I own nothing and no one

Hopefully these scenes will become full stories someday

Until then, this will have to do

19: For the Better

"You're not serious!" Sirius gasped. "The Togakureryu Academy!" He and his mysterious rescuer had agreed (or rather he had looked at the man, gulped, and quickly given his word) years before to settle their discussions out of Harry's sight. Which was why they were arguing in a room smothered in silencing charms. "He could die." Hadn't the other heard about that place?

The man known as Damian Vansone smiled grimly at the man who both was, and was not his godfather. "Careful Siri," he warned. "Your finally tuned British prejudices are showing again." The other wasn't nearly as impulsive or narrow minded as he had once been thank Merlin. But he still slipped from time to time.

The pureblood took a deep breath, forcing himself to think. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly.

"The last fatality at Togakureryu occurred in 1987, when a student attempted a ritual he had been warned to leave alone," the time traveler spoke the facts dryly. "The last death at Hogwarts was in 1991, when Ravenclaw's seeker was hit in the head by a stray bulger." He snorted. "Think about it, do you honestly believe any parent would send their child to the kind of school you seem to think Togakureryu is?"

Sirius looked puzzled. "Then why . . ." His voice trailed off. Why all the rumors about the Black Arts? Of students being encouraged to fight, sometimes to the death?

"Jealousy," Damian's answer was short and to the point. "They knew Togakureryu was the better school, but were unable to accept it." Which was why Harry was going, his younger self would need those teachings. His faux cousin would not stand alone. However, he knew better than to believe he could be at the other's side for every second.

There was a moment of silence. "What about Dumbledore?" Sirius asked at last. The slightly younger man had managed to keep his godson's disappearance a secret somehow, but the Headmaster would surely notice he was missing a student come September.

A pair of emerald eyes glowed. "Don't worry about it," Damian told him. He had put the finishing touches on his plan years ago. "Just leave everything to me."

22: Old Friends Never Die

Nicolas felt a stab of regret in his undead heart. If only he had gotten here sooner. But he hadn't. What was done was done, and the past could not be changed. Carelessly, he dropped the drained body of the final cutpurse, crouching down to close their victim's glazed eyes.

His fingers were literally brushing the other's eyelashes when the figure suddenly gasped. The vampire feel back with an undignified yelp, nearly falling. The man had been dead. His heart had not been beating. "What are you?" he whispered in disbelief yellow eyes wide.

A look of amusement crossed Methos' face as he hauled himself back to his feet. Taking a moment to brush the dirt off his clothes, though they were still covered in blood. "Shouldn't the question be what are you?" he asked. The Immortal paused, looking Nick up and down. "Then again, I think I can guess."

There weren't that many stories about supernaturally strong creatures of the night who feed on blood. Though the other man seemed far from a mindless bloodthirsty monster. All things considered, Methos was pleased. It was good to know that even after four and a half thousand years this planet could still surprise him. Besides, he was curious.

Nicolas seemed to snap out of it then, catching the other's eye. "Forget," he commanded.

Methos just looked amused. He could feel something, but it was easy to ignore. "Forget what?"

"Damn it," the blond cursed. A resistor, just his luck. "Forget," he commanded again, pouring on more power. "Please, I don't want to kill you."

"And why would you have to kill me?"

"It is part of the code," Nick hissed only half thinking of what he was saying. "No mortal can know of our existence."

Slowly, Methos smiled. "Problem solved then," he said flippantly raising his arms out to his sides. "As you can see, I am clearly not mortal."

23: Melting the Ice

Dark stumbled, only half aware of wear he was going. He had been asleep for a long time. Two generations, as the Niwa had suffered an excess of girl children in recent years. Now though, he almost wished he had never woken up. Daisuke's words echoing in his mind with sickening finality.

Reaching his destination, the dark angel fell to his knees. In front of him stood a single marble headstone. The design was simple, there were no elaborate carvings. Nothing to show the man lying beneath it had been the scion of the most talented artists in history. Satoshi Hikari, it read. There was no epitaph. Only his date of birth and death.

"Damn you," Dark hissed pounding his fists against the dirt. "Damn you Satoshi," it was one of the few times he had ever used the other's true name. The Hikari line was dead, and with it his other half.

The angel didn't even realize when his shoulders began to shake, tears running down his cheeks. His whole existence had been one of change. The world changed, the people changed, even the stars sometimes changed. Only one thing had remained the same, and now he was gone. Long purple bangs hung down to cover eyes of the same color as the other lowered his head.

Dark heard the soft footsteps approach, but he didn't stir. Didn't care who it was, or what they wanted. Until that is, the other crouched down beside him, gloved hands coming up to gently shift the other's head. And suddenly, the dark angel found himself staring into a pair of golden eyes he knew as well as his own.

"Tears my darkness," Krad spoke softly. "For me?"