02

There was a period of ten seconds—twenty, thirty—where Sephiroth couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, as he stared up at the man. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, resembling a grounded fish. The man stared down at him, waiting patiently for a reply.

"Who—who are you?" Sephiroth finally spluttered out.

It suddenly occurred to him that he might have died and hadn't even realized it. He didn't remember feeling like he died, but he also hadn't felt much more than unnerving numbness for the past couple days, either. This man could be an angel sent to take the souls of the departed to the afterlife. Although, Sephiroth had never really pictured an angel wearing so much black, or leather for that matter. He hadn't really believed in angels in the first place.

"Can I say goodbye to Harry, first?" asked Sephiroth solemnly—his head was fuzzy. Did the dead always feel as though there was cotton stuffed in their skulls?

The blond man blinked once, and then let out a sigh.

"You're not dead."

"I'm not . . ." Sephiroth trailed off. He jumped to his feet—swaying, just barely keeping from falling over—and pointed at the man. "Doesn't that mean you're breaking and entering?"

Blue eyes bored down at him, quietly speechless.

"Make sure you break up a lot of stuff," said Sephiroth. "I know I'll have to clean it all up, but they've been awful lately."

"I'm not a—that's not why I'm here," said the man.

For reasons Sephiroth didn't understand, he had the feeling he just sent a giant wrecking ball through the man's train of thought.

"So this is what she meant," the man mumbled. He gave Sephiroth another once-over, head to toe, as if looking for something in particular. "I'm a . . . friend of Aerith's."

"You're a friend of—" Sephiroth stopped, utterly bewildered. He had only told his friends and Harry about Aerith Gainsborough. Barring the likelihood that the man could read Sephiroth's mind, there was no way he could know about Aerith, unless he was actually telling the truth.

But, to trust a man who tore the door down in the middle of the night? Well, it wasn't the first time it happened. Sephiroth and Harry had left with Hagrid without hesitation.

"How do you . . ."

That was when everything else the man said clicked.

"Wait, what do you mean 'this is what she mean'?" he asked sharply. "What did she say?"

"It's not important," said the man, throwing a quick look over his shoulder, up the stairs. When he looked down at Sephiroth, it was as though he was seeing through Sephiroth—like he was glass, or a window. "My name is Cloud Strife. The reason I'm here is . . . to get you out of this place."

"Get me out?" Sephiroth repeated.

"It's not healthy," said Cloud.

Sephiroth's first instinct was to ask why he should trust Cloud at all, but—again, it was hardly the first time he had left the Dursleys in the dead of night with someone who was practically a stranger. He remembered every second, hour, day, he spent locked in the cupboard, starved and lonely and miserable. He hadn't had a decent cup of water in days and had absolutely no idea how Harry was faring in his room. At this point, he really couldn't think of anything worse than what he was already living. (Well, that wasn't true at all—he could be sold or trafficked or cut up for organs or—he decided to stop following that line of thought.)

If he did, hypothetically of course, leave with Cloud Strife, there was no way of knowing where he might end up. He wouldn't leave Harry behind, either, so it was a two-package deal. If Cloud wouldn't take Harry, neither of them would be going anywhere. And that didn't even begin to cover the dilemma of whether or not he was even willing to risk Harry's safety like that. He couldn't dismiss Harry's desire to leave the Dursleys for good, though.

"My friend is getting your brother," said Cloud, in what might have been an attempt at being comforting. He looked a little awkward. "You can—well, I won't ask you to trust us. But you'll be better off."

Except Cloud had lost Sephiroth's attention the moment he said someone was retrieving Harry. Sephiroth bolted around him—Cloud looked startled from the sudden movement, hand twitching for the truly enormous weapon on his back—how had Sephiroth missed that? He made a dash for the stairs and barreled into another man.

He came to an abrupt halt.

"You . . ." Sephiroth whispered, eyes widened—his mind reeling in complete shock, recognition, realization—the pushing and pulling of the thoughts in his head nearly overwhelming. He stumbled back, and nearly fell down the stairs, but was caught by Cloud's gloved hand.

This time, Sephiroth looked—really looked—and his heart gave an almost painful squeeze. He had seen their faces before, smiling and waving at him, eyes bright with a quick joke or quip, pushed away from the forefront of Sephiroth's mind because it hurt to remember. They were the family he never met, that he would never know, who haunted his dreams for weeks after seeing the Mirror of Erised. (Who had stared him down, accusing and betrayed, in those days after he killed Quirrell.)

Harry was behind the other man, his green eyes fixed on Sephiroth, going round with understanding. He was good at reading Sephiroth, always had been, so of course he understood. Still, there was a healthy dose of suspicion and wariness in Harry's gaze as he glanced from Cloud to the other man.

"I know you," said Sephiroth, half-frantic, taking another step back so he could see both Cloud and the newcomer. He expected them to fade away, dissolve into ashes and blow away, to reach through the shadows and grab his arms and legs and ask why, why, why—why was he a monster?

The other man, with spiky black hair and blue eyes just as luminous as Cloud's, took a cautious step closer to Sephiroth, a question half-formed.

"You were—does this mean . . ." They weren't disappearing, they weren't fake, and Sephiroth was finding it suddenly very hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

The blurriness of his eyes might have been weariness or tears or both, as the dark-haired man crouched so they were eye-level. He reached up to press a hand to Sephiroth's forehead, as if he might have a fever—Sephiroth couldn't remember the man's name, just out of reach, and it was a crime, a sin that he couldn't remember, and it was frustrating—

"Sephiroth?" said the man, frowning worriedly.

"Are you my—my family?" Sephiroth asked quickly, deciding to pretend that it wasn't desperation, only raw curiosity.

Surprise briefly flitted across his face, before it melted into a crushing amount of sympathy.

"We're not directly related, if that's what you're asking," said the man, his smile hopeful and maybe a little sad. "But we'll be your family, if that's what you'd like."

Sephiroth's eyes darted to Harry, already opening his mouth to ask the question on his mind, but the man guessed what he was going to say.

"And Harry," he said, grinning in good-nature. "It goes without saying we'll bring your brother."

"What's your name?" said Sephiroth, half in askance and half in apology.

"I'm Zack Fair," he said. He cast a critical eye at the house—Sephiroth could hear annoyed voices and creaking of floorboards as the Dursleys finally stirred to consciousness. "I think it's about time to leave, eh, Cloud?"

"The house owners are up," said Cloud, sounding far too unconcerned for Sephiroth's tastes.

"Right about time," grumbled Zack, straightening to his full height. There was a sword on his back as well, somewhat resembling a sharpened slab of metal given a hilt. It was well-taken care of, though.

"We can't do magic outside of school," said Harry, casting the dark hallway a slightly fearful look. "The Dursleys—"

"Are trash," said Zack. He gave Harry's head a pat, beaming at him. "Don't worry, we've just got some loose ends to tie up here. Can't just leave with no word, right?"

"Yes," said Cloud.

"Aw, c'mon, Cloud," said Zack, borderline whining. "Don't tell me you don't want to chew them out, just a little bit?"

Cloud eyed him flatly.

"I know, I know, he needs food and water and good night's rest, but you don't want to yell at them even just a little bit?" said Zack. "They locked up two little kids for weeks—that's not cool."

Vernon Dursley stumped down the hall at that moment, stealing their chances at escaping without a confrontation. His beady eyes were squinted from bleariness, looking incredibly grouchy and a little wary to see two full grown men standing in the middle of his hallway, with Sephiroth and Harry. He glanced at Harry briefly, ignored Sephiroth, and his pudgy fingers twitched—probably wishing he had brought his shotgun with him.

"What in the blazes—?!" he exclaimed, tripping over himself to back away when he noticed the large swords on Cloud and Zack's backs. "What are—who are you—I'll call the cops—"

Petunia had appeared behind him, half-hidden in the doorway of their room. Sephiroth heard a thump as Dudley rolled out of bed.

"No, you won't," said Cloud. "No one is calling anything."

"N-Now see here—" Vernon started, but he was verbally trampled over by Zack—who looked terrifying when he was angry, for the record.

"There's nothing to be seen here," snapped Zack, fury tightly wound through his body, restrained under iron self-control, "other than the abuse of kids. Little kids, who did absolutely nothing to deserve your treatment. Locked in the dark and starved? You don't even treat them like humans—"

A scoff escaped from Petunia, and she looked as though she hadn't entirely meant to do it, but Zack's attention was already on her.

"Do you have something to say?" asked Zack, and Sephiroth could hear the unspoken, Please, say something and allow me to tear into you, in his tone.

Cloud's eyes were cold as ice, staring down the Dursleys with enough intensity to make anyone squirm. Vernon looked as though he wanted to run.

"You—all of you—treating them like they're something special," hissed Petunia, either too drowsy from recently waking or too reckless to care that Zack and Cloud were heavily armed. Sephiroth remembered her tone the year before, talking to Hagrid, as if she was trying to dismantle Sephiroth and Harry with her words, pick them apart and leave them hollow. "As if they're anything less than freaks. My sister's brat, forced on me when she went and died—and the creature we took pity on!"

Again, they were pretending they had been the ones to help him. As though they made the conscious decision to take Sephiroth into their home, when it wasn't them. Sephiroth remembered being small, even smaller than he was now, and weak—he couldn't even move, his mind muddled and not a single snatch of thought making sense. Everything had been a blur of pain and confusion and the lingering sense of abandonment, of don't forget, and he couldn't remember what he wasn't supposed to forget.

With every thundering footfall passing by the alley, every human being who didn't stop, didn't even cast him a second look, who didn't care—he had felt despair, so much sadness—as though they couldn't find it in their hearts to just stop and look closer. The world was a cold and uncaring place, Sephiroth learned that from a very young age, but someone had stopped. They had looked back—and Sephiroth had seen Harry Potter for the first time.

"Not you," said Sephiroth, finding his voice. "It was never you. Harry convinced you, Harry took care of me—always Harry. You never even looked at me."

Somehow it felt good to finally say those words out loud, like a verbal sort of revenge, years of grief and pain flooding out of him. They were looking at him now, Vernon and Petunia with their eyes wide, warred between outrage and something else, perhaps even fear—Dudley peeking out of his door, looking as though he had just seen Sephiroth for the very first time.

Cloud rested a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder, and then directed him down the stairs. He was too startled to protest. In the space of mere minutes, everything had changed. Locked in the dark, torn away from that same solitude so quickly, and all the words he had ever wanted to shout at the Dursleys, finally spoken—well, not all of them, but enough, it was enough, and that was surprising by itself—and now they were leaving. Sephiroth couldn't manage a single word.

Zack had no such qualms.

"Where are you going?"

"Out the door," replied Cloud in a low mumble. "Like a normal person."

"Wha—but the window's right there," said Zack, pointing into Harry's room. "The bars are gone and everything!"

Apparently Zack broke into Harry's room through his window. There were so many things wrong with that, but Sephiroth only wondered if he had broken the window, or opened it normally. He didn't know how Zack even fit through the window—while he wasn't particularly hulking, the window wasn't very big. Even Harry would have a hard time getting through it, even when it was opened to its fullest.

Sephiroth glanced at Harry. He had a similarly glazed, stunned expression on his face.

"Let's just leave through the door," Cloud was saying, in a sort of resigned tone that almost reminded Sephiroth of Angeal when he was arguing with Genesis. "We don't—whoa, careful."

He caught Sephiroth as he swayed again, feeling lightheaded and his vision blurring. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Sephiroth was reminded of his need for food. He only closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again they were outside and Harry was standing over him, pale with worry. Sephiroth remembered this happening last year, when he ran into Professor Quirrell (he flinched from the memory of Quirrell, because it was full of nothing but blood and death). This time, Harry seemed even more concerned.

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Harry, looking up from Sephiroth's face, and he realized Harry seemed a lot shorter than before.

The earth was rocking slightly. Sephiroth's head spun and when his vision cleared again, he found himself being carried by Zack. He blinked down at Sephiroth, and then beamed.

"Whew, that's a relief," he said. "You were out of it for awhile there."

"Where . . ." Sephiroth's voice faltered when he took note of the fact they were no longer on Privet Drive. They weren't even in a neighborhood, but a sparse forest. It was early morning, faint gray light filtering through the treeline and illuminating a small, two-story house. There was a gravel driveway up to the front door and a one-car garage. Vines were crawling up the sides of the house, a flush of green moss on the porch.

"It's kind of a fixer-upper," said Zack sheepishly. "And kind of small. But hey, it's home!"

Sephiroth glanced around again, failing to find Harry in the immediate area.

"Where's—"

"I'm right here," came Harry's voice from Zack's elbow. There were shadows under his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine?" said Sephiroth vaguely, terribly confused.

Without warning, he flailed and pushed against Zack, as he quite suddenly comprehended that he was being carried like a little child. Zack only laughed, expertly keeping hold of his limbs and stopping him from tumbling onto the ground. One might have thought he had experience wrestling wild eels, with how little effort he put into carrying Sephiroth.

"I can walk!"

"You passed out a couple hours ago," said Zack, growing more serious. "You're actually really weak right now. Sometimes it's hard to tell—your body will make up for the weakness, but that's even worse. Starvation isn't good for people like us."

"People like . . ."

"Yeah," said Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose. "They're all superhuman, like you, Genesis, and Angeal."

"Well, not 'superhuman'," said Zack. "We're enhanced. Scientifically, I mean."

"Enhanced?" Sephiroth echoed, frowning. "You mean, like with needles and blue superhuman juice?"

"Not blue," said Zack.

Sephiroth sincerely hoped that was a joke. He had a feeling it wasn't.

"Where's Cloud?" he asked, deciding to save that particular subject for later.

Zack nodded behind himself, at a battered silver caravan, where Cloud was fidgeting with the engine. He was pouring some kind of pinkish fluid into one of the sections, which Sephiroth thought might have been for the transmission. The front window was chipped and the side of the vehicle looked like the surface of the moon.

Unbidden, a laugh flew from his lips. Zack threw him a bemused look.

"What is it?"

"It's just, you two are superhuman," said Sephiroth, ignoring Zack's protest that they were enhanced, "and you drive a van that hardly functions. Aren't the heroes in books supposed to have a really nice car or something?"

Zack huffed, stopping at the front porch and awkwardly angling his arm to open the door. Sephiroth stole the moment to slip out of his arms, dodging his grasp.

"Have it your way," Zack mumbled. Then he threw a glance back at the van and chuckled. "I think you read too many comic books. I mean have you looked at cars lately? They're freaking expensive! And good luck qualifying for those loans."

He opened the front door and Sephiroth and Harry crowded around him to get a look inside the house. Sephiroth was struck by how normal it was, from a beige carpet (with a couple burn and slash marks) to white walls. One wall was half covered in pale green paint, plastic laid out over the carpet to prevent stains. There were chips in the banister and one of the support legs seemed to be missing. Another one was stuck together with what was clearly some kind of adhesive glue. If Sephiroth were to sum up their house in one word: shabby.

"I did say it's a work in progress," said Zack, embarrassed. "Houses are kinda expensive, too."

He set them up at the table, rummaging through the kitchen, which was open to the living area and dining room.

Harry was gobsmacked, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"This is really happening?" he asked in awe.

"Yeah," said Sephiroth, hesitantly putting his hands on the table, as if he was afraid it would disappear.

"We don't . . . have to go back?" asked Harry as Zack returned with a plate full of crackers and cheese.

"'Course not," said Zack. "Not unless you want to, I mean. You want milk? Orange juice?"

"Coffee?" said Sephiroth hopefully.

"No!" said Zack and Harry in tandem. They looked at each in surprise.

"He doesn't do good with caffeine or sugar," said Harry.

"Yeah," Zack agreed readily. "It's nightmarish."

"What? Harry!" Sephiroth protested. They were already banding together on the sugar antics, which was something he couldn't even remember.

"We'll have milk," said Harry with a grin.

Zack nodded, filling their glasses and heading off to a closet. When he opened it, a large sword roughly double Sephiroth's width fell out and left a dent in the tiled floor. He gave Zack a flat look, pointing at the crack in the tiles.

"Now I know where all your funding goes to," he said.

"Wha—that's—"

"Entirely true," came a light, amused voice.

Sephiroth's stomach dropped and he whirled around, sending the chair skidding out behind him. Harry threw him an alarmed look and stood up as well. Closing the door behind her, Aerith Gainsborough offered them a smile, tucking a basket of flowers under her arm.

"You're—how are you—" Sephiroth stuttered incoherently. "How are you here?!"

"Magic?" said Aerith, and then giggled at his expression. "The same way you're here, of course."

"Wait, you're reborn, too?" said Harry, quick on the uptake. "Sephiroth told me about you."

"All good things, I hope," said Aerith, taking a seat at the table. She set the basket of flowers, full of white and yellow water lilies, in front of her. They let out a faintly sweet aroma, enough to smell, but not overwhelming. "It took us longer to get you two away from those people than we expected. Forgive us for that."

The front door opened and closed—Cloud walked in.

"Good morning," said Aerith, waving at him.

He nodded in reply, leaning on a wall close to the table with his arms crossed. The sword strapped to Cloud's back was a different shape than the previous one. Sephiroth briefly wondered how many other people might be living in the house, before concluding that Zack, Aerith, and Cloud were probably the only ones. No one else had come charging down the stairs, or walked inside from the back, so it seemed likely that everyone was accounted for.

"Why did you help us?" asked Harry, which was a good thing, seeing as Sephiroth's vocal cords seemed to have gotten stuck again. It was all happening too fast for him to keep up.

"It's kind of hard to explain," said Zack, scratching the back of his neck with a frown. "You see, we're all reborn. Aerith and me, especially. Cloud kind of world-hopped."

They all turned to look at Cloud, who only gave a half-shrug.

"That's basically what happened."

"But since Aerith and me—"

"And I," said Sephiroth, almost on reflex. He flushed. "Sorry, go on."

Zack looked bewildered, and then shook his head and continued.

"We were dead," he said bluntly.

"You were dead," Harry repeated.

"Yeah," said Zack. "But we got better."

"That's insane," said Sephiroth. "How do you die and then get better?"

Cloud let out a faint snort.

"What's so funny?" asked Sephiroth.

"It's nothing," said Cloud.

"You were kind of dead, too," said Zack, tone almost apologetic.

Of course Sephiroth had been dead. If had a previous life and had been reborn, that meant his life had ended at some point. He knew that and yet, somehow it felt as though his death was a little more than the usual end of life. Cloud, who he was starting to think spoke very little, had tensed up when the subject came around. If they were bringing up the reincarnation, then perhaps they were going to tell him about his previous life and missing memories.

"I know that look," said Zack, "and don't ask. We can't—well, we won't—tell you about who you were. You don't remember now and there's no telling when or if your memories will come back. To tell the truth . . . you're better without them."

"You want me to just . . . go through my life not knowing?" said Sephiroth quietly.

Zack winced slightly.

"Didn't think that would go over well," he sighed. "There's no point beating around the bush. I knew you—before. Telling you about your memories isn't going to make them come back, though. And there's no way to know how you'll react to them."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to protest—and then stopped. He knew what it felt like to lose control of himself, to snap and do the irreversible. It had been clear that Voldemort knew about him and his unusual past, maybe even more. All it took was a couple misplaced words and Sephiroth had completely blanked out, his body had moved and then it was over. Quirrell was dead and Sephiroth was covered in what remained of him.

"I guess I can understand," he murmured.

Zack looked nonplussed.

"Did something happen?" he asked quickly.

"He faced himself," said Aerith softly. "He won."

"That wasn't winning," snapped Sephiroth, his fists clenched. "That was me barely stopping myself from—from I don't even know what. I would have done something terrible!"

"Seph," said Harry, sounding surprised.

"You did nothing wrong," said Zack.

"I killed someone!" Sephiroth finally broke and yelled. He had spoken to everyone the year before, had taken Draco's words to heart, but still—the ugly feeling in his chest hadn't left.

"You stopped someone who would have killed you, your friends, and many other people," said Cloud. "You had to kill him to do it. Sephiroth, is this about killing someone, or is this about how you lost control?"

Sephiroth opened his mouth to speak, and then drew a blank. He remembered his thoughts, words—I snapped, I couldn't stop, I broke, there was nothing I could do—and slumped back in his chair. The entire time he had pinned it on one thing, on the thing that was the obvious problem, while the real problem festered in the back of his mind. When he saw the sadness in the Headmaster's eyes, the weariness in Madam Pomfrey's, he had thought of the terrible thing he did and reasoned that was why they looked so unhappy.

And then the end became the problem, not how it happened. Sephiroth hadn't felt as though he defeated an enemy. He had felt possessed and controlled, something else taking over. He felt like—he cheated. And then he killed.

Zack waved a hand in front of his eyes.

"I think you broke him," he said.

Cloud sighed.

"It's hard to remember he's only ten."

"Eh, don't think it's that hard," said Zack, giving Sephiroth a teasing look. "He's a midget."

Sephiroth jerked out of his daze.

"What?!" he exclaimed, shooting to his feet again. "I'm not short! Just wait until I hit my growth spurt, I'll be taller than you!"

Zack let out a laugh.

"Keep dreaming, kid," he said. "You weren't taller than me then, you won't be now."

"You said you wouldn't—wait, I was shorter than you?!"

Zack and Aerith broke into more laughter, while Sephiroth was seething and flinging searing insults in their direction. He gave up on trying to stop them when Harry cracked up and he noticed Cloud cough into his fist. They were all laughing at him.

"You're all gits," he mumbled sulkily.

That only served to set Zack off again.

Soon after, Zack and Aerith got started on breakfast, while Cloud went back out to work on the vehicle—or something. He didn't actually say and Sephiroth didn't follow him, although he was tempted. Despite what seemed like a strong aversion to speech, Cloud definitely had more going on in his head than he let on. Even standing in the room, his presence seemed to demand all their attention, quiet and powerful. Sephiroth could tell where he was at all times, as if through a sixth sense. It was a curious and unusual sensation.

Breakfast was served and Sephiroth's mind was thoroughly distracted from Cloud for the next half hour, as he entered a food-eating stupor of happiness. Zack humorously warned him not to eat too quickly, else he make himself ill after weeks of being starved. His stomach had shrunken a little, but not enough to slow him down much. Zack watched with a stunned expression as Sephiroth cleared out five plates and went for more.

"I thought all superhuman people eat a lot," said Harry, not shocked in the slightest.

"Well, yeah, we do," said Zack, almost disturbed. "But, uh . . ."

"So it's a Sephiroth thing," said Harry, grinning widely.

Sephiroth made a sound of protest.

After they were done eating, tiredness set in like a two-thousand pound lead weight on his shoulders. Sephiroth could hardly keep his eyes open and Harry was nodding off over his half-eaten bowl of porridge. Between waking up at midnight to Cloud breaking his door down, being spirited away from what might as well have been a prison, and their conversation, Sephiroth and Harry were utterly exhausted.

They only partly heard Zack tell them about their room—apparently he had thought they would prefer to share a room for the time being, they could use another room later if they would like—before falling face-first onto their respective beds. Sephiroth was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He slept deeper that night than he had in a while, waking up to the beginnings of a warm sunset. On the other bed, Harry was still passed out, his face pressed into the pillow in such a way it was a miracle he wasn't suffocating. Sephiroth rubbed his eyes and then turned to go back to sleep—and came face-to-face with none other than Dobby.

Dobby blinked his bulging green eyes. Sephiroth blinked back.

"You!" he yelled, scrambling off the bed and lunging at Dobby, who darted away. "Get back here!"

"Dobby must speak to Mr. Harry Potter!" wailed Dobby as he was chased in circles around the room.

Sephiroth almost knocked a lamp off his nightstand, catching it just in time. Dobby stole the moment to slid under his bed, huddling up in the darkness and staring at Sephiroth balefully.

"It is important that Harry Potter does not go back to Hogwarts this year!"

"That again?" Sephiroth groused. "More importantly, give me the letters!"

"No!" sniped Dobby.

Sephiroth dove under the bed, grasping for Dobby's greasy rags, and missed by millimeters. He let out an annoyed hissed and spun around, spotting Dobby balancing on the top of a tall bookshelf. In one small, scarred hand was a thick stack of letters in various colored envelops.

"If Sephiroth promises Harry Potter will not go to school," said Dobby, "then Dobby will return the letters!"

"If I wring your neck," snarled Sephiroth, "then I'll have them anyway!"

Dobby let out a yelp as Sephiroth jumped at him, vanishing with a crack. Sephiroth slammed into the bookshelf and tumbled back, the shelves following him. A couple dozen tomes pelted his arms and stomach, an encyclopedia landing too close to his head for comfort. He growled in irritation, whipping his head around to look for the errant House-Elf—he noticed with some exasperation that Harry had slept through the entire commotion.

He found Dobby hiding in the drapes and grabbed his ankle—Dobby screeched loud enough to make the windows rattle and Sephiroth released him to protect his sensitive ears. That was enough to wake Harry, who sat up board-straight with a startled exclamation. He looked around blearily, blinking heavily and confused.

Dobby ran for the door and opened it (without the use of his hands, Sephiroth was starting to think House Elves were far more proficient with magic than the average human wizard), bolting out—and then slammed into Cloud Strife's legs.

Sephiroth tried to stop, but tripped over a book and landed on his stomach.

"What happened here?" asked Cloud, scanning the room. It looked as though a mini tornado had blown through.

"Ah, I can explain?" said Sephiroth, hoping to all things holy that Cloud wouldn't be angry he had trashed the bedroom in under twelve hours. If they were anything like the Dursleys, he and Harry would be locked up before they could get a word edgewise.

Dobby squawked as Cloud picked him up by the back of his pillowcase clothing, holding him up at head-level.

"What is he?"

"Dobby is a House-Elf, sir," said Dobby meekly.

"He stole our letters!" said Harry, who had snapped to wakefulness when he noticed Dobby. "And he's trying to keep us from going to Hogwarts this year."

Cloud looked at Dobby very seriously.

"It's not nice to steal other people's letters," he said. "Give them back."

It was hard not to feel contrite when it was Cloud who was bearing down on him. Even though it wasn't directed at Sephiroth, who had yet to climb off the floor, he couldn't help but feel slightly ridiculous for how he reacted to Dobby. He was going to have to pick up the entire room and set all the books back. Hopefully they hadn't been shelved in a certain order, or it would take him forever.

"Harry Potter is in grave danger!" said Dobby insistently, clinging to the letters.

"Harry is safe here," said Cloud. "And he'll be fine at Hogwarts. It's a school."

Sephiroth wondered what Cloud would think of Fluffy and the army of chessmen. He and Harry might have omitted certain details when telling their story. It wasn't on purpose, so much as they just didn't get that far into the details of what happened. They went through a couple traps and met Voldemort—that covered all the important bits, but left out a lot of the other more dangerous aspects of Hogwarts. The Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow were two other perfect examples of how Hogwarts certainly wasn't tame.

Slowly, hesitantly, Dobby handed the letters over to Cloud. As soon as they left his hand, he let out a long cry and tore at his ears. He squirmed out of Cloud's grip and started determinedly beating himself upside the head with a book.

"What are you doing?" asked Sephiroth blankly.

Harry quickly ran over and snatched the book away.

"Stop that!" he said. "What's going to happen at Hogwarts, Dobby? What's going on?"

"Dobby—can't—say!"

Cloud handed the letters to Sephiroth, who clutched them to his chest protectively, eyeing Dobby as if he was a particularly vicious wild animal about to attack. As far as Sephiroth was concerned, he didn't care in the least what happened to Dobby from here on out. He planned on pretending he never saw Dobby in the first place. The only hitch in his plan was that he was feeling a good deal of pity, watching Dobby snivel and wipe his eyes, a pathetic expression on his teary face. He looked devastated.

A quick look around the room brought Sephiroth attention to a glass of water that must have been laid out hours ago, miraculously spared from the impromptu chase that went down a couple minutes ago. He offered it to Dobby, but the water might have well been some kind of strange fungus, with the way Dobby reacted to it.

His nosed scrunched up, then his eyes squinted—and he started bawling.

Sephiroth withdrew the water hastily, unsure if Dobby was offended or terrified.

"N-N-Never has . . . Dobby ever been offered water before," said Dobby, sniveling loudly, blowing his nose on the pillow case. "Dobby doesn't . . . doesn't know how to react."

"I think you've already reacted," mumbled Sephiroth.

Cloud set Dobby down on Sephiroth's bed and they all waited for him to compose himself. When he did, Sephiroth attempted to give him water again. Dobby still got a little teary-eyed, but accepted the glass without completely breaking down.

"Um, feel better?" asked Harry.

"Harry Potter and Sephiroth Crescent are truly wonderful wizards," said Dobby rapturously. "Dobby does not know how to repay them."

Cloud shifted, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb.

"You can start by telling us what's happening," he said. "Why shouldn't they go to school."

"Dobby wants to say, but can't," Dobby replied. "Dobby would be punished by his family, sir."

"Who is your family?" asked Sephiroth quickly. "No one with any sense of decency would treat you so terribly."

He felt a lot calmer now that the letters were no longer at stake and he was itching to open them. Cloud and Harry seemed more interested in what Dobby had to say—or rather, what he seemed physically incapable of saying. Whatever kind of magic that was binding him to his "family" (Sephiroth was loathe to use the word with something that was clearly not a family) was strong. He looked frightened at the slightest mention of the people owning him.

"Just a hint?" urged Harry. "Anything?"

"Dobby will have to iron his fingers later," he said regretfully. "Dobby cannot say."

"Is there any way to free you?" asked Cloud, keen eyes watching Dobby's every move.

"If my master presents Dobby with clothes, then I will be free," said Dobby. "But Master would never give Dobby clothing."

"But—"

Dobby jolted upright, eyes widening even further than they already were.

"Dobby has stayed too long!" he gave them one last imploring look. "Please, Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts this year!"

"Sorry," said Harry, almost regretful. "I can't do that."

Dobby looked heartbroken, before he clicked his fingers and disappeared.

"Why do I have a feeling he's going to try and help you again?" said Sephiroth wearily.

"Again?" said Cloud.

"He's the reason Harry and I were locked up by the Dursleys," he replied. "He did a charm in the house and the Ministry thought it was Harry's. The Dursleys found out we weren't allowed to do magic, and . . ."

"Your only threat was nullified," said Cloud understandingly.

Harry nodded, then turned to Sephiroth.

"You have the letters?"

Sephiroth waved them in the air.

"Want to read them yet?"

While they huddled over the pile of letters, Cloud took his leave of the room. There were several from Hermione, a couple from Fred and George, one from Charlie (to their surprise), and a mountain of letters from Ron, Angeal, and Genesis. There were three from Draco, each to Sephiroth, which was more than a little shocking.

Genesis had demanded to know why they weren't replying to his letters, broken their friendship three times, and then mended it with some of the most pathetic attempts at apologizing that Sephiroth had ever seen. Almost every single one of Angeal's letters was ended with a footnote of "Ignore Genesis." Hermione had reminded them to study and filled them in with random stories of what she did over the summer, all the while patiently waiting for them to reply. Ron kept asking why they weren't answering and inviting them to his house. Fred and George's letters were filled with prank materials that required no magic and were untraceable. Sephiroth wished he had those while he was at the Dursleys'.

"What's Malfoy's say?" asked Harry.

Sephiroth waved the parchment in the air.

"Oh, the usual," he said. "He doesn't want me writing him, he's not my friend, and I should remember to eat well."

Harry stared.

"I don't understand it, either."

"That's . . ."

"We'll be best friends yet," said Sephiroth with a bright smile.

"You have fun with that."

The next morning, Hedwig was weighed down with several letters in reply to their friends'. She threw them snooty looks as she left, clearly miffed at their sudden and heavy deliveries, and turned her nose up to the bacon Harry offered her. It seemed she didn't find them being locked up as an excuse for not letting her fly freely for nearly half a month. Sephiroth even sent a letter to Draco, telling him that he was eating well (as of yesterday, but he didn't write that) and that he was fooling no one.

Sephiroth looked forward to witnessing Draco's fit of temperament.


A/N: And the Dursleys are gone for good! Is anyone disappointed?...Anyone? Didn't think so. XD

Zack, Aerith, and Cloud are already feeling the widely-understood pain of needing money. Houses and cars don't grow on trees. They might qualify for financial aid, though. (And I just realized how tsundere Draco is acting XD).

Pretty much all the questions asked will be answered in the story...and are kind of spoilers. As for Cloud's thoughts toward Sephiroth... Well, that's kind of complicated. Going off Cloud in Advent Children, I think he pretty much let go of all his hatred toward Sephiroth. He even says it-he pities Sephiroth for not understanding what it's like to love everything.

EdelweissSagaZ: I barely lasted two weeks, I was honestly tempted to just update as soon as I finished the first chapter. XD Cloud's presence is kind of spoilers, yeah.

Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! You guys are the best. :D