Chapter II
Number 12 Grimmauld Place. What a filthy habitat. This is supposed to be the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? Every piece of furniture was covered with a thick grimy layer of dust; the carpet seemed to cough up more dust with each step they took, bugs and it sounded like doxies made their home in the curtains. As well as boggarts, if what Alastor Moody says is true. Tom was disgusted at the horrendous look of the house, but hid his opinion as he faced his lover's godfather: Sirius Black. "You're all here, good," he said giving the Weasleys a smile. "Well I'm sorry that this chore fell on you and your family, Molly, but somebody needs to clean this place if the Order's going to use it."
"Don't worry about it, it'll give them something to do," Mrs. Weasley said.
"Well, let me show you around," Sirius said. His eyes fell on Draco and Tom for a moment. "Wasn't expecting you two…" he muttered. "Cousin," he said shortly.
"Cousin." Draco returned.
"And you," Sirius said, his eyes falling on Tom. "You and I need to have a long talk if you plan on dating my godson."
"Of course Mr. Black," Tom said politely.
"Sirius… can we talk too?" Draco asked hesitantly.
Sirius looked at Draco, shocked, but nodded. He cleared his throat and turned around, beginning his tour of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. They first entered the drawing room and Tom felt a strange sensation inside him. He frowned and looked around, wondering what caused this strange feeling inside him. His attention turned to a glass box sitting on a pedestal and looked in it. His skin turned pale, his eyes growing wide as saucers. No, what is that doing here? Tom thought.
Sitting in the glass case was a locket. The locket was large and oval made of heavy gold and a serpentine 'S' in green jewels. Tom's hands began to shake softly as he stared at the locket. No! It can't be here! I placed it in a place nobody could get to! Why is Slytherin's Locket in this house?
Tom looked around quickly. Nobody seemed to have noticed him. Should he swipe it now? Or should he wait? If he waits Dumbledore might find it, but there is no way anybody in the Order would know what this locket is. But still, what would the others think if he just suddenly ask to keep the locket? Sirius would be suspicious, especially if Tom says that he wants to give it to Harry as a gift. No, the best thing to do is to leave it in the glass box for now. He and Harry will have to plan later when he comes to this place. Which reminds Tom… "Sirius, can I ask when Harry will be here?" he asked.
"Harry? I don't know," Sirius said. "Dumbledore was talking about bringing him here in August. Which is a pity really, I wanted to at least celebrate his birthday with him."
"Me too," Tom said. "I have a gift for him I wanted to give to him personally."
"Ohh…" Sirius said, giving Tom a suspicious look. Tom met his glance and smiled. "All we ever do is kiss, I can promise you," he said.
Sirius just stared at him. Tom ignored his stares and continued looking around the house. He had supporters here, he remembered. The husk's memories and his were still weaving together so it was hard sometimes to remember everything the husk did. It came in bits and pieces gradually. Sirius decided to hold their conversation off for now and gave the Weasleys, Hermione, Draco, and Tom the rest of the tour, ending with showing them where they would be staying. Tom stayed in the room he and Harry would share, which was right next to the twins' room, and looked around.
It looked uninhabitable. Cobwebs painted the ceiling and walls, wood looked rotted, and the bed looked as though it was covered with mold. "Sirius? When was the last time somebody step foot into here?" he asked.
"More than seventeen years I reckon," Sirius said. "Although I never could stand this place."
"I see…" Tom said taking out his wand. With a small flick the bed seemed to tidied itself, the sheets lifted into the air and taunted themselves, the grime, stains, and years of dust disappearing immediately. The sheets stayed hovering in the air as Tom turned his wand on the bed frame. With a quick swish, the grime and rust disappeared and Tom allowed the sheets to fall to the bed. He heard a gasp and turned to see Hermione looking shocked. "Tom! You're not allowed to use magic out of Hogwarts!" she said. "You should know that!"
"The trace is on all of us, and we are currently surrounded by many adult wizards," Tom shrugged. "They won't know where it came from."
"Still you shouldn't do it," Hermione said, sounding disappointed that Tom used his magic outside of school. Tom just shrugged again, uncaring. He just turned his attention back to his and Harry's room and started cleaning it. It was dark when he finished; the room was now spotless, Tom's clothes with plenty of room for Harry's when he comes. There was a window next to Harry's bed, now clear and perfectly useable, that Tom opened, it's curtains drawn to its sides. Stretching slightly, he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye and smirked as one of his shadow birds returned with a reply. Taking it, the bird disappeared into the shadows and Tom unrolled the scroll.
You are not my Lord, child.
Tom sighed and shook his head. "Pity," he said. He dropped the scroll in a waste bin and with a small wave of his hand, it erupted into fire. He left his room finally and returned his way to the kitchen. Dumbledore was there, along with a young woman with bubble-pink hair, Mr. Weasley, and Sirius.
"Are you sure? Dementors?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes Dumbledore, two of them," Mr. Weasley said.
"How could dementors attack Harry? How do they know where to find them?" Sirius demanded.
"Dementors attacked Harry?" Tom demanded walking into the kitchen. "What happened?"
"I am sorry Tom, but this is Order business, nothing that you should worry about—"
"Forgive my rudeness Professor, but two dementors attacked my boyfriend of two years," Tom said. "I believe I have a right to ask what is going on."
"I do not have enough information to know precisely what is going on," Dumbledore said. "I was just about to go to the Ministry before you interrupt, Tom." Dumbledore said. Tom couldn't help but notice the sharp look Dumbledore was giving him. He's wondering, thinking, Tom thought. Did I send the dementors? Are they already on my side? He knows that I am Voldemort, or he believes it. But he cannot prove it. Legally to the world I am just Thomas Riddle, a Muggleborn who unfortunately have the same face and name of a student only you know Dumbledore. I'm so sorry to disappoint you Dumbledore, but no, the dementors are not mine. I would never send them against my little Prince.
"I'm sorry then," Tom said. He stepped to the side and watched as Dumbledore walked past them, their eyes meeting for a moment. Tom turned to Mr. Weasley, who was writing a letter. "What now?" he asked.
"We wait for Dumbledore," Mr. Weasley said. "And I have to pop back to work, I only came here to tell Dumbledore what happened."
"That's it?" Tom asked. "'Wait for Dumbledore?'"
"Yeah, what else you expect to do?" the young woman asked. Tom turned to her.
"Something," Tom said. "I particularly hate waiting. I've been doing that a bit too much in my life."
"Well, you're going to have to wait some more," the young woman shrugged. "I'm Tonks by the way."
"Tom. Thomas Riddle," Tom said, taking her hand, his mind on Harry. There must be a way to get him quickly.
"What did you do to my son?" Uncle Vernon said in a menacing growl. Harry had to carry Dudley back to number 4 Privet Drive, he couldn't believe that Mrs. Figg knew Dumbledore. Why hasn't she told him about how the Dursleys treat him?
"Nothing," Harry said, knowing perfectly well Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.
"What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice. "Was it—was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use—his thing?"
Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.
"I didn't!" Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. "I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me it was—"
But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, and turned gracefully, the tip of its wings just touching the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden.
"OWLS!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. "OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!"
But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.
The severity of this breach of the Decree of the Reasonable Restrictions of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
As you have already received an official warning for a precious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statue of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 5th.
Hoping you are well.
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hophirk.
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
Ministry of Magic.
Harry read the letter through twice. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking in the vicinity. Inside his head, all way icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralyzing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back. After all he had done both for Hogwarts and the Wizarding World; after spending all of fourth year competing in a competition he never wanted to be in; after finally reviving his lover the Dark Lord, after all of that… it's all over.
He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley, who started retching.
He had to run. There was no way the Ministry would get his wand. He needs it both inside and outside of Hogwarts. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.
"Where d'you think you're going?" Uncle Vernon yelled. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. "I haven't finished with you, boy!"
"Get out of my way," Harry said quietly.
"You're going to stay here and explain how my son—"
A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen; Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was staring for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: A dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.
Ignoring Uncle Vernon's yells, Harry ran the room and wrenched the window open again. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had pulled off the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.
Harry—
Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry, and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.
Arthur Weasley
Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out. …What did that mean? How much powder did Dumbledore have to override the Ministry of Magic? Was there a chance that he might be allowed back to Hogwarts, then? His mind was racing. …He could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he knew that Mr. Weasley had his best interests at heart… and, after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before. …There was no way Dumbledore knew he was the Dark Prince, or even if the Dark Prince even exists….
He turned to his relatives, not really wanting to explain what is going on, he was too busy worrying about whether or not Dumbledore knew that Harry is the Dark Prince. He just sat down peacefully, his wand twirling between his fingertips, ignoring Uncle Vernon's yells. Breathing through his nose, he thought of Tom as he twirled his wand. He sat there in since for minutes before another owl come through the window like a feathery cannonball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking letter from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 5th August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hophirk
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
Ministry of Magic
He was not expelled… the miserable knot that seemed to form in his chest loosened slightly. Everything seemed to hang on this hearing on the fifth of August. Again ignoring his relatives, Harry stood up and left the kitchen, letters and wand in hand. He found his anger rising as he thought about the letters. Was no one going to explain anything to him? The dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out. He shouldn't be with his relatives, he should be with Tom! He should be with his boyfriend at wherever Dumbledore sent him and the Weasleys! Why did he have to return to this miserable awful—Harry groaned as he felt his shirt riding against his welts. If only he had Wormtail's wand.
Harry returned to his room and locked it, using all of his strength to push his small bureau till it was blocking the door. He went to his desk and wrote four copies of the same letter: I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.
He addressed the first to Sirius, the second to Ron, the third to Hermione, and the fourth to Tom. His owl, Hedwig, was off hunting; her cage stood empty on the desk. Harry paced the bedroom waiting for her to come back, his head pounding, his brain too busy for sleep even though his eyes stung and itched with tiredness. Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and this Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic—and still no one was telling him what was going on! Even Tom is keeping information from him! Harry could feel it—none of his letters were about the Death Eaters or what they were planning.
Why was he trapped without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? Don't do any more magic, don't leave the house…
He kicked his school trunk as he passed it, but far from relieving his anger he felt worse, as he now had a sharp pain in his toe to deal with in addition to the pain in the rest of his body from carrying Dudley.
Just as he limped past the window, Hedwig soared through it with a soft rustle of wings like a small ghost.
"About time!" Harry snarled. "You can put that down! I got work for you!"
Hedwig's large round amber eyes gazed reproachfully at him over the dead frog clamped in her beak.
"Come here," Harry said, picking up the four small rolls of parchment and a leather thong and tying the scrolls to her scaly leg. "Take these straight to Sirius, Ron, Hermione, and Tom and don't come back till they've written decent-length answers if you've got to. Understand?"
Hedwig gave a muffled hooting noise, beak still full of frog.
"Get going, then," Harry said.
She took off immediately. The moment she'd gone, Harry threw himself down onto his bed without undressing and stared at the dark ceiling. In addition to every other miserable feeling, he now felt guilty that he'd been irritable with Hedwig; she was the only friend he had at number four, Privet Drive. But he'd make it up to her when she came back with Sirius's, Ron's, Hermione's, and Tom's answers.
They were bound to write back quickly; they couldn't possibly ignore a dementor attack. He'd probably wake up tomorrow to four fat letters full of sympathy and plans for his immediate removal to the Burrow. And with that comforting idea, sleep rolled over him, stifling all further thought.
But Hedwig didn't return next morning. Harry spent the day in his bedroom, leaving it only to go to the bathroom. Three times that day Aunt Petunia shoved food into his room through the cat flap Uncle Vernon had installed three summers ago. The Dursleys kept well clear of his bedroom. Harry couldn't see the point of forcing his company on them; another row would achieve nothing except perhaps making him so angry he'd perform more illegal magic.
So it went on for three whole days. Harry was filled alternately with restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which he paced his bedroom again, furious at the whole lot of them for leaving him to stew in this mess, and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
What if they ruled against him? What if he was expelled and his wand was snapped in half? What would he do, where would he go? He could not return to living full-time with the Dursleys, not now that he knew the other world, the one to which he really belonged. …Was it possible that he might be able to move into Sirius's house, as Sirius had suggested a year ago, before he had been forced to flee from the Ministry himself? Would he be allowed to live there alone, given that he was still underage? Or would the matter of where he went next be decided for him; had his breach of the International Statute of Secrecy been severe enough to land him in a cell in Azkaban? What would Tom do? Will he leave Harry? Would he abandon him? The thought made him sick and got him to start pacing again.
On the fourth night after Hedwig's departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.
"We're going out," he said.
"Sorry?"
"We—that is to say, your aunt, Dudley, and I—are going out."
Fine."
"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."
"Okay."
"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."
"Right."
"You are not to steal food from the fridge."
"Okay."
"I am going to lock your door."
"You do that…"
Uncle Vernon glared at harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.
Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gargled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
And then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below. He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car. He snatched up his wand from his bedside table, and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud clock and his door swung open.
Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came.
"Get out of the room Harry, and put that wand down!" a smooth voice said. Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.
"Tom?" he said uncertainly.
A wand lit and Tom's figure appeared, standing in the doorway. "Yes, now come on, this lot waited long enough."
Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it. "What took you so long?" he demanded.
"Haven't I told you? This lot is an assortment of the slowest people I have ever met," Tom said, his wandlight going off. "They all wanted to wait for Dumbledore, and do what Dumbledore wanted and he wanted to take his time."
"Did you find the boy?" a low, growling voice said.
"I did Mad-Eye," Tom called from over his shoulder. "Come on Harry, let's go. Don't worry, he's the real one. I checked."
"I'm mad at you," Harry said.
"Good. If you weren't then I would be worried," Tom said.
"I'm furious."
"Excellent," Tom said.
"Why did you left me to the Dursleys?" Harry demanded.
"I had to Harry," Tom sighed. "We can talk more about this later. Come on, everyone downstairs wants to see you."
Harry just glared at Tom as he walked past, leaving his room. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.
"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away," a slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.
Harry's heart leapt. "P-Professor Lupin?" he said disbelievingly. "Is that you?"
"Oh right… him," Tom frowned. "Forgot him…"
"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "Lumos."
A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look. Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.
"Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Harry!"
"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "He looks exactly like James."
"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes."
Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled gray hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One of the eyes was small, dark, and beady; the other large, round, and electric blue—the magical eye that could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.
"Are you sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would knew. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"
"Harry, when was our first kiss Harry?" Tom asked annoyingly.
"In the dungeons in my second year," Harry said. "I kissed you. This was after you helped me with that potions essay Snape wanted."
"There, it's him," Tom said. Moody growled and looked at Lupin.
"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin said.
"A snake, but it used to be a stag like my dad's," Harry said.
"That's him, Mad-Eye," Lupin said. "Though I want to know when your Patronus changed, if you wouldn't be so kind?"
"After the Third Task," Harry said. He descended the stairs with Tom, very curious of everybody still staring at him, stowing his wand into his front pocket. Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.
"How are you?" he asked, looking at Harry closely.
"F-fine…"
Almost three weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him. He felt very conscious of the fact that he had not combed his hair for four days.
"I'm—you're lucky the Dursleys are out …" he mumbled.
"Lucky, ha!" said the violet-haired woman. "It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling them they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now. …Or they think they are."
"Come on Harry, let's pack your things," Tom said taking Harry's arm in his hand.
"Okay," Harry said.
"Before you do that, Harry, let me just introduce you…" Lupin said. "This is Alastor Moody, and this is Nymphadora—"
"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," said the young witch with a shudder. "It's Tonks."
"—Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," Lupin finished. "And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt—" he indicated the tall black wizard, who bowed—"Elphias Doge—" the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded—"Dedalus Diggle—"
"We've met before," squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat.
"—Emmeline Vance—" a stately looking witch in an emerald-green shawl inclined her head—"Sturgis Podmore"—a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair winked—"Hestia Jones—" a pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster. "And you apparently know Thomas Riddle really well," Lupin finished.
Tom just smirked. "I wouldn't allow the mission to begin without me," he said. "Come on, let's go pack."
"I'll help," Tonks said brightly. "These Muggles are very clean," she said looking around.
"Why are you wincing?" Tom whispered to Harry.
"Back. Not now," Harry whispered back. Tom frowned but nodded.
"Funny place," Tonks said, "it's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. Oh this is better," she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.
His room was certainly much messier than the rest of the house. Confined to it for four days in a very bad mood, Harry had not bothered tidying up after himself. Most of the books he owned were strewn over the floor where he'd tried to distract himself with each in turn and thrown it aside. Hedwig's cage needed cleaning out and was starting to smell, and his trunk lay open, revealing a jumbled mixture of Muggle clothes and wizard's robes that had spilled onto the floor around it.
"Harry," Tom said. "I hope you are not thinking of keeping our room this messy."
"I won't Tom," Harry said as he started picking up books and throwing them hastily into his trunk. Tom picked up his clothes and examined them before putting them in the trunk as well. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.
"You know, I don't think purple's really my color," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"
"Err—" Harry said, looking up at her over the top of Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.
"Yeah, it does," Tonks said decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.
"How did you do that?" Harry said, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.
"She is a Metamorphmagus, Harry," Tom said. "They are witches and wizards who can change their appearance at will. Don't think about becoming one, it is a hereditary ability."
"Yup. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."
"You're an Auror?" Harry said, impressed.
"Yeah," Tonks said, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well; he's a bit higher up than I am, though, I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking, I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"
"Do not worry," Tom whispered, Harry barely able to hear him. "If what I am planning goes well… we've nothing to worry about."
Harry just nodded subtly.
"I think it might be quicker if I—pack!" Tonks cried, waving her wand in a long, sweeping movement over the floor. Books, clothes, telescope, and scales all soared into the air and flew pell-mell into the trunk.
"It's not very neat," Tonks said, walking over to the trunk and looking down at the jumble inside. "My mum's got this knack of getting stuff to fit itself in neatly—she even gets the socks to fold themselves—but I've never mastered how she does it—it's a kind of flick—"
She flicked her wand hopefully; one of Harry's socks gave a feeble sort of wiggle and flopped back on top of the mess within.
"Ah, well," Tonks said, slamming the trunk's lid shut, "at least it's all in. That could do with a bit of cleaning, too—Scourgify—" She pointed her wand at Hedwig's cage; a few feathers and droppings vanished. "Well, that's a bit better—I've never quite got the hang of these sort of houseboldy spells. Right—got everything? Cauldron? Broom? Wow! A Firebolt!"
Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, an international standard broomstick.
"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," Tonks said enviously. "Your boyfriend here even has a Nimbus 2001!"
Harry looked at Tom who smirked. "Draco was… gracious enough to lend his to me, Harry. Come, let's go."
"Locomotor Trunk."
Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made it hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her.
"Where is your relative's rooms? Just point, but don't make it obvious," Tom whispered.
Harry nodded and using the fingers on his right hand, he pointed to two doors down the hallway. Tom's eyes followed Harry's fingers and waved his hand as if swatting a piece of hair that was out of place. Two small shadowy blobs left Tom's shadow and hugged the wall, keeping to the darkness before disappearing under the doors. "What did you do?" Harry whispered.
"Just giving them a little scare," Tom breathed.
They walked back to the kitchen where the others were waiting. "When are we leaving?" Harry asked.
"Waiting for the signal. "Come on," Moody said, unlocking the back door with his wand. They all stepped outside onto Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.
"Whatever Moody says, just stick with me," Tom whispered to Harry, who nodded.
"Clear night," Moody grunted, his magical eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Harry, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin'll be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; flying easy and they'll join you."
"Stop being so cheerful, Moody, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," Tonks said as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.
"If I really wanted to capture you, my love, none of this would stop me," Tom whispered in Harry's ear. Harry blushed and chuckled.
"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" Lupin said sharply, pointing into the sky. Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.
"Second signal, let's go!" Lupin said loudly, as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them. Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark green blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he'd been fantasizing about all summer, he was going home. …For a few glorious moments, all his problems seemed to recede into nothing, insignificant in the vast, starry sky.
"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" Moody shouted from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry followed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. "We need more height. …Give it another quarter of a mile!"
Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upward' he could see nothing below now by tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps. Tom kept looking to Harry, and Harry looked towards him. For all his power and grace, the Dark Lord looks uncomfortable on a broom. His hands were holding the broom to tightly, and his teeth were gritting.
"You okay Tom?" Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"Bearing south!" Mad-Eye shouted. "Town ahead!"
They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was staring to make his ears ache. He could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying; it felt like an hour at least. They started to descend; Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling, crisscrossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with parches of deeper black. Lower and lower they flew, until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimneys, and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure that someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.
"Here we go!" Tonks called, and a few seconds later she had landed.
Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tom landed next to Harry and looked at him, his eyes narrow. "How you enjoy this, I will never understand," he complained as Tonks unbuckled Harry's trunk.
"Where are we?" Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, "In a minute."
Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.
"Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.
The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out. He kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only light in the square came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.
"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," Moody growled, pocking the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of their window, see? Now, come on, quick."
He took Harry by the arm and led him from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them. Tom followed silently, always by Harry's side.
"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harry's hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."
Harry looked down at the piece of paper: The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.
"What's the Order of the—?" Harry began.
"Not here, boy!" Moody snarled. "Wait till we're inside!"
He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it. "Think about the house, Harry," Tom whispered in Harry's ear. Harry thought about it and looked up at the houses. They were standing outside number eleven; to their left was number ten and their right number thirteen. Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. "Come on, hurry," Moody growled, prodding Harry in the back.
"We need to talk once we're inside," Tom said. Harry walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialized door. Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped on the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like a clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.
"Come on, love," Tom said. Harry hard a soft hissing noise as he walked in and then old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life all along the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebby chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls.
There were hurried footsteps and Ron's mother emerged from a door at the far end of the hall. She was beaming in welcome as she hurried toward him, though Harry noticed that she was rather thinner and paler than she had been last time he had seen her.
"Oh Harry, it is lovely to see you!" she whispered, pulling in in a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid. …"
She turned to the gang of wizards behind him and whispered urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started. …"
The wizards behind Harry all made noises of interest and excitement and began filing past Harry and Tom toward the door through which Mrs. Weasley had just come; Harry made to follow Lupin, but Mrs. Weasley held him back.
"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner. And keep your voice down in the hall," she added in an urgent whisper.
"Why?"
"I don't want to wake anything up."
"What d'you—"
"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry. I'm supposed to be at the meeting—Tom, you'll show Harry where he's sleeping."
"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Tom said. "Come on Harry, this way."
They went past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, and started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves. They reached the second landing and went into the second door on the right, walking into a perfectly clean room with two beds against opposite walls. "Yours is just for show Harry. Now, before I explain what we are doing there, there is business to be done. Sit down my Prince."
"Yes, my Lord," Harry said, the two slipping easily into their Dark roles. He sat down on the edge of the nearest bed. Tom pulled a wooden chair and sat directly in front of Harry.
"First thing first, Harry," Tom said and pulled Harry from the bed, onto his lap, and kissed him deeply, shoving his tongue in his little boyfriend's throat. Harry moaned and wrapped his arms around Tom's neck, closing his eyes as his Dark Lord ravaged his mouth and throat. "When I tell you to sit down, Harry," Tom said in a commanding tone, "you sit on my lap, my little Prince. Understand?"
"Yes, my Lord," Harry purred. Tom smirked. "What a good little pet you are," he chuckled. "But we'll play later. Now we need to be serious."
"Okay," Harry nodded. He stayed on Tom's lap but brought his arms back to himself before hugging Tom's waist. "What is going on?"
"We are in the enemy's lair: The Order of the Phoenix. A group of wizards gathered together under Dumbledore's banner, their main goal is eliminating me, and so by extension, you. But more about that later. Take off your shirt Harry."
"What?"
"Take off your shirt," Tom said again. "Now."
Harry frowned, his hand hesitating on the edge of his shirt for a moment before pulling it off, revealing his smooth hairless body and perky nipples to Tom. "Let me see your back," Tom commanded. Harry closed his eyes and turned on Tom's lap so that his back was facing Tom. He heard an inclined breath. And Tom's cold voice muttering, "I've been too kind to those Muggles."
"Tom," Harry said, wincing when he felt Tom's fingers ghosting along his welts.
"Shh… it's okay love, trust me," Tom whispered. Harry felt Tom's wand pressing against his back. A heat started from Tom's wand and it slowly spread across Harry's back, heating his frozen body until he was enveloped by a warm comforting heat as if he was sitting in a low flame. The heat then disappeared and Tom ran his hand down Harry's back, the boy feeling no pain. "There… better," Tom smiled. "You can put your shirt back on love."
Harry did so, surprised to find that he had no pain on his back. "Thank you," he said.
"Any time, now turn around. We need to talk," Tom said. "I believe I have a mission for you already."
"What is it?" Harry asked as he turned around so he was straddling Tom, linking his arms around Tom.
"Our followers aren't so loyal, it seems," Tom said. "I have been in contact with multiple Death Eaters who report that a small group of my older followers seem to think that they are superior to us."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"They are mistaking my youthful appearance for weakness," Tom said. "A mistake that will ultimately be fatal for them."
"They're not following you because you look young?" Harry gasped. "How did you look before?"
"Let's just say that I was missing a nose," Tom said. "That and my… goals have changed from their ideals."
"Meaning?"
"They wanted a world in which Purebloods, mainly them, rule the wizarding world and muggle world with an iron fist. They see muggles as worse than house-elves, muggleborns as filth that need to be wiped out of existence, and half-bloods as a miserable existence. Needless to say, they hate you. I wanted that sort of world once upon a time," Tom said. "Then I realized that if it were just Purebloods, our world and wizardkind would easily be wiped out to extinction. So I have changed my focus to the hideous way the Ministry and Dumbledore treats magic. These traitors do not understand my change; they do not like my change… and it seems us being gay does not help it."
"So what do you want to do? Who are these conspirators?" Harry asked.
"The old lot," Tom said. "Yaxley leads them. From what I can gather, Parkinson is part of his little group as well as Nott Snr, Crabbe, Goyle as well as Avery Snr and his son."
"Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson's kids goes to school with me," Harry said. "They're all in Slytherin and in my year. Should we target them? To send a message or something?"
"That, but I was thinking of focusing on their children in another way," Tom said. "If my old supporters do not agree with my methods, why bother with them?"
"You're going to try and recruit their children?" Harry asked.
"Try? Harry love, I do not try, I simply do things," Tom said. "And yes, we will recruit their children, as well as the other youths in Hogwarts. My current Death Eaters are turning inefficient."
"So what do you want me to do?" Harry asked.
"Simple, we will need more information," Tom said. "Go to Parkinson my Prince, interrogate both himself and his daughter. Make him scared for his daughter's well-being."
"Okay," Harry nodded. "But how are we supposed to get out of… this house?" Harry asked.
"That we will think of later, for now there are other matters to attend to," Tom said. "Firstly, our new home: I may have told you this but I am rebuilding the home of my father. I've torn his manor down and having it rebuild from scratch. It should be done by the end of our school year, and this is the first time I have to ask you, so do you have any wants or needs in our new home, Harry?"
Harry stared at Tom. "You're… building a home… for us?" he breathed.
"Of course, my love, you deserve a house that equals your beauty," Tom said softly, showing Harry a true genuine smile. Harry blushed and relaxed against Tom's chest. "Whatever you want Harry, just say the word."
"You, that's all I want," Harry whispered.
Tom smiled. "Does that mean I'm forgiven? Hedwig attacked me the moment she came here," he chuckled.
"Yeah… you're forgiven. The others… not so much," Harry said.
Tom chuckled as well. "Good," he said. "Now secondly, we are currently in enemy territory. Do not freak out, do not act suspicious. You will act like the Golden Boy everyone believes you to be, and I will be your protective, anti-social boyfriend." They both shared a short laugh. "We are here for information Harry, never forget that. They don't trust me, they don't even tell me when they're having a meeting so I currently know nothing."
"Yes, my Lord," Harry said. Tom smiled and brushed his knuckles against Harry's cheek. "If we had the time, I would ravish you here my pet," he breathed. "You would be on the bed completely at my will, your body exposed to my will, your hole loose and begging and your lips praying that I would fuck you again." Tom chuckled and swept a hand lightly across Harry's pants, his fingers only centimeters away from Harry's hardening member. "But we don't… at least not until tonight. Be patient my Prince."
Harry groaned in frustration but nodded. He knew that he and Tom missed each other's touch equally. But before they could even think of kissing each other again, the door slammed open and Hermione rushed in, followed by Ron. Harry jumped off of Tom's lap.
"HARRY! Ron, he's here! Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I know you have, I know our letters were useless—but we couldn't tell you anything. Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got to tell us—the dementors! When we heard—and the Ministry hearing—it's just outrageous. I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations—"
"Let him breathe, Hermione," Ron said, grinning, closing the door behind him. He seemed to have grown several more inches during their near month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever, though the long nose, bright red hair, and freckles were the same. "Draco's sleeping," Ron said. "Also Hedwig's in a right state. Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters, look at this—"
He showed Harry the index finger of his right hand, which sported a half-healed but clearly deep cut.
"I wanted answers."
"And we wanted to give them to you, but Dumbledore made us—"
"—swear not to tell me," Harry said. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."
The warm glow that had flared inside him at the slight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden—after yearning to see them for most a month—he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone. There was a strained silence in which Harry returned to his seat next to Tom, not looking at either of the others.
"He seemed to think it was best," Hermione said, rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."
"Right," Harry said. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig's beak and found that he was not at all sorry.
"We argued whenever he came," Tom said.
"I think he thought you were safer with the Muggles—" Ron began.
"Yeah?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?"
"Well, no—but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time—"
"Fat luck that did," Tom said. "I would at least have told you if I'm making someone follow you."
Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him.
"Didn't work that well, though, did it?" Harry said, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"
"He was so angry," Hermione said in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."
"Well, I'm glad he left," Harry said coldly. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have done magic and Dumbledore would have left me at Privet Drive all summer!"
"Aren't you… aren't you worried about the Ministry of Magic hearing?"
"Why should he?" Tom asked calmly.
"No," Harry lied defiantly. "So why's Dumbledore been so keen to keep me in the dark?" Harry asked, still trying hard to keep his voice casual. "Did you—er—bother to ask him at all?"
"Every day," Tom said from his seat. Harry glanced up just in time to see them exchange a look that told him he was behaving just as they feared he would. It did nothing to improve his temper.
"We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what was going on," Ron said. "We did, mate. But he's really busy now, we've only seen him twice since we came here and he didn't have much time, he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff when we wrote, he said the owls might be intercepted—"
"He still could have kept Harry informed," Tom said. "I am sure he has ways of sending messages without owls. In fact Harry, there are some ways that I will be teaching you, love."
Tom wasn't helping his anger. "Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," Harry said, watching their expression.
"Don't be thick," Ron said, looking highly disconcerted.
"Or that I can't take care of myself—"
"Of course he doesn't think that!" Hermione said anxiously.
"SO how come I have to stay at the Durselys' while you two get to join in everything that's going on here?" Harry said, the words tumbling over one another in a rush, his voice growing louder with every word. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on—?"
"We're not!" Ron interrupted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings, she's saying we're too young—"
But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.
"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR THREE WEEKS! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT—WHO SAVED THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"
Every bitter and resentful thought that Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him; his frustrations at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it. All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries.
"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!"
Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a lost for anything to say, while Hermione looked on the verge of tears.
"BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"
"Harry!" Tom warned.
"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR—"
"Well, he did—"
"THREE WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON—"
We wanted to—"
"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER—"
"No, honest—"
"Harry, we're really sorry!" Hermione said desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "You're absolutely right, Harry—I'd be furious if it were me!"
Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away from them again, pacing up and down. Tom just gave him a sharp look before standing. "Harry," he said shortly.
"What?"
"Mind your temper," Tom said slowly. "You're in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. It wouldn't be wise to yell."
Harry gave him a sharp look. Tom turned to Ron and Hermione. "Get out," he warned. The two stood their ground. Tom just shook his head and ignored them. "Harry look at me," Tom said. He pulled Harry far away from Ron and Hermione. "You can't lose your temper Harry, not here. You are lucky you didn't reveal anything," Tom said in a hushed voice that only Harry could hear. "You must keep your temper here, it is dangerous."
"Tom," Harry gritted out. "Stop telling me that. You try to keep your temper after being locked with the Dursleys."
"I have been locked up," Tom said. "For fifty years. How do you think I felt during that time?"
"Horrible," Harry said.
"Exactly," Tom said. "I am not trying to excuse your three weeks with the Dursleys, but you need to understand this, Harry: We are not safe. Not here, not while we are around our enemies. I need to alter Lupin's mind, add my existence to his memories before Dumbledore interrogates him about me. This is the first time I've seen him, and I do not know when Dumbledore will ask him."
"Why not just change Dumbledore's mind as well?" Harry asked.
"It is part of my plan Harry. I need to discredit him. The Daily Prophet and the Ministry is already doing that, they're doing a smear campaign against the man, but those smears can easily be ignored and argued against. But with this however, with Dumbledore trying to prove that I am the Dark Lord and seemingly attacking his student from paranoia… that cannot be argued against or refuted," Tom said carefully. "So please Harry, calm down. We will get the information we need, but in order for that to happen, we'll have to work together. Okay?"
"Okay Tom," Harry said sheepishly.
"Good," Tom smiled. "Now why don't we take our time to… sort out that woman's awful packing? I'll deal with Weasley and Granger."
"Alright," Harry nodded, feeling immensely calmer. "Hey Tom?"
"Yes Harry?"
"I love you."
"I love you too Harry," Tom smiled. "And I'm glad I have you in my arms again."
"I'll never leave them again," Harry promised.
A/N: A nice long chapter to get the ball rolling.
Ankoku696: Would four hours after you reviewed be fast enough?
BloodMoon08: Thank you! And Tom is wishing he done that.
CainAJBassen: Sir please. I am not a ma'am. Yeah a lot of the HarryMort I've read seriously borderline pedophilia with Voldemort being… the seventy year old no-nosed self and Harry being Harry. And thank you very much for your compliment.
MirrorFlower and DarkWind: Tom's going to kill someone? Who?
I.C.2014: Well… you're wrong in that matter.
Angel Rose Potter: Thanks
Littlesprout: Hiya
AthenaNichole719: Thank you. I'm glad you've enjoyed both stories!
Alex Frost: This chapter is almost ten thousand words long! So it took a while…
NotQuiteCheshirecat: Yes canon will be the downfall of everybody. As for Tom…
