A/N: Sorry about the long wait—I recently went through finding a beta so that I can post on FictionAlley.This is the unbeta'd version of the story. For the grammar-combed and flow-perfected version (plus possibly a few added things), search "Liseli" or "Shells" on FictionAlley(.)(org) over the next few days; they haven't approved it just yet.

Muchos gracias, Nissa7, Latisha C, Good Witch, BabyDragon848, staghunt, snowpuppies, and Random Shinobi for reviewing!

This would have been up hours ago if wasn't acting up. I was really ticked for a while there. Really ticked.

One last FYI: Lily has a job; she's a Healer, but that never really becomes too important to the story.

Chapter 1: Fun Cubed

Twenty-three more minutes, Harry thought, scratching his arm absentmindedly. Just a little bit longer now. He sat on a windowsill in his bedroom with his back to the May sun, trying to warm himself. But it did little good. A chill shot up his spine. Someone's walking over your grave—the superstition came back to him for the umpteenth time that day. He shook himself out a little and looked up at the clock. Twenty-one and a half minutes.

He had reasoned that at 4:45 he could leave for 5:00 "Quidditch practice" without arousing suspicion. He would walk out the front gate, Disapparate to the back fence, and sneak into the cellars as he had done so many times before. And there, there he could relieve his anxieties until 8:00.

Harry heard James' footsteps coming down the hallway. He hurriedly opened the tactics handbook he had ready and pretended to read. His father stopped in the doorway.

"Ready for practice?" He asked, drumming his fingers on the end table beside the door.

"Uh-huh," Harry responded without looking up.

"What are you reading?"

Harry held up the book for him to see.

"Ah, well, I'll see you later on tonight then." James cast his eyes around the room, waiting to see if his son had anything to say. Apparently he didn't.

After his father left, Harry shut the door to change into his practice robes. He was particularly anxious this afternoon to get down to the cellars.

Yes, tonight was the night; after eight months of training, tonight at 8:00, he and the other candidates would gather for their final test and, if all went well, Harry would return home as a fully-fledged Death Eater. Each time he thought about it, a shot of adrenaline seemed to go through his stomach before melting back into the unpleasantly nauseating sensation of apprehension.

He flopped onto his bed at took another glance at the clock. Sixteen minutes, forty seconds. Well, 4:30-ish wasn't too early to leave, was it? If anyone asked, he would just say he ah, wanted to get an 'early start.' His father loved it when he told him that kind of stuff.

"That's dedication for you," he would tell his friends over drinks that night, and they would all be glad to hear it, too. It was their champion Seeker who was working so hard, after all! And that was that much better for their chances at the Cup this year, wasn't it? Harry James, with such determination, was going to carry this team to victory! And there would be many shouts of "Cheers!" and a toast to James's boy and another round of drinks for all.

On this particular day, however, Harry managed to get past the garden and into the cellars without running into his mother or any of the "Marauders," who, on any given day of the week, were more likely to be visiting than not. It was just as well, for he wasn't sure he would have been able to string together a coherent sentence at that point. His mouth was dry and his nerves were nearly at breaking point.

Sliding down onto the floor beside his hidden box, Harry gave a sigh of relief. The needle was in. No, just a little this evening, he told himself. He had to be ready for later on tonight. Restraining himself, he pushed the plunger and slipped into a place where he knew nothing real.

-----

Lord Voldemort wondered what Harry James Potter was really up to. Did this Phoenixlet think he could play spy? Quidditch players did have a tendency to be delusional and Potter was easy enough to read. Voldemort sneered. He would find out soon enough.

The Death Eaters were in place and the candidates were lined up before him now. They were dressed in black robes like the others but with black masks and only Lord Voldemort and their instructor knew who each one was. That way one little deserter couldn't rat the whole crowd out—very important. He supposed he had more of an army than a "crowd" now, but addressing them as such would only make Lucious and the like indignant. They would protest to merely being considered "soldiers" and try to worm their way into becoming "commanders" and "generals." No, as it was, each one could go on pretending that he was "second in command" or in his "inner circle." Their delusions could be quite amusing.

Snape was making the same speech he gave to all the candidates. The Dark Lord had outlined this and the training process years ago and very little had been changed since. It was all quite boring until the finalists went through their last test. Oh, that was good fun, watching these kids squirm under his scrutiny as they found out what they were to do—torture and kill. But the ultimate satisfaction was watching those go at it for the first time. One could actually see them being positively torn inside. It was the torturers being tortured by the very act of torturing. It was fun cubed.

But for now, it was the speech; boring but necessary. Lord Voldemort tapped his long, white fingers on the arm of his chair in a most sinister fashion. He, naturally, had an excellent view of all the proceedings from his raised platform at the front of the group. He scanned the candidates for Potter. His startling green eyes made him easy enough to spot. As the Dark Lord's gaze came to rest on him, he could feel Potter steel himself. He stood up a little straighter but didn't break eye contact. No, the boy was most definitely not a Legilimens, but he knew what was going on. That, more than anything Lord Voldemort could have uncovered in his mind, told him all he needed to know for now. Harry James had nothing to hide. He was loyal like the Gryffindor he was.

Lord Voldemort was elated. Potter was exactly what he had been looking for.

------

Harry's right hand was clenched around his wand; his left had formed a fist at his side. His jaw was set and he was going up and down on one foot, then the other. Seven people had passed, four had failed, and three stood before him now, eleven behind. Since their task had been announced he had been trying to mentally prepare himself. Think of all those years in that goddamn school, all those goddamn Snitches, all those goddamn middle-aged fans who pretend to be your friends. Think of Lily and James and the frickin' "Marauders" and that disappearing step in the fourth floor corridor. Two more stood before him. Think of those suits of armor singing crappy Christmas carols. Think of James's incessant Quidditch play-by-plays and Lily's incessant nagging about your social life. Think of every day without a hit. Think of going out for milk only to be bombarded for photographs. Think of all James's bloody dreams for you.

The guy before him backed out. Harry moved up and stood before his victim. She was thirty, thirty-five with frazzled brown hair and a wooden spoon hanging out of her apron pocket, long forgotten. Her eyes were wide but she looked as if she had lost her voice to scream. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him and his stomach turning over. His mouth was dry and his knuckles were turning white.

He raised his wand and cast the Cruciatus. Her shouts filled the night air. Yes, he could cast the Cruciatus. He knew that. But did he have what it took to kill? He raised his wand again and opened his mouth to say the spell. He couldn't get it out. Panicking, he went over the list he had just made. He thought up all the things he hated and then made up some. How long had he been standing there? He was suddenly reminded of his Sorting Ceremony. How long before they decided it was too long and killed him? The woman was still writhing and thrashing. What would happen if she died? Did she have a family to go home to? What would happen if he didn't kill her? Would Lord Voldemort kill him like all the others?

And then he fully understood, it was either him or her. He was in control, he realized with sick satisfaction. He was in control of her life the way James had always been in control of his. This was his moment. It was now or never.

"Avada Kedavra!" It came out louder than he intended it to. He saw the lights leave her eyes and the spoon fall out of her pocket as she fell awkwardly to the ground. Then, with no pomp or ceremony, a Death Eater shoved the body aside.

Harry was called forward. He went up to the platform and pulled the sleeve up on his right arm. The instructor pushed him before the Dark Lord. Harry held his arm out before him, his eyes wide and jaw set again.

"Vigorous" was all the Dark Lord said before putting his wand to Harry's extended arm and saying the incantation. Harry breathed inward sharply; it was painful. "You were quite unexpected, Harry James." The Dark Lord caught his gaze and Harry could feel him listening to his thoughts once more. "Yes, Harry, quite unexpected."

"Thank you, my Lord," he said and kneeled to kiss the hem of his robes.

He woke up some time around noon the next day. His groggy brain remembered with ecstasy the events of last night before he realized why he had woken up in the first place.

"Harry James!" His mother was knocking at the door. "Darling, it's one o'clock, you should get up."

"Alright, just a minute," he said as he stretched.

"Are you feeling well?" Her muffled voice came through the door.

"I'm okay, thanks." He swung his legs over the bed and put on his glasses.

"Why don't you open up and let me check on you?"

Oh shit. He had left everything out from last night. "Er, just a moment." In one motion, he pulled his top drawer open and put his empty syringe in it, picked up his mask—which was now white rather than black—and shoved it under his mattress, then pulled his robes off and did the same with them. He fixed his glasses and opened the door to his mother wearing only his boxers.

She put the back of her hand on his forehead. "Why was your door locked anyway?"

"I slept naked," he lied.

She was slightly taken aback by this answer. "And why on earth did you do that?"

Harry laughed inwardly. She probably thought he had had a girl over or something. He shrugged. "Why not?"

"You got in awfully late last night," she said, now taking his pulse.

"The team went out for drinks."

"And you went with them?"

"Mmhm." He had given her the right lie.

Suddenly excited at the prospect of her son going on a social outing, she forgot her suspicions of him being sick or having sex. "Did you happen to find a date for the Gala?"

"No, not yet." Too much progress on one night would have seemed suspicious.

"Well, your lunch is downstairs when you're ready. Your father's at a meeting but Sirius is here—try to catch him before he leaves, won't you?"

"Sure Mum." She kissed his forehead and left.

Having no intentions of seeing his godfather if he couldn't help it, he went into his bathroom for a very long shower.

-------

"Got him up, have you?" Siruis asked as he watched Lily emerge from the stairwell.

She nodded with a broad smile. "Apparently he went out with the team last night." No wonder she's smiling. Harry James never went out with friends.

"Still no girl though, eh?" He took a gulp of his pumpkin juice.

"No, but speaking of girls, have you gotten rid of that Rachel woman yet?" She asked as she set a polishing charm on the silverware.

Sirius let out a big, barking laugh. "You just want me all for yourself, don't you?" Lily had talked him out of or scared off any girlfriend he'd had for the last twenty years and he wouldn't be surprised if she did the same for Harry James if he ever started dating.

"I just want you to have someone who deserves you," she said.

"Lily, I'm just looking for someone who'd put up with me." He laughed again. "Besides, I haven't met a girl yet you approve of."

"No, there's Tonks—"

"We're related and she has a thing for Remus."

Lily dismissed the comment. "What about Matilda Rows? Or Bertha Jorkins?"

"Or the trolley lady on the Hogwarts Express?" Sirius teased. "Lily, you've got your hands full with Harry James's love life."

"You mean the lack thereof."

He stretched and made a humming noise in the back of his throat that indicated neither a yes nor a no so as not to get Lily started. "I've got to get back to the office."

"Coming for dinner tonight?"

"Well if I'm dumping Rachel I don't have any place else to be, do I?" He put his dishes in the sink and walked to fire place.

Lily laughed. "I've got to go to Mungo's this afternoon so Twilly will be cooking."

"It's all the same to a bachelor who can't make grilled cheese." He threw the Floo Powder in and stepped in. "Auror Complex."

------

Rita Skeeter was on double-duty tonight, covering the Gala for both the Prophet and Witch Weekly Radio.

"Bozo! Over here, this spot will do." Rita called her photographer over to a spot beside a small birdbath on a pedestal along the red carpet. She took a glance at her reflection in the water. Tonight she was sporting her signature rhinestone spectacles, blue eye shadow, and tight-fitting, floor-length gold robes with little silver hearts all along the trim. After pinning up a fallen curl and magically draining the basin, she took a roll of parchment and her acid-green Quick Quotes Quill out of her bag and placed them in the flat bottom of the birdbath.

"No, Bozo, over here you dimwit!" she called over the gathering crowd of spectators and reporters. Reaching into her bag once again, she pulled out what looked like a muggle microphone and inserted her wand through a hole in the bottom. "Finally! Now, get a picture of me in front of the red carpet for tomorrow's paper."

At precisely one minute past six, Rita turned her wand counter-clockwise and the microphone came to life.

"Good evening, Witch Weekly Listeners, and welcome to the four-hundred-and-thirty-ninth annual Hogwarts School Benefit Gala! Your Red Carpet Confidante Rita Skeeter is here just outside the lovely home of Madame Amelia Bones, this year's hostess.

"Earlier today, yours truly got a peek inside the dining room—which has been specially enlarged for tonight's event—and does it look spectacular! The ladies at Charming Event Planners and Coordinators have truly outdone themselves. A pixie hive hangs low over the dance floor, bathing the room in a warm, purple light. Twenty tables have been set up with the finest Russian Goblin crystal and special porcelain china with the Hogwart's crest in the center of each charger.

"Speaking of tables—while a single ticket donation for the Gala is fifty Galleons, a table donation can go for upward of six hundred Galleons! That's more than three thousand copies of Witch Weekly—check the stands tomorrow for photographs of tonight's event.

"WWR has obtained an exclusive list of this year's table donors. There's Minister Crouch, former minister Millicent Bagnold, The Weird Sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, Festus Al-Barqir (inventor of the Firebolt line), James and Lily Potter (proud parents of our national seeker, Harry James)—"

Ron switched the radio off. "I can't believe you let her go out with that, that—"

"Quidditch player?" Bill finished.

"Yes!"

"Since when have you had something against Quidditch players?" His mother asked from the sink where she was washing potatoes.

"You know what kind of expectations those guys have," he replied darkly.

"You seemed ready enough to snog him last February, Ron." Fred and George had just returned to the kitchen from gathering carrots for dinner. "And I can't see Ginny having much of a problem doing so, either."

"You know what I mean…."

Mrs. Weasley set her potatoes on the kitchen table to begin dicing them. "That's enough. I've heard nothing but nice things about Harry James, and Ginny is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Now, leave if you like, because I would really like to listen to this broadcast. Turn the radio back on, Ron."

But all of them took a seat at the table. Truth be told, they had all come to the Burrow that evening just to hear about their kid sister's date with the all-star. The radio crackled back to life.

"And here is Mr. Enoch Surnom, ah not stopping for interviews, I see. Mr. Surnom is chairman of the Governing Board of Hogwarts and is expected to deliver a speech on the importance of education in character development later this evening."

"Sorry I'm not there for that," Ron muttered.

"Shhh!" Mrs. Weasley hissed as she added the potatoes to her pot over the fire.

"—James Potter, on his arm is Lily Potter in a dazzling white ensemble. Right behind them is their son, Harry James in a dashing black silk piece with green trim, which complements his eyes nicely, and—what's this? Yes, the Solo Seeker has a date this evening!"

Mrs. Weasley positively squealed.

"She has bright red hair and a petite frame and is dressed in a turquoise blue number. Let's see if we can get them over for a word, shall we? Harry James! Over here! This way! His date is whispering something in his ear and—oh yes, they're coming this way! Mr. Potter, what a pleasure! You're live with Witch Weekly Radio. How are you this evening?"

"Fine, thank you," he replied in hardly more than a mumble.

"And who might this charming young lady be?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Mum, your pot is boiling over," Bill pointed out.

"Shhh!"

He got up to correct the problem himself.

"Who are you wearing this evening, Ginny?" Rita asked.

"Madame Malkin." Ginny's smile could be heard over the radio.

"And you, Harry James?"

"Twillfit and Tatting."

"A very nice choice, I must say! Well enjoy yourselves tonight! I hope to see you two at the European Wizard Music Awards in Vienna next week!"

"Alright," Harry responded ambiguously.

"Well, you heard it here first! Harry James Potter is dating the seemingly unknown Ginny Weasley!"

Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with excitement. "We're going to have to get her another dress!"

------

Ginny had to admit, she was a little star struck. Well, to begin with, she was on a date with the most celebrated Seeker of all time, and secondly, he certainly wasn't the only famous person in the room. She had been sorely tempted to ask Myron Wagtail for his autograph, but she had to remember that she was here as one of "them."

"Harry James, look," she said quietly so as not to attract too much attention—everyone seemed to be talking in just above a whisper.

"Hmm?" He responded without looking up from the program he was folding.

"It's Gwenog Jones."

"I don't see her."

"There, beside the ficus tree."

"Oh, I see her now."

"Would you introduce me to her?"

"She would hate you."

Ginny was taken aback. "What? She doesn't even know me."

"Well, she's a bit of a man-hater; she would hold it against you that you came with me tonight, especially as Puddlemere flattened the Holyheads last match."

"Really?"

"If she doesn't try to take you down her girlfriend certainly will."

Ginny laughed a bit. Harry James wasn't who she had expected him to be. She had seen him around Hogwarts and at his father's birthday party and she knew that he kept to himself, but one-on-one, he could be quite entertaining, if in a distant sort of way. She thought he would actually be rather fun to be around if he would open up a little, but perhaps this wasn't the best place to do so.

"What's that you've made?"

He held up the paper that used to be his Gala invitation. "A paper crane." He squeezed his fingers together just below the bird's wings and made it flap. "You want it?"

Just then Mrs. Potter came over, her face red from dancing. "Come on you two, get out there!"

Harry James put the paper crane on her empty plate and obligingly took her hand.

------

All his mother's nagging had paid off. Harry James had indeed asked a girl to the Gala. Surprisingly, once he gave into the idea that he was going to have a date for the event, he actually put quite a lot of thought into whom to ask. After all, he was going to have to spend the better part of six hours and appear in every gossip rag with the girl.

Ginny wasn't well known, she didn't have an ego, and she wasn't anything like Parvati Patil or Hermione Granger. She had enjoyed the red carpet a bit too much for Harry's liking (meaning that she was willing to spend more than 2.2 seconds on it), but he had been expecting that. Sure, she was Quidditch-obsessed, but at least she had had the decency to not blabber on about it all night. Oh, and it didn't hurt that she wasn't hard to look at. On the whole, he felt he had made a nice choice. He would probably even bring her to that event next week, as Lily would most definitely insist upon him having a date from now on.

He and Ginny danced a few numbers but, much to Harry's relief, she didn't seem to enjoy dancing much more than he did.

"Modern jazz just isn't really my thing," she said as they exited the dance floor.

"I don't think it's really anybody's 'thing'."

"Your parents seem to enjoy it," she responded as they stood to the side, watching.

"Well, give anyone enough cocktails and they'll think it's good music, much less those two."

Ginny let out a laugh. "This is true."

"Speaking of, would you like to go get a drink?"

"Sure."

They were making their way through the empty tables toward the bar on the other end of the room when Harry's Dark Mark suddenly began to burn. He hissed in pain and instinctively grabbed his right forearm before he realized what he was doing.

"Harry James are you—" Then comprehension dawned on her face. Harry let go of his arm and tried to give a neutral expression, but it was too late.

"Shit." This was his first call and he was already discovered. Before she had time to react, he took her by the wrist and whispered in his darkest voice, "Come with me."

But she wasn't buying it. Ginny tried to jerk her hand out of his but Harry cast a discreet (and rather too strong) Calming charm just in time. He then led her to the back garden, which was vacant due to the heat. He made her sit down on a stone bench out of view of any windows then ran around to a gazebo on the other side of the house. He cast the Dark Mark then sprinted back to where Ginny was. The ability to think on his feet was one good thing Quidditch had given him.

The effects of the Calming charm were beginning to wear off when he returned to where she was, but he quickly cast a Memory charm. She held a blank stare for a moment, forgetting everything that had happened in the last three minutes or so. Harry took a seat beside her. Several people were screaming already. When her senses returned to her he made a panicked expression and pointed to the sky. She shrieked.

"Come on!" He shouted and the pair jumped up off the bench and ran inside.

The scene inside the dining room was complete chaos. Harry had cast the spell from a position where any lingering reporters would be the first to see it and, doubtless, it was they whom he had heard first. It was enough to alert everyone inside and allow Harry and Ginny to come back in, unnoticed.

"This way," Harry yelled over the cacophony. He led Ginny away from the herd trying to make it out through the front doors.

"Where are we going? The exit's that way!"

"I've been here before now come on!" They ran down a long hallway through a door at the very end, then straight through that room to the door at the other end. It was a side exit from the house that led to a small court yard. Apparently someone had had the same idea as them because the gate was already unlatched.

They ran to the edge of the Apparation ward, the Dark Mark in the sky and on Harry's arm burning all the time. "Your place," he said, and the pair left.

-----

The front door knob began to shake violently, as if someone was trying to get into the house. Molly dropped the dish she was washing and, panicking, pulled out her wand. Whoever it was was now banging on the door. You-Know-Who wouldn't knock, Molly. She pocketed her wand and went to the door.

"Who is it?" She asked, her hand hovering over her wand, just in case.

"It's me, Mum; Ginny!"

Molly was about to throw open the door when her voice of reason spoke again. Death Eaters can use the Polyjuice Potion to fool their victims, remember? She pressed he ear to the door."Who was Errol?" All the children had the same pass-question.

"Percy's owl that died last year, now open up!"

Molly quickly unlocked the bolts and pulled Ginny into a tight hug.

"Mum! Mum, please!" Ginny mumbled, catching a mouthful of her mother's hair in the process.

Molly let her out of the hug but held her at arm's length by the shoulders. "What's the matter? Did that Potter boy—oh, Ron had said something like this would happen!"

Ginny's eyes widened in horror at what her mother was suggesting. "No, Mum, no! Nothing like that!" She squirmed out of her grasp.

"Well why are you back so early," her voice had risen an octave in worry. "Why were you in such a hurry to get inside?"

"I'm afraid we rather panicked, Mrs. Weasley," someone responded quietly. Molly looked up and realized that Harry James Potter was standing in her living room.

"Oh, hello Mr. Potter! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there at first. Please, have a seat; I'll fix a pot of tea for us all." At that precise moment there was a knock at the door. "That will be Arthur!" She bustled over to the door to ask him the pass-question and let him in.

"What's all the shouting about," Ron yawned as he came descended the stairs and flopped down onto the recliner. "Ginny, what's—Harry James? What are you doing here?"

"Arthur, Harry James is here, he's brought Ginny home," Molly informed her husband as she let him in.

"Oh, really? I thought the Gala wasn't over for another—"

"WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE JUST SHUT UP?" Ginny was still standing in the middle of the room, fuming.

"What is the matter?" Molly hissed; Ginny knew better than to behave like that around company.

Harry James stepped over to the door where Arthur was still standing. "Mr. Weasley, someone cast the Dark Mark outside Madame Bones' during the Gala," he said in an almost inaudibly low voice.

"Was anyone hurt," Arthur asked in an equally quiet voice, but by now Molly was listening. She seemed about to go into a tizzy but he laid his hand on her shoulder, reminding her to clam down.

"Ginny, it was a pleasure." Harry James took her hand and kissed it in a very gentlemanly way. "I'm sorry to have to leave so soon, but I really must go find my parents."

"Oh, or course," Molly replied, despite the fact that he had been addressing her daughter. "Good bye dear, it was a pleasure meeting you! If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come by."

He nodded goodbye to the room at large and left.

"Mum!" Ginny still looked mortified.

"What?"

Ron snickered and ran up the stairs before Ginny could catch him with a hex.

------

Harry had to admit; even he was impressed with how he handled the situation. He had even gotten back into the house to fetch his robes without getting Lily's attention. Now he would Apparate to the meeting and, if he was lucky, arrive only ten minutes late.

He found himself standing in another field in the middle of nowhere, which wasn't nearly full enough for everyone to be there yet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The Dark Lord was already seated at a platform before the crowd, his head resting lazily on one hand. Harry took his place facing his master and, curiously enough, as he did so, the Dark Lord sat up and looked straight into his eyes. He could feel him prying into his mind again and couldn't help but wonder why. He hoped the Dark Lord would hear his question and give him an answer, but instead he found different memories flashing before his eyes. It was like he was walking around his house, examining every bookcase and coffee table, as though he were looking for something. The Dark Lord broke his gaze. It had only been a few seconds, but he had looked through every room in the Potter house, even in places Harry hadn't looked in years. He had quite literally flipped through his brain like a book. Harry had never known a Legilimens to do that, but then again he only knew one other, and the Dark Lord had shown himself to be much more powerful than that old man.

Harry glanced up at the platform again. It looked like his Master hadn't found whatever he was searching for.

A/N: Okay, poll: How many of you would read this story on FictionAlley(.)(org)if I started posting there? If some people won't, I'll probably continue posting the unbeta'd chapters here. The next chapter will definitely be posted here, even if only to give you the URL for the story.

But while you're waiting, anyone want to take a stab at why certain people call Harry "Harry James" versus just "Harry?" There's a definite rhyme and reason to it and, once you think about the characters for a moment, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

Oh and thanks, BabyDragon848 and Good Witch, for the heads-up with the Midazolam. I've poked around Wikipedia some more and settled on morphine instead for his drug-of-choice. It's a bit outdated, yes, but I think it'll serve my purposes for this story.

Next chapter: A Quidditch match, a special Death Eater meeting, and unhappy tidings from Dumbledore that lead to some surprising discoveries for all the Potters.

Staghunt: No, I haven't given up on "Slide," it's just that the plot is impossibly complicated; I'm waiting on book 7 to make sure nothing in that book completely obliterates what I plan on doing with that fic. Sorry.

If you see anything you think needs to be touched-up (aside from the grammar) in this chapter, please mention it in a review and I'll look into getting it into the beta'd version.

Reviews: Always Appreciated