Beta'd by the incomparable kitsunerei88 and the marvelous SM3LLY. Without them Harry would be flat, the beginning nonsensical, Remus spouting poetry, and half the commas missing under suspicious circumstances. Thank you so much! Any remaining errors are my own.
Title from Emily Dickenson
Warning at end of fic
The Phoenix's dining area was deserted when Harry arrived, so she grabbed an apple from the kitchens and wandered out to the courtyard. Marek had been making noises about challenging Leo for almost a week now, but she had hoped he'd hold off until His Idiocy fully recovered.
Though, knowing them both, Leo had likely egged him into it. If either of them needed healing she had half a mind to let them suffer a bit first. Healer Hurst may be bound by healing oaths, but Harry certainly wasn't.
Unless the oaths Archie made as Harry were binding for her? Harry took a bite of her apple and considered the ramifications. Intent mattered in magic, so it was unlikely she would suffer a magical penalty, but were there any legal penalties for being a technical oath-breaker?
On the one hand, such a law could imply that wizards didn't completely trust magic to conform to the set rituals. Unbreakable bonds, life debts, and magical oaths were part of the backbone of pureblood society. They maintained delicate truces between feuding families, kept the ministry honest (if not competent) in spite of minimal oversight, and ensured debts would be honored in times when wizards' relationship with the goblins was much more fraught. Alleging that magic would not strike down an oath breaker was nearly blasphemous today, she couldn't imagine some long ago Wizengamot debating the issue, let alone codifying it into law.
On the other hand, if anyone caught her breaking a magical oath 'she' had sworn with no penalty, she would likely be considered an abomination. Perhaps she could get away with it once if she swore under Veritaserum that she had never made the oath, but even if the increased scrutiny didn't reveal her secret, Harry Potter would likely be ostracized from British wizarding society and probably expelled from AIM unless Archie did some very fast talking or they moved to their fall-back plan.
Of course, very few people knew her as Harry Potter here. Healer Hurst already knew she didn't attend AIM, and she doubted Leo or Krait would know when a healer in training would begin taking their oaths. Harry took another bite of her apple. In practice, she could probably get away with a little suffering in the name of teaching the more foolhardy members of the Rogue common sense.
She made a mental note to have Rigel consult Percy with a theoretical problem just in case and set her musings aside. Something was strange here.
A sizable crowd had gathered around the makeshift stage in the center of the courtyard. That was normal. She remembered how everyone except the cooks had clustered around Marek and Leo the last time they fought, catcalling and cheering in turn. The cooks weren't at their stations now, however, and everyone was eerily silent.
Harry adjusted her wand sheath for better access. Silence at a fight with this many spectators was worrying. Had someone been wounded already?
No, she could still hear shuffling feet and clashing blades. Even most hotheaded members of the Rogue had enough sense to stop in the case of a serious injury. She hoped.
She slipped through the crowd, weaving her way around arms and elbows, Margo's fiery hair on the other side of the dais a beacon of sorts. If this ended in another stabbing, she would personally see to it that both Leo and Marek would be apologizing to the girl.
Finally, she was close enough to see more of the combatants than brief glimpses of a hand or boot. It wasn't Marek who had challenged Leo for kingship.
Scar's face was hidden by the same mask he had favored in the tournament, every inch of skin covered. He should have looked ridiculous in the sunny courtyard. Instead he looked like a nightmare—unreal and unwelcome
Harry fingered her wand. It was galling to see him here in the open. Just because they had never been able to prove it didn't mean that she or Marek had any doubts about who was behind the ephedra in Leo's drink. It was highly unlikely that Scar had any intention of fighting a fair match and this time Harry had not been around to disrupt his schemes.
Leo's teeth were bared in a grin, though, and his eyes were keen when they met her own. A wink and he was gone, brandishing his knife and dodging under Scar's wand to kick him just under the kneecap. A flick of the wrist sent Scar staggering away, a line of blood blooming against black leather.
The crowd roared and Harry felt her fear drain away. Leo had beaten Scar before, and now he was not fighting off the aftereffects of a hasty sobering potion.
Leo darted in again, blades glinting as they crashed together. Scar threw him off with a glancing blow down Leo's chest, but the shield he conjured to stop Leo's stunner wavered and shattered completely when hit.
Spells were flicking back and forth, scorching the sand and stage boards. Leo's jet of red light and Scar's sickly orange one smashed together and veered off into the illusion of sky.
Leo had the clear advantage now, lithe and quick, while Scar was hindered by his bad leg and limited by knowledge or inclination to powerful curses. Powerful, yet sluggish, curses that never had a chance of making contact.
The hair on Harry's arms stood on end as a black disembowelment hex corkscrewed by. Even with an enhancer like Pepper Up, Scar's magical reserves should be running low by now, but his bearing was confident, and Harry fancied she could even detect a bit of smile playing about his lips.
In the middle of his next curse, Scar twisted his wand at the last instant, leaving himself open as a jet of purple light hissed angrily towards the watching crowd—towards Margo, frozen in place with no where to run.
Harry dropped the apple and snatched up her wand. Even if her magic acted of its own volition, there simply wasn't time for a shield to form before the spell made contact, but she could try to keep the girl stable until Healer Hurst could arrive. Her gut twisted with fear and remorse. If she hadn't been so worried about concealing her identity maybe she would have thought to ring the stage in protection potion as soon as it was obvious this wasn't a friendly bout. If Margo ended up-
Leo leapt in front of the curse, eyes resolved and mouth tight, more serious than she had ever seen him before. A golden shield shimmered into place an instant before the purple light hit his chest. With a cymbal-like crash, both curse and shield vanished completely.
Leo's expression didn't change as Scar took advantage of his over-extended position, slicing through the tendons on his wrist before moving to claim victory with the knife paused at Leo's throat. Harry sucked in a sharp breath. Leo had known. Known that his impossible leap in front of a spell no where near him would forfeit the match. Known that it would forfeit his crown.
Blood spurted, fountaining up over the stage, glistening in the artificial sunlight. Scar's knife hadn't paused. It cut through the external jugular, nicked the trachea, and then, as Scar reached down to grab Leo under his right shoulder, the knife swept around then up and into Leo's chest with an awful squelch.
"LEO!" Harry knew she would never forget that moment: Margo now flecked in blood, the bright artificial sun of the court yard, and Leo's last gurgling breath.
She was on her knees next to him before he had fully hit the ground, blanketing them both with a fortis shield before splitting her attention to patch the heart together while also forcing the blood to continue circulating, keeping the brain oxygenated.
Marek was shouting something indistinct behind her, bystanders holding him back. Rispah snapping orders to prevent a rout. Scar seemed to have just walked away. Nothing outside her bubble mattered.
The left ventricle was responding well to her healing magic, the major arteries were reconnected, and she was just about to try apparating a blood replenisher into the stomach when a stray thought penetrated her focus: where was Leo's magic?
She sent a tendril of power towards his stomach just to feel his magic against her own, but there was no sign of his magical core. She drew more of her magic into larger and larger spirals that she sent ranging over his abdomen, seeking even a hint of his playful magic. Even when her magic passed through his torso—something that should have triggered a reflexive response—Leo's magic was strangely comatose.
Harry sat back on her heels and stared at Leo's body unseeing. Wizards typically only lose their magic on death. Could Scar's dagger be coated with some kind of suppressant? Leo had been nicked earlier in the fight, but he still summoned the shield afterwards. Perhaps there was some sort of time delay? She hadn't recognized the golden shield, maybe it was powerful enough to drain his core completely?
Neither her nor Archie's curriculum had really covered mind healing, but she could still probably find the mental manifestation of his core in his mind. Just like diving through cores in first year, but in reverse. She could do this.
Harry pressed her hand against the side of Leo's face. The oldest occulamancy books had suggested that touch could form a stronger connection than eye contact especially in situations where the participant was not completely aware. Harry shuddered—those books had been from the Black family library and dealt heavily in torture.
She firmed her resolve and made a quick check of the area, vaguely remembering Rispah forcing everyone out then rapping on the bubble and yelling something at her. Harry frowned when she found the courtyard was now completely empty. Once Leo was stable, she could track Rispah down and apologize. Everything would be alright once she found his magic.
Harry shored up the healing spells and leaned close to whisper, "legilimens".
She was pushing against a storm. Gale force winds whipped her avatar's hair out behind her, forcing her back towards the mental border. Harry dug in her toes and pressed on.
Eventually the wind died down and Harry opened her eyes to watch the gray mists swirl away and be replaced by… nothing. A wall of unbroken darkness. That was eerie. Effective, but definitely unsettling. She would persuade Leo to teach it to her later—she hadn't realized he was so apt at mental magic.
She summoned a ball of magic to light her way. It was much more difficult here than in Archie's mind or Ginny's or any of the other kids' in first year. Probably just a side effect of coming through the usual way instead of by magical core.
Thinking of which—where was his core? Her light was bouncing off dead tree trunks, barren earth underfoot, but nothing magical. There was a dried up river bed to her left, and she scrambled down to run along the smooth bottom. She didn't have much time until the healing spells needed to be renewed.
Her riverbed split on an island, home to towering tree with a single clinging leaf. Something alive in this desolate landscape had to be important. Even with her magical light, however, the leaf was too far away and too shadowed for her eyes to distinguish it. Too far away for her eyes, but as the Jewel kept reminding her, mental avatars were very malleable with enough will and magic.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, pain stabbing into her head as she built up sclerotic rings, multiplied rods, and inched the tapetum lucidum slowly into existence. The process was agonizing and glacially slow—her magic felt like it was trickling in from a long way away—but she persevered. Hogwart's tawny owls were common visitors to the medical wing and she had memorized their anatomy under Madam Pomfrey's careful tutelage.
She didn't have the skill to attempt a full transformation, and with the way her magic was behaving she likely couldn't have managed one anyway, but right now she just needed to see. Leo's magic had to be around here somewhere.
When she finally blinked her third eyelid open, the barren forest stood out in sharp relief, more menacing now that she could see through the shadows to pick out rank after rank of massed trunks, everything alien in shades of gray.
She could recognize the leaf now though. An alder, its bark and leaves common in survivalist potions for their purifying and nutrient rich properties. It was oddly appropriate that the first sign of life was something that had kept her alive so many months ago.
Harry's stomach dropped as the leaf lost its fight against gravity. She darted forward to catch it, but tripped over a loose rock when she tried to glance down at her feet and couldn't. Owl eyes were great for long distance night vision, but she likely wouldn't be taking her own eyes' capacity for independent movement for granted in the near future.
She stood up, knowing she had lost her chance even if she wasn't quite sure what that chance entailed, but the leaf seemed to seek her out, tumbling gently down to land in her cupped hands.
It was a memory. One of any number of days sparring under the bright sun of the Phoenix courtyard. Her cheeks were flushed, hair sticking up at all angles, and Leo was grinning as they danced around each other, taunting and laughing and free. Was this what people saw when they watched them?
As she peered closer however, the image faded, black spiderweb cracks appearing and growing to swallow the memory completely. The leaf in her hands crumbled to dust and blew away as the wind picked up.
The wind grew beyond what she remembered at the border, beyond anything she had ever felt racing Archie on her Firebolt. A small stone whipped into her cheek and she brought up her arm to protect her face as everything plunged into darkness. Her small ball of magical flame had somehow blown out.
Harry dropped to the ground, flattening herself against the side of the river bank. She clung to anything within reach, grasping at roots and larger rocks, ignoring the debris bouncing off her back.
The wind intensified and she hooked an ankle around another root, but a rock hit her hand and she instinctively let go, the wind forcing itself under her body now that she only had three points of contact. Then a sudden gust finally tore her away and tumbled her back along the riverbed.
Above even the roaring in her ears she could make out the terrible crack of the tree falling as she was expelled from Leo's mind. What had once been Leo's mind.
In the bright light of the courtyard she unwove the magic holding the wounds together and keeping the heart pumping. It wasn't necessary. Nothing was necessary. Leo was dead.
She stayed there for awhile staring blankly at a drying rivulet of blood, watching as it slowed, dulled, darkened, started to flake, and finally vanished. She snapped out of her daze. That didn't usually happen.
Harry looked up, fighting against some type of strange hope, to see Leo now just looked asleep. She reached out, letting her fingertips just brush over his cheek.
He was cold.
Solom watched from the doorway as the lass reached out, then flinched back. He couldn't see her face from here, but he didn't see a need to.
He ignored the stagnant feeling of too much magic in the air as he moved forward. The lad looked peaceful now, he supposed. Made a body feel better about bringing Healer Hurst in, letting the little ones say goodbye. It was a shame. Leo had been a good king and a good man. Too good and too young, mayhap, to be Rogue, but he had had a way of making a body hope.
"Your uncle's on his way, lass. Just sit tight here for a bit. People aren't thinking too clearly right now, and me'n Rispah need to talk some sense into 'em a'fore something drastic happens."
She didn't respond, so he tugged the blanket he had been carrying around her shoulders and was satisfied when she curled her fingers around the edges. He briefly debated flooing her down to the dorms where Aled had gathered the Rogue's children, but the courtyard was safe enough for now and she didn't seem inclined to wander.
The alleys were about to turn again. He had weathered the storms countless times, but in four years he had gotten complacent, allowed himself to hope. The lad was growing into his role. The coffers were richer, children plumper, folk less fearful.
There were plans, of course. Resources hidden away in Widow Absem's cellar for the children and the clinic. Rispah to pull her ladies away until the new crowd lost their frantic edge of victory. Aled to offer himself as manager for the new regime and mitigate the damage of greed and corruption. Marek to challenge when the time was ripe. Optimistic stopgaps that could fall apart so easily with nothing at the center. The alleys had always needed a king.
Solom smoothed his hand over Harry's blanket covered shoulder, the lass tense and immobile beneath his hand. They would try though. They cared too much not to try.
He bowed his head to the lad and squeezed Harry's shoulder before walking away. He was old, too old, and bone-tired besides, but the gods waited on no man be they innkeeper or king.
Remus watched with concern as Harry paged diligently through one of last year's potions periodicals. Objectively, this was certainly less dangerous than the period where she spent 14 hours a day in front of her cauldron, almost reckless in her choice of substitutions, and he knew it was much better than the period before that where Harry drifted through the house, staring at things without seeing them—he couldn't remember the last time he saw Harry doing nothing—but it was still disturbing.
"Do you want to talk?"
"Few potions recipes use honey because even if you control for the harvest time, the type of bee, and the geometric ratio underlying the shape of the hive, the results are extremely variable. I think, however, if they included the nectar source and maybe the type and ambient magic of the soil, the results would be much more consistent."
She paused for a breath and Remus leaned in to follow her finger "Look at this data—see how honey acting as a relaxing agent follows the pattern of early spring flowers? I'd need to check a map to be completely sure, but in colder and more mountainous regions you see the same effect, but occurring at a much later date."
Remus dredged up an ancient herbology class. "Aren't the flowers themselves different in different regions?"
"Generally yes, but since the early flowers tolerate some snow or heavy rain they're pretty ubiquitous across regions. Also some of the early 'flowers' are actually blooming trees which tend to have a broad range. If I block for rainfall and soil quality…" She trailed into unintelligible muttering, summoning a parchment and quill from another room with a wave of her hand.
Remus forced himself to stay relaxed. That was very precise wandless and nonverbal magic. Lily had that kind of power, but not this causal control. He hadn't thought Harry had either-James had mentioned her 13th birthday was bad, but aside from her facility with the fortis shield (which he had assumed was an affinity for that particular spell), he hadn't seen any signs of extreme power and her magic had settled down quickly before she left for school. He knew Harry liked her privacy—she had been sneaking off most afternoons to learn free dueling of all things—but he hadn't thought she would want to keep so large a part of herself secret.
Then again, no one had told him how the Hurst boy had died. Remus probably knew the most out of all the family, but when he had flooed into a tavern, the place was deserted except for Harry. Harry, who had been as still and silent as the dead body next to her, the epicenter of some powerful magical storm.
Harry was diligently scratching away at her parchment, but Remus fancied he could see a glitter to her eyes, a restraint in her usual potions enthusiasm. He knew about carrying something dangerous inside of you, having it scratch up all of your secret tender places because you couldn't let it out. Because if you did…
It wasn't such an impossible story. A well liked, handsome older boy, a leader and clever with it, but stymied by birth into a life on the sidelines. A frustrated boy taken with a girl who has no interest in that sort of thing, but he's stronger and faster and…
Sirius and James would call it absurd that even uncontrolled powerful magic would act beyond the wishes of its wizard, but he recognized the occasional fear in Lily's eyes as one akin to his own. Some powers you did not want because some wishes, no matter how fleeting, were irreversible.
It was absurd, but if there was the slightest chance he was right, then Harry shouldn't have to deal with it on her own.
"Harry, did Leo ever frighten you?"
She raised her head, surprised. "All the time. He's reckless and pigheaded and stupid and thinks he's invincible and when I couldn't find his magic—," She swallowed. "He was reckless."
He couldn't stop there no matter how much he wanted to. "But were you ever frightened of him?"
A normal wizard might have missed the slight darkening of her eyes just after the blink of surprise, but he saw it. There was a memory there.
"No." They could both tell that wasn't true. Harry was excellent at prevaricating and twisting the truth, but he had caught that minute change in expression. "Why would you ask me that?" Remus forced down his own rising fear. Harry with her analytical way of thinking just might be able to— "You think I killed him."
Honesty might see him through. "I thought if an accident had happened it would help to have someone on your side."
She laughed bitterly. "Rigel gets imprisoned for weeks in a warded chamber, is pulled out half insane a few feet away from a corpse, and no one hints that he had anything to do with his torturer's death. Meanwhile I spend an afternoon in a public area with a friend and you somehow come to the conclusion that I killed him because, why? He had designs on my virtue?"
Remus spared a grateful thought that Archie was talking to someone about his ordeal. Not that it made this situation any easier. "You have a lot of power Harry, and at your age it can be difficult to control it in situations of emotional upheaval. When Sirius, your father and I were just a little older—"
"Situations of emotional upheaval like having one of the few adults who sees me clearly reveal they think I could have murdered my friend?" She cocked her head in a parody of her usual listening pose and gestured sarcastically to the room at large, inviting Remus to examine it for signs of uncontrolled magic.
Remus looked around. Things tended to levitate when Lily was angry, and on the few occasions that she had been truly furious before Harry was born, spontaneous disintegration was not out of the question. There was not even the feeling of magic in the air here though. The vase was safe on the table, James's latest prank still precariously perched over the door, and not even a whisper of wind disturbed the drapes.
Harry was watching his eyes, her own like jade. "I paid dearly for my control, but my magic and I have reached an understanding." She held up her hand, the green rings she had taken to wearing last year were missing, but he refused to guess at what that signified to her in light of this current debacle. "Leo startled me once when I was a kid in a dark alley and he saved me, but even if I was frightened I would never have hurt him." Even with his augmented hearing Remus had to strain to catch her "He would never have hurt me."
She gathered up the journal and notes. Remus hadn't realized how sprawled out and comfortable she had been in his presence until now, but all he could think to say were platitudes. She paused before leaving the room though and Remus let himself hope that she would make things right between them, even if that should be his own responsibility.
"And Remus, for the record, if I murdered someone the best thing you could do would be to get me a fair trial. Some things should be unforgivable."
As she left the room he allowed himself to wonder if her moral system was truly too ridged or if his own had been weakened irreparably by too much care and too many unfortunate decisions.
After all, Peter had been one of them, once.
The unseasonably crisp air and tightly curled leaves seemed appropriate to Harry as James guided her towards the Potions Guild, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, Lily on her other side a buffer of sorts against the too-lively shoppers. Harry likely could have found her way blindfolded, but instead she focused on her feet and let her parents guide her. Her brewing boots were incongruous with the silver mourning robes, but Lily hadn't said anything when she had come downstairs and they were a part of Harry of the Lower Alleys she wasn't willing to relinquish just yet.
The hall where she had introduced shaped imbuing to the world was now filled with small tables. Some had people sitting in them, but the majority of the witches and wizards in attendance were in a long line snaking its way to the front of the room. There was a casket at the head.
As Harry moved up the queue faces swam in an out of focus. Guild members come to show support for the Aldermaster. Healers for Madame Hurst. Was she the only one beside his mother here for Leo himself? Every so often, however, she would catch a glimpse of a familiar face from the Phoenix. Krait had mentioned a wake in the alleys a few days ago, but it seemed a few lower alleys folk were still here. Lower alleys folk who would open their mouths, recognize her parents, and then just touch her on the hand or shoulder before fading away. It felt like ages since Leo had casually ruffled her hair or draped an arm around her shoulders.
Healer Hurst hugged her when she reached the front of the line, murmuring words of kindness and exoneration into her hair. She couldn't keep herself from stiffening and relaxed a bit as Lily interposed herself with something sweet and appropriate. She wondered if Healer Hurst's magic heard her own words for lies.
The Aldermaster's face was etched with grief, but he offered up a small study in the Guildhall that Leo had once used if she needed a place to keep busy. She wondered what he had made of the witches and wizards in threadbare robes, shaking his hand and praising his son's diligence, courage, and sense of responsibility. She wondered what Healer Hurst had told him about how their son had died.
The casket was open and Leo was just as she remembered him in the courtyard: too still and too pale, but looking like that could change in an instant. She kept her hands firmly at her sides.
They found a table and Lily's soothing chatter about the food and the guests and the last time they had been in the hall kept Harry going until the eulogy.
Aldermaster Hurst stood tall and straight behind the podium, so unlike his usual affable self that she wondered if this was where Leo learned his occasional sternness, the pride that kept him upright and smiling through traumatic blood loss.
"I am sorry to welcome you on such a sad occasion. Far too many of us have been forced to say goodbye to a child in recent times, to recast our hopes and wishes for them into prayers to the Black God.
"My son was a good boy, a kind boy, and, dare I say it, a bit of a lazy boy as well." There were chuckles throughout the audience, but Harry was not laughing. "In fact, I remember a day not so long ago when I asked what he would do now that he had his NEWTs and he told me 'Pa, my greatest ambition is to see if Mum made her cherry tart for dessert. My Herbology NEWT tells me "no" since wizarding England's cherries have been decimated by blight in recent years, but Europa's position in the 3rd house suggests a pleasant surprise is coming.'"
The laughter rose and fell again. Harry could feel her hands balling into fists underneath the table, anger coiling in her chest. Leo played the dilettante, but usually only as a distraction. Had his father never seen that?
"Like every indulgent parent, I loved that boy. Always running off into mischief, without a care in the world."
No, Leo had never been stressed or careworn, those letters from 3rd year when the Aurors were constantly raiding the alleys were just a figment of her imagination.
"But isn't that what we all want for our children?"
Forced into a footnote of a successful parent's life, concealing dreams and cares and fears so there would be no disappointment? So nothing would tarnish the family's good name?
The Aldermaster leaned into the podium as if he was about to impart a secret and Harry scraped back her chair, waving off her parents' concerned looks to duck out of the hall. Hopefully they thought she just needed the loo. She desperately needed to be somewhere else before she ended up sabotaging her potions career before it even started.
Caelum Lestrange leaned against a wall outside the hall, sipping wine and watching desultorily as the Potioneers of 1759 elbowed eachother for pride of place in the portrait of the new wing. The door opened and he straightened up, pulling his silver robes closed, but he relaxed again when he recognized the unruly hair.
"Potter, come to cement your position in the guild with an appropriate show of grief? I swear Master Whittaker couldn't decide between a commiserating smile and a stiff upper lip."
"Caelum." She seemed lost in thought, but he decided to take that as a challenge instead of an insult. It wasn't like there was anything else to do until this farce was over.
"Bet you went with tears. You're young enough tears would be expected, first time you've seen a dead body. You do want to seem a bit older though so maybe you just left them welling up, eyes all big and glittery."
No response, but then Potter had always been strangely indifferent towards personal comments. And she probably had started crying, sentimental ninny that she was.
"It is ridiculous how this became a Guild matter. Some no-account son drops dead and all because of who his parents are the hall is covered in silver. The Aldermaster is clearly overreaching his authority. If I were his son, I'd be ashamed."
"Any master can rent the Guild Hall for a day." Potter's tone was mild, but her eyes were hard. It was fascinating.
He stepped closer, leaning down until his breath shifted the curls at her ear. "Then again, the Aldermaster does seem a little too sad to be completely genuine. Want to bet he didn't care that much at all? By all accounts his son was a delinquent. Dying was probably the best thing he ever did."
That was almost a crack in Potter's always perfect composure. Now, to pry it a bit farther. "Really, Potter, what do you think he was ever going to accomplish? A minor family, couldn't even prove himself pureblooded enough for Hogwarts, his father one of the best potions masters in the world, but he doesn't learn or study. Face it Potter, some people are a waste of magic and only care for their own amusement. Very few have our drive or talent."
There was a flash of something in her eyes, but she had it tamped down by the time he finished speaking, her voice light and unconcerned. "Our talent, is it?" She had the temerity to start examining her nails. "Has Master Whittaker decided to apprentice you yet or are you on another 'research expedition'?"
Caelum ignored her feeble attempt to return the conversation back to well-trodden ground. With a little more provocation things had the potential to get interesting.
"Well at least I'm not a drain on society." A sniveling figure through the window inspired him. "Look at that little girl over there selling flowers. No way she'll make even a fraction of her keep crying like that. And likely uneducated to boot—whoever looked after her should be killed. Why in ten years I expect she'll be up against an alley wall, skirts around her waist—"
The left half of his face exploded into pain and he fell back against the wall, the wine glass shattering and staining the hem of his robes a deep red. Potter was staring at the stain, her expression vacant. She had hit him.
"Potter." No response, but tears were spilling over her cheeks.
"Potter." Still nothing. He reached out to hover his hand just over her shoulder. She didn't notice.
"Harry." Her eyes darted from the hem of his robe to the bruise likely starting on his face before she turned and ran.
Giving chase was second nature, but for such a small girl she was fast, dodging through the Diagon Alley crowds like she belonged there. It didn't help that today of all days she had chosen to look like a girl and the shoppers that bothered to notice his pursuit would more often block him than move aside.
Caelum ran deep into the alleys beyond Knockturn before he admitted he had lost her.
Remus only found her because he knew how to look for her. Harry's disillusionment charm was powerful and since she wasn't moving there weren't any distortions to hint at her position. Disillusionment spells, however, didn't conceal scent or sound and the wretched sobbing was awful.
He sat down at the Pendragon statue's feet, a few inches away from where he suspected Harry was curled up. The back of his neck prickled with the wary attention of people around them, but he kept all of his senses focused on Harry, hoping she wouldn't turn away. Slowly, carefully, Remus began to talk.
"I first met Diana at the Gobstones Club. Madame Pince had banned us all from the library for something Sirius did, so I was trying to get some work done in an abandoned classroom when they all trooped in for their meeting."
He could picture her perfectly, her dark eyes and too wide grin somehow more real than the alley around them.
"Even then she was beautiful, laughing even through gobstone juice. She came over to apologize when one of her group's stones got my bag and we talked for a bit before she cleaned it off with some potion I never could have afforded. Open-handed, open-hearted, and so settled in herself."
He fished out his handkerchief and pretended not to notice as finger-shaped blurs plucked it from his hand and a shaking lump curled itself into his chest. The wizards passing by were studiously ignoring them.
"She didn't change much as we grew older, just became kinder and more vivacious. And loyal too—someone insulted one of the Deerborn girls' hats at a gala, and the next thing I knew she and Sirius had transfigured their own into gaudy monstrosities."
Remus could hear the bittersweet smile in his own voice as he wrapped his arms around Harry and began rocking her back and forth. That had been the evening Sirius had officially proposed, kneeling at Diana's feet and dripping lake water onto the host's marble floor while still wearing that ridiculous hat. James had the pictures somewhere.
"I see her still sometimes in the way Sirius tends his snakes and looks after the garden, the way Lily never hesitates over English wizarding fashion, the way Archie wrinkles his nose, or draws attention to himself whenever he thinks people are uncomfortable. In the way he will do anything for someone he considers a friend."
Harry's trembling grew worse and his smile faded away. He hugged her tighter, wishing that Lily was here, or Diana, or that none of this had happened and the boy was still tempting her down paths not constrained by her family or the law. He didn't have James or Sirius's ability to chivvy someone temporarily out of their grief. All he had were words. Words which always seemed to be failing him now when Harry was concerned.
"It will get better." Eventually. And no one who saw Sirius frantic over Archie's bed in the hospital wing could doubt it left a scar.
He ducked down to rest his cheek against her hair, his legs numb from the cold granite. Summer was on its way out. "It will get better."
They stayed like that as the square darkened around them. Eventually Harry squirmed her way free and they began the long trek back to Diagon Alley.
It had found the memory in pieces, imprinted backwards on her mind through trauma and the final spark of the original owner's magic. It had taken time to transcribe and realign the thousands of shards, but it wasn't magically intensive, and the Dominion Jewel begrudged no time spent learning more about its jailer.
It worked carefully in the new mortuary temple of Harriet's mindscape, but carried the delicate leaf into the pyramid's inner chamber for the final viewing. It never hurt to observe the rituals.
The opening was simple enough. Harriet and an older boy were play fighting in a inner courtyard. Obviously the boy's memory—Harriet's eyes never glinted quite that green outside her mindscape, but humans' emotions were prone to distorting their recollections.
Harriet wasn't completely hopeless with the blade, but the boy was skilled if prone to ridiculous flourishes. Strutting like a bennu bird in a courtship dance, seemingly unaware that all Harriet had to do was will it and her magic would crush him completely.
They were entertaining though. Made the Jewel nostalgic for the truly desperate struggles of the battlefield, but the brutal elegance of a one on one fight was enticing. Even if neither of the combatants were taking it very seriously.
Finally the boy took advantage when Harriet overextended herself yet again, tripping her up and crouching down in the tightly packed dirt next to her, knife at her throat.
"Harry, you need to stop taking every opening you see. You're a small person. That's a good thing. It makes you harder to hit." He sheathed his knife in a fluid motion and offered Harriet his hand. "You're also young with large reserves of magic. A longer fight is more likely to benefit you, not your opponent."
Harriet took his hand, and he pulled her easily to her feet so they stood very close together. She took a small step back. "So that's why you draw out those fights with Marek. I thought you were just showing off, but he'll be comforted to know you couldn't beat him otherwise."
"Please do tell him." The boy grinned at her, revealing very nice teeth. "I appreciate it when people underestimate me."
They sat with their backs against the wall, sipping water as Harriet dutifully listened to the boy explain her mistakes. The Jewel recognized the slightly too serious look on her face, however—she was plotting something.
Slowly, as if she was just shifting to get comfortable, Harriet uncrossed her ankles from where they were stretched out in front of her and swung her legs around to the side, settling her weight onto her right hip. A court lady's pose that just so happened to make it very easy to lean sideways for a kiss.
The boy was watching her from the corner of his eye, but continued talking. Midway through his lecture on how predictable her attacks were, Harriet lunged forward, grabbing a knife from the sheath on his back and holding it against his neck. "Surprised?"
The boy appeared supremely unconcerned. "If you kill me you'd need to take over the kingdom and no one sane volunteers to deal with that much parchment."
"It's not a formal challenge, this doesn't count for the Rogue." She sounded certain.
"But who do you think I named as my heir if I were to be killed by mischance?"
The knife twitched, drawing a thin line of blood along the boy's neck. Harriet's eyes met his in shock. "You didn't."
He grinned. "No. Marek would be king with Rispah as regent until he comes of age at 127."
Harriet shook her head. "Doubt anyone would be happy with that arrangement."
The boy shrugged. "Marek's been wanting the crown and it isn't like anyone else is ready to deal with the challenges. Rispah and the others would steer him straight enough."
"Awful sanguine about your impending death, aren't you?"
The boy smirked at her, leaning back on his hands and ignoring the way the knife nicked him again. "Way I look at it, king's supposed to be pretty expendable. My job's to attract trouble so other more competent people can deal with it."
"Yeah? Where are your more competent people now, highness?"
Harriet and the Jewel followed the boy's pointed gaze over her shoulder. Just out of earshot, but watching avidly, were several cooks and the serving boy. The serving boy was making kissing gestures.
Harriet blushed and scrambled up from where she was sprawled across the boy's lap.
The boy followed more gracefully, accepting his knife back and ruffling her hair. "My people are everywhere and far more competent than anyone imagines."
"Bet it usually takes more than a rude gesture to save your life though." Harriet sealed the cuts on his neck and vanished the blood with a couple of economical wand movements.
The boy hugged her around the shoulders in thanks. "You'd be surprised. Back before I met you there was this group of Sardinian smugglers…" The boy's voice faded out as the memory grew dark at the edges.
The Jewel had one last impression of two figures walking perfectly in step, extremely close together, but not touching, before the memory dissolved back into the inner chamber of Harriet's pyramid.
"Way I look at it, king's supposed to be pretty expendable. My job's to attract trouble so other more competent people can deal with it." That probably had been the message the boy held on past the limits of human and magical endurance to give to Harriet. Acceptance of his eventual demise and absolute trust. The Jewel doubted Harriet would be as comforted by that as the boy wished, but it supposed they didn't have many conversations about death to choose from. The very young seldom did.
At least it wasn't a turgid declaration of feelings. That would have surely made Harriet feel guilty. It was impossible not to see how the boy cared for her, however: it shone in the greenness of her eyes, the extra crispness to her movements, the way he was always paying at least a little attention to her. Harriet would probably miss it completely.
The Jewel's own interests lay along more prosaic lines. A powerful title appeared to be up for grabs. It would have been simpler if Harriet had just married the boy and had him assassinated or demoted to concubine later (he was rather decorative), but overcoming the current challenges could prove entertaining if Harriet could be properly motivated. "Highness" had a very nice ring to it.
It exited Harriet's pyramid, leaving the leaf behind. Whether or not Harriet found it, the memory's current location was certainly appropriate. If the Jewel ever found out the boy's name it could even carve a couple of cartouches.
Warning: Character Death