I don't really want to write this chapter, but I kind of have to. I mean, I have been talking about Blaise's mother's wedding for… um… a while.

Sorry this took a while, it's my fault as I've been disconnected from the Internet for a little while and have made all of you a little uncomfortable I'm sure, I do apologize for the inconvenience. –Tetsurga

Tetsurga lied. It took me forever to write this chapter.


A capable wife who can find?

She is far more precious than jewels. –Proverbs 31:1

Harry fidgeted uneasily in his emerald green dress robes, tugging slightly at the collar. Remus hid a laugh at his godson's expression. "You picked it out, you know."

"I know," the boy grumbled. He stopped rearranging his collar; it didn't itch any more.

It was the day of Mrs. Zabini's wedding. Blaise had made sure to invite all his friends ("I need something to do," he complained, as though someone else's mother were the one getting married). Neville and Daphne- who was actually more of an ally than a friend, truth be told- would probably have gotten invitations anyways, but Blaise wanted to make sure that they came.

"Where did you get that ring?"

Harry jerked up, startled. Remus was looking at the Portkey to the Chamber of Secrets. Not wanting to leave it behind, Harry had jammed it onto his middle finger. Now he wished he'd found a chain and fastened it around his neck.

The ring, crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself, was cast as a serpent devouring its own tail. Saysa called it an ouroboros. There had been a catch to her voice then; Harry supposed she didn't like the thought of eating her own tail. The snake was intricately detailed, each green scale visible above the others. Its eyes were dark circles of gold, slitted in the middle with black pupils.

Harry shrugged, trying to remain casual. "Just something I got from a friend, once," he said blandly. "I thought that since it matches, I'd wear it." Which was the truth, just not all of it. Harry tried not to feel guilty.

"It fits you," Remus replied. His tone said that he knew Harry was keeping something back. "You'd better get going. It's always best to arrive early."

His godson nodded, grateful to escape an interrogation. Remus, he had discovered, was quite lenient when he thought that Harry was safe. A whiff of danger, though, and the werewolf would lock his godson in a cage. It had taken hours of arguing before Remus let Harry go to Diagon Alley on his own, even though there was no other choice.

When he lived at the Dursleys, Harry had always been the protector, not the one protected. Living with Remus was… a nice change.

He walked purposefully down the streets of the CC, clutching awkwardly at his dress robes. It had rained recently, and he didn't think Mrs. Zabini (soon to be Mrs. Rochaid) would appreciate a muddy schoolboy at her wedding, even if it were her fifth one.

As always, the Aurors' quarters made him bubble in rage. The werewolves' sector was filthy, drab, almost falling apart. The Aurors' barracks were clean and spacious. It was warm and comfortable there, while "cozy" was the only compliment he could apply to Remus' lodgings. It was not right! What had the werewolves done wrong? They were sick, not evil, and if his plan worked, that sickness might soon be cured!

Irritated, the boy pushed down his anger. He needed to focus. Harry had used Floo only once before, and Voldemort had avoided it whenever possible.

Harry stared distrustfully at the merrily burning fire. He thought back to the end of the semester, to the flames before the Mirror of Erised. Those had been fake, but they led into horrible danger. These were real, but absolutely harmless.

Harry grimaced. Best do it as quickly as possible. In one fluid motion, he tossed a heaping handful of Floo Power into the fireplace and charged. "Zabini Manor!"

Thud. Harry bounced back from the mass in front of him, nearly falling. Whoever he'd hit yelped. She- it was a woman's voice- actually did fall. "Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry," Harry gasped, leaning over to help her up.

The girl's eyes widened. "Harry?"

"Do you know this boy, Nymphadora?" asked another woman's voice. Harry looked over and nearly had heart failure. What was Bellatrix Lestrange doing at Mrs. Zabini's wedding?

"This is Harry Potter, Mum," the girl explained, apparently quite unconcerned about the Death Eater three feet away. "The one from Halloween."

Bellatrix smiled, and Harry realized that she wasn't Bellatrix at all. Her face lacked the other's malicious cast. "Good to meet you, Harry," she said warmly, extending her hand. "Andromeda Tonks."

Tonks? Harry looked at Nymphadora. Now that he knew who she was, he could see the resemblance. Her hair had been pink at Halloween, but the face was the same. "I thought you'd be here," she told him happily. "I mean, Blaise Zabini was with you at Halloween." She smiled at him, and he wondered how he had failed to recognize her.

Harry, Tonks (only her mother could get away with calling her "Nymphadora") and Andromeda walked down the hall, chatting amiably. Andromeda, it turned out, worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which made Harry's hackles rise- he knew exactly what that department had done to Remus. Andromeda, though, was firmly opposed to the mistreatment of werewolves. In her opinion, the CC should only be used at the full moon. At other times of the month, werewolves should be allowed to go about their own business.

"Mum's right," Tonks commented. "When I heard that some Aurors spent their entire lives 'guarding' werewolves, I almost went into the Department of Mysteries."

Tonks was going to be an Auror? Harry very nearly hissed.

Fortunately for him, Blaise appeared. "Hey there, Harry," he said. Though only twelve, he was stunning in his silver-gray dress robes. His mother was a famous beauty, and Blaise had clearly inherited her looks.

"Hey, Blaise," Harry replied. Andromeda said something polite about finding her seat. Tonks waved and trotted after her mother.

Blaise's dark eyes searched the room. Apparently deciding that no one was close enough to overhear, he mumbled, "What happened at Diagon?"

Harry flinched. It was enough. Blaise went pale beneath his dark skin. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"What're we going to do about it?" the Slytherin wondered miserably. "We can't tell Dumbledore- Malfoy is easy to manipulate, and-"

"Malfoy?" Harry queried. "What's Malfoy got to do with this?"

Blaise opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a blast of golden trumpet sound. Several guests jumped. Blaise muttered a curse. "Tell you later," he promised, and darted off.

The trumpets faded into a soft, yearning countermelody. Some kind of high-pitched instrument- flutes, maybe, took up the tune. The entire ensemble continued for another minute, then faded into pianissimo.

"We come here today," boomed a man's chocolaty voice, "to stand witness to the merging of two souls." Someone gasped, pointed. Harry turned and gasped himself. An immense silvery jaguar and an equally bright hyena were waiting near the end of the room. They turned and slowly made their way outside. Patroni.

"She's evil," someone murmured appreciatively, "but she sure knows how to throw a party!"

Harry frowned, turned to rebuke whoever had called Blaise's mother evil, but the crowd was moving after the Patroni. Whoever had spoken was already gone. Sighing, Harry turned around. The Patroni were stately silvery shapes in the distance. Harry began walking.

The animals led the guests outside of the manor and along garden paths. Foxgloves and lupines climbed along the paths' sides, fringed by smaller zinnias and morning glories. Further away, immense rosebushes and hedges towered over the rest of the garden. Harry sniffed, smiling at the sweet floral scents. Neville, he decided, would love it here.

The Patroni walked serenely towards the bushes. By now, a few of the less fit guests had begun to fall behind. Harry and the other guests turned a corner. The witch to his left gasped.

Rosebushes climbed all around him. Their flowers were every color imaginable, and even a few that were not: classic reds and sapphire blues and deep twilight purples. Some were frilled, some multicolored, some big and some delicate and small, but the branches were so closely intertwined they all seemed to grow on the same immense bush, reaching for the sky, arching over the wedding guests, exhuming their intoxicating scent. Harry breathed deeply, then smiled, content.

The flowers surrounded a gigantic stone square- no, not a square, more like a gently rounded oval. Moss and tiny, tiny flowers peeked up from between the stones. Stately benches, apparently pure marble (though in reality they were probably transfigured wood) were arranged in a semicircle around a lacy portico. A single figure in dark dress robes stood there: the groom, one Endymion Rochaid.

Suddenly a flock of doves burst out from behind the groom. When they vanished, a black-robed magistrate had appeared in their place. "We come here today," he said in that same chocolaty voice, "to stand witness to the merging of two souls."

The trumpets were back too, and the flute-like instruments. They repeated their melody, swelling into grandiose heights and finally settling into a wistful, yearning piano. All heads turned.

Anath Zabini stood silhouetted against the rosebushes, her son on her arm. Harry's breath caught. Even a twelve-year-old could see how she had gained her reputation for beauty. Her height was the only average thing about her. The rest was a perfect obsidian sculpture: high cheekbones, curly black ringlets that fell just past her shoulders, large dark eyes. Her dress shimmered in the morning light with a thousand thousand pearls. Slowly, with great dignity, she walked down the aisle. About halfway through Blaise let go of her arm and stood silently, watching. Harry thought he looked sad, but that was impossible. Who could be sad at his own mother's wedding?

"Do you, Endymion Ambrosius…."

"Do you, Anath Erin…."

"I do."

"I do."

The guests erupted into cheers.


Blaise stood at the edge of the garden, moodily staring at his glass of punch. He hated it when Anath married. He just hated it. The stepfathers were always happy for a time, then they'd fall victim to a mysterious "accident." Anath would grieve for a few months, then, jump back into the dating pool to "help her get over the tragedy of number five's death."

Yeah, right.

"Blaise, your mum throws amazing parties," said a cheerful, familiar voice. Harry Potter's smiling face beamed up at him. "Course, I've never been to a Wizarding wedding before, but this is still pretty cool!"

"Mum has a lot of practice," Blaise grumbled.

Harry blinked. Slytherin or no, he was still very innocent, at least in some areas. "What do you mean? Is she a wedding consultant or something?"

Blaise sighed. "Harry, Endymion is my fourth stepfather."

The younger boy's jaw dropped. "Fourth? How?"

His friend flinched. "Numbers one through three had… accidents. Supposedly."

Harry's eyes were wide as saucers. "Oh," he said meekly.

Blaise hesitated. He'd never told anyone the details before, but Harry was his friend. His best friend, "I think she got the idea when my dad died." Maybe even before then, but Harry didn't need to know that. "I was two; I don't remember much of it, but Dad owned a diamond-mining business in South Africa. When he died, Mum suddenly became rich. All my stepfathers have been rich, too. Mum likes rich men."

Harry's eyes were soft with sympathy. "Ouch. I know it doesn't do anything, but… I'm sorry, Blaise."

The other boy grimaced. Time to change the topic. "Dobby is the Malfoys' house-elf," he said bluntly.

Harry looked furious. "Figures," he growled. "Lucius was always foul."

His friend wanted to ask when Harry had met Lucius Malfoy but was interrupted by his mother. "Blaise! There you are! It's your turn to serve the punch."

He glared at her helplessly. He hated serving punch and had been trying to avoid notice.

Harry was sympathetic. "How long are you gonna be at the punch bowl?"

"Hours. At least."

"Ouch. Will you get out before eight? That's when I have to be home."

"Definitely not. Mum will probably send me up to bed at ten. I know how these things work."

Harry frowned. "Oh. Were you planning to finish your letter to Norberta and her mum then? I was."

Blaise blinked, momentarily wondering why he would send an owl to a psychotic dragon (who couldn't read!) and a thousand-year-old basilisk. Then he grinned. "I wasn't, but I probably should, shouldn't I?"

His friend nodded, raising a hand in a wave. For the first time, Blaise noticed that he was wearing the ouroboros Portkey. Harry smiled. "Well then, Blaise, I'll see you at school."


The Chamber of Secrets was an immense stone cavern beneath the lake by Hogwarts. It was decorated all over with carved serpents: on the columns, on the walls, even a few streaking across the ceiling. Seeing the Chamber always made Blaise wonder just how Salazar Slytherin had managed to construct it all.

At the end of the cavernous space was a stone statue of Slytherin himself. Ancient and monkeyish, Slytherin gazed down on his legacy with cold granite eyes.

At least, they used to be granite.

Not much startled Blaise, but the Chamber of Secrets had a habit of surprising him. First he'd been stunned by its actual existence; after that, by the sixty-foot-long snake (who could apparently become human!) that lived in it;then by the dragoness their insane groundskeeper had somehow acquired. Given those occurrences, he probably shouldn't have been surprised that Salazar's enormous statue had somehow turned to gold, but he was.

A hissing noise interrupted his gawking, and Blaise looked down. Sisith was almost invisible against the dark floor, but once Blaise started looking, the black serpent seemed to shine. "'Lo, Sisith," he said amiably. "Harry's coming soon." The Parselmouth had tried to teach his friends some Parseltongue, but Blaise's skills had grown rusty over the summer- not that they'd been good in the first place.

Sisith hissed something; Blaise recognized the sounds for Harry's name, and his own.

As if on cue, the younger wizard materialized. He had changed out of his dress robes into a faded Muggle t-shirt and denim pants. Smiling, Harry hissed something at Sisith, then looked up and added, "Hi, Blaise."

The black serpent slithered over to Harry, hissing something rapidly. Harry's eyes widened. He spun around, jaw dropping at the statue. "What in the- Norberta!"

A shape appeared in the shadows, steadily resolving itself into a black dragon. Twenty feet long from head to hind, with an extra ten feet of tail, Norberta was the newest addition to the Chamber's permanent inhabitants.

"Norberta," Harry said with exaggerated patience, "why did you turn Salazar into gold?"

Hisses and growls. Harry looked exasperated. "Shiny? I don't care how shiny it is, it's not supposed to be gold! How long has it been this way?"

"More importantly," Blaise interjected wryly, "how did it get that way?"

Harry reddened. "Oh… yeah, Norberta, how did it get that way?" At his feet, Sisith made a sarcastic-sounding comment.

"I was asking you, Harry."

His friend was still blushing. "Actually… I think it's better to show you. Norberta, where is it?"

The dragoness growled something that did not sound complimentary. Blaise wondered what she had said; these conversations would be much more entertaining if he could actually understand them. He really should start working on his Parseltongue.

"Norberta, you just mutated a thousand-year-old piece of art! Did you really think I'd let you keep it? Now hand it over."

If not for a sudden familiar grinding sound, the two might have come to blows. Saysa, eyes closed, slithered out of Salazar's mouth.

Being friends with Harry Potter tended to teach one interesting things. One of those things was how to read a snake's limited facial expressions. Saysa was furious. Norberta wisely scurried off into the shadows to fetch whatever it was Harry wanted.

Harry chuckled slightly. "Saysa says to never trust a dragon with valuables. Dragons like to hoard things, she says, the shinier the better. Oh, and we also shouldn't let them near royalty. They've been known to collect princesses, and that tends to be unhealthy."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "No fresh air and a diet of meat."

"She meant for the dragons. Princesses tend to attract knights with lances, or dragon handlers. Or just angry mobs."

Having no idea how he could reply to that, Blaise changed the subject. "Yeah… I asked my house-elves about Dobby, and they did some asking around. You'd be amazed at what house-elves know about their masters… but that's not the point. Apparently, the Malfoys have been known to kill house-elves who make them too mad. I think that if we got Dumbledore involved (assuming he actually does anything), they would just kill off Dobby."

Harry scowled. "He'll know soon enough. In fact, he'll probably turn it into another test for Mark."

"Actually, Harry," Blaise replied slowly, "I think that he planned it this way."

The other boy just stared. "What?"

"Think about it. Dumbledore knows that Malfoy hates Muggleborns and that Muggleborns are outdoing him in pretty much everything. It would be easy for him to predict that wee wittle Dwakey would start complaining to daddy as soon as he got home. Daddy Lucy, of course, is mad that his perfect pureblood son is being outdone by smarter people." He met Harry's eyes, brown boring into green. "I don't think it is just Mark who's in trouble. If I'm right, the Lucius is targeting the Muggleborns. Your brother, if he's even being targeted at all, is just icing on the cake."

A funny look crossed Harry's face. It almost looked as though he was trying to remember something. But all he said was, "That makes sense." He was probably trying to figure out why he hadn't thought of it. "Of course, if what you're saying is true, this is probably just a test for Mark."

"You already said that."

"Well, can you think of any other explanation?"

Saysa made a comment. Sisith hissed something, apparently agreement. "Norberta's back," Harry translated.

The black dragoness slunk out of the shadows, her amber eyes darting nervously towards Saysa. With an air of great reluctance, she dropped something from between her claws into Harry's waiting hands. The object flashed with red light.

Blaise blinked curiously, peered closer at it. Norberta's possession was a small, irregular stone. Even in the dim light of the Chamber, it seemed to glow with its own inner fire. "A rock? How could a rock-" Then it hit him like lightning.

The last few days of his first year had been chaotic. Reporters had stalked campus, rumors had run rampant, but Blaise knew more than other people. In the bowels of the school, Mark Potter and Quirinius Quirrell- the host of Voldemort- had fought over the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Okay, how the heck did you get hold of the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Er… I think I'll just give you the abbreviated version. Neville signaled me when Mark didn't go to bed at ten, so I followed him but I couldn't catch up to him until he'd already faced Voldemort. He was out cold by then. I pretended to join him- Voldemort, not Mark- got my hands on the Stone, and had Sisith bite him. Then I set him on fire. Then Dumbledore showed up, so I grabbed the Stone and my Portkey and high-tailed it. Yeah. I think that's it."

Blaise just gawked. One thing was for sure: Harry Potter held even more surprises than the Chamber of Secrets.


Poor Blaise. I really can't help but feel sorry for him.

"Anath" was the name of an ancient Middle Eastern war goddess famous for her excesses. It's also an alibi taken by Semirhage in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time, which is how I learned about the name. I kind of liked it. "Endymion" is a shepherd who had the misfortune of attracting the moon goddess. She put him into an eternal sleep so she could shower him each night with kisses.

My next few updates are going to be pretty sporadic, so forgive me in advance.

-Antares