A/N: I own nothing.

The Ministry would have you believe that Stafford was a violently disruptive rebel, out to destroy the system he failed to succeed in out of spite. The truth is that Stafford began gathering muggleborn and half-blood witches and wizards dissatisfied with the status quo. They staged a series of peaceful protests against discriminatory practices and laws being pushed under the aegis of 'tradition'. In addition to painting these protestors as violent fanatics, the Ministry attempted to take them into custody using mostly 'off-duty' DMLE staff. These protesters, though, had survived a regime that tried to wipe them out and were led by a man known (at least by those who met him without prejudice) to have mastery over magic normally attributed to the likes of Dumbledore or Voldemort. They did not accept being unjustly arrested quietly and their aggressors, unprepared, were easily subdued. Seen at the time as isolated abuses of an indolent regime, they would soon be spun into tales of rebellion and dark magic.

-Excerpt from 'Falling from Grace' by Harry James Potter. Banned by the Ministry of Magic in 2005

There were several benefits to the Headmaster's office: comfy chairs, shelves of rare books, the ability to change the entrance to whatever floor you wanted. All of these amused and comforted Albus, but the feature that most captivated him was the windows. They were large, arching affairs with panels stained in many different shades from amber to sapphire, and with a single command could change to allow an unobstructed view of the Hogwarts grounds including the Black Lake. Often were the hours he would spend gazing over his domain as he worked for the Greater Good of the wizarding world, and unfortunately often were the times, like now, that he used their tranquil beauty to soothe his mind.

'Sirius, was it not enough to betray them? Must you come for their son as well?' He thought morosely as memories of four young boys gamboling across the grounds swam up from the depths of his mind. That was one of the hardest thing about living so long as an educator; no matter what his students did later in life, a part of him still saw them as the fresh, innocent young minds that first set foot in the castle under his care. Dumbledore was not a young man, having seen over a century, and much of that as an educator. Wizarding lifespans being what they were, he had seen literally tens of thousands of children grow into healers and bureaucrats, curse breakers and enchanters. 'Killers and rapists' the dark part of his mind that had been so in tune with Gellert whispered, causing him to sigh. No matter how he tried to see the best in people, that voice was always there.

"We can never fully escape ourselves, can we?" He asked his oldest friend, and Fawkes trilled his fiery song in a soothing response. Albus smiled, allowing himself a moment of pure happiness as phoenix song washed over his soul, and then turned to the letter he'd been putting off. Cornelius was pushing for Dementor presence on the grounds with Sirius presumed after Harry, something Dumbledore was fighting him tooth and nail but still failing to sway him on. The thought of those abominations protecting anyone was laughable, especially Harry Potter. The boy had a horcrux in his head for Merlin's sake! They were more likely to accomplish Black's goal for him than protect the school! It would be a disaster, and he couldn't let the boy die.

Not yet.

It was a melancholy Harry that stepped back into his room at the Three Broomsticks, his stomach pleasantly full of delicious stir fry and his head full of pleasant memories. It wasn't that he was jealous of Hermione, not really. She deserved some good in her life, especially after all she'd put up with to keep him alive throughout the years...and yet he couldn't deny that part of him saw her smile in a carefree way like she hadn't for years, and felt a pang of longing. So instead of laying down on the surprisingly comfortable mattress and falling into the lands of Morpheus, Harry fell back into old habits and began to distract himself. When he was younger that would be with quidditch practice or chess with Ron, something he never really became good at. These days...these days his hobbies were a bit more esoteric.

He reappeared in the backyard of a dark Number 4 with barely a whisper of sound, long years of practice making his apparition nearly perfect. The house itself was dark, the late hour almost guaranteeing that the Dursleys would be tucked into bed and giving Harry uninterrupted time to work on one of the great mysteries of his younger life.

The blood wards.

Their nature had plagued him in his later years. He had come across hundreds of different protective rituals, literally thousands of different ways to set up wards, but he'd never come across anything capable of being anchored to a living body, much less an infant, that would disintegrate someone the way Quirrel had been on mere contact with Harry in his first year. Already dead and gone before he'd gained an interest in blood magic, they had sat so long in his 'unexplained' category that he almost couldn't believe he would be getting a chance to change that now. He raised a hand to his temple and pulsed magic into a film across his eyes while staring at the house in front of him, and then frowned.

'What the hell?' Harry thought while trying to make sense of what was in front of him. First was the shape: instead of the normal dome-shaped ward, a bubble the color of dried blood emanated from Petunia and Vernon's bedroom. Even more confusing was the tether that extended from the center of the bubble to his chest, a tether that pulsed in time to his heartbeat. There was a slight sheen, now that he was looking for it, that covered him like a second skin and pulsed just like the tether, but it was all so dim. He couldn't imagine it having the power to make Voldemort sneeze, much less prevent him finding Harry for nearly two decades-

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as he noticed something interesting, namely that the pulses were not uniform. Every few pulses there would be a larger jump, and each jump corresponded to a tiny reduction in the size of the blood-colored bubble. It was nearly imperceptible, a reduction of such tiny proportions that the bubble could take years of pulses to noticeably shrink, but it was there. And each time the bubble shrunk, the film over Harry's skin brightened for just a moment.

"Motherfucker!" Harry swore loudly enough to wake half the neighborhood before turning jerkily and vanishing, a loud pop heralding his arrival back at his room in the Leaky Cauldron. Immediately he began to pace in agitation as wind began to pick up in the room. "That fucking idiot, that imbecilic fool!" Harry grit his teeth in an angry rictus as he considered what he'd learned. It certainly showed Petunia's hatred of Harry in a new light. The son of her estranged sister, a boy possessing the same power that she herself lacked. A power that made him capable of wondrous and terrible things.

A power that was draining her dry.

It was obvious now why Harry had never been able to find a way to replicate the wards, because they weren't really wards at all. They were some kind of intent-sensitive defensive system that Dumbledore had tied to Petunia and bastardized into a stealth ward, but the system wasn't designed for that and it wasn't powering itself however the old man had intended. Instead the protection (which seemed to be anchored into his very skin, likely the actions of his mother if what people said about the late Lily Potter née Evans was anything to go by) had responded to the taxing of its power levels by pulling power from wherever it could. As its primary purpose was to protect Harry it couldn't pull power from him, so it pulled power from the only other source: Petunia. If his aunt had had magic of her own, this would only be a small nuisance. As she didn't have magic of her own the protections drained her life force instead and converted it into useable power, something that was probably responsible for her stick-like figure while eating the same kind (if not the same quantity) of food as her husband and son. Hell, now that he thought about it she probably owed Voldemort her life in his home dimension: If he hadn't short-circuited Harry's protections during the resurrection ritual they would probably have drained her to death in just a few more years. Distance was also a factor in these kinds of links, and she probably felt herself weakening any time she was close to Harry. A few years of that kind of feedback…

"The road to hell…" Harry muttered the old axiom as he calmed down enough to be sure he wouldn't accidentally blow anything up, and then began to think about the problem logically. The blood defenses (and he couldn't think of them as wards anymore, the part of him he associated with Hermione kept muttering about improper labeling when he did) were an indisputably powerful tool, but he couldn't justify leaving them linked to Petunia like that. For one thing it was wrong, but more importantly she was a muggle and just couldn't provide much power to them in the first place. He would need to disconnect them from their current anchor, which would start a countdown until their power was completely depleted unless he found another power source. Fortunately he had an idea about that which neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort would ever suspect, and which would help out someone he owed more than he could ever repay.

Three days was a long time to worry about someone, especially someone with the kind of penchant for getting into trouble that Harry so effortlessly displayed. Three days was also a long time to be stuck in a house with a mother who just wouldn't stop teasing her. Whether it was about Lockheart or Harry was irrelevant, her mother was getting far too much enjoyment out of tormenting her. She'd almost rather be dragged on another of Harry's insane-

'Too close' Hermione let out a relieved sigh as she forcefully prevented herself from finishing that thought. She wasn't one to believe in superstition under normal circumstances, but the sheer amount of coincidence that seemed to inhabit her best friend's life defied all statistical norms. She'd long ago learned not to tempt fate when it came to Harry.

"Hermione? Could you come here please?" Her mother's voice came from the front hallway, and Hermione could hear at least one other person talking in a low tone. 'Must have missed the bell' She thought as she drew closer, only to stop as she heard what was simultaneously the most glorious and terrifying babble of words.

"Dobby is being most delighted to meet the great Harry Potter sir's 'Mione's Mother, it is being a great honor!" delight at the realization that Dobby was alive was drowned out by the part of her brain throwing up error messages because he could not be here!

Harry had a fraction of a second's warning before his shoulder was caught in a metal vice masquerading as the hand of his best friend.

"Hi!" he chirped, smiling blithely in the face of Hermione's glare. Before he could say any more he was unceremoniously dragged off with a perfunctory "can I talk to you for a moment", waving goodbye to Des. As soon as they turned a corner he was treated to the sight of a thoroughly flustered Hermione.

"Harry, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing bringing a house elf here!? I'm muggleborn, you know how the Ministry reacts to any magic near us during the summer!"

"Dobby already has orders not to do any magic while we're here unless it's an emergency, and I thought Des might like to meet a magical who wasn't a witch or wizard." Harry replied nonplussed, still smiling.

"Please stop calling my mother that, even if it's just to get a rise the thought of you flirting with her makes my head hurt- and what did you mean by order?"

"Who said it's just to get a rise? You came by your looks honestly, and she's still young." It was genuinely surprising that Hermione's answering look didn't do something nasty to him.

"My father has a shotgun." Harry smiled smugly.

"I have a house elf." Memories of Kreacher leading the elves of Hogwarts in a battle charge stopped her thoughts for a second as she acknowledged that was probably a valid counter, then focused.

"And what, exactly, did you mean by 'having a house elf'?"

Harry immediately put his hands up. "Before you disembowel me with a soup spoon, there really is a good reason for bonding Dobby. Well, besides his fanatical devotion to me and to raise your blood pressure." Hermione's hair was began a reasonable impression of Medusa's. "I needed a power source for the blood protections mum cast on me, and with the bond allowing Dobby to access his full reservoir he's actually more powerful than he was before."

"A powerful slave, Harry. A thinking being locked into absolute servitude."

"One ordered to tell me if he ever wishes to be free, or if any order makes him uncomfortable in any way." Hermione's jaw snapped shut as she considered that.

"He's been brainwashed." She said stubbornly.

"He needs magic to survive." Harry rejoindered

"And he can get that from any magical location, he doesn't need a bond." Part of her knew she was being mulish, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. House Elf bondage twigged just about every sense of injustice she had.

"But he wants one." Harry held up a hand to forestall her inevitable response. "I know they're culturally pushed towards that mindset, but I'm also helping to educate him. I want him to have a true choice just as much as you do, but as he is now the lack of a bond makes him extremely embarrassed and ashamed. If, after he learns more about the world, he wants to be free? He's already been ordered to tell me. If he wants to stay?" Harry looked her in the eye "You can't say you want him to be free to make his own choices, and then tell him he can't choose the bond. You're not a hypocrite."

Hermione stared at him, expression inscrutable, for several minutes before huffing unhappily and looking at the ceiling.

"I hate it when I'm wrong, you know." There was just the tiniest quirk of her lips as she spoke.

"That's why I let you be right most of the time." Harry said impishly. "Besides, coming up with ways to be wrong is a good outlet for my creativity." Hermione flicked his shoulder and laughed as he mimed pain, marveling at how easily her smile resurfaced.

"Fool." She said fondly as she held out a hand. "We need to get back before Dobby convinces my mother to let him clean the whole house." Harry allowed her to drag him back into the entryway, bumping into her when she came to an abrupt stop.

"What in Morgana's name…" Harry peered past her and immediately leaned against her, laughing. Hermione, her expression a mask of incredulous horror, tried to parse the scene before her: Her mother, dressed in something similar to a court jester's outfit a la the Mad Hatter, was trying desperately to corral Dobby. The house elf was dressed in a wedding dress complete with train and white lace frills, but what was making him so hard to catch was the constant hiccups. Each hiccup caused the diminutive elf to emit a stream of iridescent bubbles that catapulted him around the room, the erratic motion sending him careening away from her mother at random intervals.

"Mum! What happened?"

Before her mother could say anything Dobby noticed their presence for the first time and looked at her blearily.

"Ish Mashtr Harry Poster and his Mineny." The hiccups stopped momentarily, but he was still listing dangerously to the side. "Dobby ish-" He shook his head and tried to refocus, then straightened as if struck by a revelation. "Dobby ish be missing..mashing?" He frowned in confusion before the empty teacup in his hand caught his eye, and he raised it above his head. "Dobby be making youse tea!"

The gravitas the little guy put into his proclamation lasted for all of a second before his eyes fluttered closed and he slumped to the ground, snoring loudly. There was a moment of complete stillness as the three conscious inhabitants looked first at Dobby, then each other. Harry's incompletely-suppressed snicker finally broke the spell enough for Hermione to focus on her mother, still clad in her multicolored monstrosity.

"What happened to him? He looked like he was just coming off a night at the pub!"

"I don't know!" Her mother said, still in shock. "When you two went off to talk I made him a cup of tea, but you know me. There was barely a drop of brandy in there, just enough to give flavor!"

Harry, snickers still breaking through at odd moments, nodded at Dobby. "House elves have ridiculously low tolerance. Seriously, they get pissed off of one butterbeer." He paused as he suppressed another bout of laughter. "Although Dobby might be a lightweight, even for an elf."

A particularly loud snore punctuated Harry's assessment and drew their attention back to Dobby, who now had a bubble nearly the size of his head growing from his mouth. They watched for a second as the fragile construct grew to the size of a beach ball and then, with a sound that she felt in her magic more than with her ears, popped. Instantly the room was back in order, the damage from Dobby's drunken shenanigans erased, and her mother was once again back to her normal self just in time to jump as an owl carrying an official-looking envelope pecked at the window.

"Aaand there's the warning for underage magic." Hermione sent a glare at Harry, who looked apologetic.

"Don't worry, I'll get it taken care of." He said in a conciliatory tone. At this point in time he was still the 'Savior' of the wizarding world, riding high off the defeat of another dastardly monster in the form of Slytherin's basilisk. Getting something like an underage magic warning would be child's play. Harry snorted at the unintentional word play even as Hermione gave him an exasperated look, and neither noticed Hermione's mother staring at the comatose elf.

"So...are we just going to leave him there?" She finally asked.

"We might as well." Harry said slowly. "He's not blocking the door, and they tend to sober up fast, though nowhere near as fast as they get drunk." A snore from Dobby punctuated his words. "Give him ten or fifteen minutes and he'll bounce right back."

Des gave him a suspicious look but made no move to relocate Dobby, instead heading towards the kitchen.

"I think that's my cue to leave. Normally I'd tease a bit about lack of supervision, but after...that, I think I need a drink." She walked out of the room, muttering about 'crazy lightweights' the whole time, which finally gave Hermione a chance to regain her equilibrium. She led Harry over to the same couch they'd used last time he'd come over, and the two sat in silence.

"So" Hermione said, clearing her throat. "What have you been up to for the last few days? Besides Dobby and the blood magic, of course." If anything, Harry seemed to still even more. His eyes took on a sunken look, and he clutched Hermione's hand like a lifeline as he took a deep breath and spoke.

"I didn't mean to be away so long." He said, giving her a small apologetic smile. "After I bonded Dobby we did some business with Gringotts, a little shopping in Knockturn. I planned to come see you yesterday, but-" he gripped her hand hard enough to hurt. "I saw her."

Hermione frowned at the almost whispered words. "Who?"

"Luna"

Suddenly Hermione was gripping his hand just as tight.

"She-she was bound to show up some time, right? I mean, that's the whole point of coming here." She said haltingly.

"I know, but-" Harry turned to face her, and the sunken expression shifted to something intense "she was just there, walking down the Alley without a care and...and she was whole."

'Ah' Hermione thought silently. Luna was a unique person, for both of them. After they defeated Voldemort things had changed for them. People practically bowed in the street, and it felt like they weren't allowed purely mortal things like doubts and fears. With Ron on the outs and Hermione still reeling from the loss of her parents, Luna had taken it upon herself to try and cheer her and Harry up. She'd shown the same loyalty then as when she followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries, giving them someone slightly removed that they could just be themselves around. It was a precious gift, but the more time they spent around the airy blonde the more they realized just how badly her time in the Malfoy's dungeon had affected her. Dark spaces terrified her, and later on they found out her penchant for finding out-of-the-way places for the three of them (and sometimes Neville) to relax wasn't just altruism. She couldn't stand crowds, could barely stand for someone besides their small group to so much as touch her without a panic attack. For someone like Harry, who she knew had intimate knowledge of the cruelty humans could heap on each other, watching someone he'd come to think of as a close friend suffer like that was terrible. For him to see her now, walking down Diagon Alley without fear, without panic…

Hermione let go of Harry's hand and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, tears pricking the corner of eyes. "She's fine. Luna's fine." She repeated the mantra for several minutes as she held him, then leaned back and wiped her eyes. "You know, that makes the whole trip worthwhile by itself."

"It does" Harry replied with a slightly-damp smile. "And if I have anything to say about it, she'll never go near that hellhole."

"If we have anything to say about it, Harry." Hermione corrected gently, earning herself a grateful look.

"If we have anything to say about it." He agreed, then looked down nervously. "Speaking of that…" Instantly Hermione was suspicious.

"You've got that look again" She narrowed her eyes, but instead of making a pithy quip like she expected he looked at her without a trace of humor.

"If I had a way to uncover a treasure trove of tactical information on the Ministry, the Death Munchers, and lost magical lore, would you help me access it? Even if it involved some borderline-dark magic?"

Hermione's first instinct was to say yes, and then try to badger him until he explained so she could convince him it was a bad idea. Harry had a habit of running away with ideas and not considering the consequences, but the way he was looking at her… "What kind of borderline-dark magic?"

"Soul magic" She grimaced. Despite her obsessive hunger for knowledge, she found soul magic distasteful. Maybe it was because of the Horcruxes, maybe it was that so much of it involved hurting other people, but the whole discipline left her feeling unclean. "And how, exactly, is soul magic going to get us this information?"

Instead of answering, Harry brushed the hair from his forehead and tapped his scar lightly. Hermione frowned in confusion for a few seconds, then her eyes opened wide as saucers. She gaped, momentarily shocked at the sheer audacity of his plan; then the memory of Hagrid carrying Harry's limp body back to Hogwarts surfaced, and she felt dark satisfaction.

"In that case I'd be happy to help." She said with a vicious smile. 'Turnabout is fair play, right?'

Dobby woke to the sound of his master's voice, the low tones barely audible over the pounding in his head. For a brief moment all Dobby could feel was unending shame: to become drunk was bad enough, but to do so in front of Master Harry? If he hadn't been explicitly forbidden from punishing himself he would have ironed his hands and his feet. As it was, he found some absolution in the vicious hangover.

Like any good elf, even as he wallowed in shame he kept one ear on his master, and what he heard gave him an idea on how to make up for his shame: his master was planning something, something that needed a number of rare ingredients and a ritual circle. Dobby didn't know how to make a ritual circle, but he did know where former Bad Master had kept his most valuable things… Yes, that was it. He would find these things for Master Harry Potter and his Mione, and maybe then he could erase the shame he was feeling! But first- first he needed his head to stop spinning.