, translucent white raven, he realised, his heartbeat quickening, and darkness seemed to swallow the room behind it.

'Survive,' she croaked, flicking her wand. The raven instantly expired, dousing the room in undiluted dread, and frost and all that was unholy, causing Harry to clamp up immediately. 'I'll be with you at the first light of the morrow,' she said so quietly that Harry hardly understood her. 'One way or another…'

The door closed with a bang, and he heard steps hurriedly running down the stairs, but all that, all this was secondary to the darkness, the cold, the fear, the terror he felt as he saw dozens of chained creatures in cloaks approaching him, their mouths gaping, their festering grey skin covering their eyes, their rattling breaths drawing all the warmth and all the hope, all the memories of everything good he'd ever seen, ever felt, ever done from his body. Everything was taken from him, the memories of his grandfather faded as fast as those of Sirius or Regulus. His aunts, his cousins; all got swallowed by the gaping void, that-hungry still-ripped out everything he'd ever held dear from within the depth of his soul: his friends, his freedom, everything that made him Harry and not the pathetic excuse of a person he'd been as a child, leaving behind nothing but an empty, shaking, whimpering husk of agony and misery. And then the images came.

And Harry screamed.

VoD: Distant summers

Distant summers

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aenor decided to pour herself another drink, her mood mirroring the thunderous storm outside. If nothing else, at least she didn't have to die sober. Crazy Blacks! she thought regretfully. But what other choice was there to make? Especially considering Lestrange's obvious problems with controlling her temper, it wasn't completely unthinkable that both women might have decided right then and there that she was a security risk if she had objected to the last vow. The Malfoy woman especially, while she was objectively not as magically potent as Lestrange, seemed to be the calculating sort. When her hand had brushed against the wall back when she'd arrived, she had immediately understood that while the wards tolerated her presence, she was, by all means, one spell away from total annihilation during her stay. They might be kind of crazy, but their wards were the real deal. And now this.

She took another swig, holding the crystal glass she'd conjured up in her right hand, inspecting its pure brilliance in the violet light that shone through the windows, her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't get lost in there and die on me, Harry…

Right then, a blood-curdling scream reverberated through the house, penetrating the silence, and she nearly spilt her entire drink again. At least half of the bottle she was currently relieving of its contents had already found its way like this into the depth of the sofa she was huddling on.

Should she have given him the last tip, too? But Harry was rather bright so, surely, he would have understood, wouldn't he? The problem was, Aenor thought with a sinking feeling, that calmly considering the task at hand while being tortured by a pack of Dementors which, while bound, had just enough reach to get within a hairbreadth of his skin, was probably a rather tall order.

She took another sip.

It was kind of amusing, really. Back when she'd suffered through the ordeal, she'd been as freaked out by the chains as Harry, not even considering that they were, in fact, for the participant's own safety. She had no doubt that, should Harry manage to move even one centimetre, the Dementors would swoop in to devour his soul that very instant. Azkaban was a picnic in comparison, she knew. Having not even an inch between your skin and about a dozen ravenous Dementors all around you was a hell she would be glad not to experience ever again, not to mention that those abhorrent abominations were quite starved by now; ever since he'd finished with his experiments, there hadn't really been any reason to keep them around; but, on the other hand, there hadn't been a compelling reason to let them run rampant again, either. To be fair, she admitted, prisoners in Azkaban would have to live with their smaller doses of torture their entire lives. Even the most organised mind couldn't take that sort of stress without relief. All in all, it was rather lucky that they were still around, she surmised.

Another heart-rending scream shattered her illusion of comfort, and Aenor gave, once again, a tremendous start.

Well, Harry might have problems appreciating the opportunity right now, she silently admitted. She could, of course, at any given point in time, silence the door leading to the spacious room under the roof, but-somehow-she just couldn't bring herself to sit down here and pretend everything was fine. Glancing at her left arm again, she refilled her glass.

It was better this way. The outcome of Harry's struggle would determine her own fate, after all. She produced Harry's wand from within the folds of her robes and gave it another inspection, taking note of the alluring power it bled willingly into her hands.

After a few minutes, she realised that the screaming had stopped, but that was still far from reassuring. Aenor knew that most lost their mind in what was to come now, never to emerge again, or, in most other cases, only as a broken mimicry of their former selves. Suddenly losing her lust for alcohol, she hurled her glass against the fireplace.

Come on, Harry! You're not meant to be defeated by something like this, and I sure as hell don't want to bite the dust because I was too prideful to take a step back!

~BLVoD~

Ash - all was fire and ash. He aimlessly scurried through a world of ruins, corpses and the ever-present torturing blaze. At first, he had tried to find a cooler spot and hide, but then those things had turned up, and he had had to flee once again. Sometimes, he would peek through the window of some half-collapsed building, but the horrors he witnessed there usually made him turn away again.

He ran and ran, long past the point of exhaustion, terror of what might lurk around the next corner gnawing at his sanity, dread of what he knew to be lurking behind forcing his feet.

The way ahead was barred; a huge mansion seemed to have collapsed, blocking the road. It was a funny-looking building with, so it seemed, more spires than windows. Fearfully, he looked around, searching for another way, but there was none to be had. With no alternative, he snuck towards the front door, which hung crookedly on its hinges as if blasted backwards. The insides of the once-proud home were a mess: nearly everything had been reduced to softly glimmering heaps of many-coloured ash, though a few items, like a giant cauldron in the centre of the room, seemed eerily untouched by the inferno. With the utmost care, he crept along the softly creaking floor, careful not to step on anything and alert his pursuers.

All at once, something shot out of the rubble and grabbed his ankle. Looking down in horror, he saw the remnants of something that was once proud and grey. His own eyes widening, he realised that the smouldering and reeking, half-molten and coiled-up lump of coal beside him must be human.

'Promise me!' it croaked, blood pouring from its mouth. He bolted, ripping his feet with all his might from the grip of the thing on the floor. Through the next room he ran, ignoring the vaguely familiar paintings on the walls, through the kitchen, through the living room, jumping with eyes shut over anything big enough to make him wonder what it could have been. Finally, he reached the back door. With all his might, he yanked at the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. Without an alternative, he took a few steps back and jumped through the broken window…

… landing on a smooth floor with not a speck of dust in sight. He turned around. Behind him was just another impeccably clean corridor leading towards a set of stairs, peacefully snoozing portraits decorating the hallway. Turning his gaze to the front again, he realised that he was standing in an entrance hall, and shadows seemed to gather in front of the house.

A woman with long red hair and a baby in her arms appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Are we expecting visitors, James?'

Holding his breath, he reached for the door. It clicked with the soft promise of death…

'You will do as I say! No more wandering about the mansion at night!'

He whirled around. A plump older woman in a maid outfit was wagging her finger at him in a scolding manner.

'But-' he began.

'You will do as I say!' she said at once, sternly raising her finger.

'But what am I-' he tried again.

'You will do as I say!' Her voice easily drowned out his own.

'But you're supposed to-'

'You will do as I say!' she said once again, her tone not changing at all.

'But who are you?!' he cried in desperation.

But it was hopeless. 'No more questions! You will do as I say!' she parroted again, her expression and inflexion eerily unchanging.

He turned around, stomping his feet, racing up the stairs.

'You really ought to do as Miss Miller says, ~#§§$,' a kind voice of no discernible origin advised him, though some of the words remained unclear to him.

He ran up the stairs,