Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.
A/N: Okay, to start off with, I completely made up all the screen names of my characters. I have no idea if they actually exist out there, and I don't mean to be insulting to anyone who may have these sn's. Likewise for the email addys. That said, if you like them, and they are indeed available, feel free to use them, just don't blame me if you end up getting a bunch of spam!
Also, it's been a long time since I had a Spanish class, so I'll apologize now if I managed to slaughter it… You'll see, I suppose. If anyone knows what I was trying to say and can give me a better translation of the Spanish contained herein, please PM me. I'd also like a list of insults and other general Spanish terms that aren't in my dictionary (no web-links, please. I currently depend on the library for all my internet needs. I need a Word or compatible doc that I can take home,) emailed to me. I think my email is accessible. If not, PM me and I'll change the setting. Thanks!
Also, this story took a twist I hadn't anticipated, shocked the hell out of me, so I hope it does the same for y'all.
Warnings/Spoilers: Post OotP, disregards HBP, though there are a couple of small details from book six that I've included. Set in Harry's sixth year. Rated 'M' for language. If you haven't read 'Sins of the Father,' I suggest you do so before diving in, or else this won't make much sense… Not that I've ever been picky about that!
Friends and Family
penguin42 has just signed on
sk8r4life: Kris? that u? where u been?
penguin42: hell
sk8r4life: how so?
penguin42: mom got us evicted again. livin out of the van.
sk8r4life: that sucks
sk8r4life: and bites
sk8r4life: and blows
sk8r4life: and chews
sk8r4life: and swallows
penguin42: no shit. am at the lib right now. how r u? UK still a drag?
sk8r4life: more than ever. Dad's an ass to everyone. still dunno what mom saw in him.
penguin42: keep me posted
sk8r4life: will do
penguin42: seen anyone worth your time?
sk8r4life: sorta… there's this cute little spitfire. even has red hair!
penguin42: chuckle shoulda known. you always did go for the ones with attitude.
sk8r4life: y shouldn't i? Can't date someone if they can't keep up with me.
penguin42: point. Maybe that's where Bry and me went wrong.
sk8r4life: Likely. always did think he was a moron.
sk8r4life: What about u? meet anyone new?
penguin42: no such luck. not anyone worth dating. Hooked up with this cutie from the Valley about a week ago, but nothing long-term.
sk8r4life: shudder what have I told u about dating peeps from the Valley?
penguin42: That i shouldn't… but Ike! He was hot. It's not like we did much more than fuck, though.
sk8r4life: That's good. btw, got an email from Kaitlyn. How in the HELL did she manage to destroy the entire chem lab?
penguin42: she was mixing heating charms with hydrogen. Bad idea.
sk8r4life: snerk she was ok tho, yeah?
penguin42: yeah. nothing serious.
sk8r4life: Good. god, I miss you guys.
penguin42: We miss u, too. o, btw, Tiny found that CD u lent him. Wants ur addy so he can send it to u.
sk8r4life: pace/palm I have no idea. They use fucking owls here. I'll ask someone and email it to him. U still have ur cell?
penguin42: No, mom pawned it.
sk8r4life: still into that shit, huh?
penguin42: nods JJ offered to lemme sleep in his garage.
sk8r4life: Y not take him up on it?
penguin42: planned to, but…
sk8r4life: what?
penguin42: it's JJ!
sk8r4life: Point.
penguin42: hey, my time's almost up. gtg. ttyl?
sk8r4life: sure thing, mi amigo.
penguin42 has just signed off
Ike sighed. So, Kris's mom's still doing crank… Wish I knew a for-sure way to keep her from fucking up his life like she did hers… I should email JJ and tell him to force Kris to stay at his place. He doesn't need his mom fucking over his chances for college. Ike pulled her jacket a little tighter and shifted her position on the stone of the astronomy tower floor. It's fucking cold! I don't think I'll ever be warm again! It was October fifth, and since it was Saturday, there weren't any classes trying to use the tower. As the highest outdoor point in Hogwarts, Ike preferred using it for her internet business. It was easier to get a clear signal on her cell that way; even though her cell was satellite-routed, instead of the ordinary tower-routing, the signal still didn't like stone very much. She blew on her hands to warm them a little and returned her attention to her laptop.
From: sk8r4life (at) anon . com . uk
Sent: Saturday, October 5, 1996 22:13 GMT
To: whostolemysn (at) anon . com
Subject: Talked to Kris
I got a chance to talk to Kris today. He said you finally found that Toad the Wet Sprocket CD I loaned you last year? I don't know about mailing it to me. This fucking place uses owls to deliver the mail. Maybe your dad will know how to send it, otherwise it may be a couple of days before I find out. DON'T LOSE IT AGAIN IN THE MEANTIME!!
How's things going with Kaitlyn? Heard she blew up the chem lab with some heating charms, LOL. The two of you still planning on going to the X-games expo next month?
About Kris… He said his mom got them evicted again. I wish that bitch would just up and OD already! JJ offered his garage, but Kris is hesitant about taking the offer. Can you and Kaitlyn see about some friendly peer-pressure? I don't want to see him fuck his life over.
Catch you later,
Ike
From: justbelieve (at) anon . com
Sent: Saturday, October 5, 1996 22:25 GMT
To: sk8r4life (at) anon . com
Subject: Re: Life is Hell
Sorry to hear that. I've told you and told you, life is what you make it. If you don't like where you are, look to your past and ask yourself how you came to be where you are. This usually helps to unlock ways out of your current predicament that have previously been hidden.
I suppose I could try my hand at an international portkey… Haven't done one of those in a while. Let me know how to send it to you, and it should be done in time for JJ's Halloween party.
Miss you, too,
Alejandro
Original Message
From: "Ike S"
To: "Alejandro"
Sent: Wednesday, October 2, 1996 21:34 GMT
Subject: Life is Hell
I hate it here! I hate it here! I HATE IT HERE!!
This place does more than simply suck, it's like there's no such thing as technology! Do you
have any idea how long it takes to download a single song on dialup??
Help me please! I know you're a god at transportation magic… can't you do something?
Anything? A tunnel from my place to the skate park where we met would be a good start.
That room I told you about is a good substitution, but it don't beat the real thing. I miss the
LA sunshine and the ocean air.
I'm really losing my mind here.
Ike
Ike turned off her laptop and tucked it into her backpack, along with her cell phone. Her thoughts were still centered mostly on the predicament with Kris, and the fact that Alejandro had agreed to get her a portkey back home, than on her surroundings.
"Thought I might find you up here," a voice said from the shadows by the door.
Ike jumped. "Fuck!" she shouted.
Harry chuckled and stepped into the weak moonlight. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."
Ike took a deep breath and convinced her pulse to slow back down. "No harm done. Whacha need?"
Harry shrugged, "Nothing much. I just couldn't sleep and didn't remember seeing you after dinner."
"Oh. I had some shit to do online. Can we go inside? It's fucking cold out here."
Harry followed Ike back into the school. "Hey, Ike. We should use this," he pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pocket. "Filch and Snape are still patrolling."
Ike nodded, "Good idea. Where to?"
"How about the kitchens? I'm sure Dobby will be happy to see us."
"Lead onward."
Once ensconced within the relative safety of the kitchens, Dobby presented them with hot chocolate. After chatting with the elf for a while, Ike suddenly snapped her fingers. "That's where I know you from!"
Startled, Harry choked a little on his beverage. "Pardon?"
"Oh, it's been buggin' the shit outta me… I knew I'd heard your name before, but I couldn't place it." Ike grinned.
Harry sighed and buried his face in his hands, "Dare I ask?" he mumbled.
"Oh, it was back in ninth – year before last. Kaitlyn and Cherry were in the same Health class as me, and one day the teach was out sick. She hadn't left notes on what we were s'posed to be doing, so the sub said we could have a study-hall. Anyway, Cherry was all gaga over some kid that was in a tournament where he had to battle a dragon."
What little of Harry's face that Ike could see turned bright red. "I hadn't known that particular incident had made it across the pond."
"Don't worry about it, Harry. Ain't a big deal to anyone but me." Ike was, of course, referring to the irritation she'd felt at recognizing Harry's name but not being able to recall why.
Harry felt a stab of unease and reluctantly met his friend's eyes. "Ike… please tell me you're not one of them."
Ike quirked an eyebrow in reply. "One of who?"
"Those disturbed fan-girls that seem to think that just because they saw me in a magazine they know my life story."
Ike snickered, "Sorry, Harry. Hate to disappoint you, but I ain't some star-struck wannabe from Pasadena. I went to LAMI with a shit-ton of people, including fourteen models, eight actors, three pop stars, and a published novelist. The only one I ever even spoke to was the author, and that was just 'cause he almost ran me over in the parking lot last year. I ain't too damn impressed with fucking fame; hell, live in L.A. long enough, and you tend to see a lot of famous people. After a while, it don't matter anymore." Seeing Harry's incredulous expression, she chuckled. "It can't be that surprising."
Harry shook his head and laughed weakly, "Sorry. It's just that…"
Ike waived him off, "No, I get it. Really."
"Glad one of us does."
Their conversation then turned to Ron's attempts at learning to skateboard, their classes, and other miscellaneous gossip. Harry hadn't realized it before meeting Ike, but even his friends treated him… oddly. It wasn't that they treated him differently than they had always done, more that they expected more from him, and were disappointed when he didn't deliver; almost as though they had never really gotten past the 'this is Harry Potter' stage. Hermione wasn't as obvious as Ron and the rest were, but Harry could sense an underlying tone in his friends' attitudes towards him. Ike, on the other hand, never expected anything out of him that she wasn't prepared to give. Since he was tutoring her in Defense, she was showing him how to competently navigate a computer. It was refreshing, to say the least.
"So… That Ginny girl. She's Ron's sister, yeah?"
Harry nodded and refilled their mugs. "Yes, she is. It's rather humorous watching the two of them bicker, especially if Ron's on a tear about whoever Ginny's dating. You should have seen Dean's face when Ron cornered him a couple of years ago. It was bloody hilarious."
Ike frowned a little, and Harry had to wonder why. "Oh…"
"And last year, she was going out with Michael Corner. When Ron caught up to him, I thought he was going to mess himself – Corner, I mean, not Ron."
Ike laughed a little. "What about –"
"And what do we have here?" a new voice said from the shadows near the doorway. "Two Gryffindors, out after curfew." Draco stepped into the light, grinning evilly.
Ike rolled her eyes, and Harry had to swallow a rising laugh. "So?" Ike asked.
"For starters, how about ten – no, twenty points." His smirk broadened. "Yes, twenty points each for being out after curfew."
Ike stood slowly, she towered a good six inches over the blonde Slytherin. "I don't think you want to do that." Her patience with the pointy Slytherin had reached the end of its tether the prior Sunday, when she'd found him following her; no doubt he thought he was being sneaky.
Draco, only mildly irritated that he had to look up to meet her eyes, spat, "Why not?"
Ike stepped close to him, well within his personal space. "Because, you ugly, twitchy little rodent, if you did, then you'd have to explain why you're sporting a shiner at breakfast."
Draco took an involuntary step backwards. "That's another ten points for threatening a prefect!" He didn't stammer, but Ike was pretty sure that it was a near thing.
She sighed in mock-sadness. "Oh, sonny… You've just made it a broken jaw." She stepped forward again. "Wanna try for a bruised kidney?" She'd been itching to give the lecherous twerp a good pounding ever since she'd met him.
Draco realized that points weren't going to get him anywhere but the infirmary, so he turned his gaze to Potter. "What's it like, Potter?"
Harry, who was enjoying this immensely, smiled a little. "Okay, Malfoy, I'll bite. What's what like?"
"Being such a weak four-eyed freak you need a girl to defend you?" There, Draco thought, that ought to get them to a point I can assign a detention or three.
To his disappointment, Harry laughed. Actually laughed. "It's not me she's defending, Malfoy."
"Then what –"
"Gryffindor, you gormless idiot," Harry interrupted Draco's question.
While Harry and Draco were talking, Ike stepped around Malfoy's side. She could have sworn that the Slytherin hadn't blinked since leveling his glare on Harry. After a couple of minutes of tense silence, she reached out with both hands and poked Malfoy's sides, just under his ribs. "Boo!" she shouted.
Draco jumped, shrieked like a girl, and ran out of the kitchens. The slamming door wasn't nearly loud enough to cover Ike and Harry's laughter. "Did you see his face?" Harry asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
Ike shook her head, "Nope, wrong angle, but I wish I'd had a camera!"
"I wonder if Dumbledore would let me borrow his pensieve?"
Severus Snape was exasperated, and not just a little worried. Eileen wasn't passing her classes; though he was pretty sure it was because of the lack of a magical education she'd received in California. She had also immediately been accepted into the Potter-clique. Figures, he thought whilst marking papers. She couldn't find someone – anyone – else to befriend, could she? No… It just had to be Potter. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Sidetracked by a phenomenally bad choice of words, he paused in his thoughts long enough to deride the hapless student who had written the essay he was marking in bloody, red ink.
With the offending bit of parchment out of the way, and looking like it had suffered an arterial blow-out, he continued his train of thought. Why couldn't she have picked that Thomas kid to spend her time with? Or – Merlin, I can't believe I'm even thinking this – Longbottom? Why Potter? Was it something I did in a past life? Nothing I've done in this one – not even the Death Eater acts in which I've participated – were bad enough to justify this!
I realize, he pulled the last essay in the pile towards himself and re-inked his quill, that Eileen is not the sort to want to be friends with feather-brains like Patil and Brown, and if she were just spending her free time with Granger, I suppose I wouldn't mind as much. At least Granger would be certain to make sure she gets her grades up to passing. But she's spending far more time with Potter – shite. Snape blinked. The tip of his quill snapped off, sending a blob of bleeding red across the third-year's essay. His train of thought had refused to derail and send him back into blissful ignorance. They… They're not dating, are they? He blinked again.
Three weeks later, on Friday, October 25, Ike received a package during breakfast. A nondescript barn owl delivered it before stealing half of Ron's bacon and quickly flying out of the irate redhead's reach. Ike took a couple of minutes to decipher the various labels on the plain cardboard. There was one from a 'mail-conversion centre of London,' a Fed-Ex air label, and a couple of customs-inspection stamps. Finally, half-covered by the air-mail label, she located the return address. "Alejandro! You wonderful, wonderful man!" she exclaimed, tearing into the package with more energy than anyone else had seen her exhibit before her second cup of coffee.
"Ike?" Hermione asked.
"Hmm?" Ike didn't bother looking up as she pawed her way through some wadded-up newspaper.
"Who's 'Alejandro?'"
"Friend of mine back in la-la land."
"Why's he so wonderful?"
Ike smirked and emerged with a letter, her long-lost Toad the Wet Sprocket CD, and a lapel-pin of an Egyptian ankh. "Because he is. 'Scuse me," she hastily abandoned the Gryffindor table and headed out to the hallway, where she ripped open the letter.
¿Qué tal, mia amiga?
Aqui esta el portki. Tu debes mí.
Hasta viernes. El portki activará a seis GMT, u volverá a once GMT a domingo.
Hasta luego,
Alejandro
Tu debes mí.
Ike pinned the little silver ankh to her currently blue-and-orange-pinstriped blazer. It fit nicely next to her pin that said, 'Bad news, your imaginary friend found someone else.' The CD she tucked into her pocket before deciding to cut class for the day. She needed to get a costume together for JJ's party, now that she knew she was going.
Harry and Hermione were working on their potions assignment, occasionally casting a sidelong glance at Ike's empty seat. Without her there, Professor Snape was tenser than either of the Gryffindors had ever seen. After the first potions lesson of the year, Snape had put Ike off to the side of the classroom and had been having her do solely bookwork, stating that she'd be allowed to begin brewing when she was no longer trying to 'out-Longbottom Longbottom.' Today, though, he seemed more on-edge than he had ever been with Neville in his classes. Harry caught the man looking his way twice, both times with a vaguely horrified expression on his face. Harry had to wonder just what it was he'd supposedly done this time.
Severus had, of course, seen Eileen receive a package that morning, and realized it was likely the contents of said package that had caused her unusual absence from class. He further realized that he knew virtually nothing about his daughter, nor why she suddenly received a parcel, nor what that parcel could possibly contain. His brain, still not used to worrying about anyone but himself – and his Slytherins, of course – was conjuring one unlikely scenario after another. It was all Snape could do to keep his mind on his work.
"What to be… what to be…?" Ike mused aloud as she perused her closet in her dungeon rooms. "Went as myself last year, so I can't do that again… The year before, I was a zombie… Don't wanna do nothing too normal. I'd hate to disappoint everyone." She caught sight of the skirt she'd made in home-ec, the very same skirt she'd worn her first night in the castle. She grinned. "There's a thought… and a frightening one, at that."
Several hours later, Ike's costume was almost ready and she had her backpack ready for her weekend of fun. There was a sudden knock at her door which startled Ike into running a sewing needle into her finger. "Door's open," she called out, half-hoping it was her father, just so she could tell him where to stick it.
"You skived off class today," Harry said. He'd been pestered by Hermione for three straight classes into braving Snape's quarters. Not that it was much of a risk, Snape was nearly always in his office until dinner after classes were over with.
Ike nodded and sucked her pricked finger for a moment. "Yeah. So? You gonna tell me you never cut class before?"
Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Nope. Just curious as to why, though."
Ike met Harry's gaze and smiled brightly. "My friend, Alejandro, came through for me."
"He's the one who sent you that package this morning?"
"Yeah. Here," she tossed him the letter from Alejandro.
"I can't read this!"
"Why not? His handwriting's not that bad."
"It's in Spanish!"
Ike snorted, "Sorry. Basically it says that he sent me a portkey so I could go to our friend, JJ's, Halloween party tonight. He also managed to find our other friend, Tiny, and get a CD I loaned him over a year ago back to me."
"You have a friend who's licensed to make international portkeys?"
Ike quirked an eyebrow, "Who said he's licensed?"
Harry sat down on Ike's inflatable sofa. "So… When are you going to be back?"
"Eleven on Sunday. I assume Alejandro meant eleven PM. I don't think he's seen eleven AM since we were in junior high."
"Huh?"
"Oh, he dropped out at the end of last year. He makes more money with his… other endeavors than most do with real jobs."
Harry shrugged, "I know a couple of people like that," he replied, thinking of Fred and George. "What's he do?"
"He's really, really good at transportation magic – you know, portkeys, apparation, floo, brooms, and all that. He usually gets contacted when someone needs a way to get from point A to point B without the hassle of going through all the red tape." Ike finished stitching the last of her costume together and held it up. "What do you think?"
Harry blinked. "It's… surprisingly bright and cheerful, Ike. I half-expected it to be… I don't know. Dark. Violent. Gruesome."
Ike laughed, "But Halloween is a chance to be something you're not, so I picked something suitably terrifying."
Harry laughed along with her, "Makes sense."
Ike rolled up the costume and tucked it into her bag. Straightening up, she checked the clock on her VCR. "Why don't you come with?"
"Me? Why?"
"'Cause you could use a break from here."
Harry shook his head, "Sorry, Ike, I really shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Do you have any idea the level of panic that would ensue if I were to just disappear for an entire weekend?"
Ike sighed, "And that's why you should come. You need a break. Come on, it'll be fun!"
"Until we got back, at which point I'd probably be in detention until I'm thirty."
"So? Personally, I don't plan on going to any detentions."
"Come again?"
Ike smirked, "Look at it this way, Harry, what can they do to us, hmm? It's not like they can expel either of us. You're the fucking Boy-Who-Lived and my dad's on staff. Snape fucking knows I don't want to be here, so expelling me would fit right in with my desires. You know my dad probably better than I do, and if expulsion is what I want, how likely is it that it'll happen? And just how probable is it that the headmaster would expel you just for needing a fucking break?"
Harry was silent for a few minutes. "That's true, but I still wouldn't want to worry everyone if I suddenly disappeared."
"So tell them ahead of time. There's still about two hours before the portkey activates, I'll be here until then." Ike returned her attention to making sure she had everything she was likely to need for her weekend.
"I guess… I'll see you later." Harry was highly tempted to go with her, as late payback for the Summer of Silence before his fifth year. His better side, though, wanted to make sure his friends, at least, knew where he was going. He hurried out of the dungeons, intent on locating Hermione and Ron.
Harry located the two of them in the library, Hermione was finishing up their charms homework while Ron pretended to do so, actually reading a quidditch magazine behind the cover of his text book. "Hey. I wanted to tell you two something."
Curiously, Ron set his 'homework' aside while Hermione looked up from hers in triumph. Harry had no idea why she had the same look on her face that she did when she was sure she'd aced a test, and didn't particularly care. "What's up, mate?" Ron asked quietly. None of them particularly wanted to garner the attention of Madame Pince.
"Well, Ike is going to a costume party tonight, and asked me to go with her." Of all the things that Harry could have said, Hermione seemed to expect that the least. "It's a weekend-long thing, and if I go, I wouldn't be back until late Sunday night."
Hermione, predictably, said, "No! You can't!"
While Ron smiled a little and shook his head. "Hermione, shush it." It had the desired effect of stilling Hermione's tongue, but not because of what was said. Hermione's brain had simply short-circuited when Ron interrupted her protests without his customary bluster. "Yes, we know it's against the rules; yes, we know Voldie is out there; and yes, we bloody well know that there's a defense test Monday. Did I get all your objections?" Hermione's face was now sporting a look that was a cross between puzzlement and anger. "Good." Ron turned back to Harry. "First off, mate, I think you should go. If anyone needs a vacation, it's you. You've got the highest marks of anyone in defense, so the test probably won't be a problem. As to Voldie, if he believes you're still here, then he won't be looking for you at that party, right?" he looked sideways at Hermione. "And so what if it's against the bloody rules? So's a lot of other stuff we've done over the years. Granted, those had a 'save-the-world' flavor, and this doesn't. It's not like Dumbledore is going to expel him."
Hermione finally rebooted enough of her brain to once again form coherent speech. "The headmaster may not expel Harry, but what about detentions, hmm? Harry's not going to be able to keep up with his classes if he's stuck in detention all the time, now is he?"
"Um… Hermione?" Ike suddenly appeared at their table with her backpack slung over one shoulder. She was wearing her normal clothes, not the school uniform. Today, it was a black t-shirt with Jim Morison's mug-shot on it, with ripped-up jeans, held in place by silver suspenders, and her high-top Keds with the glow-in-the-dark laces. Her hair was its natural brown, still braided into cornrows. "Have you actually read the Hogwarts' Charter?"
Hermione looked insulted, "Of course I have!"
"Then you remember that little clause to paragraph 1454, sub-section C."
"What?" Hermione blinked.
"Clause theta to paragraph 1454, sub-section C," Ike smirked.
"What?" Hermione repeated.
"Just tell us already, before Hermione's brain suffers any more," Harry said, grinning at his friends.
"'Excessive detentions, wherein excessive means leading to a drop in the student's average grades, are not permissible within Hogwarts…' There's a bunch more about the consequences of excessive detentions, but that's the important part." Ike readjusted her backpack.
Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before stating, "That explains a lot."
"Huh?" Ron and Harry both were left somewhat in the dust by the female half of the quartet.
Hermione took pity on the boys, "She's got a photographic memory."
Ike shrugged, "Sorta. If I read something, I end up remembering it forever. Fuck, I could probably still recite most of my seventh-grade history textbook. Hearing something, or seeing it, my memory's about as reliable as anyone else's, but reading it… You get the idea."
"And just what does any of that have to do with whether or not Harry goes with you to that party tonight?" Ron asked.
Hermione replied, "That if Harry goes, detentions probably won't be a problem."
"And since that was the last of your objections, I think I'll go." Harry stood up. "See you Sunday."
"I've never been all that fond of portkeys," Harry muttered after the world stopped spinning around him.
Ike shrugged, "They're not too bad; kinda like a cross between a tilt-a-whirl and a freefall."
Harry shuddered melodramatically, "Whatever." He looked around. "Where are we?" The immediate area looked like the Room of Requirement during Ike's morning workouts, sans the ceiling, of course.
"Ike¡Mia amiga¿Que tal?" An average-height boy of approximately eighteen skidded to a halt in front of Ike and Harry. He had a dark olive complexion, with short black hair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses and he was dressed similarly to Ike, with baggy jeans and a rock'n'roll t-shirt – his showed a concert poster for a group called 'The Ramones' – but instead of sneakers or boots, he was wearing a pair of black-and-orange inline skates.
"Alejandro! Está una pesadilla, pero las cosas van mejorando ahora. ¿Y tú?"
"Not too bad, not too bad at all. Who's this?" he gestured in Harry's direction.
"This is Harry. Harry, this is Alejandro Munez, local travel-god."
Alejandro pushed his sunglasses up on his head and rolled his eyes, "Only to you, Ike."
Harry offered his hand in greeting, which Alejandro merely looked at. Awkwardly lowering his hand, Harry smiled a little unsurely. "Pleased to meet you?" Merlin, did I just phrase that as a question?
"We'll see, won't we, forastero?" Alejandro replied.
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar term, but Ike merely huffed in exasperation. "Harry ain't la migra, you know. He's… cool," she tossed an appraising glance at him and amended, "Nerdy, but cool."
Alejandro shrugged, "Can't be too careful; you fucking know that."
"Come on, we need to get ready for the party, don't we?" Ike replied, adjusting her backpack. Harry felt totally lost, like he'd missed something essential to the conversation.
"The party isn't for another," Alejandro checked his watch, "twelve hours. Even you can't take that long to get ready. For fuck's sake, Kaitlyn don't take that long!"
Ike chuckled, "True that. Still, we're on Greenwich time, ain't we? Might wanna sleep some, else we'll miss most of it. Somethin' to eat wouldn't be a bad idea, either."
Alejandro shrugged again. "Basta's?"
"Sounds like a winner," Ike removed her skateboard from her pocket and threw it down; it resized as it hit the ground.
Alejandro looked from Ike's skateboard to his own feet to Harry's wheel-less state. "Not a skater?" he sounded slightly irritated. "Can he keep up?"
Ike snickered, "Nope, not a skater. Wouldn't worry about him keepin' up though."
"¿Por qué?" Alejandro's question was so much gibberish to Harry's ears, but there was no mistaking the disbelief in the other boy's tone.
Ike grinned and replied with a simple, "Quidditch."
It was as if someone had hit the other boy with a cheering charm; he brightened considerably and immediately warmed towards Harry. While Ike led the way out of the skate-park and towards a nearby shopping center, Alejandro began peppering Harry with questions about the state of quidditch in the UK. The three of them dodged and ducked through the crowds of disgruntled shoppers while Harry somewhat breathlessly joined in on a hearty conversation of one of his favorite topics. Almost half an hour later, they stopped at an out-of-the-way sidewalk café. Harry had a stitch in his side from the lengthy jog, but neither Ike nor Alejandro even looked winded. "Was that wise?" he asked, taking a seat at one of the white wrought-iron tables situated under a tall palm tree.
"Was what wise?" Alejandro asked around a mouthful of pizza.
"Talking about… you know… our kind of stuff… around all those muggles?" Harry twisted the top off of a bottle of Sprite.
Ike snickered, "Harry, this is L.A. You're in the company of two obviously counter-culture skaters. No one is gonna give a good goddamn what we're talking about. Fuck, if anyone was near enough to really hear any of it, they'd probably assume you were talking about soccer, 'specially since you both have readily identifiable accents."
Alejandro grinned, "Besides that, amigo, this is, as the good lady said, L.A. Even most of the mundanes have something weird about them. Spend any time near the subway, and you'll see what I mean."
Harry decided not to worry about it too much; this wasn't his home area, and so he would bow to Ike's knowledge of her native environment. He dug into his own slice of pizza with great enjoyment.
Back at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had decided that it was time to have a… chat with Eileen. The only difficulty thus far was in locating his wayward daughter; she hadn't come to dinner, and neither had Potter. When Snape had noticed both empty places at the Gryffindor table, and the unconcerned air of the rest of the Potter-clique, Severus' mind had jumped to the only logical conclusion. Too bad for him that logic never had figured too largely into Ike's behavior.
After the evening meal had finished, Severus began stalking the hallways, searching all the usual places, dreading locating his daughter in a romantic embrace with the Potter brat.
He checked all the broom closets and disused classrooms, locating a total of six students; two Slytherin couples and a Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw duo. In the prefects' bathroom, he was very nearly scarred for life upon witnessing Jamison Danverse, this year's Head Boy, stripping seductively for the pervy ghost of the girl that haunted the castle's many bathrooms. Needless to say, he removed himself from the bathroom as quietly and quickly as he could, all the while wishing that obliviate was a spell one could safely cast on oneself. Checking the other assorted corridors, nooks, and crannies of the castle, he caught out a further four couples; all either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. The hourglass point-counters were all taking a hit that night. The only house yet unaccounted for was blasted Gryffindor; and so, with his pocket watch chiming nine o'clock, Severus steeled himself and headed for the school's many towers.
Severus had often wondered if it was the sheer lack of oxygen which caused Gryffindors' stupidity – Honestly, why couldn't Godric-sodding-Gryffindor have built his dormitory on the ground floor like Hufflepuff? Even the second floor would have been preferable, like Ravenclaw. But no… The sadistic, egocentric bastard just had to have it in the highest tower of the sodding castle!
Upon reaching Gryffindor territory, the hallways were conspicuously absent of students. Severus continued climbing, however, and soon reached the Astronomy level of the tower. There, he located three Gryffindor third-years doing an extra-credit assignment for Sinistra. The cheeky buggers even had a permission slip!
His temper was growing short. He decided to simply cut to the chase and descended to the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Open sesame," he recited the staff password to all the house common rooms and marveled, not for the first time, that none of the students had managed to uncover that particular secret.
The portrait swung open, and Severus heard Granger's voice, "All right, all. It's nine-thirty. Time to pack up and get to bed."
There were several groans of protest to which Granger replied, "Come on, you all know why. The easiest way to help Harry – as all of you have said you want to do – is to make sure everything in the Tower runs as smoothly as it possibly can. Off to your dormitories, now, the lot of you."
Lingering in the shadows, Severus found himself wondering if Potter knew the level to which his friends micromanaged the people around him. He further wondered why they felt the need to do so.
"Ron?" Granger's voice cut in on Severus' thoughts. "Can you go gather Evan, Jenny, and Ramie from the Astronomy deck? They're supposed to be back at ten, but they'll have less issues with Filch if they've got a prefect with them."
"Sure thing, 'Mione." The sound of the Weasley boy's footsteps approached Severus' place in the shadows. He hurriedly ducked out of the portrait and silently followed the redhead down the hallway. Weasley was seemingly reciting countercurses under his breath as he strode purposefully to the stairs leading upward. The boy paused on the third stair and drew his wand. "Show yourself!"
With one eyebrow cocked in amusement, Severus stepped out of the shadows. "Weasley. Put that away before you hurt yourself."
Severus chuckled silently when he saw Weasley pale dramatically at the recognition of who he was pointing his wand at. "P-Professor. I was just… I mean, the third-years… Astronomy…"
"Stop your senseless yammering, Weasley. You are, as a prefect, lamentably entitled to be out of the dormitory after curfew, regardless of the cause. However," Severus had to suppress a smirk when the Weasley boy swallowed apprehensively at his codicil, "I wish to speak with my daughter. Have you seen her?"
Severus hadn't thought it possible, but the boy paled even more. "No sir. I mean, yes sir. I mean – "
Severus cut him off with an impatient waive of his hand. "Well, Weasley, which is it?"
"Yes, sir. After dinner, in the library. She was talking to Harry and Hermione."
Truth, yes, but not the whole of it. Severus narrowed his eyes. "And just where might she be right now?"
Weasley shrugged, "I don't know, sir."
Severus growled a little under his breath and turned on his heel, heading for his quarters. Useless, ignorant fools, the lot of them, he thought, directing his vitriol to all Gryffindors, but to the members of the Potter-clique in particular.
Several hours later, Snape had yet to sleep. Eileen wasn't in the castle, nor was that blasted Potter. Severus, personally, was certain that the two had hared off to London – no doubt Potter's idea. He's from that area. When they get back… But Severus wasn't sure what he'd do to them when they returned. He doubted that Dumbledore would be happy with him if he decided to mince Potter down to several jars' worth of highly-marketable potions' ingredients. He further didn't know how to punish Eileen for this… making him worry. He was sure that detentions, though effective on normal, scared, easily-intimidated teenagers, wouldn't have quite the same effect on his daughter.
To pass the time, and to try to quiet the inner voice that kept whispering of Death Eaters and traffic accidents, Severus poured himself a glass of gin.
After their meal, Alejandro took the two of them to his apartment, nimbly navigating two subway trains and three busses. Harry realized two things during the hour it took to get to Alejandro's seedy little flat; the first was that Los Angeles was much bigger than he'd originally thought, even larger than London, and the second was that Ike and Alejandro were right. Even the muggles all seemed to have some sort of mental problems. On the first subway train, there had been an old man talking to an empty seat, arguing with it, and losing.
Alejandro's apartment was on the fourth floor of what had once been a warehouse or factory of some sort, and though the general atmosphere of the building was one of people on the downside of their lives, Alejandro's personal living space was somehow separated from the desperate air of the rest of the flats. The apartment wasn't all that large, only a single bedroom, bath, and a combined kitchen/living area, but it was surprisingly clean. It was cluttered, true, with all sorts of magical and mundane objects – the inevitable effluvia of a life lived in both worlds – but there wasn't so much as a single empty pizza box or discarded soda can. Harry had to smile to himself when he realized that this odd, by muggle or wizarding standards, teen was cleaner in his habits than Dudley. Alejandro interrupted Harry's thoughts on the apartment. "You're welcome to bed down here for a while. I've got some shit to do before the party."
"Hasta luego, Alejandro," Ike said, ducking through the door to the bedroom.
"Sí, mia amiga," Alejandro replied. "Looks like you're stuck with the couch. Don't worry 'bout it none, though. Tiny's slept on it often enough; Kris, too, for that matter. Hell, Kaitlyn dubbed it the 'narcoleptic sofa' the last time she was over. Bathroom's through there, help yourself to anything in the fridge. Be back in a couple of hours." Alejandro began to leave, then paused at the door. "Though I've got a couple of wards on the apartment, it'd be a good idea to make sure the door's locked when I leave. Can't be too careful."
"Constant vigilance," Harry replied with a little grin.
Alejandro nodded, "Fuck yeah. Hasta."
Harry stared at the door for a moment after Alejandro left. He counted three dead-bolts, two chains, the lock in the doorknob, and two bars that couldn't be unlocked from the outside which could be snapped into position across the upper and lower edges of the door. I have to wonder if this is Moody-level paranoia or simply the way things are here. He shook his head a little and locked the dead-bolts before stretching out on the sofa for a nap.
When Harry was awakened a couple of hours later, it took him several moments to realize where he was and why he was there. Shaking the last of the sleep from his eyes, he sat up. He could hear some low muttering coming from the bedroom.
"Honestly, it really is him, Alejandro. Can you hand me that shirt?"
"Ike, I don't doubt you – I learned better the last time. I'm just… mierda. No sé… It's just, he's un figura político más importantes, even if he doesn't realize it."
"I said it when I intro'd you two, Alejandro. He ain't la migra. You've got nothing to worry about."
Alejandro snorted derisively. "Nothing to worry about? Are you loco? The kid's been fucking targeted by that insurrectionist the British government's been battling longer than the US has been fucking with Saddam Hussein! I'd call that something to fucking worry about!"
"Lower your goddamn voice, he's still asleep. Look, Alejandro. Tengo entendido your point, really, I do, but –"
"But what? You brought a fucking target into my home! I like the kid, sure I do, and I feel for him, but I can't afford a fucking international incident!"
Harry felt he'd heard quite enough and angrily got to his feet. He opened the door to the bedroom, interrupting Ike's reply. "I assume you're worried about Voldemort?"
Alejandro's dusky complexion reddened slightly, "Fucking shoddy construction…"
Harry ignored the comment. "I am right, though, aren't I?" Alejandro nodded. "Good." Ike blinked in surprise. "You should be worried about the fucker. Everyone in the whole of the wizarding world should be worried about him; he isn't just a threat to Britain. Unfortunately, I've had some severe trouble getting the wizarding population of Britain to listen – the US doesn't hold a monopoly on incompetent governments. Fucking Fudge and his army of sycophants have done their level best to discredit me, to paint my reports of Voldemort's return as the delusional meanderings of a deranged attention-seeker. They're ignoring the problem.
"Now, I don't know what the US position is on Voldemort, but consider this for a moment; do you think that the Dark Tosser is going to be satisfied with merely holding Great Britain? Once he's taken over there – which he will, unless I can get the bastard first – do you honestly believe he'll be content with controlling a single country? Let me answer for you. No. He won't be satisfied. He'll set his sights on bigger and bigger fish, until the whole of the world bows before him."
Alejandro snorted, "Right. Tú es muy loco, mi amigo. There isn't a single entity that powerful in either the mundane or magical worlds. I may not like a lot of things about this country, but we do have the single strongest military presence in the world."
Harry's eyes narrowed, "Ah, but there is a little bit you don't know about the situation, Alejandro. I may be targeted by Voldemort, but he's also got a target on him, put there by me. I fucking want my life back, and to do that, Voldemort must die."
Ike quirked an eyebrow, "What's that got to do with anything?" Harry's eyes lost a little of their focus and he stared up at the ceiling, debating inwardly for nearly a full minute. "Harry?"
"As much or as little as you deal in magic, as any witch or wizard deals in magic, I find it surprising how often you fail to factor magic into your thoughts," Harry replied, still looking up at the ceiling.
"¿Qué? What the fuck are you talking about?" Alejandro asked. He was a little taken aback by the fact that the Harry standing in the doorway, looking slightly unhinged and feral, was the same kid that had jogged beside him talking quidditch earlier in the day.
Harry lowered his gaze back to Ike and Alejandro. He was unconsciously twirling his wand in his hand. With his left, he brushed his fringe aside and lightly traced the trademark scar. "We're irrevocably linked, Voldemort and I… In more ways than one." His hand lightly brushed over the inside of his right elbow. "I don't know why any more than I know why Hermione and Ron can't seem to get their act together and realize that they're perfect for each other, but that is the way it is."
"Harry?" Ike was as confused as ever. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The corners of Harry's mouth pulled in, though it was far from a smile. "Magic, of course. I'm talking about magic."
"You're confusing the hell out of us, Harry," Alejandro said.
"Shall I clarify?" Harry asked, and nearly laughed at the comically emphasized nodding coming from his two companions. "For reasons that have never been explained and that I've stopped caring about, I am the only one who can kill Voldemort. Conversely, he is the only one who can kill me. Do you understand now?"
"Madre del Dios…" Alejandro whispered. Ike merely looked a little ill.
While finishing up getting ready for a party she no longer felt like attending, Ike's mind kept wandering back to the difference she'd seen in the lighthearted, easy-going Harry she knew from Hogwarts and the Harry who had spoken so eloquently and passionately about Voldemort. There had been a fire in his eyes that had spooked her; it promised death to the self-styled dark lord… Ike wouldn't be surprised if, in Harry's enthusiasm, some of the people in the British government who had been giving him difficulty 'accidentally' got caught in the crossfire.
She put the finishing touches on her hair and stepped out of the bedroom. Alejandro was dressed in his usual vampire costume, Ike thought the Mexican looked rather ridiculous – vampires didn't have healthy copper skin.
"Really, I'm fine, Alejandro. Thanks for the offer, though. I just don't do costumes," Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking the last of his Sprite from lunch.
"That's okay, Harry," Ike said, stepping into the room. "You can go as yourself. I did that last year."
Alejandro grinned and raced to the closet door beside the door to the apartment. "Damnit, I know the fucking thing's here somewhere…"
Ignoring Alejandro's rummaging, Ike twirled on the spot. "Whacha think?"
"Same thing I said back at Hogwarts, Ike. It's exceedingly bright and cheerful," Harry replied. Ike was wearing a cheerleader's costume in tones of sky blue and white. She'd charmed her hair to be bleach-blonde with dark roots and had taken it out of its customary cornrows before pulling it into a high ponytail on her head. She was also carrying matching pom-poms.
Ike laughed, "And like I said, if you can't be what you're not at Halloween, when can you?"
"Ah-ha! Knew the damn thing was here somewhere…" Alejandro shouted from the closet. He emerged carrying a tattered magazine entitled 'Broomstick Monthly.' The cover sported a moving photograph of a dragon. Harry's heart plummeted when he recognized the dragon.
"Stand still," Alejandro said, flipping the magazine open to a place near the middle. Harry could just read the title of the article, Firebolt Leads Triwizard Champion to Success. Before Harry could protest, however, Alejandro had his wand out and had transfigured his baggy jeans and sweatshirt to match the red-and-black shirt and pants he'd worn for the first task. Without checking, he knew that his name and a large number four would be emblazoned across his shoulders.
"Do I have to?" he whined.
Ike smirked, "Of course! Now, the trick to going to a Halloween party as yourself is that you have to go as someone else going as you, so, of course, you'd be a slightly exaggerated representation of yourself."
Harry groaned, but didn't put forth any further arguments. The three of them waited for the taxi that Alejandro had called to arrive. While they were descending the stairs to the parking lot, Harry asked, "If you're so good at what you do, then why the… alternate transportation?"
Alejandro grinned, "Because getting there is half the fun."
Severus didn't sleep at all Friday night. He tweaked the wards slightly, something that any Head-of-House could do, to alert him the moment his daughter and the Potter brat returned. As Friday melted into Saturday, and as the day wore onwards, Snape lost more and more of his anger. So it came to pass that at seven in the evening on Saturday, Severus was sitting with a half-empty bottle of gin and the one photograph he had of both him and Cassiopeia.
He was tracing the profile of his Cassie repeatedly. The picture was a muggle one, and he could remember quite clearly the night it was taken. They had graduated only a couple of weeks before, and to celebrate, Severus had taken Cassie to an expensive restaurant in Manchester. One of the restaurant staff had taken the picture while he and Cassie were dancing. Such a long time ago, Cassie, he thought, yet as close as yesterday. How stupid we both were, so young… He took a swig of gin. What was it you told me? 'Life is what you make it, Severus. Let's make ours everything it hasn't been.' Idealistic fools, the both of us. We could have been great together, and we were. Until the proverbial shit hit the fan.
Severus got to his feet, clutching both the bottle and his picture, before stumbling across his sitting room. Damnit, Cassie! What the fuck happened to us? He angrily swept piles of books and scrolls off of a horizontal surface most guests – rare that they were – to his quarters assumed was yet another bookshelf. Another sweeping gesture removed the accumulated debris from a bench just in front of the battered old upright piano. He set the photograph on the stand for sheet music, and sat the bottle on the slightly warped lid. With the cover to the keys pushed out of the way, the piano's age was glaringly apparent, a couple of the keys slumped tiredly in their positions, slightly lower than the rest; still more had missing pieces of the white ivory plating. It was like everything else in the potion master's quarters before Eileen had returned – old, worn, and obviously had once been a handsome and expensive piece, though now it lacked its luster, it was still perfectly serviceable.
Had any observers been present, they would have noticed that the weak firelight from the other end of the room almost didn't reach Severus as he sat, slumped over the keys, his right hand still tracing Cassie's profile in the photograph. The white keys, as well as Severus' hands and what little of his face could be seen though his hair appeared as though they were floating in the darkness. Come back, Cassie, come back and let me play for you again. Let's forget all about the war and Lucius and the Dark Lord and my father, just come back and let me play for you again… He straightened up and closed his eyes. If he concentrated, he could just feel Cassie's presence again, like he had that night early in their seventh year when she'd come across him unawares while playing in an abandoned classroom. He hadn't been playing for her, not then. He hadn't even been playing for himself, at least, not really. He'd been practicing at his father's insistence, on the piano his mother had located and charmed for his use. This piano, as a matter of fact. When active, the charms transfigured the piano into a quill for easy transport and storage.
Almost without meaning to, Severus' hands found the keys and began playing the same piece he'd committed to memory for his father. The same piece that Cassiopeia had accidentally walked in on. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.
Though he'd resented his father – outright loathed the man, to be more precise – Severus couldn't help but be thankful for the man's muggle insistence that his son know an instrument. It was how he first met his Cassie, and how Severus hated that his father was responsible for what little happiness he'd found in the wizarding world. That hatred went hand-in-hand with the hatred he held for James Potter and Sirius Black.
Severus had always been smaller than the other children his age, and had been home-schooled. Every time he ventured to the play-park, he'd had to live with taunts and teasing about his parents. His family didn't have much money, but neither did anyone else in Spinner's End. Factory workers and their families, as a rule, tended not to make much money. It wasn't their financial situation that the other children teased him about, though, it was the fact that his father spent more time in the local pub than at home that spawned most of the taunts. That and the fact that the other families in Spinner's End thought his mother was deranged.
When Severus learned of Hogwarts, it was as though his life suddenly had taken a dramatic lurch for the better, until he arrived there and was unlucky enough to be sorted into Slytherin. He hadn't understood until sometime in his third year why it had been that his mother had abandoned her magical heritage for the muggle world, but as the pranks from the Marauders escalated in their violence, he understood. Magic, though wonderful and miraculous, couldn't solve everything, particularly when everyone else around you also had magic.
Severus' resentment of his father grew every time he was home throughout the course of his Hogwarts career, finally reaching the level of blinding hatred three days before the end of his seventh year. That was when he'd received word that his mother had been killed. Severus hadn't needed to hear the details from Albus, he knew it was his father's fault. How many times during his life had Severus hidden himself from his father's wrath? Far too many to count.
In his grief, he was relatively easy prey for the Death Eaters… For the Dark Lord to recruit him, promising Severus his chance at revenge on his muggle father, for the chance to finally upstage the Marauders… for the chance for Severus to finally become someone that no one would laugh at any more.
Severus had, as the Dark Lord had promised, his chance to revenge himself and his mother upon his father. It was his first act as a newly-marked Death Eater. The glittery, macabre Morsmordre hung in the air above his childhood home as Severus emerged from the building, all flowing black robes and a mask white as death. Severus had felt powerful and in control of his life for the first time in his life. He hadn't told Cassie about joining forces with the Dark Lord; he'd known, even then, that she wouldn't approve. During the two years following the death of his father, Severus attained his Potions Mastery and attempted to build a life with Cassiopeia. His efforts were all for naught, though.
Severus still wasn't sure how she had discovered his association with the Death Eaters, but she had. Severus recalled that she'd been around six months pregnant with Eileen at the time. At least, I finally figured out why she refused to marry me… Their relationship rapidly disintegrated, as fighting became the primary occupation of their time together. It had all come to a head one aptly dreary afternoon. In the middle of a particularly loud shouting match, Cassie had said something to the effect that she would have expected better from a Death Eater. It had been the first – and last – time she had come out and said that she knew what he was. Severus' temper had never been easily controlled, and before he knew what he'd done, Cassie was holding her cheek with a hand, her skin pale, and Severus could see the fear in her eyes that he had so often witnessed in his mother's. She had left that night.
The next day, Severus had been trying to drown his anger at himself, at Cassie, and at the Dark Lord for the latest dark development in his life. He'd been sitting on a stool in a shadowy corner of the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade when he'd noticed Albus Dumbledore enter and exchange a few quiet words with the bartender before going upstairs. 'Life is what you make it, Severus,' echoed in his head alongside 'I would have expected better from you, you Death Eater!' At the time, Severus hadn't been sure why, exactly, he had followed the headmaster up those rickety stairs, just like he hadn't been sure which of Cassie's statements he was heeding. He arrived just outside the only door within the attic just in time to hear the beginning of the prophesy about the Potter child.
As Severus reached the end of the piece of music, he transitioned to playing Fur Elise. Let me play for you like I used to, Cassie. His thoughts drifted over the confusing weeks that followed both Cassie's abrupt departure and his unwanted knowledge of the prophesy. He'd gone to Dumbledore as a last resort, hoping against hope that the canny old wizard would be able to, if not solve his problems, then at least point him in the right direction. Instead, he'd began training with the old man; he had gone looking for a way out, for a way back to his Cassie, and had ended up deeper into a bad situation. He'd tried to contact Cassie, but she had ignored him.
Eventually, the Dark Lord was temporarily vanquished; and by Potter-spawn, at that. Just one more reason to loathe that family; everything always worked out for them. James became a martyr that has his own place in the history books, and his son became the Boy-Who-Lived. When he finished playing Fur Elise, Severus let his hands find the keys and notes on their own. Come back, Cassie. Let me explain. Please.
As much as Harry detested his fame, he rapidly came to understand that the people – at least, he was pretty sure most of the party-goers were people – Ike knew just didn't care that he was famous. A cheerful girl in a muggle's idea of a witch costume had commandeered most of his evening, but not because he was Harry Potter. She was a dragon-nut and wanted every last detail Harry had about his encounters with both the Triwizard task and Norbert. Harry resolved to introduce her to Hagrid if the opportunity ever surfaced. Harry was pretty sure she'd said her name was Cherry.
The rest of the party was surprisingly relaxing and… well, fun. Harry never noticed Ike circulating through the crowds with a cunning gleam in her eyes.
Sunday night came all too soon for Harry. He and Ike had spent the day with her friends, being shown around L.A. They'd spent several hours in a video arcade, and Harry discovered his seeker-talents did have an application in the muggle world; he managed to secure the national high-score for Whack-a-Mole.
Alas, as all good things, Harry's mini-vacation came to an end. He, Ike, and Alejandro were standing in the same skate-park where he and Ike had arrived on Friday. "Hasta, Ike. Dos, tres semanas, at the most. Prometo."
"Bien, Alejandro. Muchas gracias, mi amigo."
"De nada, pero tu debes mí."
Ike rolled her eyes, "I know, I know. Hasta luego."
"Hasta luego, Harry," Alejandro nodded to Harry, and before he could reply, the familiar sensation of a hook behind his bellybutton was tugging him through space-time to Hogwarts.
As it was seven o'clock Monday morning, Harry and Ike hurried through the quiet corridors towards Gryffindor tower. They almost made it, too. They had just skidded to a halt in front of the portrait when a voice neither of them were at all looking forward to hearing sounded from just behind them, "I believe. You should. Explain yourselves."
Turning slowly around, they saw Professor Snape standing less than three feet away.
"Come now, Severus, the hallway isn't precisely an appropriate location for such talks," the likewise unwanted voice of the headmaster came from the direction Harry and Ike had just run from. "Shall we take this to my office?"
The two teenagers meekly followed the storm-cloud of repressed fury currently masquerading as the potions master and the ever-cheerful form of the headmaster through the school. Once in the office, Harry and Ike spent a scant five minutes explaining where they'd gone and why. Once they'd finished, Snape lectured them for nearly a half an hour on 'brainless Gryffindor stunts,' 'harebrained schemes,' and 'leaving school grounds without permission.'
Finally, Ike seemed to be able to stand no more. She jumped to her feet, "That's enough, you ¡murciélago presumido! I ain't gonna sit an' listen to this shit anymore! So fucking what if Harry and me went to L.A. for the weekend? We weren't in any fucking danger! Hell, if that was the issue, then we were probably a helluva lot safer there than we are here! After all, if that moron who's after Harry thinks we're here, he wasn't gonna be looking in California, now was he?" Ike echoed Ron's comment of the previous Friday.
Harry groaned and sank a little lower in his chair, his hands covering his face. "Ike…?"
Ike whirled around and faced Harry, "Maybe you ought to just run to class, Harry. I'll deal with this. It was my idea to begin with, and my grades can't possibly suffer more by me missing a class." Ike returned her attention to her father. Harry could see the headmaster nod a little out of the corner of his eye before he fled the office. Once Harry had gone, Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Ike interrupted him before so much as a single syllable could escape. "I've said it before, Dad," the word was spat with as much venom as Ike was capable of producing, "your problems with me are just that, with me! I know we live in a fucking school, for christsakes, but quit fucking trying to make any family issues a school problem! If you could remove your head from your ass long enough to figure out the difference between a parent and a teacher, we just might be able to get along! About me going off to L.A… Well, I ain't gonna apologize for going, but I will say that I didn't ask simply because I knew you wouldn't let me go."
When Ike had seemingly run out of steam, Severus met his daughter's eyes. "We will talk about this later, Eileen." He did have a class to teach, and as it was, the miscreants were probably already tearing apart his classroom.
Once Ike and the headmaster were alone, Albus risked a little laugh. Ike turned around, startled for a moment by the sound. She had forgotten he was there. "Sir?"
"I believe you made your point to Severus quite clear, Ike," Albus chuckled. "Help yourself to the candy dish," he gestured to a cut-glass dish that held numerous hard candies in cellophane wrappings. "'Conceited bat?'"
Ike shrugged and unwrapped a peppermint. "I didn't know what else to call him at the time."
"A somewhat accurate description, though purely superficial."
"I know that. I know he's got a lot more going on in that skull of his than most of us know, but he needs to realize that I really can take care of myself. The sooner he realizes that, the sooner we can figure out where we stand in this whole family-thing."
"Good luck to the both of you, then," Albus replied. "Why do I get the impression you've something… bigger on your mind than simply your relationship with Severus?"
"Christ, isn't that big enough?" Ike asked, somewhat ironically.
"Perhaps so, but even still…"
Ike smirked a little. "Well… There is something…"
Three days after her little discussion with the headmaster regarding a certain green-eyed Gryffindor with the fate of the world on his shoulders, Ike was ransacking her bedroom in the Snape quarters, looking for something. Her punishment had been being confined to her room when not in class. Essentially, Snape had grounded her. She was still a little puzzled by what he'd said, though. 'Phenomenally bad taste in men…' what the fuck was that about? Ike paused in her search and began laughing. Hard. Fucking hell! He thinks we're dating
The next day, during lunch, Ike cornered Harry. "Hey, Harry. Want to annoy Snape?"
"Come again?"
Ike smirked, "I said do you want to annoy Snape?"
Harry blinked, "Erm… sure?"
"Date me."
Harry almost choked on his tongue. "Uh… Ike? I like you, you know that, but it's just a friend-thing and –"
Ike chuckled and interrupted, "I know that! Hell, I think of you like the brother Mom said would ruin her figure! Besides, there's someone else I've my eye on."
"Then why –"
"Because Snape doesn't know that, now does he?"
Ike was blessed with a mischievous smirk from Harry. "That he doesn't."
Throughout the following week and a half, Ike and Harry acted the perfect couple in public. They'd eventually included the rest of the upper Gryffindors in on the prank, so no matter what class Snape was teaching, he was plagued by gossip. 'I heard that they like using that broom cupboard on the sixth floor,' one fifth-year had whispered during a practical lesson. It had caused Severus to snap the tip off his quill.
Severus hid his irritation at the Potter brat by being even more snarky and short-tempered in class. His scathing remarks actually reduced the whole of a second-year class to tears.
Ike, sure she knew the cause of the problem, approached some of the upperclassmen who had siblings in the tormented second year class. Six of them followed her through the dark hallways late Sunday night.
When Severus got up Monday morning, he thought momentarily that he'd died and gone to hell. His sitting room was a mess of bright yellow cushions, glittery teal pillows, and neon pink streamers. It almost looked as though Albus-on-a-sugar-high had decided to decorate for a party. All of his books and scrolls were shrunken and stacked neatly in a bell jar on the mantle. There was a note on the music-stand of his piano.
Professor,
Though you may know us, and can probably guess who led us to your rooms, we have gone through the trouble of erasing any sign of who we are. You won't find out who did this, so don't waste your time trying.
We don't take kindly to having our friends and family reduced to tears just because you can't control your own family. Every time one of us or ours leaves your class feeling horrid because of you, you can rest assured that there will be retaliation.
It won't always be your quarters or office, either. You teach in a school, professor, and we outnumber you. It may take some planning and effort, but retaliation will be had.
You'd be surprised to know what all four Houses are capable of when we cooperate.
Signed,
The Watchers
P.S. You know, this piano wouldn't be half-bad if it was subjected to a reparo or two.
Severus crumpled the letter in his hand and twitched a little at the thought that the miscreants had been in his private space. He didn't know what else to do; he knew that if he went to Albus, the infernal man would simply sit there twinkling. He hunted down Minerva.
Shoving the note under the deputy headmistress' nose, Snape bluntly asked, "What the hell did I do to deserve this?"
Minerva uncrumpled the note and quickly read it. At a questioning look to Snape, Severus described the state of his sitting room. Minerva had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing in the professor's face. "She's undoubtably doing this for attention, Severus," Minerva said. "If you ignore it, it should go away."
"Bloody lot of good coming to you was!" Snape snatched the note and stormed back to the dungeons.
Harry had been on his way to ask McGonagall a question regarding his transfiguration homework when he'd overheard the brief exchange between the two professors. Knowing what Snape was on about, having been informed by Ike as to the covert group of fourth-through-seventh years from all the houses that would be watching the professor. Harry turned on his heel and hurried to breakfast.
Once in the Great Hall, he took his newly appointed seat next to Ike and relayed what McGonagall had said.
Ike grinned evilly. "Just doing this for attention? I think not. And she told him to ignore it, did she?" Harry nodded. If it were possible, Ike's grin became even more evil. "Well… We'll just have to see about that, now won't we?"
A/N2: Yes, Ike is bi. If this offends anyone, I'm sorry, but she is who she is. And, as y'all may have guessed, there will definitely be a sequel!
Lemme know what ya think, and if you have anything in particular you'd like to see happen. I can't guarantee any of your ideas will be included in the next Ike story, but I'll give each idea due consideration and credit if it makes it into the next installment.