Absolute Zero by sin of existence

by mellow.fellow

Harry is not the boy who lived. His brother, Henry Potter is. Yep, he's a stuck up git. Enjoy the bashing of him, James and Lily. LOL is nigh. It will also be a SuperHarry? story. The pairings will be HarryXLuna and OCXFleur. rated m for safety Note: this is the unfinished final story in the excellent series by sin of existence

All those reading, be afraid. For I have brought a hurricane with me, and it's rarin' to go.

And for all those asking if I own Harry Potter, then, OMG, how have you even survived long enough to learn how to read at that level of intelligence? For all those horribly impaired mentally, I'll repeat it. I. Don't. Own. Harry Potter. This is the only time I'll say it, mmkay?

"Magic is infinite. With magic, the impossible is made possible, and dreams, made reality. All you must do is reach out and grasp it."

-Merlin, Father of Magic.

The magical world was brisk with the winds of dissent and coming battle. Every person, every wizard or witch, could feel it. The nagging sense in the back of their mind. The glance behind them, when no one was there. Each could sense it, yet none could place it.

If they had been able to place where it started, where it originated, where it all centered upon, they would have been pointing to France.

In France, lay a small, yet extravagant manor. It was somewhat odd, in design, considering it the center of the manor, lay a tall, immaculate white tower, reaching up unto the heavens.

A tall white wall rose around the manor, strong and unyielding. The black portcullis stood firm and proud, easily opened when needed by the two trolls trained and paid for the task.

Around the manor, lay sprawling forest, green like a sea, and when the winds blew, the sea of leaves rippled like water and played a soft symphony of rustling.

Near the manor, lay a lake, a rather large one, crescent shaped. It curled against a mountain like a protective blanket, stemming from several waterfalls on the mountain, and tapering to a river, that went all the way out of sight, even when one looked from the tower itself.

The manor lay nestled in a small valley, against a hard ridge of mountains, which sloped up gracefully from the manor's view, but on the other side, turned harsh and steep, completely impassable by foot, as if someone had sliced off half the mountain roughly and stolen it.

The manor was small, but inviting. There were three stories in sight, the third only a single room leading to the tower. There were clear glass windows, giving light to a rather large study and library. There were emblems on tapestries hanging from a single balcony on top of the large mahogany entrance, each detailing a white heron, which clutched a scale, the symbol of justice and honor, in one claw, a sword in the other, and a bag, clutched in it's beak, which sagged open slightly, revealing gold, which dropped and fell onto a field of green.

There were several smaller buildings inside the walls, such as a wide white hut, which bellowed smoke from a overly large chimney. Another was a large greenhouse, rectangular and sectioned. There was also a large, roofed stable, which held creatures of many varieties, only the very least of which was horses.

And finally, if one looked hard enough, they would see a good sized beaten ring, fenced and surrounded by many barrels, holding swords, spears, and other weapons who's names would most likely escape the vocabularies of most average viewers.

And from within that ring, rang and flashed the signs of combat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Faster, boy! If an old codger like me can keep up with you, how the hell do you think you're going to face Death Eaters? Ossum Oblido!" Snarled the older man. His one, electric blue replacement magical eye stayed trained straight on the younger, whose both eyes were milky blue.

The younger man twisted narrowly around the bonebreaking curse, and stayed miraculously on his feet, through sheer good balance.

"Who's keeping up, Moody? Not you, that's for sure. Ossum Abeo!" A screaming gray hex leapt from the young man's white wand.

Moody cackled, and batted the dangerous hex aside with a Dueler's Shield, affixed on his twisted staff. "A bone vanishing hex! Very clever! Usually leaves the target immobilized, but not dead. Very good, but much too tame! Try again, Harry!"

"Try this then, Shimiru!" Harry growled, waving his wand in a uppercut, just as he had seen Voldemort do so.

Bamboo spikes leapt from the ground, heading at a alarming rate towards the older Auror, who was laughing insanely.

"Good, good, improvisation, ruthlessness, excellent! Sectumsempra!"

Suddenly, all of the bamboo heads were lopped off, and Harry threw himself flat to avoid the invisible magical blade, that would have gouged Harry rather alarmingly in the chest had it connected.

Harry made to get up, but was nailed in the back by several rapid Stunners, and went completely limp. His view of the ground was eventually filled with a large, worn boot, before a growled voice muttered, "Renervate." And Harry found all of his limbs working once more.

He got up, dusting his robes off, and met the grumpy face of Mad-Eye Moody without a hint of a flinch, something very few could claim to have done.

"Boy, you were doing well until you damn near bared your ass to me with that dodge. What did I tell you?" He asked. Harry shifted his feet, ever so slightly.

"Don't fall, always keep on your feet. If you're going to dodge, then move sideways, up, anywhere but on your stomach." Harry repeated.

"Yes, because then your mobility is halved! You've got to take a second to get on your feet, catch your balance, right your center of gravity! And that's only if you're quick!" Moody growled, jabbing Harry rather roughly in the stomach with his twisted stave, making him grunt, ever so slightly. "One second is all it takes to cast most spells! And wordless ones only take half a second, a quarter of a second! Every second, every ounce of time wasted, is given to the enemy!"

"I know." Harry replied, slightly annoyed. Moody responded by punching him in the stomach, rather hard. Harry wheezed and fell to his knees, his wand already straight pointed at Moody's stomach.

"Obviously you DON'T!" Moody growled. "Don't get coy with me, brat! You didn't even expect me to attack, even if you got your wand up after! I've done this before, and told you this before. A good chance at survival requires CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody roared, right in Harry's face. Harry tried not to grimace at the flecks of spittle that flew from his lips and attached themselves onto Harry's skin. "Or do you want to become like your half-wit brother?" Moody asked, his voice a delightful leering tone.

If gazes could pierce, Moody would have been impaled. "I'm not like Henry!" Harry hissed, his eyes twin blue lasers set on Moodys. A bit of frost began to form on Moody's scraggly hair, and he grinned maniacally.

"Good." Moody straightened from his crouch, and started stumping away. He stopped for a moment. "You did better today." He admitted grudgingly. "Get yourself cleaned up and get some R and R. Your lesson with Mailloche begins in a hour, and you've got a match in a couple of days. I expect you to win." He finished shortly, before stumping away, probably for a good meal.

Harry remained on his knees a moment longer, before groaning and getting up, before heading inside the manor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His days at Cooke Manor, were, for lack of a better word, like torture.

Each day, Moody would take his confidence, his pride, anything he could use against Harry, and twist it up, and strangle him with it. His methods bordered on insanity. His training was like authorized mutilization. But Harry was getting better. He was constantly alert, especially since Moody also liked to set traps at regular intervals, just to keep Harry on his toes.

Proof of this was when Harry walked inside, he had to dispel several charms on suits of armor, to make sure they didn't leap up and try to attack him, along with a tripping charm on the long, embroidered rug.

Moody seemed a paradox. He stressed ruthlessness, and using any methods necessary to defeat the enemy, such as sneak attacks and kicking people while they're down. However, he criticized same methods when used by people he deemed 'cowards'.

"It's all in the intent, Harry." He would say. "Are you fighting because this is the only way you think you can beat them, or because you know this is the best way to get them? If you are a coward, you can only win by treachery. If you're a fighter, you're winning by taking the initiative, even though you have other routes of attack."

This logic seemed convoluted, twisted even, yet no one had ever accused 'Mad-Eye' Moody of complete sensibility, and since it obviously worked for the legendry Auror, Harry decided to try to understand it.

Jean-Claude Mailloche was much the same, if gentler. He taught Harry the sign of a weakened opponent, how to recognize flaws in technique, and exploit them without mercy. He taught Harry how to play with a person's mind, psychologically twist them and tear them until they are no longer sure what is right or wrong.

Strangely enough, he also taught Harry chivalry, how to accept an opponent's surrender, how to lose gracefully, how to win gracefully. Naturally he also taught Harry standard European dueling rules, but he also explained the concept behind each rule, and why it was made, instead of just telling Harry to obey it. Hearing the common sense and circumstances behind the rules made it much easier to accept them, in Harry's opinion.

A strange house elf wandered out of the doorway ahead of Harry, and he sighed in relief. The elf was clad in a long(well, long for a elf) robe, with many hidden pockets from what Harry had seen, with lots of small vials, and the Cooke emblem emblazoned on the black robe. He even had two small vials as earrings.

"Rabidus!" Harry called ahead. David Cooke's chief helper and head elf turned, and grinned ferally. Harry repressed a shiver.

This little nutter was crazy. Sure, he helped , but seriously, he had a rather unhealthy obsession with explosives. It was downright creepy when the crazy bugger offered to make Harry 'go boom and fly all the red around' when he first saw him. He was still creepy now, when he had stopped.

Mr. Cooke had personally confided that he was slightly afraid to get rid of the elf, since he might go insane and start setting off some of his more dangerous concoctions.

"Young Master's friend...how nice to see you, even though you are not kaboomed..." Rabidus let out a high pitched giggle, which sent goosebumps up Harry's spine. "What may I be kablaming for you today?"

"Nothing, preferably, but I'd appreciate some water and...hmm...say, a piece of pumpkin pie?" Harry replied flatly. The elf pouted, disappearing with a crack, before reappearing with Harry's pie and a glass of water. "Thanks." Harry replied, taking the aforementioned refreshments, and left the elf to his mutterings about Styrofoam and petroleum, heading down the hallway, to David's library, where he always went to relax.

Harry pushed open the door, and was surprised to find Matt there, relaxing with a phone in his ear and a piece of paper on his lap. He gave Harry a little wave, and held up one finger.

"No. No, that's fine. No, 600 sounds reasonable. Right. Thanks. I'll have my elves get to work on it right away. Okay. You too. Goodbye." Matt clicked a button on the phone and hung up, and Harry raised a eyebrow.

"That a buyer?" Harry asked. Matt nodded.

Matt, coming true to his Cooke blood, had come up with an ingenious new business plan.

He was releasing the Enchanting the Soul, Volume 5.

Not the real one, of course. Matt was quite cleverly keeping all the good enchants out of it. Since he had the only example, he could arbitrarily decide what he put in his published version.

Harry had been truly shocked about the uproar when Matt announced that he had 'found' the fifth volume in a secret chamber in Hogwarts. It wasn't that far from the truth, true, but Harry hadn't expected the sheer amount of publishing offers Matt had received.

Matt had then turned very sly, and declined them all, forcing each enchanter to have to call him and individually offer him money. This ensured that he could set the price, and that any future enchanters who wanted to have any chance of surviving the others would have to go through him.

Even though there were roughly five hundred certified enchanters in Europe, and nearly twice in Asia, Harry would eat his wand if every single one of them hadn't called Matt yet, or at least was going to. It was a bit sad how dependant they had become on other wizard's achievements.

That was another thing Harry had been disturbed by.

He was now Harold James Omnisluctus. He had somehow been picked by Azarath Omnisluctus, author of Enchanting the Soul, over a thousand years ago. No, great Merlin, he was Lord Harold James Omnisluctus.

"Yep." Matt bobbed his head. "Some guy named Wulfgang. That's German, right? He sounded German."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "So that's...what? How rich are you again?" Harry asked jokingly.

"Fucking rich, let me tell you. I broke a hundred thousand Galleons yesterday. I could quit and never work again, if I felt like it." Matt replied jokingly.

It was true. Even though it wasn't rich, like the Potter family, who had somewhere around a hundred million Galleons, or the Malfoys, who had somewhere around half that, if Matt bought a modest home, and didn't go buying a dragon or some shit like that, he would be set.

But Matt wasn't like that.

"As if, you money whore." Harry shot right back. Even though it was a Cooke family tradition, there was no reason not to poke fun at it.

"What can I say?" Matt asked.

And that was the thing. Matt had another two whole volumes to release. That meant even if a hundred thousand was all he was going to get for this one, which was completely impossible, since Matt still had another hundred or so clients who were going to call in the next couple of hours, he was going to be fucking rich no matter what he did.

"Nothing at all. Just remember, you're not the only money bag in this house. I, or shall I say, your dad finally just sold the sword of Slytherin yesterday." Harry replied smugly.

Harry had completely cleaned out the top floor of Slytherin's library. Dumbledore truly had no bullshit filter installed sometimes, because he had bought the lie so completely and utterly it was funny when he found the Headmaster quietly cursing Tom under his breath after Harry told him it.

He couldn't obviously start selling them himself, so David had graciously come up with the excuse that some of his foraging teams had 'chanced upon' a old tomb, with a bunch of Slytherin's artifacts in it.

He had agreed to sell them for Harry, with a small commission to himself, of course. David got twenty percent of the profit. He was, after all, a buisnessman, and it was small potatoes compared to the whopping eighty Harry had.

Matt's jaw dropped open. "Get out. That thing, he priced it at a hundred ten thousand Galleons! That was just the starting price!"

"Fuck yeah he did. And fuck yeah, I am currently eighty eight thousand Galleons richer." Harry replied smugly.

"Who the fuck...?" Matt's question was obvious.

"Dumbledore, funny enough." Harry replied. "Who knew the man had that kind of cash squirreled away? 'Course, it was probably just to keep it from Voldy, but who cares?"

"Amen to that. By the way, have you seen Amandine?" Matt asked.

Amandine Confier was Matt's old nanny. Well, not looks wise, anyway. She was the only other human on the ranch besides David. David steadfastly maintained that he enjoyed the company, but Matt confided that he was pretty sure that he fancied her. Matt's mother was dead.

Well, human was a mistake. Amandine was half-Veela.

A warm rushing feeling was all the warning Harry got, and the sound of the door creaking, was all the warning Harry got, before a bright, warm voice announced her presence.

"Mattheau? You need me?" She asked. Matt looked into her viridian green eyes without a hint of lust or unnatural affection.

"Yeah, could you handle these calls for me? I've got to go; I've got a job, now!" Matt chuckled.

"Of course, what was the last buy?" She asked. Her voice held only the slightest tint of lilting French accent, a courtesy of having spent a great deal of time around regular English and away from France.

"Six hundred Galleons." Matt replied, handing her the phone and notepad. Harry noticed a lot of names, amounts, and locations, written on the pad. "If they ask for a advance order and offer five thousand or more, agree, and put a star next to their name. If not, turn them down." Matt informed her. She nodded, and took a seat, just as the phone rang.

"Where you workin'?" Harry asked, taking a sprawl in one of the plush armchairs.

Matt tossed him a mischievous grin. "Did you know that the French magical school system gets out in autumn instead of summer?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fleur sighed, and brushed one lock of blonde hair behind one of her ears.

The Tri-Wizard had been fun, yes, but Morgana, couldn't school just end after it? At least for her? She was the champion, honestly! Anything to stave this boredom off.

How could anyone not find Potions a utter drag after fighting with undead and trading fireballs at genies scarcely a month ago?

Professor Brassez was a good teacher, certainly, but there were some things a polite attitude and rather attractive perm could not fix!

"Ah yes, one more thing, girls." He mentioned, as if a afterthought. "I have taken on a assistant professor. I am sure you will all remember him, though he seems to be a tad late today..."

As if magically summoned, Matthew Cooke burst through the door, sweating slightly. He gave a cool little half wave to the class, panting slightly.

"Sorry I'm late." He apologized, smiling slightly. "I got caught up with a little business."

Fleur hoped desperately that her jaw wasn't hanging too far down her face. And from the way that his eye was sparkling with mischief, and the amused glance he tossed her, she wasn't doing too well.

"Girls, this is Matteau Cuisiner, my new assistant. Matteau, do not let it happen again." Brassez ordered him sternly. Matt gave him a mock salute, to which he sighed. "Today, we'll be working on the Felix Felicitis, since you did not do very well last time. Your NEWTS are coming up, and you do not want to do badly on those, non?"

The complete lack of groans and sighs was testament to how much impact the newcomer had made. Most of the girls were whispering among themselves, or sending appreciative, and more often than not, smoky looks at the good looking younger boy. Matt seemed totally oblivious, whistling some unknown tune as he tugged on his dragonskin gloves.

Brassez seemed to notice this, and kneaded his temples in irritation. "Very well, you may begin. The ingredients are on the board, and the instructions are in your textbook. You may ask me or Matteau for help, if you feel you need it."

He tapped a hourglass affixed to his table, a signal for them to start. The Beauxbatons girls immediately set themselves on their task. If you hadn't guessed, it wasn't finishing the luck potion.

Just as Fleur predicted, after not too long, one of the girls signaled for Matt's help. Somewhere along the way, she had unbuttoned the top of her uniform blouse, letting some impressive cleavage into view. She shamelessly clasped her hands together, producing even more cleavage, and bringing attention to her bosom at the same time, and whined cutely that she couldn't figure it out. That it was much too hard.

And Fleur most definitely caught the emphasis on 'hard', and the way she drew it out.

This is going to get very tricky with all this competition. Fleur mentally mused. Then, she caught herself.

Wait, competition?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry walked down the street of the Sentier Lumineux, or the Bright Path, France's equivalent of Diagon Alley. Harry, personally, much preferred it to the dingy paths of the Alley, each stone being very meticulously cleaned every night to keep them the shining white that was their namesake.

Harry did not know French, so he was blissfully immune to the many offers and prices hawked by the vendors. He had one destination, and that was the French branch of Gringotts.

This Omnisluctus problem had been bugging him ever since he had gotten the name. It had since then become a itch, a nagging sensation that demanded to be solved.

Harry, obviously, could translate the Latin of the name. What kind of name was All Mourning? Or Ever Mourning. It was rather morbid, and for such a old name, it would be much more probable to have something glorious, like Gryffindor, which was nearly as old, being eight hundred and fifty years old.

And secondly, there were only, and had only ever been, two members in the family. Azarath Omnisluctus, and his father, Emrys.

It did not make any sense. And Harry was determined to get to the bottom of it.

The Gringotts branch here seemed just the same as the one in Diagon, from the architecture to the two large troll guards that now stood at the entrance, a sign that the threat of Voldemort was getting to them. They fortunately did not stop him as he stepped inside.

Seeing a open teller, Harry immediately headed towards him.

"Excuse me, I want to open my account." Harry requested politely.

"Neme?" The goblin grunted. Okay, here was a change. He had a horribly thick French accent. "End key?"

"Omnisluctus." Harry replied. The goblin stood straight upright in his seat. "I don't have a key, but-"

"Pleeze repeat ze neme. Ze neme, Monsieur!" The goblin repeated, almost fervently. If it were possible for a goblin to go white, this one was.

Harry looked at him with wide, slightly freaked out eyes. "Err...I have to verify my status as Lord Harold James Omnisluctus." Harry repeated, very, very slowly. Perhaps the goblin hadn't heard. Wait, no, he had most certainly heard, from that disturbing shiver he just had when he heard the name again. "Can you please lead me to a heritage room, or something, please?"

The goblin said absolutely nothing. Harry was beginning to think about leaving and maybe just calling in instead, when a wide, creepy grin split the goblin's face. Harry did not like that smile. It seemed almost insidious.

"Non, non, theure weel be neu need." He replied, slowly chewing each word. "Howeiver, yeau weel need to uease un of our Floos, for the vault yeau seek lies in the eenglieesh branche of our bank."

Harry could barely understand the damn creature. Harry struggled to translate the words to comprehensible speech.

"Why? Aren't the vaults accusable from anywhere?" Harry asked curiously.

The goblin shook his head. "Not these one. For yeau are going to Vault Zero."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry looked at the goblin askance. "Where?"

The goblin pushed up it's high rim glasses, peering at Harry intently. "Eengland. Yeau moost go." He seemed very firm on this point.

Well, on one hand, it was a Floo, and Harry had always despised those. Somehow, where he mastered many varying and wide ranging forms of magic, he always fucked up somewhere with a Floo.

But then, it would get him to a goblin who was accent-free.

Floo, or understandable speech?

"Okay, where's the Floo?" Harry asked resignedly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stepped out of the Floo, coughing. The one goblin in the office looked rather alarmed.

"I did not recieve notice that a person was Floo-ing in. Please identify yourself, or I will be forced to activate the Gringotts wards." He stated formally, as if he were not threatening Harry at all. Hell, he hadn't even risen from his seat.

Harry let out another sooty cough. "Lord...Harold James...Omnisluctus..." He barely wheezed out, before another fit of coughs took him

The name had a similar effect on the English variety of goblin. "Excuse me sir, would you please repeat that last part for me?" The goblin asked, slowly and carefully. At least this one wasn't quite as excitable.

"Sure. Lord. Harold. James. Omnisluctus." Harry repeated, making sure to put out each syllable carefully and forcefully, like he was speaking to a deaf person. To add icing on the cake, he didn't even bristle at the insult, just getting another wide, creepy grin, similar to the Frenchie's. "I'm here to access Vault Zero." Harry finished.

"But...of course." The goblin smiled eerily. "Follow me, so we can get your ring."

"Don't I need a heritage test?" Harry asked curiously.

"No." The goblin replied shortly. "Not you." He added, seemingly as a afterthought.

Okay, this was getting rapidly wierder and wierder by the second. Goblins, as a rule, never treated him or any wizard with anything other than a sort of sarcastic deference. But this one seemed almost...respectful. Seriously, what the fuck?

Harry followed the goblin to a rather large office, after a long walk among goblins carrying stacks of paper, shooting rather odd looks at Harry. The goblin leading Harry stepped inside, and Harry obeyed his order to wait.

Harry tried very distinctly to ignore the sign, 'Ragnok, President of Gringotts' on the front.

Moments later, a rather splendidly dressed goblin in silk walked out behind the goblin. He looked nervous and eager at the same time, for lack of a better descriptive term.

"My name, as you may see, is Ragnok." He introduced himself politely. The goblin next to him bowed low.

"And I am Choplock." He intoned.

Ragnok, who had been playing with it in his hands since now, walked forward, and handed Harry a large, heavy signet ring. Harry inspected the symbol.

It was rather morbid, as well. A round, red heart with white wings on each side, bound by sharp chains and impaled upon the spike of an ancient sundial, which's shadow pointed to the roman numeral for twelve. Blood dripped down from the heart, and formed the shape of a teardrop at the edge of the roman numeral six.

Harry turned it over, inspecting it. He noticed quite acutely that Ragnok was watching his every move like a green-skinned hawk.

"Why don't you try it on?" He offered casually. The tone was light, but with a hard edge underneath, suggesting it was most certainly not a request.

"Sure, why not?" Harry shrugged, and slipped the ring on his finger. It shrunk, and melded to his skin perfectly, not too tight or loose. He inspected it and how it looked on his finger, smiling slightly, as Ragnok and Chopjaw lost their overeager looks, and gained the slightest of sardonic smirks.

"Excellent, my Lord Omnisluctus." Ragnok intoned, with a sharp incline of the head. "'Shall we move ahead to Vault Zero?"

"Sounds good to me." Harry replied flippantly. Ragnok nodded, and began down the corridor, with Chopjaw and Harry at his heels.

Soon enough, after another long walk, with even MORE wierd looks, probably because the President of Gringotts was with them, they were standing in the familiar cool atmosphere of the teller area, with many wizards walking in and out, getting money and such.

Ragnok walked over to the first teller he saw open, and started conversing quietly. Chopjaw stayed quietly at Harry's side. The teller's eyes widened comically, and shot to Harry, and Ragnok pulled his gaze back, talking furiously in Gobbledegook and making sharp hand gestures.

Finally, the teller pulled out a secret cabinet, and slapped his palm down upon the button he found there. A whining alarm began sounding, and a cool, female voice began repeating, over and over again. "This is a Gringotts emergency. Please exit the building in a calm and orderly fashion. This is a Gringotts emergency. Please exit the building in a calm and orderly fashion. This..."

The wizards and witches, taken by shock, began making their way towards the exit. As soon as they were all outside, the great, golden doors slammed shut, and the alarm stopped.

Harry crawled out from under the desk where Chopjaw had dragged him. "Shouldn't we leave?" Harry asked. Chopjaw actually laughed a little bit.

"No, that was just a bluff to get all of them out of the building." He replied. Harry looked at him askance.

"All for me?" He asked, but the goblin then chose to clam up, his lower lip jutting out and his mouth snapping shut, keeping his eyes firmly ahead. Harry sighed. "Whatever. Where's Vault Zero?"

"Over here, my Lord Omnisluctus." Ragnok called, standing in the middle of the teller area, on top of the large, golden circle placed in the ground, built to resemble...

Oh, no fucking way.

It actually was a vault door. The fact that it was placed below instead of in front of them seemed to be irrelevant.

Harry had deducted this from the way Ragnok was grinning toothily, and yanking a key off of a necklace around his neck. He placed it in the supposedly fake rendition of a keyhole, and turned it, before quickly backing off.

The ancient gears groaned with strain, before the cogs began turning, and the golden plates parted in a circular manner similar to a spiral. The kept turning, and turning, until they revealed their prize...

A square, golden plate.

"That's it?" Harry asked aloud. Ragnok beckoned with his green hand at the golden plate.

"Stand there, my Lord Omnisluctus." He pointed at the plate.

All of the tellers had since come out from their desks, and were milling about the plate. Harry got the feeling that if he didn't do this, they would be very, very disappointed. And Harry was pretty sure their disappointment would be detrimental to his health and lifespan.

Harry walked over, and stood on the plate, which was at slight decline-

And fell.

Not him. The plate. It fell.

Really fast.

Like an elevator on speed, Harry plumetted, screaming his head off, cursing the gods, the goblins, and the goblin's gods, to any person who might hear them.

Harry had no idea how long or far he fell, only that his throat was quite hoarse when he hit the bottom, and the exit was only a pinprick of light in the tunnel.

He looked down, to find where he had landed.

It was a underwater cavern; Rather small, really. Only about as big as a single room, and the only item of interest besides a few stalactites being a worn brown chest, sitting at the far end of the underground cavern.

Harry, taking a brief glance around with his second sight, saw no wards or signs of traps, on the chest or the surrounding area, so he proceeded forward.

Only the instincts beaten into him by Moody, and agility trained into him by Mailloche and Quiddich, saved him, when his foot caught on a regular Muggle tripwire. Harry heard a small shuffling noise to each side of him, and he dove forward, narrowly avoiding the rain of darts that flew from each side.

Harry landed on his feet, his eyes searching around for any more traps. He edged his foot ahead, very slowly, feeling for any hidden panels, or more tripwires. His booted toe gingerly tested the ground ahead of him, as he tiptoed and shuffled ahead. His foot pushed in a little, and caught on a hidden panel, and his breath caught.

Edging carefully around the potential trap, he made sure to test the ground ahead one more time, before he knelt in front of the chest.

"Okay...he likes Muggle traps..." Harry muttered, to no one it particular. There was no lock or catch on the chest, so Harry worked his fingernails under the seam, maneuvered his form so it lay flat on the ground, and flung it open.

He was rewarded by the sharp ringing of metal. Harry looked up, to see a sword sticking right where his shoulder would roughly be.

"Wound me, but not kill me." Harry murmured. "Those darts were probably paralyzers, too. He really wants only one person down here."

Harry peeked over the rim, and seeing no signs of a trap, allowed himself to fully view the contents.

It really wasn't much, honestly. Only three items.

One, fist sized triangular piece of rock. Completely normal, with a little bit of moss.

Two, a small brass ring. Enchanted, if Harry's second sight had anything to say about it.

Three, a worn, brown leather diary. Also magical, as Harry could see the latent glow in it.

Harry stared at them. This was all the traps had been protecting? A chest full of fucking mementos, or something?

Harry picked up the diary first as a matter of habit, curious to it's contents. He opened the cover, and stared with confusion as he found all the pages blank.

Then, without warning, ink appeared on the yellowed pages.

Hello, Harry. Do you wish to seek the meaning of the name Omnisluctus?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stared at the small diary, as he walked down the nearly empty halls of the Cooke manor. He was totally absorbed.

This Ominsluctus thing was getting really, really weird.

First of all, Vault Zero? The only answer he had gotten was a very mysterious one from Ragnok, that it was the first vault ever built, and it was at the heart of Gringotts. And then, typically, Ragnok had clammed up, refusing to answer any questions, practically throwing Harry into a Floo.

Secondly, the very name was weird. It was too much of a mouthful, like someone had just cobbled together the two words, as a hint, or a very obvious clue. Or maybe a metaphor. The name Gryffindor came from a wizard long, long ago named Geofrid of Sussix, who had the fortune of having a Animagus form of a rare subspecies of Griffin, a Griffin D'Or, or golden Griffin, not any stronger or more powerful, just very impressive looking. He had made his name taking down nearly half a army in a suicide charge, and his sons were given the name Griffind'or. Which changed somewhere to Gryffind'or, and then to Gryffindor.

The diary in itself would not be as much of a shock normally. Kids used these little two way diaries to speak with another. The thing that creeped Harry the fuck out was that it had answered, as soon as Harry picked it up. And in a chest supposedly undisturbed for a thousand years, that was right proper reason to be creeped.

Harry began ticking off names of anything that would be around that long. Vampires were the most likely, though the oldest at the moment was supposedly some African one, and he was only about seven hundred years old.

Genies were another possibility. Totally and completely immortal unless killed. Unfortunately, they were killed quite often, for their dust was extremely valued.

Harry could rattle off a few more, but he knew none of them would be probable.

Hello, Harry. Do you wish to seek the meaning of the name Omnisluctus? This sentence lay in the diary, not having been erased yet, just simply sitting there. Like a taunt.

Harry had not written a response, in short, because he was scared.

Scared, because he wanted to.

He wanted to, really, really bad. The urge to answer in affirmative was so disturbingly strong, that Harry actually felt his hand twitch, every time he saw a quill or pen. The several eagle feather quills he had felt like weights, until he discarded them. His very mouth went dry as he stared upon those single two sentences.

When, when? When had he ever become so addicted to knowledge? It was just a bloody last name! It didn't mean anything!

But it does. His greedy little mind whispered. You can sense it, taste it! The mystery, the aching puzzle begging to be solved. Do it! No others can! You are smarter than them, better than them! That's why you're wearing that ring, the one he gave you!

Almost immediately, the self-justifications began. He should know the meaning of his own last name, right? It's his right! He should know the meaning of bloody fucking Omnisluctus, because be bloody fucking was one!

Harry barely stopped himself from signing 'Yes' right there. His quill had been inches above the yellowed parchment, when he realized what he had been doing, and threw the diary across the room with all the force he could muster.

Harry stared, troubled, at the small brass ring on his finger, right next to his signet ring. It seemed so malicious, so evil now, a seductive taint, a constant reminder.

Harry opened the door to his room, which David had given him, one of the seven guest rooms he had in his manor, and was greeted by quite the pleasant surprise.

"So, Lord Omnisluctus, now?" Luna asked, a wry grin on her face.

"Luna!" He breathed out in relief.

She barely had time to react before he swept her up in a heated liplock. He was definitely taller now, he noted mentally. Her toes were hanging a half inch off of the floor.

He released her, and she fell to the floor, her breathing slightly ragged.

"Merlin, I've missed you." Harry breathed, taking in the lilac scent of her hair with a great deal of relish. All those troubles, all those nagging duties and stresses, seemed to utterly disappear when she was right here, right in front of him.

"Apparently." She replied flippantly, with a tiny grin on her face. Harry took a seat in one of the seats, where she promptly took a seat on his lap, toying slightly with his hair. She frowned, curling one lock of his ebony hair on her finger. "You dyed your hair." She accused, as if it were a terrible crime.

Harry started slightly, not really remembering. He ran a hand through his own, now totally black hair, devoid of the pale blue on top.

"Actually, Moody did. Blue attracts too much attention, he said. It makes sense." Harry replied, slightly defensively.

"Sounds like someone didn't like it." She teased. Harry scowled. Damn, was he that transparent?

"Well, the fact that Moody snuck in and did it in my sleep might have something to do with that." Harry admitted finally. Luna started giggling, and Harry poked her in the side. "Hey, it's not my fault, he's like a fucking common cold! He comes and goes as he pleases, and sneaks up on me when I'm not looking, makes me miserable and sick, and I can't seem to get rid of him!" Harry protested, throwing his hands up in the air.

"No, no, I like it, really. It makes you look more mature." Luna assured him. Then she grinned, like a Cheshire cat. "You have absolutely no reason to be ashamed an old wizard with a peg leg and staff snuck up on you."

She laughed, like tinkling bells, at the sight of his grumpy face. Harry relaxed, his one arm around her waist.

"So how did you get here?" He asked. She smiled and crossed her legs across the arms of the chair.

"Mr. Cooke offered, and I accepted. I wanted to see those all those books you got off the third floor again anyway. He said it was Matt's idea."

Harry's face darkened, realizing that Matt had to be laughing up his sleeve at Beauxbatons right now. "I'm going to kill that cheeky little fucker." Harry muttered. He had to have been sitting on the news the entire time.

"No you're not." Luna replied, a bit sternly. "After all, I wouldn't even know where you were if he hadn't told me. Which brings up another thing..." Her face looked quite threatening, especially all up close like it was. Harry fought down the urge to gulp. "Who do you think you are, going off without telling me, your girlfriend-"' The word seemed almost like a cat's hiss. Harry flinched, nearly imperceptibly. "-Where you're going, right after you got your fucking arm blasted off?"

Luna just swore. That was a large, huge, monumentally big sign that Harry was in a big pile of doodoo at the moment.

"I told you about the disownment and my new arm, right?" She nodded firmly, her silver eyes still like slits. God, he hoped she didn't have claws outside of her snow leopard form, or he was seriously in for it. "Well, I sorta had to make a deal for my arm..." Harry began.

So he told her. About how he had to be Dumbledore's soldier until Voldemort was defeated, and how he had had to give up the library, most of it, anyway. Also, how he had basically told Dumbledore he was a prodigy, and actually threatened to try to kill him.

Somewhere along the tale, she had extricated herself from Harry's lap, and begun pacing, around the room. Now, she was just standing in front of the chair, a completely apathetic look on her face.

"..and that's it." Harry finished, his arms gripping the sides of his chair rather hard. Merlin, what was she going to do to him? Jinx him? Make him imagine that he was being butt raped by a dementor?

It was a measure of how scared he was that he actually conceded her ability to do so. After, he couldn't fight back! What was he going to do, Stun his girlfriend?

"Okay." She replied flatly. "Good job."

Harry was taken aback. "Good job? That's it? You're...congratulating me?"

She took a seat back in his lap, straddling his waist, now. Her thoughtful face was completely at odds with the rather erotic position she was in. "Well, you had to adapt to unforeseen circumstances, and got out pretty scot free for it. Wait, there are two other things."

Harry was not expecting the fist that slammed into his stomach. He, therefore, didn't have time to tighten his stomach in anticipation, and therefore took the whole hit. He coughed wheezily, as she looked at his face with disdain.

"That's for not telling me where you were going." She told him sternly. "Don't do it again."

"..Ri-...Right." He replied. It was a pretty light punishment, considering she hadn't even taken out her wand.

"And this..." She grabbed both his ears, and shoved her tongue roughly into his throat.

Harry immediately responded by grabbing her by her back and pulling her closer, reciprocating. Her breasts mashed erotically against his chest, and his pulse quickened, and she let out a soft whimper.

"H-Harry..." She whispered. Damn, if that wasn't the most sexy thing he had ever heard, he didn't know what was! She pulled away, and Harry restrained his groan with effort. "That..." She paused to catch her breath, putting one hand on his chest to steady herself. "That was for having the stones to threaten the most powerful wizard in Britain." She finished, somehow managing to look somewhat dignified despite her red cheeks, puffy lips and glazed eyes.

"Why?" Harry growled, nuzzling softly against her neck. She let out a tiny gasp when he bit down on her thin collarbone, ever so gently. "Does that turn you on?" He asked teasingly.

"Merlin, yes." She whimpered, pressing herself closer, rendering herself helpless to the small kisses he traced up her white neck. She ran her hands along his stomach and chest, giggling ever so slightly at his slight groan. "Well, well, Harry, you've been working out. You're a big macho man, now, going out, threatening Dumbledore and Voldemort alike." She nibbled slightly on his ear. "My boyfriend, the big, manly Boy-Who-Lived." She whispered teasingly, in husky voice, her breath spicy and hot against his ear.

"Gods..." Harry groaned. His hand slid down her back involuntarily, and slipped under the hem of her jeans and knickers, resting on her smooth bum. "Keep that up, and you'll find out that there aren't any 'Boys' here." He growled, teasingly squeezing the soft, supple flesh.

Her whole body shuddered against him, and she fell silent for a moment. Harry paused for a moment, thinking for a moment he had gone a little too far.

Then, she pulled closer, and tangled her hands in his hair. "How exactly are you going to show me that?" She whispered, before she mashed her lips against his, her pelvis bone grinding into his.

Just as Harry's hand started to dip further south, to the forbidden fruits, there was a thunderous explosion from outside.

Both teens were jarred out of the seat. Harry was instantly on his feet, his wand at the ready.

"What the fuck?" He snarled, his eyes darting everywhere at once.

As if sent by God to answer his question, Amandine burst into the room, her eyes wide and her face fearful.

"The manor is under attack!" She yelled, over the boom of another explosion. Harry barely kept his footing, while Luna fell right over again.

As Harry pulled Luna to her feet, he asked the essential question.

"By who? Who's attacking?" Harry yelled.

"Death Eaters!" Amandine wailed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry, Luna and Amandine ran through the halls of Cooke manor, with explosions rocking the foundations. It was a constant battle just to keep their feet.

Everywhere they looked, there were elves running about, like chickens with their heads cut off.

"Where's David?" Harry growled. Amandine was in surprisingly good shape for a babysitter, keeping his pace easily.

"On the battlements. Monsieur Moody and Mailloche are with him as well." She panted. On Harry's other side, Luna was keeping pace, wand in her hand, a grim look set on her face.

"How in the name of Merlin did they even find this place?" Luna asked. They turned, and began stampeding down the stairs of the grand stairway in the entrance of the manor. "Isn't there a Fidelus Charm on this place?"

"Yes!" Amandine growled.

Harry reached out with his wand, and wordlessly flicked it at the doors. They flew open violents, revealing a night sky tinged red with smoke.

The courtyard was a bustle with elves, but to Harry's surprise, he also saw quite a few centaurs, carrying bows, and a jambolee of other creatures. Bowtruckles, fairies, and a couple of trolls.

Over the din of the creatures, Harry heard a shriek.

"YES! YES, COME YOU BOOM-FODDERS! COME, SO I MAY SPILL YOUR RED!" The voice shrieked, an insane giggling following it, shortly followed by another explosion.

Harry looked up, and saw several dark figures standing atop the battlements, three of them human, one short and jumping up and down, and another obviously a centaur. Somewhere along the way, a catapult had been brought up.

Harry raced up the stone steps, and as they came close enough to identify David, Moody and Mailloche, they also had the misfortune of seeing the areas outside the manor. Harry sucked in his breath, and Luna brought her hands to her mouth, while Amandine let out a tiny scream.

The forest was burning. Dozens of craters pockmarked the landscape, making the earth blackened in the light of barely visible fires of blue and green and red and other colors of magic.

Harry could see figures in the distance, running around, putting out fires, firing spells. Most of the curses thrown either splashed against the wall's of the manor's superior warding, or were easily visible from a distance, and therefore easily avoidable.

Most of them. Harry cursed as he ducked behind a outcrop of stone, the green Killing Curse whizzing right by where his head would have been.

Moody was looking like Christmas came early, of course, grinning like a loon. "Come on, you nancies! Get up here so I can see you!" Meanwhile, he was tracing a few runes in the air with conjured fire. It looked almost liked a collection of teardrops in the air. "Come play with Mad-Eye!" He growled, and slashed his wand across the array."Ignis Questio!"

The teardrops leapt to life, and turned to white fireballs, before whizzing off like birds towards the forest. The Foe-Burner, Harry mentally named it. A collection of fireballs that sought out those who were your enemies, until they were put out, or they killed the target. Kind of like tiny enemy seeking missles.

Several white flashes and screams from within the forest told Harry it had definately burned some foes.

David turned to Mailloche. Mailloche had his wand in a different array, one Harry recognized as a Eagle Eye, which was the magical equivalent of a telescope.

"Where's the next one?" He asked. Mailloche twisted his wand, peering through the ward, his vision a hundred times maginified.

Suddenly, he pointed. "Right there. Four trolls. Full battle armor." David nodded, and turned to Rabidous, who was hopping up and down gleefully, a insane look of glee twisted on his face.

"Give me a Class Three." He ordered sternly. Rabidous cackled and disappeared. Seconds later, he reappeared with a huge glass ball in his hand, with strange, murky liquid sloshing around inside. He placed it carefully on the sling of the catapult. David turned to the centaur. "Where are they, Gregovian?"

The centaur raised a horn on his belt, with many holes for notes upon it, to his lips. He played a strange, off tune melody, more a collection of notes than a song.

A few seconds later, a different song echoed from the forest. The centaur-Gregovian-turned to David.

"130, 78 and closing, David Cooke." He intoned sternly. David walked over to the catapult, and began adjusting a few odd levers on the side with his wand and hands.

The catapult twisted and lever raised in a series of adjustments. Rabidous looked up at David, a anxious, pleading look on his face, like a starving dog.

"Release!" David snapped, and Rabidous heaved on the lever.

Harry was rooted in place, as the glass ball flew from the sling, and was visible in the fires it passed, in a slow, descending arc. He knew what was going to happen, yet he couldn't for the life of him look away.

As soon as the ball landed, it exploded. Harry was momentarily deafened, a ringing in his ears replacing the screams of the people outside the walls and screams of Luna, beside him, and Gods, Gods, the screams of just about everyone...

The flaming conflagration lit up the sky in a great blue sparkling mushroom cloud, before it dissipated, revealing another crater stained red.

Harry had never really seen Potions as such a dangerous profession. The picture in his mind was of small, scrawny men working in smocks in dungeoun labs, covered in fumes. Eccentric, maybe a little dry and boring. Harmless.

This picture would be forever replaced by the sight of Lord Baron David Cooke, staring grimly across the wasteland of his own land, his long coat caught up by the explosions and flaring out behind him, and destroying it without a hint of heisitation with concoctions of his own hand.

Harry's mind adjusted to the situation, and buckled down with the cold, harsh reality. They were under attack.

"How many of them are there?" Harry yelled. Moody turned to him.

"Death Eaters? Maybe two dozen. Bloody cowards! They're just directing the show. The real trouble is the creatures they got down there. They actually brought a fucking giant in, until here knocked him down with the biggest damn explosion I've ever seen!" Moody grinned crazily, his magical blue eye firmly in the back of his head, watching for spells and dangers. "They've got Acromantulas, a few Hippogriffs, plenty of snakes, and I swear to Merlin I saw a cyclops back there somewhere."

"So the only problem is pest control?" Harry asked, his voice sounding weak over the din of the explosion of another potion bomb.

"Laddie, it's a big infestation!" He roared, whipping around just in time to bat a Cutting Curse right out of the air with his staff.

Harry moved over to the side of the battlements, and shoved his wand over the side.

"Valde Serpensortia!" He yelled.

An enormous snake cracked out of his wand, the length of a bus and a diameter as tall as Harry across. Two more shortly joined it.

"Kill them all! Capture the humans in masks alive!'" Harry screamed in Parceltongue. The snakes hissed, and moved off into the forest, to complete their objective.

He slumped down behind the stone walls, momentarily winded. Moody scooted over quickly.

"Lad, get your girlfriend out of here." He grunted, motioning to Luna, who was standing at the battlements, doing something out of sight with her wand. "She'll just get in the-"

"Viharos Robaj!" She screamed, over the din. Harry's and Moody's eyes widened comically, and they scrambled to see over the battlement,-

...Just as a thundercloud swirled in the distance, before a enormous crash sounded, and a flurry of thunderbolts struck the area.

Moody and Harry looked at each other. Luna slumped against the wall, red faced and panting heavily.

"Never mind." Moody said, in a oddly high tone. "Lad, where the hell did you get her?"

"On the road! They're charging!" Mailloche suddenly yelled. Both old Auror and young student quickly were on their feet, staring at the straight path to the main gates of Cooke Manor, where three rows of Acromantula were making a charge, their movements perfectly coordinated.

"Shit, they'll climb right over the walls!" Harry cursed. David was already moving. He nodded to Gregovian.

"Night arrows!" He yelled. The centaur blew a single note on his horn, and Harry turned to see the centaurs clambering up the steps to the battlements, pushing in next to them. Merlin, there were a bloody lot of them! They nocked their arrows to their bows with a single note from Gregovian.

"Draw!" David ordered, and there was the stretching and sound of a hundred bow's arrows being drawn to ear.

The Acromantula's were keening now, a haunting symphony that pierced the night like daggers into Harry's skull. He clutched his head, stumbling slightly. They were frantic, having broken rank, and were now just a horde, all clambering to reach their soft, tender flesh.

"Loose!" roared. A snap echoed into the black sky tinted red, and the short whistling of arrows.

The Acromantula's screamed. Harry didn't know a Acromantula could scream. Or any spider, for that matter. But they did, falling in a writing pile, quickly overtaken by the eager spiders behind them. There were still over two thirds of the force still alive.

"FIRE AT WILL! KILL THE BASTARDS!" David roared, shooting off a sickly green Killing Curse from his red mahogany wand. Moody cackled at he did, and Mailloche's face was emotionless, perhaps the slightest bit disgusted or disdainful.

The spiders were at the walls. Amandine, the normally peaceful nurse, was now spitting curses in French and hurling fireballs at the Acromantulas climbing up the walls with all the force and velocity she could muster. The Acromantulas screeched and fell off the wall, bringing to mind their biggest weakness in Harry's memory.

"Fire! Use Fire!" Harry yelled. A enormous arachnid face peeked over the wall, and Harry jammed his wand into one of it's eyes. "Incendio!" Harry bellowed. The black bristles of the spider were alight with fire, and it writhed grotesquely as it fell from the wall.

At his side, Luna quickly followed his lead, with a quick flourish of wand and screech of "Abronzo!", another Acromantula was blasted off of the wall, courtesy of the Scorching Jinx.

Harry felt a great squeezing around his midsection, and found himself yanked rather hard, suspended by a sticky, thick thread, which extended over the edge of the battlements. Harry cursed, and heard Luna scream. Acromantula thread!

Harry grunted, and struggled against the pull, as it yanked him closer and closer to the edge. Harry pointed his wand at the thread, and tried several cutting spells-

...and nearly got his own head sliced off, as they rebounded like rubber from the thread. Fuck, he forgot it was spell resistant! Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat!

Harry waved his wand, and wordlessly Conjured a sword into his hand. He began hacking wildly at the chunk of thread connecting him to whatever clever son of a bitch spider who had gotten the idea. It severed the threads, parting them rather easily, but the cord was fucking thick!

He was greatly relieved when a large axe, wielded by a centaur with a rather wild beard, chopped through the remaining thread, dropping Harry to the floor, where he landed on his feet. The centaur's attention on him was lost as another enemy presented itself. Harry didn't blame him.

This was a battle.

This was chaos incarnate.

There was no good and evil here. There was only you, your next opponent, and your desperate prayers to whatever deity may be listening that you don't get cut down from behind. Harry was anxious, scared, worn-out, and had never felt so alive in his entire life.

Another Acromantula appeared, and was instantly impaled by a spear of ice. Harry twisted around a snapping jaw, raised his Conjured sword above his head, and sheathed it in the neck of the giant spider. It writhed around, trying vainly to remove the offending item, before it was sent over the edge of the battlements by course of a sharp boot from Harry.

Harry noticed the forces thinning, and spared time for a quick glance around. Most of the fighters were either dead or dying, and it looked like they had won. Centaurs were clopping up and down the wall, occasionally sticking a dead spider to make sure it was not getting up.

Harry felt a wave of relief as he saw Luna walking up to him, looking winded and bedraggled but otherwise alright. Amandine was nearly right behind her, supporting a wounded , who's one hand was grasped to his side. Moody was leading up the back, his face and robes spattered with Acromantula gore.

Harry glanced around. "Where's Mailloche?" He asked, a sense of dread entering his stomach. Harry knew the answer before Moody grimaced and glanced behind him.

"Dead. A dozen of the eight-legged bastards swarmed over him. You don't want to see what's left of him." Moody advised.

"I don't." Harry admitted. David limped up, his face weary and sad.

"Let's get back inside. I got out a brief message to the French Ministry before they attacked. The Aurors should be arriving shortly, and I need to get this bite treated, before I'm Petrified from the venom." David announced. He turned slightly to Amandine, and consulted her briefly in French. He turned back. "Amandine can help any of you if you're wounded, she knows where the stocks are."

"There's not enough cover out here, and it looks like the worst is over." Moody admitted. He started stumping down the short steps. "Coming?"

Wordlessly, they followed. Harry had descended the last stone step into the courtyard, where hundreds of creatures were milling about, tending to the wounded, removing the Acromantula corpses, or performing other vital tasks, when he was hit.

"Forgive us…." A strange, whispery, hoarse voice said, as if brought along by the wind.

Harry stopped. Luna noticed.

"Forgive us…"

"What 's wrong?" She asked, deadly serious. Harry said nothing, looking around.

"Don't you hear that?" He asked.

"Forgive us…"

"We're sorry…"

"Save us…"

"Free us…"

"Hear what?" She asked curiously. Harry looked at her like she was crazy.

"Those voices!" He hissed intently. Then, he noticed something rather odd.

His ring was pulsating. The enchanted ring he had got from Vault Zero was glowing with a strange, white light, letting off another pulse every couple of seconds.

Before he had a chance to ponder this strange phenomenon, a terrified shriek split the night.

"Dementors!" Amandine screamed, as she quickened her pace towards the door as much she could, carrying the Lord Cooke as she was.

Harry looked to the sky, and was greeted by the sight of dementors.

Hundreds of them.

Harry could dimly see out of the corner of his eye Moody shooting off a Patronus, a grizzled silver tiger which leapt through the air, but it barely reached the first one before fizzling out completely

The voices drowned out the sound of the terrified forest creatures, and Luna's frantic tugging on his arm. They were all encompassing, enveloping.

"Free us…!" They begged, in a whispery, yet haunting symphony. "Save us from ourselves!"

Harry felt Luna's arm removed, and saw her being dragged away by Moody, with his angry, growling barks for him to get into the manor. They were like muted buzzing, a bumblebee trapped in a jar.

Harry saw flashes. Him in the Tri-Wizard Maze, him in the Chamber, fighting the basilisk. Him in his crib, late at night, wondering why Mommy and Daddy hadn't come to feed him yet, not knowing that Henry had just exhibited his first sign of accidental magic and they were out treating him, having totally and completely forgotten about him.

And he slumped to his knees as they all closed in around him.

"Forgive us…!"

"Free us…!"

"SAVE US!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry screamed, in a language not his own.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry nursed an icepack to his bruised ribs, as he took a seat at the podium. The bright flashes of the cameras agitated his eyes, and the unnatural fire of the Wizengamot.

Harry looked up, seeing most of the major players there. Dumbledore, Fudge (Who was looking rather pale as of late), his secretary Dolores Umbridge, Percy Weasley (Who had somehow managed to claw his way away from the Crouch incident), Amelia Bones, and plenty of other nobles who had managed to buy their way into a seat. James Potter, Augusta Longbottom, and plenty of other Lords who's names he recognized from school. Nott, Davis, Greengrass, Boot.

"Harold James Omnisluctus, you are called before the Wizengamot to testify upon the matter of the attack on the private property of Cooke Manor, property of Lord Baron David Richard Cooke." Amelia boomed. Harry saw Dumbledore frown, and stiffen ever so slightly, on the mention of Harry's new last name, and filed it away. "Please note that your testimony will be recorded, and can be referred to later on. Do you still wish to continue?"

"…Yes." Harry replied firmly. The Bones matriarch ruffled some papers, before selecting one.

Before she could read it, however, it was snatched out of her hand by Umbridge.

"Hem, hem." She began. Harry tried not to grind his teeth at the disgusting girly sound of her voice. "We have received testimony from Lord Cooke, and his….attendant, Amandine, was it?" She asked, purposefully minimalizing her. Harry was sure it was her attitude on part-humans speaking, along with some natural jealousy left over for the half-Veela. "Yes, the half –breed testified–" Harry noticed very distinctly the emphasis. "-That the ones that instigated the assault were Death Eaters." Umbridge peered over her ugly pink spectacles. "What is your opinion on this…claim?"

Harry very well recognized what this was now. They were trying to keep Voldemort's return seeming like something that was not a threat.

"Absolutely and completely true." Harry replied firmly. "I happen to recall that I captured a certain Lord Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle wearing the garb of Voldemort's following." Harry noticed the many winces at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. "Whatever happened to them?" Harry asked innocently.

Flashbulbs perfectly caught the pleasant smile, although strained, that took it's place on the Senior Undersecretary's face. "We determined that they were under the influence of the Imperious Curse, and released them as such." She replied, through gritted teeth.

"Objection!" Moody growled, from his seat in the spectator's stands. Matt and Luna were there too. "There was no Veritaserum administered, how can we know if they were acting of free will or not!?" He snarled.

Oh, the reporters will eat that one up. Harry mused. He thought he spotted Rita Skeeter in the stands, but didn't pay too much attention.

"Our methods are none of your concern, and may I ask, how would you know whether the Lords Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were tested under Veritaserum?" Umbridge hissed. "May I remind you that you are a retired Auror, and therefore have no access to the Auror department of the Ministry?"

Moody looked pissed, but he sat down. Uh-oh, looked like there had definitely been some palms greased here with Galleons. Umbridge had probably gotten a pretty nice share of Galleons, from the way she was defending them.

Fortunately, the situation was taken a hold of. Amelia Bones tugged the paper out of Dolores's hands with a sharp glare.

"Madam Undersecretary, need I remind you that the task of receiving testimony is my job and mine alone, as the Head of the Magical Defense department?" Amelia asked sternly. "I am afraid that you will be asked to leave the courtroom if such a breach in decorum happens again."

Umbridge looked like a terrier who had just been denied her favorite toy. "Very….well, Madam Bones." She smiled, a creepy toad's smile. "It will not happen again."

There were definitely some power plays going on here, that Harry could tell. Perhaps Amelia was gunning for the Minister's seat? Whether her intentions were ambitious or not, Harry appreciated the defense.

"See to it that it doesn't." Amelia sniffed. She referred to her sheet once more. "The French Auror's did in fact apprehend some Death Eaters on the scene, thanks to your efforts-" Harry noticed she kept the giant serpents and Parseltongue quite out of it. "And they are being questioned as we speak. But the matter I wish to ask about is of how Cooke Manor was even found by malign forces, as I read here that it was under the Fidelus Charm?" Amelia peered at the sheet. "Something about a house elf?"

"Yes. We learned that 's house elf, Rabidus, was the one that betrayed us. He told the Death Eater's where it was, dispelling the Charm, because he happened to be quite mentally unstable. He was quite obsessed with blowing people up." Harry admitted. "He admitted it himself, that he wanted them to come and find the manor so he could….I quote 'Spill their red'."

"And now he is dead?" Amelia asked. Harry nodded.

"Yes. A stray Killing Curse. Quite tragic." Harry replied blandly. The truth was that Moody had killed him himself, shooting him right in the back.

"Very well. I'd like to assure you….Lord Omnisluctus." Amelia smiled ever so slightly at that. "That you are not a suspect. Every person there has vouched for your innocence. We are simply reinforcing opinions and testimonies previously expressed."

…Which was code for the fact that she was underlining the fact that it was Voldemort that had ordered the attack, and nothing else. Amelia Bones was a realist, that much Harry could tell, and appreciate, and she was not pussyfooting around the fact that the Dark Lord was back, and they needed awareness about it, and needed it now.

"I completely understand, Madam Bones." Harry replied respectfully. And he did. "Please continue."

"Thank you. There was one, other, outstanding issue that showed up in the reports made. There were apparently….hundreds, of dementors, circling around the manor-" Amelia got not further.

"That's preposterous!" Fudge exploded from his seat. He looked venomous. "The dementors are under the control of the Ministry of Magic, and the Island of Azkaban. Are you insinuating that we ordered the attack?" Fudge asked incredulously.

"Not at all, Minister." Amelia replied demurely. "Only, I have testimony from the entire squadron of French Aurors that arrived on the scene that there were in fact dementors present, along with everyone present at the manor, including statements from our Aurors stationed at Azkaban that they saw all the dementors leaving the Island of their own will, at a time that coordinated with the attack." Amelia finished.

Fudge's face was blotchy purple, before he made a wise decision and sat back down. He at least knew when he had been evicerated, and calling her statement now would make it look like he was an incompetent along with a fool.

Umbridge was not so quiet in her opinions. "So we have the testimony of a squad of foreign Aurors, one traumatized school girl, a delirious man, a half-breed woman, and you-" She somehow made it sound like 'you' was a worse curse than half-breed. "-that there were apparently hundreds of dementors flying around the Cooke Manor, and you somehow survived. It seems, if you'll excuse me, like a lie to me." She finished, in a poisonous tone.

"No, I do not believe I'll excuse you on that, Madam Undersecretary." Harry replied icily. "I'd happily take Veritaserum in front of this whole courtroom if you wish it, and if you ask me?" Harry asked, his voice frigid. "That the Lords Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle are anything but criminals who got away by bribery seems like a lie to me." Harry finished. His voice could have frozen helium.

Umbridge's face contorted. "Why you filthy-!"

"ORDER!" Amelia roared. "There will be order in this courtroom, or I'll have you both in contempt!"

"Oh, of course, Madam Bones." Harry replied silkily, a cold smile upon his face, staring straight into the Senior Undersecretary's red and furious face. "I do apologize for my misconduct, and I assure you, it will not happen again. Dolores?" He asked innocently.

Umbridge seemed to tremble at the obvious jab. She looked fit to bite through a nail. She took a seat rather heavily. "I….apologize….as well." She barely managed to spit out, through clenched teeth.

Amelia fixed them both with sharp glares, before continuing. "Very well. There were also several of the Aurors, who claimed that the dementors were…speaking, with you." She read, with high eyebrows.

A trickle of cold sweat traveled it's way down Harry's temple, as he remembered their cold, whispery voices. "Please clarify." He asked, with out a hint of a tremor.

"They said that the dementors had…crowded around you, yet none of them drew closer, to administer the Kiss or otherwise, completely going against their regular behavior patterns." Amelia stared at him over steepled fingers. "They also said you said something, that sounded like the noises a dementor makes."

"That….sounds rather far-fetched, even to me, Amelia." Dumbledore spoke, for the first time in the time he had entered. "Attempts at deciphering the dementor language have always ended in failure. I myself endeavored once to seek the secret of their tongue, but I was met with only frustration." Dumbledore confessed, a kind, and faux-embarrassed tone in his voice.

"I know, which is why the next part is so strange." Amelia replied, before turning to Harry, sheet in hand. "They say that after they heard you make said noise…that all the dementors left. Fleed, even." Amelia glanced at Harry. "Do you have anything to say about that?"

Harry had to school his hands to stillness, not to thumb the stone ring on his hand. "Yes. Like the Chief Mugwump previously stated, the dementor language is an utter mystery. I have no idea why the dementors came or left." Harry stated, in a completely flat, emotionless tone. "No further comments." Harry finished, his voice now slightly hoarse. "May I leave?"

Amelia stared at him for one moment longer, before nodding, and taking her hammer and slamming it down on the piece of wood on which it rested. "This testimony is adjourned. You may leave."

The Wizengamot members began to file out of the courtroom. Harry practically ran out.

He walked quickly before he reached a Ministry hallway that was completely vacant. He whipped out the strange leather diary, and opened it to the first page.

The ink seeped through in the form of the familiar sentence.

Do you seek to know the meaning behind the name Omnisluctus?

Harry took a quill, and wrote his answer.

Yes.

Immediately, a new word began to form, until it was legible.

Fincayra.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tappity Tap.

Tap-

This was the sound Harry's wand made as he drummed it against his thigh, waiting for his opponent to arrive. His eyes stared out at the beach which had been chosen for their duel, memorizing the fine sands and sparse weeds and rickety fence, seeking out advantages to use against this...Timothy Redbridge, from the ElderCross, a relatively famous team that was currently fourth in Europe. Proficient in all aspects of magic, liked to toe the line of dueling rules and courtesy, and had a particular fondness for debilitating and humiliating jinxes and hexes.

He also had acquired the name 'Quickdraw', for the speed of his turnaround and first spell

Tap.

Tap.

Harry shifted on his seat of a knotty stump, toying with the idea of Transfiguring it into some grand throne or such, just to show off, or intimidate. He decided against it finally, since it was unwise to underestimate a opponent who had been on a unbroken winning streak for three months, and wasting magic was just stupid, no matter how many times he was told that he had way too much.

Tappity Tap.

The match wasn't really what he was thinking about, though.

Tap.

He had heard of Fincayra, of course. Every magically brought up child had learnt it, just like every Muggle child knew the tale of Humpty Dumpty. It was one of the most popular fables around. Harry himself could dimly remember James smiling as he recited the tale of the magical In-between Place to him and Henry when they were both very, very young.

Tap.

Fincayra. Part Earth, part Heaven. Could only be found by those who had already been there. A wonderful place where magic had been born, along with the majority of most magical creatures.

In Between.

Complete and utter nonsense.

Tap.

Tap.

Tappity Tap.

Of course, the diary didn't share his opinion of this fairy tale. It started spouting Fincayra, Fincayra! All over the damned pages, until Harry got very annoyed and answered.

What about Fincayra?

Harry was not in the least bit surprised when it answered mysteriously once again.

What is Fincayra?

And he was even less surprised that it didn't accept any of the titles previously mentioned as a proper answer. So Harry was off the diary for a while, having left it carefully in his trunk, which contained no less than seven magical padlocks upon it.

For one, this way he could try to come up with a answer suitably mysterious and vexing to match it. Also, not having the diary within reach somewhat quelled the urge to ram a basilisk fang in it.

Somewhat.

Tap.

Crack!

There were murmurs from the many onlookers at the beach, all wealthy wizards who had come to watch, of course, as Redbridge finally arrived on scene. Harry shook his head fitfully and tried to keep his mind on the fight.

Ten thousand Galleons, you stupid blighter! Harry scolded himself fiercely. Ten Thousand bloody Galleons if you lose! And Twenty five thousand if you win! That's a lot of fucking money, you need to get your head in the game! You know how many people would kill to be in your position.

But somewhere inside, Harry knew. He knew it really didn't matter to him, all this prestige. He knew he could probably excel at whatever he set his mind to.

What he wanted, what he wanted to be, was unique. Singular. One of a kind. Set apart.

...Which is why I always am such a sucker for puzzles and riddles, most especially the ones no one else can solve. Damn it.

Harry looked up, to where Timothy Redbridge was doing his best at some sort of wordless blasting spell, trying to glare Harry out of existence. Harry raised a single raven black eyebrow, and appraised him.

Clothes, fashionable yet movable. They looked a tad flashy...enjoying his winning streak, then. Perhaps a tad red around his eyelids? Drinking. He had a hangover. That was why they were late. The manager had hid it well, but was inevitably the one who gave it away, glowering at the rising star and whispering fiercely in his ear.

Arrogant. His wavy brown hair has done up in some sort of gel, something Harry would never bother with in a million years. Potter hair had proven resilient to all forms of hair care products, and Harry had given up that fight a long time ago.

The cool black wand in his hand was gripped tightly. He was nervous, determined, scared, or possibly angry. Harry could use that, if he needed to.

A well dressed man padded over to Harry from the crowd of onlookers, in a fine coat with a good red woolen scarf tucked around his neck. An anxious look adorned his face, with a hint of patronization.

Harry barely managed to repress his disgusted grimace. George McGillian. His new promoter.

"Harry...Harry!" He whispered anxiously. He glanced over where Timothy was going through his warm up, subtly kneading his temples whenever he thought was prudent. "Listen, this kid is a pro, been through two years at ElderCross, and has just managed to break free of the average level. He's been clawing his way up the ladder."

"Yes, I know." Harry replied irritably. McGillian didn't even act offended, only smiled brighter. Harry felt the beginnings of his own headache begin.

"Listen, this is what I want you to do." McGillian whispered quickly, to where the black robed Watcher was calling Harry over. "This is your first league duel, and you've gotta be excited. But don't worry, this shmoe has got nothing to worry about except his first spell. He's easy for you to pick off...but don't. Play it out a bit. We want this to seem like a epic showdown, you know? Pro Vs. Rookie. Crowd loves those, eats'em all up, Pensieve memories and omniocular readings sell for a fortune. Then, when he's got nothing left, hit him with a big, nice, big-bang-boom spell, to wow the audience!"

Harry's left eye had been twitching throughout this entire disgustingly optimistic and cheery pep talk. He stilled his wand hand, where the tip had been drifting upwards, as though desperate to unleash some form of agony upon the vexingly insult-immune promoter.

"...hn." Harry grunted, levering himself upwards and stalking over towards the starting position.

"Don't worry, you'll do great!" McGillian yelled after him, before scampering over to join the crowd of restless spectators.

Harry stopped in front of Timothy, where he was giving his best rendition of a intimidating glare, using his height to good advantage. With his red eyes, it only looked like he was about to pass out.

The royal purple robed Watcher took a stand between them. "You both know and acknowledge the rules set by the European International Dueling Association?"

"Yes." Harry replied shortly.

"I do." Redbridge followed, his voice sounding slightly rusty. Now that they were up close, Harry could see the barest traces of redness and swelling around his nostrils. He had been snorting something. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"Turn around, back to back." The official ordered tersely. "Anything you want to get off your chest, do it now."

"I'll try to give you back to your mommy in one piece." Redbridge instantly quipped. Harry smiled easily at the jab at his age.

This short insulting allowance had many purposes. Psychological warfare, venting, a chance to put down your opponent. If a enemy was angry, they couldn't think straight. Similarly, disheartening your opponent, making them doubt themselves, had similar advantages.

"Alcohol before a match doesn't set a very good working example, Timmy boy." Harry felt his opponent stiffen slightly against him. "Neither does substance inhalement. No matter what happens in this match, I'm filing for blood tests after." Harry finished, in a cool, slightly amused voice.

"Statements have been made. Walk! Twenty steps." The Watcher snapped.

Harry began stumping through the sand, making his steps evenly spaced and steady. He smirked. No way was Redbridge level headed now.

"This is the 3569th Competitive Duel of the European International Dueling Association. Harold Omnisluctus vs. Timothy Redbridge."

Harry reversed his wand, taking it in a backwards grip.

"DUEL!"

Maximus Contego! The silent spell rang out in his mind, as a meter thick yellow barrier took his back.

Predictably, there was cracks and fizzes as two lightning quick blasting curses hit his shield. They were slightly more powerful than normal.

Desperation. Timothy was desperate. He was going to try to kill Harry to silence him. Blasting curses could break his neck, if placed properly, and it would be ruled as a accident.

So, Timmy got a taste of the good life and doesn't want to let it go? Harry mused.

The Mass Spellshield faded, and three more silent blasting curses filled the space. Harry twisted out of the way of two, and batted one down with the Dueler's Shield attached to his left arm. The sand exploded upwards where it hit, and Harry twisted his wand in a twisted backwards spiral.

The sand was drawn together, and took the form of black round balls. Harry's wand jabbed forward like the tip of a rapier, and the balls shot forward.

A nagging headache didn't seem t lessen Redbridge's instincts, as a blue shield shimmered into place with a switch of his wand.

Harry had predicted this, which was apparent as the balls exploded into clouds of obscuring black smoke.

Redbridge's form was lost in the onyx smog, and Harry set quickly on his task, kneeling and tracing a few hasty runes in the air near the peak of the fine sand.

The smog was dispelled with an almost deafening pop, as Redbridge summoned a large gust of air to get rid of the obstruction.

Harry smiled, and tapped the runic display in the air. The runes disappeared into the white sand, and Harry stood up, batting aside the several blasting spells directing his way with his free hand.

Then, raising his wand, he conducted.

The sands shifted and moved to the sound of his call. Tendrils of sand rose up from the beach, intercepting the curses Timothy sent towards him.

The Animator was a very common rune, known by almost any semi serious dueler, used to bring something to life with a constant stream of magic.

But this was a whole other level. Sweat cascaded down Harry's forehead, as he blasted his magic from himself to every grain of sand on the beach. The amount of concentration needed was nigh inhuman.

He may not have liked McGillian, but he liked his paycheck, and knew that because of this, there would soon be a nice fat bonus sitting in his Gringotts account.

The sand was a inexorable horde, moving slowly but unstoppably towards Timothy. He threw around blasting curses like candy, but the sand only continued to rise around him in a cylinder.

Harry knew he was giving a show, so he decided to add a little horror. He could have made the sand just engulf him immediately, but where was the entertainment in that?

Tendrils started to creep up Redbridge's legs. He kicked free a couple times, but soon he was covered to the waist. He let out audiable grunts of effort, twisting his hips and jerking to try to get free of the unyielding sand.

Then, the sand around him started to move in, rising slowly until they were pillars of shifting stone.

Redbridge stopped struggling, to try to shoot a few blasters at the pillars. They twisted around them, like snakes.

He continued until his arms were claimed by the greedy grain, locking them in place. Then the pillars stiffened, before lunging forward like cobras.

He only had a second to scream before he was covered.

"Dueler Omnisluctus! Release Dueler Redbridge!" Snapped the Watcher.

"No problem." Harry smiled, before waving his wand in a few loopy arcs.

The lumpy mound fell away, before revealing Timothy Redbridge, encased in a coffin of hardened crystal, leaving only his face open to breathe with.

He started spitting insults and curses the moment the sand released his mouth. Harry bowed mockingly to him.

"I think that means I win." Harry quipped gaily, pointing one finger at the entombed competitor.

The Watcher watched Redbridge a second longer, for any sign of anything but spittle flying from his lips, before nodding.

"Harold Omnisluctus is the winner!" He crowed. The sidelines of the duel erupted in polite and enthusiastic clapping.

Harry smiled, gave them all one wave, before pulling back his sleeve and giving the woven bracelet on his wrist a firm tap with his wand. There was a familiar tugging at his navel, before he disappeared from the crowded beach.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In a large, fancy living room in France, a shaggy head of hair appeared in a crackling fire.

Matt looked around, peering at his surroundings. He couldn't see much, considering he was only a head in a fire, but what he could see was pretty impressive. Expensive rugs, custom crafted furniture, very rare looking vases on pedestals.

"Hello?" Matt called. It looked completely deserted.

A door on the right side of the room cracked open, admitting a silvery blonde head of hair at about stomach height.

"Hey, it's you!" Gabrielle Delacour chirped, before slipping in, closing the door, and trotting over to sit on one of the red plush leather couches placed strategically in front of the fireplace. "I remember you."

Matt nodded. "Yeah, you're Fleur's little sister, right? From the Tournament."

"You saved me. Thanks!" Gabrielle got up off the couch to do a hasty curtsy, which made Matt chuckle.

"No problem, young lady." Matt replied easily. "Is Fleur here?"

Gabby bit her lip and shook her head. "No, she's in the shower."

For a instant, a image of a wet, naked Fleur leapt into the front of his mind, before he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head briskly to get rid of it.

"Will she be done soon?" Matt asked quickly, his voice perhaps a tad high.

"She takes long showers." Gabby replied. "But you can talk to me until she's done!" She added quickly.

Matt gave a nonchalant shrug. "Sure, what do you want to talk about?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"….and then she told him "I'm pregnant.", and he soiled himself." Matt finished.

Gabrielle collapsed into a fit of giggles. She seemed unable to breathe for about a minute.

Matt smiled, before peering around a little anxiously when she wasn't looking. This was fun and all, but it was really burning up his Floo Powder, and that stuff wasn't cheap, especially when he had to pay for it! Damned Cooke traditions and small monthly stipend.

"I like you! You're funny." She finally got out.

"Thanks, I know." Matt replied, a little cockily.

"And really cute." She giggled.

"Um…thanks…" He really didn't like the way she was looking at him, considering she looked as young as his sister.

"I really like you." She put a special emphasis on the 'really', leaning forward slightly to look at him through her silvery locks.

"Er…" What was he supposed to say?

Luckily, his hide was saved, when the door opened, admitting Fleur, who looked decided not-wet, and absolutely sexy in silky blue pajamas.

"Gabby, Mother wants-" She froze. "Gabby! I told you to tell me when he Floo-ed the living room!" She shrieked. She then clapped her hands to her mouth in mortification.

"You said she was in the shower!" Matt exclaimed indignantly.

"Oh,-!" Gabby muttered a curse she definitely shouldn't have known, before bolting out of the room, Fleur hot on her heels.

"Out! OutOutOutOUT!" Fleur snapped, practically throwing her little sister out of the room. "I'll deal with you later, you little sneak." She hissed through the door crack, beyond Matt's hearing.

"You can't stop true love!" Gabby stuck out her tongue, before fleeing down the hall.

Fleur closed the door, and leaned against the door, sighing with relief and wiping her forehead with one sleeve.

"…I'm still here!" Matt felt the need to reiterate his presence in the room.

Fleur jumped nearly a foot in the air, and spots of color appeared in her cheeks. "Morgana, sorry! I just got caught up, in the, well, you know." Fleur jerked her head towards the door Gabrielle had disappeared through.

"I have a little sister, I understand." Matt replied with a smile.

"Right." Fleur managed to cool down her flustered exterior, and took a seat in a armchair. "Hi." She finished, rather lamely.

"…Hi." Matt grinned, and swallowed slightly.

They both stared at each other for a second.

"…You were Floo-ing because..?" Fleur asked. Matt jerked and blinked.

"Right! Fleur, do you ski? Or snowboard?" Matt asked, without warning

Fleur blinked in surprise. "Those Muggle sports? I've heard of them, but I've never actually-"

"You want me to teach you?" Matt offered.

Fleur sat back, a bit stunned. "Like…a date?" Her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Sure, if you want it to be. When are you free?" Matt replied cheerfully.

"I have a formal occasion tomorrow…but then I'm free for a couple of weeks!" She added quickly.

"Great! I'll set up a few portkeys. Meet me at Gringotts on Monday? Say, three?" Matt offered.

"S-Sure!" Fleur affirmed quickly.

"Fantastic!" Matt enthused. "Pack some warm clothes. It'll be chilly. See you there, Fleur!"

"Right…" Fleur said, a odd feeling of exhilaration and excitement filling her chest, as Matt's head faded from the fireplace, leaving it dark and undisturbed, the lamps the only illumination in the room.

Then, a thought hit her, and her hands leapt to her mouth.

"Shit!" She swore in a manner most unbefitting a lady. "What am I going to wear?!" She practically screamed, before scurrying off to uproot her closet for her winter garb.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry sighed, and dragged his utensil disconsolately against his golden plate. Luna sent him a sympathetic glance, but kept her gaze on Dumbledore, at the Head Table, making his announcements.

Hogwarts seemed…darker, without Matt there to act like a fool, and drag him into foolish situations. This had his spirits in unusual gloom.

The second part that had his morale in the dumpster was the new Defense Teacher. Severus Snape.

Apparently, Dumbledore had been unable to find a replacement teacher for the position, and had been forced to allow Snape to take the place he had been longing for so long. This ensured that the class would be miserable as well.

To fill in Snape's position, he had been forced to call in some beached walrus of a man, named Horace Slughorn.

Harry knew his number before he even met the man. He was a favoring fellow. He collected and gave favors, favored students based on what nips and tucks they could get him.

Harry had deduced this from the little 'Slug Party' he had attended on the train, just out of curiosity. Everyone there had connections or high friends, which meant Draco Malfoy, Henry Potter, Ernie MacMillian, and a handful of other purebloods or students who excelled.

So basically, it was all one big pissing contest, to see who could help him most in the future, all orchestrated and manipulated by Slughorn.

So basically, he was like a lesser, more vain and extremely obese Dumbledore. Harry excused himself to go to the bathroom twelve minutes in and didn't come back.

Well, one thing was for certain. Potions was going to be pretty fucking easy, all he had to do was mention him at a couple of dueling matches and watch his marks soar. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Harry was interrupted from his thoughts by a rather thunderous crash.

The doors to the Great Hall had been pushed open rather hard, admitting a long line of men in crimson robes.

Aurors.

What in Merlin's name were Aurors doing here?

And to top the confusion and add a nice little helping of revulsion and disgust, Delores Umbridge was leading up the line, in a disgusting pink suit.

Murmurs and whispers of confusion whipped up among the students, even among the teachers, as Aurors took up positions all along the walls. Their red hoods made them seem very intimidating. Only Dumbledore remained aloof.

"Delores." He nodded politely to the pink toad, who stopped in front of him. "May I enquire to the nature of your visit?"

"Certainly, Dumbledore." The lack of his first name or even respectful mention of his title seemed to focus the matter, making the legendary wizard frown slightly. "I have a letter from the Minister." She handed over a white envelope bearing the seal of the Minister of Magic.

As Dumbledore began to read the letter, confusion and shock began to spread even across his normally unbreakable face of wisdom.

Umbridge turned to face the students. "As of now, Lord Baron Albus Dumbledore's position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been revoked."

Whispers turned to open discussion, heated talking, even shouts, demanding explanations. Umbridge applied a Sonorous charm to her throat, and continued.

"SILENCE!"

And there was silence.

"This school is now under Ministry jurisdiction." Umbridge continued. "We will reside over your professors. Our authority will supercede theirs in all situations. Aurors will patrol the grounds around the clock." She smiled, her eyes narrowed. "Hogsmeade visits will be reduced."

It was this that made shouts and denials break out, angry shouts. Umbridge waved her wand, and a deafening bang echoed, sending the Hall into silence once more.

"The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has returned." She raised her chin. "But rest assured, we will do everything in our, the Ministry of Magic's, power to keep you safe."

She went on to start listing benefits and rules, as Dumbledore was escorted from the hall by his own sad little honor guard of twelve Aurors, clearly showing the danger they thought he represented.

But Harry had already turned to face his plate again, his eyes wide, as he raised one hand to his temple. Plans, diagnoses, deductions were made with every heartbeat, but one thought stood out most among them.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stared dully at the former Potions Master as he made his announcements to the class, mostly through gritted teeth.

In the corner of the DADA room, which had recently been remodeled and redesigned to hold large diagrams and glossaries of dangerous dark creatures and gruesome curses Harry didn't really have the stomach to use under anything but the most dire circumstances.

One other new addition were the banners. The Ministry of Magic's personal symbol, a kite shield bearing the English flag on top of two wands placed diagonally in a X, with a nondescript black wizard hat atop it.

Said banners had appeared all over the school, in lieu of the normal one depicting house symbols and such. You really couldn't even walk around a corner without one wanking you in the face. The ghosts of Hogwarts seemed especially glum, rarely seen except in the lowest of the dungeons.

It was blatant.

It was everywhere.

It was propaganda, plain and simple.

Harry had thought he had seen a desperate gleam in Fudge's eyes at his testimony. He now knew what it was.

The man had gone mad with power. Or, more precisely, couldn't bear to part with it.

He had been unable to cover up the Dark Lord's return, so he had gone for his only and last option. He was going to become the bannerman of the Wizarding World.

Hogwarts was one of about four or five of the magical schools in Britain. It was the most famous for several reasons. The first being the Founders, who had been legendry in their time, the second being it's status as the oldest school in all of Europe, and the third being it's students, almost all of which were connected to some high official or were heirs to some ancient family line.

Long story short, if Fudge was able to control Hogwarts and ensnare the minds of the students, he would have a stranglehold on the Wizengamot and most of the important families in Britain, effectively securing his position as Minister for as long as he wanted.

It was a dirty, underhanded trick that had most likely been a result of a sneaky law that Fudge passed with the absolute minimum amount sitting on the Wizengamot, most members likely being in his pocket or on his payroll.

In other words, politics at it's best.

Proof of this sat in the room's corner, one Delores Umbridge dressed in a revolting sea green flanked by two red robed Aurors.

"…I am also informed that Quiddich tryout schedules will be posted in the hallway of Barnelby the Befuddled." Snape finished up dourly, folding the sheet and tucking it in his robes. "Now, we may-"

"Hem, hem."

Harry struggled very hard not to break out in gagging at the girlish voice that suddenly perforated the room. Snape gave Umbridge a look that should have liquidated her on the spot.

"Is there something you would like to add…Headmistress?" The word at the end came out like a sharp fang, angry and venomous.

That was another thing; Umbridge had appointed herself as the Headmistress in Dumbledore's stead, never mind the fact that by all rights, it should have been McGonnagall instead. She very much enjoyed lording this over the rest of the faculty by insisting she be addressed as 'Ma'am', or 'Headmistress'. Harry was almost completely sure the Aurors were sick of it too, but were too disciplined to mention it.

"Yes, my dear Severus, there is one more thing." She nodded at one of the Aurors behind her, who produced a thick stack of paper, which he began passing out to the student's rows. "From now on, before any class begins, all students will recite this pledge."

The sheet reached Harry, and he scanned it.

The Ministerial Pledge

Harry only read a few verses, and those he saw made him want to go find a hole and crawl into and shortly die.

He shared a look with Luna, who sat right next to him.

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Harold dear?" Umbridge asked sweetly. Harry resisted the urge to shiver.

"What happens if a student does not recite this…" Harry shot an exaggerated glance at the sheet. "Ministerial Pledge?" Harry asked, lazily.

The Pink Toad Bitch's face hardly moved at all. Both Harry and her knew that the whole class was listening in on this answer.

"Then, I'm afraid, that student will be asked to leave." She replied, in that sickeningly sweet tone.

Everyone caught the fact that there would most likely be no 'asking' involved.

"Whatever." Harry shrugged, tossing the paper on the table, and gathering his books. "I'm not singing that piece of propaganda every morning."

"I imagine that you'll also receive rather bad marks, if you're not here to learn." Umbridge added offhandedly, as Harry pushed in his chair.

Harry didn't bother responding to that, considering he had learned everything Hogwarts could likely teach him in most of the core subjects a while ago, and that all he really needed to do was attend his OWLs and NEWTs, the only thing really stopping him being his age.

He just walked out the door.

He completely missed the amused gleam in a pair of black eyes boring into his back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry sat in a chair by the Ravenclaw common room fire, turning the enchanted diary over and over in his hands.

Finally exasperated, he opened it to a random page, where the question appeared eagerly on the page.

What is Fincayra?

A magic island? Harry queried, now just grasping at straws.

No.

A happy place where birds frolic and everyone lives in harmony? Harry tried cynically.

Wrong.

Harry sighed and kneaded his temples. Something else appeared on the pages.

You're not trying very hard, you know.

Now that pissed him off.

Why should I, you stupid ass-rag? Why the fuck do I have to go through all this mysterious philosophical bullshit to find out some super secret meaning behind my last name, which somehow pushed itself upon me?

Because, if I simply give it to you, the whole purpose is wasted. It answered gleefully. Or at least Harry thought it was gleeful.

Purpose of what, damnit!? Harry scribbled in irritation.

Now, now, if I told you that, then where would be the challenge, the thrill of the hunt? You know who you sound like?

Please, enlighten me. Harry replied sarcastically.

Your brother. Now that's really 'living up to the Potter name', eh, Harry?

Harry's eyes widened, at he stared at the diary mutely, as one would a poisonous scorpion.

How do you know about my brother? More importantly, how do you know about my conversation, or even my name?

Wait, Wait-!

Give me one reason why I shouldn't throw you in the fire right now! Harry wrote furiously, glancing at the fire even then. The fires crackled and popped, and a reply came back after a single second, as the diary were thinking.

Because, if you throw me into that fireplace, you will damn the entire planet to complete destruction. You will be the one who killed the world.

That actually made Harry stop, a brief second. Then, he sneered.

Bullshit. Tell me who and what you are, or burn. Harry replied flatly.

…Very well. I am a horcrux.

Elaborate. What is a horcrux? Harry answered, a bit excited in spite of himself. The word 'horcrux' seemed to send a tingle up his spine.

That, and having finally pushed some answers out of the recalcitrant book.

A horcrux is a very foul piece of magic. I am essentially a chip of soul grafted onto this enchanted diary, allowing me to be sentient.

Harry felt his hand trembling with anticipation, and slapped it in annoyance.

Soul magic was considered among either the most Dark or Light of magicks, often requiring macabre sacrifices such as blood, death, or other gruesome things. Whatever this was, it was big.

That would mean you're still alive. Any soul turns into a ghost or passes on once the body dies. That's completely impossible. You were in that chest for at least a thousand years. Harry answered, recalling the few texts he had read on the nature of death and the magical afterlife.

Not with this. Once a horcrux is created, the creator becomes immortal.

Harry spat out the pumpkin juice he had been sipping.

That's-

Astonishing? Ground-breaking? A monumental achievement? Yes.

How do you create a horcrux? Harry wrote hurriedly. He wanted a slice of this pie, and he wanted it now.

You don't want to.

Yes, I bloody well do! Immortality sounds pretty enticing, wouldn't you know it? Harry wrote.

You must take a human life.

Harry stopped.

That's right. You must kill a person, and want with every particle of your being to do it. There are a few rituals needed beforehand, but that's the straight and narrow of it. One life to live forever.

Harry slumped back into his chair, his morals and conscious warring with the mind-boggling and tantalizing possibility to never die.

Barbaric, is it not? The act of killing, snuffing out another's life without a shred of remorse. The feeling of-

Alright, alright, I get it, damn it, horcruxes are bad, don't kill people, yadda yadda yadda. Harry wrote, a bit spiteful because of his chance to escape death being crushed. You still haven't given me a reason to keep you around, as long as I don't break you. You, apparently, can see into my memories, and that alone is reason enough to stay away.

Putting me down is just as bad. The diary argued. You must find the meaning behind your name, or humanity dies.

Ooh, scary. You wouldn't happen to have any proof of this, would you? Harry asked sarcastically.

Do I really need any? You want to find out. You would do this even if you were killing the world by learning it, because that's just you, isn't it? Can't leave any puzzle unchecked.

The only sign of the effect these words had on him were his eyes narrowing. Still waiting for proof. He wrote finally, after a moment's pause.

I don't need proof. I have enticement.

Entice me. Harry shot back.

A reward. The greatest treasure in the world. Riches beyond your wildest imagination, knowledge lost for a millennium.

And world domination too, I suppose. Harry quipped, not showing exactly how much this was attracting him.

How about fame, then? There wouldn't be a person in the world who didn't know your name. Boy-Who-Lived? Small potatoes. Your father and brother would weep for their stupidity of disowning you, and people would worship the ground you walked on. Everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in one package.

Harry felt his pulse racing, and took a few, deep, calming breaths. How do I know you're not lying through your teeth to save your own hide? Why should I even trust a single word you say?

Because, like I said, you want to. Forget world domination or destruction. Solve the puzzle, Harry, and it can all be yours. It's as simple as that.

Harry bit his lip and sat back in the seat.

He would admit it; this damned diary, or person, or horcrux, had him pegged. It knew exactly what to dangle in front of him to make him salivate like a starving dog.

But…what was the harm? It couldn't possess him; He'd be able to tell, what with the memory gaps and such. And what reason did it have to lie?

As if it could read his thoughts, too, another line of text appeared on the yellowed pages.

Besides, what better do you have to do? You essentially don't have any more classes for the rest of the year, all you have to do is do the homework and essays, which should be arriving right about-

"What're you looking at, Harry?"

Harry jumped, and snapped the diary closed, at the sound of Luna's voice. He looked up, to find her glancing curiously at the small diary in his lap.

"Nothing." He mumbled quickly, stuffing it in his bag. Luna shrugged, and dropped a pile of papers in Harry's lap.

"Here's the DADA homework. I swear, Snape is a slavedriver, but he's actually a pretty good teacher!" Harry sent her a incredulous look, and she nodded. "I know, right? You'd think he'd be cursing the students left and right gleefully, but he actually talks a good lecture, and for once, we actually learn something, because we don't really dare look away!"

"Huh, who would have thought…" Harry muttered, sifting through the pile until he found the assignment. "Are you kidding? A eighteen inch essay on vampirism and it's effects? On the first day?" Harry practically yelled. Not because he couldn't do it, no, far from it, but because he was just that startled. "I'm surprised there wasn't a mutiny!"

"There kind of was-" Luna admitted, smiling a bit. "-until Snape just did his 'Breathe- too-hard-and-I'll-kill-you' stare, and everyone quieted down real fast."

"I imagine." Harry murmured, having been on the business end of that stare many, many times.

"Well, I'm off to Transfigurations; I'll tell Professor McGonnagall you're not coming, though I'm sure she'll throw a fit about it. You're her best student, you know. I'll bring you the homework."

"Thanks, Luna, you know you're the best girlfriend ever, right?" Harry replied gratefully.

Luna stood rooted to the spot, a bit of blood flooding to her cheeks in spite of herself. No matter how much they both knew it didn't need to be said they had passed from the 'dating' stage to the 'couple' stage, it was still always nice to hear it.

To throw off the shock, she smiled and stuck out her tongue a little. "Brownnoser. Flattery gets you everywhere."

To this, Harry wearily grinned and pretended to wipe a smudge off of the tip of his conk. She snorted, and turned around to head off to her next class.

Harry watched her back until she had exited, before he took out the diary. The pages were blank, yet Harry got a almost anticipatory air from the way it sat flat on his jean covered thighs.

He mentally thought of a proper question, nibbling the end of his eagle feather, before writing.

So, I just need to find out 'What is Fincayra?', and I solve the puzzle, and hence, find the buried treasure? Harry asked cautiously.

No. That question was only a part of the puzzle, and trying to answer it now would be like starting in the middle of a jigsaw; much more difficult than starting at the edges. We'll leave that one for later.

Alright. So, Puzzlemaster, what do you have for me?

The diary's previous words sank into the parchment, before writing yet another befuddling one.

We're going to debate about the Battle of Stonehenge.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Okay, okay, now, square your legs, skis parallel to each other." Matt coached quickly.

Fleur adjusted her legs properly. Matt nodded.

"Bend your knees a little."

The quarter-Veela did so.

"Great!" Matt encouraged. "Now, just push off! The rest is mostly just experience."

Fleur jabbed her poles into the soft snow, and pushed forward down the slope. Her skis slid forward smoothly like clockwork, and then she was off down the run.

Matt was right; skiing came pretty fast once you got going. The fact that it was a beginner run and that it wasn't very steep helped too.

She angled her newly bought skis, and twisted her hips experimentally. She turned like she thought she would, and it brought a small but giddy smile to her lips.

Sure, sitting through the waiting line and then having that obnoxious store clerk purposefully spend more time than necessary measuring her skis to her legs (She had been down to spandex leggings, and it had been a boy measuring), had been demeaning and annoying as hell, but once she got going, it was very fun!

She had actually wanted to try snowboarding first, but Matt had assured her that it was a bit harder to learn and she spent half the time on her ass, doing up her boots to her board.

Fleur, having no experience whatsoever, had agreed without complaint, after watching a few of the 'boarders and seeing the truth of the statement.

Matt swerved by her, throwing tips along as he passed. It was a pretty slow day, and there was no one on this particular slope, so she didn't feel the least bit self-conscious as her legs wobbled slightly in her next turn.

"Doing great! Always keep your skis parallel, but your poles straight! If you want to go fater, tuck your poles in your armpits and get horizontal!" Matt yelled over, the wind making it sound a bit weak.

Matt demonstrated, bending over like he was about to tackle, and sticking his poles out behind him. Fleur watched as he shot down the slope, a red and black missile.

Then she tried it.

The rush of the wind stung her cheeks with cold and numbed them, but she ignored it, feeling the familiar rush of exhilaration and adrenaline that came with a speed. The black, naked branches of trees weighed down with snow rushed past her like blurs, mixed with the few evergreens mixed in.

She laughed with the sheer fun. Sure, it was getting to her thighs a little, and her back was starting to ache from bending over, but this was without a doubt the most fun she had had in many years.

As she rounded the corner, and spotted Matt stopped and waiting, waving one obsidian pole at her cheerily, something occurred to her.

He hadn't told her how to slow down.

Or stop.

She had a second to scream before she plowed into him.

She felt something hard strike her head, and felt her body flip definitely at least two times, a sense of vertigo, and heard a masculine grunt of pain, before the momentum stopped.

The stars eventually swam out of her vision, and she shook her head rapidly.

She tested her limbs experimentally. Nothing seemed broken, although she was sure she would be getting rid of a couple of bruises before long.

She felt a small twinge of regret as she looked back and found only one of her skis attached, and snapped quite jaggedly. The other one lay a few feet behind her.

She took off her dark purple cap that held back her hair and kept her ears warm. The cool air felt good on the lump she was sure she would also be treating later.

Then, the supposed snow under her moved, and she realized she was laying on Matt, who was groaning.

"Oww…..that really hurt." Matt muttered, one gloved hand rising to rub his forehead, where an angry purple blemish was already rising, partially obscured by his goggles and own cap. He tugged both off.

Fleur tried to find sympathy, but could find only annoyance.

"You forgot to teach me 'ow to ztop!" She exclaimed indignantly.

She had taken to speaking English around him, simply because she was something of a perfectionist, and wanted to get rid of or minimize her French accent, since she had heard several times that she was a bit difficult to understand.

Instead of retorting, though, Matt chuckled weakly.

"Yeah…I didn't, that was pretty stupid of me…ow…sorry."

Fleur instantly felt a flash of remorse, and pushed some of his shaggy brown hair aside, inspecting the bruise.

"Eet is fine. Does it 'urt?" She asked. He blinked blearily at her.

"No, I'm saying 'ow' because I'm trying to trick you." He replied dryly.

Fleur snorted slightly in spite of herself, simply out of annoyance at his male tendency to downplay pain, and satisfaction, since no other man would dare say such a thing, and risk offending her.

She glanced around, affirming there were no Muggles about, and she took her wand out of her breast pocket, and tapped it briefly on his bruise, muttering 'Imulso'.

Matt grimaced. "Hey, ouch, what're you-?" He stopped as he felt the skin on his bruise almost, well, soak, for lack of a better word, wherever she dragged her wand, like a cold, yet comforting cloth.

He reached up, and felt no pain as he tapped where it had been. He made a deduction rather quickly.

"You healed it?" He asked, sounding slightly impressed.

She nodded, inspecting his cranium for more bruises in a very business-like manner. "I am training to become a…'ow you zay it?" She muttered briefly, before switching to French. "I wish to become a Medi-witch. I've already advanced past my classmates, and in two weeks, I will begin my internship at 's Mercy Hospital."

"That's the one about fifty miles north of Paris, right? That's pretty impressive, well done." Matt congratulated, a bit lamely in his opinion. There weren't many who could memorize the many complicated and varying spells needed to treat the wide range of magical maladies and injuries that perforated the Wizarding World.

"Thank you, but it was not that difficult." She replied modestly. "I didn't have my head in the clouds or chat constantly about clothes and…boys, like most of the rest of the girls in Beauxbatons." Matt noticed the pause when she mentioned dating, and winced, ever so slightly. She didn't seem to notice. "Also, having important members of the French aristocracy as parents did not harm my chances, either."

She sounded a bit bitter over that. Matt filed this tidbit away for later use.

She clapped her hands and sat up a bit. "Well, your 'ead seems fine, is ze rest of you okay?"

Matt frowned. "Yeah, I think so."

Then he attempted to sit up. It didn't end well.

The minute he shifted his weight on his legs, he heard a sickening crack, and a sharp sledgehammer of pain slammed into his brain.

"W-OWWW, that hurt!" He roared, letting himself flop back onto the cold snow. "Yep, left leg is definitely broken!" He got out, through tightly clenched teeth.

"Where?" She asked, hands hovering above his snowpant-covered leg.

"Right under the knee." Matt grunted.

Her wand shined with a piercing white light, as she curled the tip all the way around the thigh of the pants, dragging it along the fabric. The pant leg fell limp, neatly cut. A wave of her wand vanished it.

On the skin of his leg, she could see a nub poking upwards slightly. She mentally reviewed her anatomy lessons and where the original bone would be.

She grabbed a stick near them and handed it to him. "Bite down, this will 'urt." She advised.

Matt placed it in his teeth, and nodded to her.

She placed one hand down on the nub, and pushed. Matt's back spasmed as a painful hiss escaped his mouth, shortly followed by a snapping of the stick. She waved her wand around the break as fast as she could, murmuring, 'Ossum Repairo.'

The skin shined with illumination below the surface, and Matt slumped, and sighed.

"You're pretty good at that, I'm sure you'll make a good doctor-er-Medi-Witch." He informed her sincerely.

She felt her cheeks burn slightly, as Matt got to his feet, testing the leg gingerly. He observed their collective yard sale, and sighed as he looked down at Fleur's snapped ski.

"I'll have to replace those." He muttered, rubbing his chin.

"I'm zorry." She murmured. Matt waved it off with a grin.

"Don't worry about it." He replied easily. He looked around the mountain, which was pretty much deserted. "I'm pretty sure it means we're done for the day, though." He reached back into his pocket, and pulled out his own black wand. "Ready to go?"

"Oh!" She disconnected her broken ski, and stumped up and grabbed her hat and mitten, which had fallen during the crash. It was made a bit difficult by the unwieldy ski boots. "Yes." She affirmed.

"Right" Matt rolled back his sleeve, exposing the thin leather bracelet that was their return portkey. "Fleur?"

"Oui?" She asked, taking a hold of his arm. She could have sworn his cheeks heated up a bit, but it might have just been the cold.

"I had a lot of fun, despite the whole leg-breaking thing, which was my fault anyway. I hope we can do this again some time." He replied, without a hint of falsity.

She smiled mysteriously, and reached up and planted a kiss on his soft but cold cheek. Okay, now he was definitely blushing. "Me too." She replied honestly.

"Er, right. Here we go!" He blustered a bit, tapping his wand on the bracelet.

There was the tugging on their navel, and then both of them were gone.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Harry paced back and forth in the empty classroom, chewing his lip thoughtfully. It was rather out of the way, so he didn't really need to worry about someone wandering in.

Across the room, the diary sat on a raised pedestal, a charmed quill poised to write.

Harry abruptly snapped his fingers, and sat back down in the chair in front of it.

"What about the druids? They were caught in the crossfire, and they had to make the choice of either siding with the Ministry, or the giants, who had been killing them off for centuries. They would have been slaughtered if they hadn't chosen the Ministry's side."

The quill, which had been moving furiously in tandem with his voice, stopped.

On the page, words formed to rebuke his statement.

"The druids were a tiny minority of the humans in the battle of Stonehenge. They hardly did any fighting, only provided information. The Giants had been there far longer."

"They SAY that. I could SAY that I could make the forecast rainy through my own power in my past life, but no one could know, could they?" Harry argued.

"Giants live three times as long as humans, not killed, that is. It is much more likely they would have accurate renditions of who was there at the circle first."

Harry, who was pacing back and forth, shaking his head and grinning sardonically. "That's a faulty argument, and both you and I know it. Giants don't keep records. They're too stupid."

"That is prejudice and public opinion, Harry. Shame on you. Giants may not keep written records, but they keep stories, storykeepers. They are entirely intelligent."

"They knock each other fucking stupid, fuck each other silly, or are eating each other shortly after killing said person, half the time. That isn't exactly the greatest intelligence nurturing environment." Harry remarked dryly.

"It is true that you don't see many 'Giant scholars' around. They are creatures of their emotions."

"Some would call that being a idiot."

"Some would call it a wonderful existence. Never having to stop to consider such trivial things like courtesy, manners, status. Only strength, power, and who has the most of it."

Harry frowned. The way it was written, made it sound almost wistful. "Regardless, the giants had no proof that they held first dibs on Stonehenge."

"It would have mattered little if they had a full report with evidence and witnesses. The Ministry and public wanted Stonehenge more than they wanted their next breath."

Harry grimaced.

It was, for the most part, true. Stonehenge had been the first in series of locations to have been found to have a sort of magical...saturation, for lack of a better word. The air so choked with old, forgotten magicks that it felt like the very air was caressing your magical core, making you stronger with every breath you took.

The Potters had a small cottage, in the location. All a good several miles from the actual stones, of course, so as not to risk contamination. They had even gone so far as to create a replica, so Muggles would not decide to start monkeying around with the real deal.

The Ministry would have called in an army to take that location, even without the excuse of the human druids.

But the point of a debate was defend your side, even if your side made you want to take a strong bath afterwards.

"What may or may not have been true in the minds of the officials matters not. The giants were driven out, given proper compensation, and are currently settled quite,...well, peacefully for them, in the highlands of Scotland. Hell, their leader is still even alive, tough bastard that he is. There were minimum causalities, and everyone got off pretty much well off."

"The point of this debate, Harry, isn't what happened after the battle, but whether it was right to have a battle in the first place."

"Why does this even matter?" Harry asked, quite deathly bored by the entire affair. "I know all about the Battle of Stonehenge, I know the names of the leaders, the druids, the location, and the exact year it happened. It's basic British history, and the breakthrough that lead to geomancy, the magic of tracking magical signatures to places which radiate magic, and hence, will hold wards and strengthen magical rituals if held there. I know this crap."

"But you have never questioned this, not once questioned the motives or truth of what is written."

"Yes, yes, I know, 'history is written by the victors' and all that. Even if did think to question it, there's no one that could have...possibly been...there." Harry trailed off.

"I see it is coming to you." The diary scribed smugly.

"You were there!" Harry blurted, leaping to his feet. "You know what happened."

"I do. I suppose you will now select two words from your previous sentence and phrase them in a questioning form."

Harry laughed in exasperation in spite of himself. The book's personality reminded him so much of himself that it was mildly creepy when it insulted him in exactly the same way he would himself.

"What happened?" Harry finally voiced.

He was not expecting the answer, however.

"Everything that was written, was true. Minister Lindenbury felt surprisingly guilty over uprooting the giants from their ancestral home, and being one of the rare politicians with an intact conscience, gave a shockingly true rendition of the battle to the public. He resigned the next morning."

Harry felt his mouth open, and promptly shut it with a click. "That's why he resigned? Never mind that. How could you even know what happened, unless one of the Aurors or Giants back then was writing what happened with one hand and killing with the other?"

"I exist, Harry. In a form, less than the weakest ghost, unviewable even by your aura seeing eyes, I may leave this diary for periods of time. I knew, Harry, that you would not come for a very, very long time, so I saw fit to travel the world, and keep with the times."

"How could you know that?" Harry asked, placing his fist on his chin, while his mind worked through possibilities. "A prophecy? Prediction?" He ventured.

"Very astute, Harry, but let us leave that for another time. The point of our little discussion is simple. Whenever something happens, there is always a reason or motive behind it."

"The giants." Harry suddenly sat up straighter with this epiphany. "There was something else about Stonehenge they didn't want to leave behind."

Harry got an almost proud air about the words that were written. "I knew I made a smart choice in you, Harry. Very bright."

"What? What was the reason? Is Omnisluctus somehow connected to Stonehenge?" Harry asked quickly. He could almost feel the damned book slipping away from him.

"One piece of the puzzle at a time, Harry. If you don't have patience, you may ruin the pieces, and then the satisfaction at the end is completely spoiled."

"Argh!" Harry grunted in frustration. "Is that another god-damned metaphor?" He asked wearily.

"We are not alone."

This simple statement made Harry's wand appear in his hand in a flash, pointing around in the shadows of the abandoned classroom.

He snatched the book from the pedestal, and stuffed it in his robes. "Who's there?"

There was a brief silence, before a black cat slinked around the corner of the doorway into the room. Harry saw a great deal more magic in the cat than there was supposed to be, and made a deduction.

"I didn't mean your Animagus form. Reveal yourself." Harry snarled.

One of the desks behind Harry suddenly rose, of it's own accord, and hovered in a very suggestive manner.

A brief second passed, before the cat's form enlarged and widened, until Blaise Zabini stood before him, his body tense, yet his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender.

"Easy, Potter. I'm just here-"

"That is not my name anymore." Harry interrupted venomously.

"Fine, Omnisluctus, whatever. Don't know why you'd prefer it, sounds pretty outlandish anyway…" Harry glowered, and the Slytherin's face was serious once more. "I'm just here with a message."

"What?" Harry snapped. His wand didn't waver an inch, and Blaise stared at it with morbid curiosity.

"Interesting wand design there, Pot-…Omnisluctus. Who made that?" His brown-golden eyes glittered in the darkness.

A second desk rose to join the first. "The fucking tooth fairy, now tell me your message, or get out." Harry snarled.

"Merlin, calm down, you can bloody calm down! With all that talking to yourself, and this, some people might call you crazy…" Harry ignored this in favor of raising another desk. The message came surprisingly quickly.

"Professor Snape wants to see you."

"Bullshit. Why would Snape want to see me?" Harry smelled something, and it wasn't the dust and old wood.

Blaise shrugged. "Dunno. He just sent me to find you, and mind you, you weren't easy to find. Some people might be curious as to why you're wandering around the castle like this, you know."

Harry was pretty sure that by 'some people', the Slytherin meant prefects and Aurors, who had been a bitch to sneak by, even with his disillusionment charms.

Blaise could tell them, if Blaise didn't get an answer from Harry himself. That was what he was suggesting, subtly.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Some people, mostly Slytherins, were much too curious for their own good.

"Some people might be curious as to how you came to become an Animagus." Harry countered coolly.

"Some people can be bribed." Blaise shot back.

"Some people would still know, and could tell those who can't." Harry replied instantly.

For a moment, the air was tense, and Blaise's eyes flickered to the three desks already hovering in the air.

"Fair enough." The tension eased. "I guess you're just harmlessly crazy then." Blaise offered.

"Why did you come to find me?" Harry tried again.

"Professor Snape wants to talk to you." A glare. "It's the honest truth! Go ask him, if it bothers you so much."

"…Fine." Harry put his wand away, the desks dropped without a sound. No need to draw some attentive Auror's attention, after all. "Where?"

"The Defense office. Everyone thinks he's reprimanding you." Blaise replied quickly, informing Harry of the cover story without a bat of an eyelash.

"Fair enough. And Zabini?"

The cat, finished with it's transformation in the blink of an eye, turned, and regarded Harry with it's wide, slitted eyes.

"There aren't many cats around Hogwarts. None of them particularly well liked. So it wouldn't go terribly amiss in such high tension for one to go…" Harry searched for a good word. "Missing."

The cat scampered out the door. The message was heard.

Stay the fuck out of my business.

Harry sighed, and produced the diary.

The charmed quill was still folded up inside. He rubbed his chin momentarily, before speaking.

"You said you could travel the world, right?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Do sit down, Potter." Snape nodded towards the chair in front of the desk he sat at. He turned back to the page he was scribbling upon.

"That's not my name." Harry protested, sitting down in the chair. "Not anymore."

The quill paused in it's path. Snape's lips quirked, ever so slightly.

"And perhaps not ever." He murmured, to no one in particular.

Harry surveyed his surroundings.

The office was surprisingly original. There was a Ministry flag, of course, but Harry would eat his wand if Snape hadn't put it up there just to appease Umbridge.

Other than that, it was very dark, but interesting. Strange things, such as eyeballs, a few hands, and other body parts, from Merlin knew how many creatures sat in jars on shelves bolted recently into the walls.

On another shelf, there was a myriad of jewelry. If anyone else had seen it, they would have called it vain.

To Harry's eyes, every one glowed with an individual light. He would bet his entire Gringotts account that there wasn't a single piece not enchanted with some sort of nifty affect.

On the other two walls, there was a single, giant blackboard, with hasty writings all across it. Harry saw a lot of medical conditions and alchemical formulas, along with several hasty scrawls, such as 'purge?' and 'control the thirst'.

On the other wall, behind a large, empty cauldron, was a assortment of sacks and woven bags, with an assortment of what Harry assumed were potions ingredients. Next to the cauldron was a counter, raised from the stone, and a cutting board, with several well treated knives in it.

Behind Snape was a door opened. Harry could glimpse a narrow cot, jutting out from the wall, and a sink and mirror, with all the toiletries that were natural, a razor, toothbrush, etc. Harry also saw a open bottle of potions grease, which all Potions Masters applied to protect themselves from fumes in the more dangerous concoctions they brewed.

It was a perfect blend of business and individuality. Harry could appreciate that.

A rough flap of paper drew Harry's attention, leading to him seeing Snape open his desk and file the paper he had been writing upon in one of the cabinets, before snapping it shut.

"There aren't going to be any big, bad Death Eaters leaping to get you…" Snape trailed off, as if lamenting the loss of such a short last name like 'Potter' to snap at him with. "You needn't stare so much." He finished.

"I know." Harry replied glibly. The diary had been surprisingly willing to check this out, though quite slow.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment longer, before crossing his fingers and leaning back. "I suppose you wish to know why I called you here." He drawled.

"Is it because you just couldn't get enough of my sparkling personality?" Harry replied flippantly, leaning on one arm of the chair.

Snape raised an eyebrow, which sent serious alarms going off in Harry's head. Normally, the man would have blown a gasket.

"No. It is because of your actions in class, and this essay your…girlfriend turned in this morning." Snape fished the small stack of paper out of one of the piles on his desk.

"Is it a problem? I was only told I was unable to attend class. Since my grade is based on homework and tests, I assumed I could do my homework and study in the library while taking the tests during lunch, when I do not have class." Harry replied. "Then, I may take my OWLs, since she can't restrict them."

"There are several problems with that plan. Would you like to know them?" Snape replied slowly. Harry, still feeling that this whole encounter was a bit queer, nodded cautiously.

Snape leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers in front of his face. Harry resisted the urge to scoot back his chair and listened.

"Firstly, your plan would have worked perfectly if I were not the one teaching it. Having the Dark Lord's mark upon my arm-" Harry's eyes flickered briefly to the spot it would be in, covered by black robe as it was. "-has granted me the delight of being the only teacher almost constantly monitored by Aurors. The only reason one is not here at the moment is because I slipped a laxative into his tea. He'll be quite preoccupied for I imagine at least a few hours longer." Snape's eyes shone with a amused light for a moment, before returning to deadness.

"Being the only professor with this dubious honor, and having the misfortune to have quite a young, and hence, zealous fellow on my case, he happened to see Miss Lovegood handing in your assignment, and reported it to our delightful newly-appointed Headmistress-" Harry grimaced, and Snape's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Madam Umbridge."

"So I suppose my homework is now invalid for being written by such a traitorous and horribly truth-spouting boy." Harry finished for him.

"Close." Snape admitted. "Miss Lovegood presented quite the heated and public argument for you, particularly when previously mentioned young-and-bucking-for-a-promotion Auror watching me tried to intercept your paper in the middle of class, and Madam Umbridge didn't want such a disruptive and informing fuss. Your essay was handed in." Snape finished. "Later, only an hour before now, as a matter of fact, the Headmistress was informing on just how my grading of your papers in particular shall be recorded, and how I shall forward the grade I shall be presenting you to her each time."

"I suppose she'll take it and chop it down a letter." Harry replied bitterly.

Snape ignored this. He picked up Harry's essay, which was at least six inches longer than the eighteen required. "This is an exceptionally well-written paper." He remarked. "You didn't forget to mention the benefits of vampirism, unlike most, who simply look at the thirst and inability to perform magic."

Harry, totally out of his depth being actually complimented by Snape, decided to play along.

"Well, yeah, those are two pretty big losses, but you've got to see the benefits, right?" Harry queried. "I mean, you'll live forever if you find a good, steady source of human blood, and you've got super strength, enhanced reflexes, seeing in the dark…you've also got that-"

"Yes, yes, I am also aware of the vampiric aura, the manner in which they are nearly like Veela, although no where near the strength. Ironic it is, how they despise eachother…" Snape mused. "Vampirism is the closest thing to immortality since…well, just about anything in the sane realm of thought."

"The problems are still pretty big, though." Harry argued. "Vampires are forbidden from getting medical licenses, so no blood banks, and not many people except convicts and death row prisoners get sent or wander into the vampire clans' territory to actually suck blood from without it being illegal. And the change is forever."

"Indeed." Snape drawled. "Which is why I've taken it upon myself to devise a cure."

Harry would admit it; He was blown back, for a couple of seconds. He then settled back, twiddling with his thumbs. Normally, he would be almost squirming to get out of the dour Potions Master's office. Now, he was almost comfortable.

"Why?" Harry asked, after a length.

Snape stood up, and paced to stare at the blackboard. Harry supposed it was covered in his calculations. "I understand that you might be skeptical; people have been after the cure for centuries. Why would I be the one to find it?" Snape smiled grimly, and Harry felt a actual shiver trail up his spine. "Simple, because I can see the potential of it, rather than it as some method of salvation."

Snape reached up, and pulled down a diagram from the ceiling. It showed a human body, and a few more diagrams of it, in decay.

"Most or all others seeking the cure have been after it because they were vampires themselves, turned unwillingly. I am after it, because it is a path to true immortality." Snape pointed at the diagram. "The human body decays with age, weakens. When a vampire does not have their blood, what happens is much the same, only a great deal quicker. There is one, vital difference, however." Snape stopped and folded his hands behind his back. "Vampires regenerate."

"Their cells revitalize, their skin becomes new again. It is a medical miracle. Their entire system is completely made anew." Snape paced back to the blackboard. "Now, imagine if that could be applied to a human."

Harry was silent, Snape peered at him briefly, before continuing.

"It is completely impossible, of course." Snape went on. "A vampire's entire internal system is different than that of a human. We haven't been able to study them in detail, considering the way they turn into dust when opened up in such a manner, but a precious few have actually taken steps, using Muggle machines, such as a sonogram and x-ray, to construct diagrams of their internal organs and workings. They are almost completely different than that of a human."

"I am searching for one of two things. Firstly, a cure to vampirism, or a way to induce short-termed vampirism, as if a turning that only takes for a short amount of time, before leaving the system the way it was before."

Snape looked at Harry again, as if expecting a cry of 'impossible!' or 'that's not right!'. When he received none, he continued.

"Imagine it. For the first, you could simply pay a vampire to turn you briefly-such people are easily found-ingest a large amount of blood, and watch as your body turned back to it's prime, before taking the cure, and turning back human, if you so wished."

"The second method would be far more miraculous. Just take the short term vampirism potion, turn into a vampire briefly, drink a sufficient amount of blood before the potion expired, then turn back into a human, completely strong and in your prime."

"I believe I am somewhere close on the first; I've managed to shortly stop the thirst of several vampires willing to subject themselves to my experiments, but their organs contracted alarmingly, and they died. Quite tragic, but they were already on the verge of death, so it did not matter much anyway. On the second, I have made several theories, but none have been tested, considering the fact that if I turned them and they didn't turn back, they could tell someone about it, unlike the others."

"You're the first one I've shown this theory. If I ever do make a breakthrough, I don't intend to tell anyone about it. If everyone is immortal, then the world will quickly become overpopulated. No, I intend this cure for myself, and myself only. I would like to know what you think of it."

Snape stopped, his beetle-black eyes boring into Harry's own icy blue.

"You know-" Harry began. "When I asked 'Why?', I was actually referring to didn't try to curse me into a puddle with that 'sparkling personality' quip, like you normally would." He clasped his hands patiently, while Snape raised a eyebrow.

"I would assume it's obvious. You're not a Potter anymore." Snape snapped the last part, as if it were to a Gryffindor who had dared ask about something he already explained.

"That's it?" Harry asked incredulously. "I'm not James Potter's son on the books anymore, so you're going to treat me normally? That's not exactly fair." Harry finished, in a tone not at all as upset as it should have been.

"Life is not fair. Get used to it." Snape replied, in a slightly impatient tone.

Harry smiled, ever so slightly. It sounded a bit like something he would say.

"Your theory's sound, by the looks of it. I'm not much of a potions wiz, so I don't really know why you're asking me, but I'd say you're looking at it too biologically." Harry replied. "The vampire transformation somehow kills the magical aura, stills your core. You'd have to find out what's eating at the aura, or your magic can't start up again. You said the internal body structure changes, right? The magic might not even be gone, it just might not be compatible with your system. It might just be locked away because it can't find any route to expel through."

"There's also several other ways to look at this. I don't have much medical or potions knowledge, like I said, but perhaps you should look at this like an infection? You have to hit it at the root. To find the root, find out what systems it attacks first, changes first." Harry gestures at his diagram. "It makes the heart stop beating, maybe it starts there? Inject your 'cure' straight into there, so instead of hacking away at the branches of the infection, which can grow back, you're hacking at the root, which kills it."

Snape was silent through this, crossing his arms and staring at Harry expectantly.

"Of course, for that other thing, I have no idea. Temporarily induce vampirism? All I can think of is more plant metaphors; you'd have to let it take root, then yank it out before letting it get attached. If it's not a infection at all, then could you find a way to separate just the regeneration from the effects of vampirism, taking away the thirst. The problem with that is, you'd have to find something to substitute blood to fuel the regeneration. I have no idea what that would be, since blood has probably has some magical significance too, and there's not much that ranks up on the magical spectrum next to it except a human heart or virgin sacrifices, and there's the whole 'acquisition' problem all over again. Why are you asking me, anyway?" Harry shot back suddenly.

Snape strolled back easily, and sat in the chair. "Because, boy, you're the only one in the school that has even half the amount of intelligence needed to consider this. I do believe would have had a brain hemorrhage from all the information you were throwing about back there."

"True enough, but why trust me? You and I aren't exactly on the best of terms. Don't think I'm going to let you off on the four years of my life you tormented me over the six letters that made up my last name." Harry warned, in an offhand tone of voice that was totally unbefitting the way he was currently threatening a teacher.

"I don't trust you. I intend to make you swear an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal any of our previous conversation before you leave this office." Snape replied, just as calmly.

Harry would have asked how he intended to do that, before the tip of something black and shiny peaked over the edge of the table. His breath caught, and he mentally calculated the chances of him getting to his own wand before Snape obliviated him, especially with Snape's wand already being out.

Not good. He was Dumbledore's right hand man for a reason.

"As for why? Two heads are better than one. I hadn't before even considered the fact that the vampire transformation might be partly magical, and several of your 'biological' approaches were original, as well. I'm willing to allow you to use the immortality formula, should you help me on the path to finding it, as long as you swear an additional vow not to reveal it. I'll even sweeten the deal." Snape tapped Harry's essay. "I'll grade your homework exactly as it is."

Harry mentally calculated furiously. "What about Umbridge?"

Snape shrugged nonchalantly. "She only asked for reports. I'll tell her I gave you an Acceptable, and put it down as an Outstanding. No one has ever accused her of being intelligent, so I doubt she'll check it, being the lazy bitch that she is." Snape remarked. "That way, if we do not succeed, you will still have viable career options."

Harry bit his lip, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

This exchange sounded promising, Harry would admit. He would be stretched thin between the diary, homework, Luna, and Snape, but the potential payoff would be huge.

The horcrux thing had really opened Harry's mind to possibilities. Before, Harry had been content with the fact that he would live, start a family, leave behind some enormous legacy or breakthrough in history, and die. He had never even considered the fact that the last could be avoided.

Now that he knew, that there were ways to avoid it…well, he wanted it. How many people could actually claim there was a fair chance they would never die?

This also told him one other thing. Snape wanted his help pretty bad. Bad enough to approach him himself.

"I'll do it." Snape's eyes widened, and he perked up slightly. "On one condition. It's small." Harry assured him.

"…What would that be?" Snape asked slowly. The fact that he was even considering it meant that Harry had a good chance.

"Legimency. You know it. I want to learn it. I'm a good Occlumens, but I haven't been able to move beyond that stage. I've tried, believe me."

"…This is not surprising. Very few Occlumens are able to do so." Snape replied cautiously. "What are you proposing?"

"I come to your office, say, every Sunday. You say we're serving detention." Harry replied. "We spitball ideas for this project of yours for a couple of hours. You spend half an hour teaching me how to use Legimency without the very obvious incantation. Then I slink out with a miserable expression on my face."

Snape leaned back, mulling this over. His eyes flickered to the door Harry had entered through.

"You get what you want, I get what I want." Harry continued. He threw a hand behind his head. "Hell, Umbridge gets to think she's getting her revenge, taking away the last day of my weekend for the rest of the year, for showing such horrid disrespect in the face of the Headmistress. She gets what she wants. Everyone wins." Harry whispered encouragingly.

Snape shifted his weight to one leg of his chair. Then the other. He rubbed his chin with one knuckle. His other hand twirled a letter opener on the desk, drilling a small furrow in the already marked wood.

"Very well." Snape said finally. "I warn you, I am not as skilled in the field of Legimency as some. There will be little I can teach you beyond the reading of surface thoughts."

"That's enough. I can go on from there." Harry replied immediately.

The Unbreakable Vows were sworn quickly, and the terms were simple. Harry was to help until the project was complete, or he wanted to drop the project. Snape was to provide Legimency lessons, and reveal to Harry all of his research on the project, as was Harry. Neither of them were to speak of it, infer it, write it, etc., or in any other way inform another person about the project unless both Harry and Snape agreed upon it until the day they died. Snape only sent a single odd glance at Harry's odd wand, before Harry quickly holstered it.

"We may have to enlist the help of your other friend, Mr. Cooke. We will need some rather rare ingredients, and his father is the only one I can think that might be able to acquire them, quarantined as we are in this school." Snape gestured out the window, where red robed Aurors could be seen patrolling the grounds.

"Umbridge'll be screening our posts. You'll have to find someone other way than by owl to get them in." Harry offered.

"I will devise that later. It will seem suspicious if I keep you in here for a simple harangue in such duration." Snape jerked his head towards the door. "I will write up your detention. Get out, and put a suitably chastened expression on your face as you pass the Aurors." Snape advised.

Harry stood up, and pushed in his chair, before opening the door.

"Boy!" Snape snapped.

Harry glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Do not disappoint me." He announced.

Harry's only response was a cheeky, Matt-esque grin, before closing the door with a snap.

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NOTE: and there is the premature end of my favorite series. Id like to say once again that I don't own this series. I would also like to mention my desire to see this series continued by a skilled author.