The Last Archangel: First Born

by inukagome15

Part 14 of "The Last Archangel" series. He just wanted to rest. But he was alive now, and he had no idea why. He had no purpose, no path to take. His brother had told him they had free will, the choice to do what they wished. But he was aimless. Who was he, if not Michael?

4. Fourth Year

I have returned with the fourth year! Which is...a whopper. Not too surprising considering the book itself is pretty massive? *does not think about #5*

EDIT 03/14/19: Fourth Year is a baby compared to Fifth Year. A baby.

I skim over a lot, especially at the end because the last third of the book is pretty heavily focused on things that only Harry is aware of. And Michael isn't really paying attention to that stuff. BUT. Fifth Year is where things start to get interesting!

Please be aware of emotional whiplash at times. This is Michael of Supernatural we're talking about, and he was put through a bit of a wringer in the last chapter.

I hope you enjoy it!

---

Fourth Year

---

The routine of Michael's summer was occasionally interspersed with letters from his friends and Eleanor and Alan arranging a trip to the seaside, during which Michael found himself rather at a loss for what to do and mainly just sat around feeling ridiculous. He didn't miss the concerned glances that Eleanor and Alan shot him, but he also wasn't quite sure what to do.

He ended up trying to build a sand castle because some other children were doing it. He wasn't quite sure he did it right since people kept coming by to stare at the end result.

In hindsight, maybe building a castle that that went up to his waist and which featured actual windows wasn't the best idea.

But since it did make Eleanor and Alan happier, it was worth the trouble putting it together. Alan even took a picture, insisting that Michael pose next to it. The resulting picture had been rather awkward with Michael's picture self staring into the camera like it was going to eat him.

At the end of July Neville sent him an invitation to his birthday party. Given the importance humans placed on birthdays, Michael wasn't too surprised by this. What was more annoying was having to obtain an appropriate present.

In the end Michael settled on some potted dittany, which had healing properties. As Neville enjoyed Herbology, he would probably like it.

Since the plant wasn't wrapped, Michael had the pleasure of seeing Neville's face light up upon seeing it.

"Is that dittany?" Neville asked delightedly, taking the pot from Michael. "Thanks!"

Michael inclined his head. "You're welcome."

Neville paused, fingers on the leaves. "Should I ask where you got it? This is rare."

It was easy enough for Michael to just go out and find some, but… "I was under the impression one didn't tell with presents?"

"Right!" Neville flushed lightly, shooting a guilty glance to where his grandmother was talking to Susan's aunt. "Justin's not here yet, but the others are. I'll just put this somewhere in the sun."

Neville hurried off, the pot of dittany held gently in his hands, and Michael was left standing there for a moment before he turned and looked for the others.

"Wayne!" Ernie shouted the moment he saw him, grinning broadly. "Glad you could make it!"

Susan rolled her eyes, giving Michael a smile. "What else was he supposed to be doing, Ernie?"

"I don't know. What do angels do when they're not glaring at homework?"

"They fly," Luna said dreamily, her smile small but genuine. "And they help people."

Michael felt a slight twinge of guilt at the latter statement, his lips twisting briefly. "Some of us," he said before anyone could say anything else. "But we do fly. How has your summer been, Luna?"

"Very good," Luna said. "Dad and I have been looking for reports of the Blibbering Humdinger; we hope to find one later."

"The what?" Hannah asked, confused, at the same time Ernie said, "What on earth is that?"

"We don't know yet," Luna said, giving a small, half-smile. "But we'll know it when we see it."

Michael wasn't entirely sure to say, and neither was anyone else, so when Justin and Neville joined them, they were both rather bemused to find them all staring – or not staring in Michael's case – at Luna.

"Is everything all right?" Neville asked after a moment, glancing between everyone worriedly. "Is it the drinks?"

Michael abruptly found himself with a drink in hand courtesy of Ginny, who winked at him.

"The drinks are fine," Ernie rushed to assure him.

"He hasn't had this many friends over for his birthday before," Ginny told Michael in a whisper. "So he's a little nervous."

"He's doing fine," Michael said, surreptitiously raising the drink to his nose to see what it was. It turned out to be pumpkin juice.

Ginny snorted, covering it with a cough when Michael raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, but you're not exactly the best judge of normal behavior."

"No, I've seen worse from adults," Michael insisted.

"Hm…I suppose you would have." Ginny nudged him gently in the side. "You know about the Quidditch World Cup?"

Michael tilted his head. "No."

Ginny didn't immediately continue, brow furrowed as she studied him. Then she seemed to realize that he was asking for more information, not shutting the conversation down. "Oh…you know about Quidditch at Hogwarts, right? This is the biggest event for Quidditch; it's held every four years in a different country, and they're holding it here this year!" She bounced excitedly.

"Gran doesn't want to go," Neville said mournfully, having overheard them. "So she didn't get tickets."

"I'll ask my folks," Justin said hopefully. "They might be willing to let me go."

"I think mine already have tickets," Ernie said thoughtfully, Susan nodding in agreement.

"We hoped to get tickets," Ginny said, mood lowering, "but they're too expensive. I suppose we'll just have to listen to the radio."

"No one in my family's interested," Hannah said, giving Ginny a sympathetic smile.

"Michael's not going either, is he?" Luna looked expectantly at Michael.

"No?" Michael made a face, rather discomfited at being the center of attention so suddenly. "I didn't even know it was this year." He didn't even know it was a thing.

"You don't even like Quidditch, do you?" Justin snickered. "What are you doing, then?"

Michael hadn't really done much of anything this summer, not like last time. Occasionally he did stir and travel someplace to answer a particularly desperate prayer, but somehow, he just lacked…the zeal.

"Nothing much," Michael answered eventually, offering a perfunctory smile that had Justin looking worried. Which had not been the reaction Michael had been hoping to garner.

"Are you all right?" Justin asked, eyes scanning Michael.

"I'm fine."

"It's just…" Justin paused, considering his next words. He didn't seem to notice the others looking at him expectantly. "That was a lot of Dementors last year," he settled on finally, subdued. "And you – you were right in the middle of it. It's all right to be a little…down, that's all."

Michael hadn't even considered that as a possibility. He'd brushed the presence of the Dementors away as soon as he'd been able to, seeking to rid himself of the cold. But that hadn't stopped him from dwelling on the memories they'd brought to the forefront – memories that he thought he'd left behind.

"You didn't even have any chocolate after that, did you?" Hannah's eyes were wide.

"No, but—"

"I think the cake's chocolate," Neville said, grabbing hold of Michael's arm. "Let's sneak a bite! You can hide it, can't you?"

Michael could, but that didn't mean he should.

Michael, you can be happy, you know.

Michael jolted, eyes widening slightly as he glanced at Luna, who met his gaze calmly. She just offered him a small smile, taking his other arm.

"Let's go, come on!" Neville whispered, tugging him along. "Gran's busy!"

Five minutes later, Michael found himself hiding the presence of his friends as they all snuck bites of the chocolate cake and its icing. When he didn't immediately take the slice that Justin offered him, Ernie went and smeared it all over his face, not even remotely apologetic in the face of the incredulous stare Michael shot him.

Following a mini-food fight during which most of the cake ended up on their clothes, even Michael found himself digging out chocolate from his hair and inside his shirt. There was no saving the cake by this point, and Michael wasn't entirely certain of his ability to recreate it.

Which probably accounted for the suspicious looks Neville's grandmother shot them after taking her first bite.

---

In the first week of August came a letter from Ginny practically oozing excitement that said she was going to be able to go to the Quidditch World Cup after all. She expressed disappointment that Michael wasn't going to be there and added that Potter had been invited so he could get away from his relatives. (Michael had the general impression that none of the Weasleys were impressed with Potter's family.) There was also an invitation to her birthday on the eleventh.

Since neither Eleanor nor Alan was exactly a Quidditch fan and Michael found little sense in throwing balls around in the air while risking death every second, there had been no plans to attend the event. That standards were safer now than they had been several centuries ago didn't exactly impress him.

But Michael was aware enough by now of human social mores that he simply wrote back wishing her a good time. The poor owl that had carried the first message gave him a scandalized look upon being given the return letter ten minutes later, but he was soon sent out on his way after Michael took pity on him and gave him a boost of energy.

Some of his other friends were a little more dismayed at being unable to attend the Quidditch World Cup, Justin bemoaning his parents' lack of interest in the sport and Neville rather upset that his grandmother hadn't purchased tickets despite him trying to convince her otherwise. Hannah wasn't quite as upset about missing the game but more because she wouldn't get to see the others, and Luna didn't care at all, sending Michael letters on what she and her father had been up to.

"You didn't want to go, did you?" Eleanor asked him later that day.

"Not really," Michael said, shrugging. Then, "What are you working on?"

It wasn't the smoothest way of changing the subject, but Eleanor seemed happy enough to discuss some of her recent cases with him and how she had helped her patients. And that way Michael didn't have to deal with her sharing concerned looks with Alan.

At this rate something would have to be done.

---

It was official. Michael absolutely hated the Floo. It was such a messy and uncomfortable way of traveling that it was absolutely perfect for wizards.

And he hated it.

It wasn't even the soot. No, he could deal with the soot. It wasn't even the dizzying sensation of being transported from one point to the next with absolutely no control over the method.

It was the fact that the fireplace spat Michael out with a vengeance, sending him sprawling across the floor headfirst until he collided with something, which then proceeded to topple over and land on him. Michael swore the fireplace gave a disgusted cough before falling silent.

The disgust was entirely mutual.

"I'm sorry!" Ginny rolled off of him, sounding utterly mortified. She started patting at Michael's robes. "Are you all right?"

Michael got to his knees, gently batting aside Ginny's hands. "I'm fine," he assured her, brushing the soot off.

"Scourgify," an unfamiliar voice said, promptly coming over to fuss at Michael's robes as well. "There you are, dear."

Michael turned to see someone who could only be Ginny's mother. "Thank you."

"No worries at all!" Ginny's mother beamed at him. "We can't have you going around in a such a mess, can we?"

"Mum, this is Wayne," Ginny cut in. "He's in Hufflepuff."

After the cursory introductions and Michael handing the present over, Ginny ushered Michael out of the house and into the yard, where Neville and Luna were both waiting. "Ignore my brothers," she told him. "They're utter prats."

"Aw, Ginny," someone cooed from behind them.

"That really hurts, you know," a nearly identical voice continued.

Michael turned slightly, unsurprised to see the twins standing there with identical grins on their faces.

"Fred and George," Ginny said as a curt introduction, giving them a sharp look. "You leave them alone, all right?"

Michael didn't move as the twins looked over at him, their grins stretching the slightest millimeter.

"And who might you be?" Fred asked.

"Wayne," Michael answered simply.

"You're one of Ginny's friends?" George leaned in slightly, ignoring the glare Ginny shot him.

"It's why I was invited," Michael said dryly, inclining his head.

He realized that may have been a mistake a second later when the twins grinned again, this time more wickedly than before.

But then Ginny snapped at them. "No! If you try anything, I'm telling Mum!"

Fred put his hands up, backing away slowly. "Nothing planned here, Ginny."

"Of course not," Ginny muttered, snatching hold of Michael's arm to pull him the rest of the way to where Neville and Luna were waiting.

"The others should be here soon," Ginny said, smiling now. "Mum was surprised that I'm having so many friends over."

"She doesn't mind, does she?" Neville asked.

"She loves cooking," Ginny assured him. "I've just never had such a big group before." Her eyes were bright.

"Having friends is nice," Luna agreed, smiling. "I've never been invited to so many parties before." There was a strong ache of loneliness accompanying the words that hit Michael rather like a sledgehammer.

Ginny's smile twisted slightly, and even Neville looked rather stricken.

Hesitant, Michael moved closer to touch her shoulder. "You're invited to mine," he said carefully. "If you want."

Luna smiled brilliantly at him. "I'd love to come! What kind of parties do angels have?"

"We don't, actually," Michael said after a moment. "It's a human custom."

"You don't have any parties at all?" Neville sounded morbidly fascinated with the concept.

There was nothing to party about. "No."

"I'm sorry," Luna said seriously. "That sounds terribly dull."

Michael frowned briefly, uncertain of how to respond to that.

"He's having parties now," Ginny pointed out, evidently taking pity on Michael.

"I suppose he is, yes," Luna agreed, studying Michael solemnly. "Are you having fun?"

The concept of "fun" was still rather new, but Michael supposed he was. "Yes."

And, several hours and one failed prank by the Weasley twins later, Michael rather found that it hadn't been a lie after all.

But he really hated Flooing.

---

Oh no, oh no, what do I do, what do I do? There are too many people here. Stay together with Fred and George. If Michael were here…

Michael filtered out most prayers, but he didn't do so anymore for any of his friends. This wasn't even a prayer, but the desperation and fear attached to it and the use of his name was enough to get his attention. So it didn't matter what it was, just that Ginny was genuinely terrified and had thought of him.

He found her in a second, landing next to her in a silent beat. He would have reached out to touch her to let her know he was there, but that was when he registered the acrid sensation of raw fear and the faint screaming in the distance.

Michael froze briefly, breath stopping in his throat, hearing other, inhuman screaming that echoed in his mind. Clenching his eyes shut, Michael drew back, shaking himself back into the present and pulling his Grace into his vessel to block out the fear.

Prepared now, Michael reached out to touch Ginny on the shoulder once her brothers were distracted. The next thing he knew was that she punched him, the delicate bones of her fingers shattering with the impact.

"Ow!" Ginny reeled back, face white in pain as she nursed her broken hand. "You—" She broke off when she saw him, eyes widening. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"You called me here," Michael pointed out, touching two fingers to her hand.

Once healed, Ginny shook her hand out, flexing her fingers. "No, I didn't."

"You said my name."

"I – oh." Ginny pursed her lips, glancing back to where her brothers were calling for their youngest brother and his friends. "I didn't realize…"

"What's going on?"

Ginny didn't answer, seizing Michael by the shirt, eyes wide. "You can do something, can't you? You can help them!" Her eyes flicked to something behind Michael before returning to his.

"I can't—"

"You can!" Ginny insisted, the words a hiss to avoid catching the attention of her brothers, who were by now quite frantic. "Don't tell me you're just going to let them torture those Muggles! They haven't even done anything!" She tried shaking him, but the only thing she managed was stretching his shirt.

"There's already help there," Michael said, tilting his head as he stretched his senses out carefully. "They're handling it."

That took all the wind out of Ginny's sails, and she deflated. "Oh. Good." She seemed to realize she was still holding onto Michael's shirt and let go, looking only vaguely guilty at the stretched fabric.

"Who's this, Ginny?" Fred asked, coming up to give Michael a piercing look.

"It's all right, Fred," Ginny said, glancing up at him. "You remember Wayne, don't you? You did try to prank him," she added dryly.

Fred didn't look remotely sorry at the reminder, nodding. "You alone, then?"

Since he was literally the only other person standing there, Michael chose not to answer that question, instead going for, "Who are you looking for?"

"Ron, Harry, and Hermione," George answered, still looking around as if he could find them through sheer tenacity. "We were separated."

It took Michael only a second to find them in the forest, and he glanced at Ginny, inclining his head slightly with what he hoped was an encouraging look.

"I'm sure they're fine," Ginny said after a moment, relaxing minutely. "This is Harry we're talking about, and Hermione won't let them do anything too crazy."

"Are we talking about the same Harry here?" Fred protested, eyebrows raised.

"He'll be fine," Ginny snapped at him, puffing up.

"Oh, I'm sure," George said. "Right after stumbling into something else."

"That does sound like our Harry," Fred said cheerfully, sharing a grin with his brother. He turned back to Michael. "Stick with us for now."

Nodding, Michael hung back with Ginny as the twins pushed forward, illuminating their wands with a quiet spell to help light their surroundings.

"What about Susan and Ernie?" Ginny whispered, wrapping her fingers around Michael's wrist. "Are they all right?"

It took a few more seconds for Michael to locate them, both of them far away from the current chaos. "They're fine," he assured her quietly. "They aren't even here anymore."

Ginny sagged in relief. "That's good," she breathed. Her fingers tightened briefly. "Thank you for coming."

Michael tilted his head, looking at her steadily. "You called for me."

"I didn't even know I did." Ginny bit her lip, studying the ground.

"I made you a promise," Michael said softly. "You won't come to harm again."

A wry grin flashed across Ginny's face. "I didn't know you could keep it. I thought it was just you – you know – being sweet."

Michael frowned, unsure of how to interpret that. "I am not sweet."

"Well, maybe not," Ginny agreed, "but you are kind."

"I…" Michael looked away, his vessel doing something rather unusual in the region of his stomach. Even his heart did something like a flop, which was anatomically impossible. He wasn't kind. No one in the Host was. They were what they were.

There wasn't changing that, even with the newfound concept that they had free will.

One couldn't change who they had been born as. Humans were humans, monsters were monsters, and angels were angels. There was no changing that and no changing the role they played.

Even Michael, who knew he was no longer worthy of being who he was, couldn't change his nature.

"You are a bit of a twat sometimes," Ginny went on, bumping shoulders with him. "But everyone is, really."

"Are you flirting back there?" George teased Ginny, glancing over his shoulder.

Ginny flushed. "George!"

"You two are looking very comfortable," George continued, grinning broadly. "Are you holding hands?"

Ginny snatched her hand away, hiding it behind her back. "It's none of your business!"

Her brothers turned as one, smirking evilly and cooing, though neither let their wands drop.

Michael wasn't quite sure how to react and just stood there, eyebrows furrowed. Ginny huffed, the sound fond, as she rolled her eyes.

Two seconds later, the moment was shattered as the sky was lit up with a sickly green glow; seconds later, screams pierced the night.

Michael glanced up almost unconsciously, eyes narrowing when he saw the grinning skull outlined in sparkling green against the dark sky, a snake curling out of its mouth. He hadn't the faintest idea what it stood for, only that it meant nothing good. Even Ginny had reacted, clutching his arm with a death grip that would have bruised a human.

The twins reacted quickly, unusually serious for what Michael knew of them, ushering them back and away from the sight. They trekked backwards, eventually leaving the trees behind and entering what looked like a campground.

"They're all gone," Ginny said, sounding faintly surprised.

Her brothers didn't answer beyond giving their surroundings a suspicious look and pushing them ahead. Michael wasn't entirely sure where they were headed, but Fred guided them through the mess of tents and smoldering campfires until they reached another tent with familiar red-haired faces.

"Ginny!" One of the other brothers – the lankier one – rushed over, relieved.

"Fred," Fred said dryly.

"George," George supplied, rolling his eyes. "So nice to see you, Weatherby."

Michael paused, confused at the unfamiliar name. Ginny wasn't any help, busy fending off the so-called Weatherby's concerned fussing.

A short, stocky Weasley came over, notably calmer than Weatherby, giving them all a once-over, eyes lingering on Michael. "Did you pick someone up?"

"This is Wayne," Ginny answered before either of the twins could. "He's my friend."

The man nodded. "Where are your parents?" he asked Michael.

"I didn't come with them," Michael said easily.

"He came with Ernie," Ginny added, "but he was separated from them."

"They left," Michael said after a moment.

"Took a Portkey, probably," the last Weasley standing by the tent said, nodding. A fang dangled from one ear, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. "You can stay with us until we sort something out."

"Where's Dad?" George asked. "We lost the others while we were running." He was tense.

"Gone off to find you," the short Weasley said. "He'll be back soon, I expect."

"What about that?" Fred asked, glancing back over his shoulder to where the grinning skull and snake still illuminated the night sky.

"It'll be fine."

"Come on," the other Weasley said, opening the tent flap. "Inside."

Ginny snagged hold of Michael's arm before he could consider doing anything else, tugging him along insistently until he followed.

"I'm Bill," the Weasley with the earring said once they were all inside. "It's good to meet a friend of Ginny's."

"That's Charlie," Ginny said before her brother could, nodding to him. "And Percy."

"Not Weatherby, then?" Michael asked before he could rethink it.

Both Fred and George snorted, grinning broadly despite the glare Percy leveled on them.

"What?" Fred didn't sound at all apologetic. "Isn't it your name, Weatherby?"

"How you can be so ridiculous—" Whatever else Percy might have said was cut off when the tent flap opened again, this time to admit Potter and his friends, who were followed shortly after by a man who Michael recognized as Arthur Weasley from his time at Ginny's house.

The man paused upon noticing Michael, his brow furrowing, clearly not recognizing him.

"I'm Wayne," Michael reminded him before anyone else could say anything.

"He's my friend," Ginny added a beat later. "He was at my birthday, remember? He missed the Portkey Ernie took."

Granger was looking at him, evidently recognizing him from last year. She looked away upon realizing that he had noticed her staring, attention turning to Potter.

"It doesn't matter," Michael said, shifting his weight.

"We'll get you home," Mr. Weasley assured him.

Michael wasn't at all concerned about that, but the concern was appreciated.

When Potter asked about the skull in the sky, evidently as lost as Michael about what it meant, he was relieved that he didn't have to ask, though the answer was frustratingly vague. It was frightening, he understood that much, but symbols meant little without the power behind them.

When the conversation turned to the topic of house-elves and Granger's frustration with their treatment, Ginny pulled him aside, pushing in close to ask in a murmur, "How are you getting back?"

Michael gave her a small smile. "It'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Indeed, several hours later once most of the panic died down and the others were sleeping, Michael gave Ginny one last look and slipped away, making sure that the rest of the family would think that they had already sent him off.

She was safe and that was all that mattered.

---

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Justin said sheepishly two minutes after the train started moving. "But my parents were freaking out about what happened."

"The Daily Prophet didn't exactly help," Ernie pointed out, pulling out a neatly wrapped package that looked like a book. "Here you are."

Michael unwrapped it, seeing that it was a book on magical theory. "Thank you."

"That looks awfully dry," Ginny said, leaning forward to take a closer look at the cover.

"If he keeps scribbling in the library books, Pince is going to have his head," Ernie said, shrugging. "I'm surprised she hasn't noticed yet."

"It's the Wrackspurts," Luna said matter-of-factly. "They've confused her."

"Most likely," Susan said carefully after a stilted pause.

"Gran wouldn't let me come," Neville told Michael apologetically. He handed over a small cutting of the dittany plant Michael recognized. "I know you said you don't do parties, but I thought you'd like this. It's growing really well," he added brightly.

"You're brilliant at Herbology," Susan said, grinning at Neville as she handed a wrapped box to Michael. When Michael saw it was apparently a quill set with assorted ink bottles, she explained, "You go through quills quickly."

With an eager grin, Ginny shoved a badly wrapped package at him that his fingers sunk into. Unwrapping it revealed a bright red scarf. "So you don't get cold!"

Hannah's present turned out to be a large box of assorted chocolates. "You always look so sad, and chocolates are supposed to make you happy," she said softly, giving him a lopsided smile.

It had been Hannah who had given him chocolate when he had still been human. The taste still lingered on Michael's tongue when he thought about it. "Thank you."

"It's a notebook," Justin said unnecessarily, brandishing an artfully decorated notebook. "So you don't scribble in books anymore." He gave Ernie a look.

"You didn't even wrap it," Susan said disapprovingly.

Justin just shrugged, letting Michael take the present to flip through the empty pages. The book was entirely Muggle down to the lined pages and the way it was bound, and Michael remembered using such books for his earlier education when he had been a human. He didn't quite think he'd be using it the way Justin had envisioned, but the sentiment was nice.

"I had fun yesterday," Luna said, smiling at Michael. "Thank you for inviting me."

"What did the two of you do?" Susan asked curiously.

"Eleanor baked a cake," Luna said brightly. "And then we sang a song before eating it. After that, we watched what they called a movie. It was very loud."

"I'm glad you had fun," Michael said, giving her a small smile.

Luna returned the smile. "Did you like my present?"

Michael reached into his shirt to pull out the odd bauble Luna had given him, declaring that it would protect him from anything that would try to confuse him or make him sad. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but Luna's belief in its abilities had given it its own power, and it wasn't something Michael would take lightly.

Upon seeing that he was wearing it, Luna's smile widened. "Is it working?"

"I can feel it," Michael said honestly, tucking it back under his shirt. He could feel the skepticism from the others, but thankfully they didn't say anything, well used to Luna's little eccentricities by now.

Stacking all his gifts on top of one another, Michael sent them to his trunk. There was a little jolt from the others at the sight, although Luna just tilted her head curiously.

"So," Justin started, recovering quickly, "who do you think is the unlucky sap who's stuck with the Defense position this year?"

Michael frowned slightly. "Was something wrong with Lupin?"

"You didn't hear?"

"He wasn't there," Susan reminded Justin.

"But we didn't mention it?" Justin frowned briefly before shaking it off. "I heard he resigned."

"Did you hear, though?" Ernie leaned forward, dropping his voice. "He's a werewolf!"

"That was just a rumor," Ginny said with a huff. "Snape started it, and he hates Professor Lupin."

"He's not anymore," Michael said, cutting off whatever else Ernie might have said.

Susan stared at him. "Meaning he was one?"

"Yes."

"Did you do something?" Hannah asked when Michael didn't elaborate further.

Michael inclined his head. "I healed him."

Ginny digested that for a moment. "Does he know?"

"He should've figured it out by now."

"That's going to freak him out," Justin pointed out, a small grin flickering across his face.

"So," Susan said slowly, "that means we had a werewolf for a professor last year?"

"Professor Snape is a vampire," Luna said blandly, not at all perturbed by the looks she received.

"How's he in the sun, then?" Ernie demanded.

"It's his robes. They keep the sun out."

"He is really pale," Neville said thoughtfully.

"Well," Susan said loudly, kicking her heel against the bench, "maybe Snape's a vampire, but I'm sure he's still teaching Potions. Aunt Amelia was awfully cagey this summer for some reason."

"Doesn't she have to deal with the Dementors?" Ernie asked. "Michael did make a mess of them."

"She wasn't at all sorry that happened, just confused," Susan said dismissively. "It's something else, and she won't tell me what."

"Gran was also rather quiet," Neville said slowly, sharing a look with Ginny.

"Dad knows something," Ginny said. "But he didn't tell us what, and Fred and George really tried getting it out of him."

"No luck?" Hannah sounded sympathetic.

Ginny smirked. "No, but I'm sure they have something else planned."

"We'll find out at Hogwarts," Ernie said confidently. He looked at Michael. "What are the chances of Malfoy showing up?"

Michael tilted his head, locating Malfoy near the rear of the train. "Not very likely," he answered after a moment.

Grinning slyly, Justin nudged Ernie in the side. "Do you miss him?"

"Come off it!" Ernie elbowed Justin in the side. "It's just surprising, is all." He looked back at Michael. "You're usually so good at being on his good side."

"Not anymore." Michael shrugged. "I upset him when I asked about Hagrid."

"Good," Ginny said fiercely. "Hermione spent ages in the library last year looking up legal statutes for Buckbeak, and none of that would've been needed if he hadn't been such an arse."

"You're not friends anymore, then?" Neville sounded rather like he considered this idea highly suspect.

"We weren't friends," Michael said, sighing.

"Yes, you were," Justin said, nudging Michael's foot with his own.

"We were friendly acquaintances."

"Friends," Justin sang, grinning widely.

Heaving another sigh, Michael refrained from rolling his eyes. "If we were friends," he said dryly, "then he would be here."

"Actually," Susan said slowly, "that he didn't like what you said means that he does think of you as a friend. He would've ignored you otherwise or just bullied you like he does Potter. But he hasn't talked to you at all. You made him uncomfortable."

Malfoy had definitely been discomfited at the end of that conversation, but that didn't necessarily mean they had been friends. At least not the way Michael was friends with everyone here.

"If he isn't going to show up," Hannah said, "then how about a game of Exploding Snap?"

Justin pulled out his deck, sighing mournfully. "It'd be more fun if there was a guarantee of one of these going off in his face."

"It would add more color to him," Luna agreed.

"I was more thinking about it scaring him off for the next year, but more color wouldn't be bad."

Michael very much doubted that an accident with a card would send Malfoy running, as the worst that could happen were singed eyebrows. Malfoy wasn't that sensitive.

---

Two things of note happened that evening that caught Michael's attention. The first was the flashy arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His arrival alone was ridiculously dramatic in a manner worthy of Gabriel, but it was the strangely dark tinge hovering around him that had Michael studying him.

It was the same as the darkness hovering around Snape but somewhat deeper. But no one else noticed, and Dumbledore introduced him without a hint of suspicion. Snape didn't seem happy to see him, but then Snape was rarely happy.

The second thing was the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts that year. It had everyone in Hogwarts excited, the emotions rushing around Michael like a storm. He wasn't entirely sure why this merited so much excitement, since it was just another event.

Granted, it was an event that apparently hadn't been held in a few centuries, but that wasn't that long ago.

Wait…a few centuries was a long time for humans, even for wizards that lived longer than their non-magical counterparts.

"Could you participate in it?" Ernie demanded the moment they were in a relatively private space.

Michael stared at him. "Why?" he asked slowly.

"So you could!"

That didn't answer Michael's question of why. In hopes that Ernie would give him an answer, he continued staring.

"You're not signing him up for it!" Susan hissed, smacking Ernie in the shoulder. "For once Wayne's making sense!"

Michael shifted his stare to Susan, mildly insulted. "For once?"

Susan ignored him. "Besides, don't you know how dangerous it is? There's a reason they stopped holding these tournaments!"

"They're bringing it back, aren't they?" Ernie pointed out. "That means it's not going to be as dangerous as before. Besides, this is Wayne we're talking about."

"I'm not signing up for this," Michael said, unable to stop a hint of annoyance from creeping into his tone. "Regardless of how dangerous or not it may be."

"Look," Hannah added, voice calm, "they added an age limit for a reason, right? That means it's still going to be dangerous. They just added more precautions. So let's just…not."

"We're going to attract attention," Justin said reasonably, gesturing vaguely to the fact that they were in a corner of the Common Room.

"No, we're not," Susan said automatically, then stopped to glance at Michael. "Right?"

It was vaguely flattering that Susan thought Michael kept a lid on all their conversations, even if it wasn't true. In lieu of a verbal answer, he shrugged.

It seemed the topic was dropped until they were getting into bed and Ernie leaned over the space between his and Michael's to whisper, "But you could do it?"

Michael didn't regret putting two fingers to Ernie's head and pushing him into sleep.

---

The start of term was always rather interesting, more because Hogwarts simply didn't know how to be normal. Michael had been human first year, adjusting to different relationships second year, somewhere warm during third year to avoid the Dementors, and this year people were talking about the tournament and Moody.

…And perhaps not in that order.

Either way, the term looked to be interesting again. And a great deal warmer now that the Dementors were no longer on the grounds. Michael wasn't sure what he would have done if the Ministry had insisted on keeping them here for another year.

Probably something mildly explosive.

His friends were also much happier for not having the oppressive gloom and cold of the Dementors hanging over their heads and on the grounds. It meant they could go out and enjoy the sunshine at the lake, enjoying the lull before classes really started picking up.

"We have OWLs next year," Ernie moaned, draping an arm over his face to hide it from the sun. "Next year. Why is McGonagall acting like they're this year?"

There was a grunt of commiseration from Neville, who was lying on his stomach with his face in the grass.

"So we're prepared?" Susan suggested.

"We don't have OWLs," Ginny said smugly, fingers running through the grass.

"You'll have them in two years," Justin told her. "Laugh while you can."

"I intend to," Ginny said cheerfully, grinning broadly.

Michael had no idea what he would be doing for these OWLs, since he wasn't that invested in studying. It wasn't like these exams would be useful for him, and he had no intention of taking a job in this world.

To be honest, he hadn't even thought that far ahead.

He wasn't even looking forward to Moody's classes the way his friends were. It was now common knowledge that Moody was a retired Auror who knew his stuff, so everyone was eager to see what he'd be doing in his classes. Michael had seen him a few times around the castle, that distinctive dark tinge to his soul making it nigh impossible for Michael to ignore him, and he wasn't looking forward to an entire class period with him.

Malfoy was still avoiding him, but Michael had seen him shooting looks his way. Hannah had suggested that maybe Malfoy was gathering his courage for an apology, only for Ernie and Justin to both insist Malfoy never apologized. Susan had just asked if there was a possibility of another package of sweets as a metaphorical apology, since the last one had been so nice.

Ten minutes into them arguing over whether or not Malfoy would poison the hypothetical apology package, Michael had left for saner pastures. Ginny and Luna had welcomed him and immediately started grilling him on homework.

The distraction had been welcome for however long it lasted, but Michael still couldn't help but think about Malfoy. As odd as it was, he'd gotten used to having the boy around, no matter how childish or cruel he could be. It was a different type of relationship than what he had with his other friends, and he wasn't sure if he missed it or not.

The fact that Hogwarts wasn't really that big and he kept running into Malfoy at certain points didn't make it easier. Especially since Malfoy clearly still enjoyed taunting Potter and his friends.

It wasn't even very Slytherin of him to do so in public like this, where anyone could see what was happening. And everyone did see, because they were moving through the hallways to get to the Great Hall, and it wasn't exactly private.

So Malfoy's attempt to curse Potter in public was entirely unexpected, as was Moody turning Malfoy into a white ferret and proceeding to bounce him up and down, uncaring of his visible terror.

There was faint shock from the others, but it was followed quickly by amusement and the faint sense of he got what he deserved.

But – justice, justice – this wasn't justice. This was…cruelty.

Moody wasn't doing this because he cared for Potter, no matter what he was saying right now. He was doing this because he hated Malfoy, he hated Malfoy's father, and he was going to take it out on the pompous brat who thought he was untouchable because of Daddy.

Cold snapped through Michael, numbing and brutal, freezing his core with the cruel reminder of another realm.

He'd done the wrong thing, then – failed. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

Michael wasn't aware that he'd snapped the spell Moody had on Malfoy until Ernie hissed "Your wand" and he let it come to his hand without another thought.

Malfoy was on the floor, shivering and whimpering with fright, eyes wide. He was looking at Moody, who was looking at Michael now with an ugly expression on his scarred face.

"You have something to say, boy?" Moody demanded, his magical eye swiveling in its socket to glare at Michael.

There were multiple gulps from his friends, along with shuffling as they subtly moved behind Michael. He wanted to move in front of Malfoy, but it was better this way, with Moody turning his attention to him.

"Performing magic in the corridors isn't legal," Michael said finally, voice even. It was a rule Dumbledore kept reiterating every year, even if it was ignored.

"You think the rules apply to me?" Moody's voice was a low growl.

Michael felt his friends flinch at the tone. "Yes."

"Your wand is still up," Hannah moaned softly, quietly enough Moody didn't hear. "Against a professor."

Better he had an excuse for performing "magical" feats. Michael didn't drop the useless stick, but he did twitch the tip down slightly from its stance.

Potter and his friends were staring incredulously at Michael, Weasley with his mouth slightly open in shock and Potter clearly scandalized. Everyone else was staring, too, he realized now. Even Malfoy was, eyes flickering between Michael and Moody like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"What on earth is going on here?" McGonagall's voice snapped the others to attention. She whirled onto the scene seconds later, a stack of books in her arms, a mixture of furious and scandalized. "Mr. Hopkins! Explain yourself!"

As McGonagall was now between him and Moody, Michael let his wrist fully relax, hiding his wand in the folds of his robes. "Of course, Professor," he said smoothly. "Professor Moody transfigured Malfoy into a ferret. I turned him back."

"Turned him—" McGonagall seemed to realize that Malfoy was still sprawled on the floor, his appearance not as neat as it usually was. "You transfigured a student? Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" She sounded a little weak as she said that. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

Moody didn't seem concerned. "He might've mentioned it, yeah, but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"McGonagall sounded utterly scandalized. "We certainly do not transfigure them!"

Moody didn't seem impressed. "I'll do that, too, then." He eyed a cringing Malfoy with great dislike.

After a moment, Malfoy got to his feet, wincing all the while. He glared at the floor, muttering something about his father.

"Oh yeah?" Moody limped closer, his wooden leg clunking loudly in the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son…you tell him that from me… Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

Malfoy took another moment to respond, tone resentful. "Yes."

Moody's grin wasn't pretty. "Another old friend. I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you…" He seized Malfoy's arm, who refused to meet Michael's eyes, and hauled him off.

"Mr. Hopkins." McGonagall's sharp voice drew Michael's attention back. "While your quick action is appreciated, drawing a wand on a professor is less so."

"I wasn't going to let him do that," Michael said evenly. "It doesn't matter if he's a professor. Whatever Malfoy did, that punishment wasn't appropriate."

"He was about to curse me," Potter protested loudly. "You saw him!"

Michael raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think that merited him being transfigured into a ferret and almost injured."

There was discreet shuffling as his friends inched away, though they didn't move far.

Giving Michael an assessing look, McGonagall let out a small sigh, softening slightly. "Be that as it may, Mr. Hopkins, in future please notify the appropriate authorities. Five points from Hufflepuff; in light of the circumstances, I don't think detention will be necessary."

Potter looked like he wanted to protest again, but stopped himself. He let his friends draw him into the Great Hall, each of them shooting Michael looks over their shoulders.

Michael didn't say anything else, inclining his head in acknowledgment. McGonagall eyed him for a few moments longer before shooing everyone off and leaving, books still in her arms.

It wasn't until she was entirely gone from the scene that his friends started dragging him to a secluded corner, hissing all the while.

"Are you mad?" Susan demanded, just next to Ernie. "You know who Moody is, don't you?"

"I don't see why it matters."

"You stuck your neck out like that for Malfoy," Justin said incredulously on Michael's left side. "Malfoy. What in blazes led you to do that?"

"He wasn't doing it because Malfoy drew a wand on Potter," Michael said, letting them shuffle him behind a statue. "That was an excuse. He was…enjoying it."

"You just…" Susan waved her hand. "I don't even know what you did, but suddenly Malfoy wasn't a ferret anymore."

Michael lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "Thanks for the reminder about the wand," he told Ernie.

"Er…yeah." Ernie let out a sigh, shoulders slumping. "So…you and Malfoy aren't friends?" He grinned weakly.

"I…" Michael looked down at his feet.

"You can figure it out," Hannah said reassuringly, patting his arm. "He might talk to you now!"

"That's true," Ernie conceded after a moment's thought. "If only to acknowledge that you saved his sorry behind."

"You're joking, right?" Susan made a face. "Malfoy wouldn't thank him!"

"He's got that roundabout way of thanking people," Ernie said. "Like…" He affected a posh tone that wasn't too far off from his normal one. "'I appreciate you stepping in for me there, mate. Greatly appreciated, mate. Tell you what…you ever need something done, shoot me a letter, eh?'"

Michael frowned. "'Mate'?"

"Not like that, obviously!" Ernie waved a dismissive hand. "But you know!"

"It sounds a bit like him," Justin admitted.

"Awfully like him," Susan said, staring at Ernie. "Don't speak like that again."

"I thought it was a rather good impression," Hannah said after a moment. "But…" She shot Michael a glance. "Moody looked awfully cross…"

"It doesn't matter." Michael leaned back against the statue. "That wasn't the right thing to do."

And he wasn't going to stand for it. Whether or not Malfoy was a friend.

---

They had a class with Moody before Malfoy sought Michael out.

Despite himself, Michael found himself actually intrigued by what Moody was teaching about the Unforgiveable Curses. That the man actually demonstrated them was even more interesting, especially since Zacharias pointed out that casting the curses was illegal according to the Ministry.

The Imperius and Cruciatus curses weren't quite as interesting as the Killing Curse, but that was because mind control and pain were easy enough to inflict. But something that killed with only two words and didn't leave a mark? Something that literally severed the tie between the soul and the body?

That was interesting.

As far as Michael could discern from what he'd gathered in class, the curse acted similarly to Death's scythe with how it severed the soul from the body. There wasn't any coming back from that unless something more powerful intervened, and the little soul of the spider that Moody had used quickly dissipated with a wave of its legs.

The class was subdued after that particular demonstration, especially once Moody explained more about how the curses worked.

Michael didn't make it a habit to read people's minds because of the sheer banality of their thoughts, but the sheer venom and hate in Moody's were difficult to ignore. Even Snape's soul wasn't as dark, despite the usual blank wall of his mind.

He found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore would actually hire a man with literal thoughts of murder on his mind. But then Dumbledore had also apparently hired a man supporting a Dark Lord and a complete fraud, so maybe Michael was missing something.

Humans did have that saying about keeping enemies close, didn't they?

So maybe there was a reason for Dumbledore to hire what Michael was suspecting to be a vile murderer, but Michael didn't want anything to do with that beyond one thing.

"Don't let yourself be alone with him," Michael said after class, cutting off the excited conversation between Ernie and Justin.

"What?" Susan sounded flabbergasted, blinking at him. "Why? Aunt Amelia says he's one of the best Aurors the Ministry's ever had! I mean, he's rather barmy, but all the good ones supposedly are."

"He's dangerous."

"So are you," Hannah pointed out. "But we're still friends with you."

"His thoughts…" Michael glanced back at the closed classroom door, feeling the darkness clinging to his soul. "He might have been a good man once, but he isn't anymore." He looked at his friends. "Watch yourself around him."

Justin shared a look with Ernie before turning to Michael. "Okay, Michael." The words were quiet. "Sounds like the buddy system's a good idea here."

Ernie stared blankly at him. "The what?"

"You seriously never heard of the buddy system?"

"It must be a Muggle thing," Susan said, sounding just as confused. "Is it a system where everyone has a buddy?"

"So no one's alone," Hannah confirmed, nodding. "Ginny and Luna haven't had classes with him yet, have they?"

Ernie tilted his head. "Tomorrow, maybe?"

Which gave them enough time to talk to them. It wasn't as if Moody would do anything in class itself, but it reassured Michael to know that they would be alert for anything suspicious.

Although it seemed that Luna was already on guard, since her only reaction to the news was, "So that's why nothing wants to go near him. He's so dark."

"Ron's going to be disappointed," was Ginny's response. "He was raving about Moody's class after it was over, but Hermione shut him up before he could reveal anything. Think you can spill?"

There had been no spilling much to Ginny's regret, but there had been a promise that the class was interesting, followed with another promise for a study session out by the lake that weekend if the weather was good.

Michael suspected there'd be less studying and more lounging, but that didn't really matter. He was a little more concerned with how Neville had looked, white and clutching a book in his hands.

Once the others were somewhat distracted with discussing Hagrid's class, Michael asked him what was wrong.

Neville jumped slightly, eyes dropping to his book. "I…" He swallowed. "H-he held me back after class… I…wasn't feeling too good." He smiled weakly, clearly unwilling to elaborate further. "If he weren't nice…would he do that?"

Michael considered his response. He didn't want to be too blunt, not with how Neville was looking. "Humans have different sides to them," he said eventually. "He's dangerous, but…that doesn't mean he can't do something kind." Even if it was only to keep his image.

Neville looked relieved. "So the book's safe?"

Michael smiled unthinkingly, amused. "The book's safe."

"Okay, thanks." Neville nodded, clutching the book closer. "I'll be careful."

It was doubtful that Moody would try anything during normal hours, so Michael was perhaps being a little paranoid, but it was better safe than sorry. He didn't know what he could do if something happened to them. If they were injured, healing them was of no consequence. But death?

Michael had yet to figure out where the departed souls went in this realm.

There certainly weren't any visible reapers, so it had to be a little more abstract than that, and he wasn't going to call Death to ask.

---

Michael was alone when Malfoy found him.

He knew this was intentional, largely because he'd made it so by telling the others and also because Malfoy had been wandering around on the fringes for the last few days. He'd obviously not wanted an audience, and Michael was willing to indulge him.

"Why did you do that?" Malfoy demanded from behind Michael.

Slowly turning to face Malfoy, Michael tucked his Herbology book under his arm. "Why did I do what?"

Malfoy scowled. "You're not stupid, Hopkins."

Michael raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "There are a lot of things I did. You'll have to be more specific."

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "Moody!"

Michael let his breath out in a soft exhalation. "Regardless of what you were planning on doing to Potter, what Moody did wasn't right. He used it as an excuse, not because he wanted to spare Potter."

"You don't know that!"

"I do."

"You—" Malfoy cut himself off, eyes narrowing. "How would you even know that?" he asked instead. "You…are you a Legilimens?"

The word was unfamiliar to Michael, but judging from Malfoy's tone and the context… Some sort of mind reader?

"Yes," Michael said finally.

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Are you looking at my thoughts right now?" He sounded panicked.

"I don't have a reason to," Michael said honestly. After a moment, he decided to add, "It usually happens by accident." It was true enough, since he didn't make it a habit to read humans' minds. They usually threw it at him with all the subtlety of a boulder.

"That doesn't make me feel better," Malfoy said warily.

Michael just shrugged, fingers stroking lightly over his book cover. "Did you come here just to demand my motives, or is there anything else?"

"You still haven't told me why," Malfoy said imperiously, sticking his chin out. "No one else stepped in, and your friends all looked like they would rather run away. So why did you do it?"

"It wasn't right."

Malfoy huffed. "What are you expecting? My eternal thanks? A favor? What, Hopkins?"

Michael frowned. "Why would I even want anything?"

"No one just does something like that," Malfoy insisted. "We're not even friends! Not after—" He broke off, scowling darkly.

"We had an argument." Michael kept his tone gentle. "I wanted to give you space and time to make your own decision."

Malfoy's scowl twisted into a disbelieving stare, his eyes narrowing as he squinted briefly. It cleared a second later as he huffed. "You're ridiculous. You sound like my mother."

Michael paused, uncertain as to whether that was a good or bad thing. His brief memories as a human suggested this wasn't a compliment. "I assume she's a reasonable woman?" he offered eventually.

Malfoy made a disgusted noise. "Ugh, that isn't the point! Why are you so – so—"

Tilting his head, Michael really couldn't resist saying, "Like your mother?"

"No!" Malfoy snapped. "Why do you have to be so nice?!" An instant after he blurted the words, Malfoy stopped, a horrified expression crossing his face.

"I'm not really nice," Michael said after a moment, trying to alleviate the clear embarrassment Malfoy was feeling.

"I would hate to see what you think being nice is, then." Malfoy squared his shoulders, setting his jaw. When he spoke again, his voice was formal. "I wanted to thank you for your earlier actions—"

Michael stared, disbelieving. "Ernie does sound like you…"

"—and would like to extend – what?" Malfoy broke off, sounding scandalized. "Since when does Macmillan sound like me?"

Ah, Michael hadn't intended on letting that slip… "When he's formal as well." He continued speaking before Malfoy could interrupt, "There's no thanks needed. Regardless of what you did, he had no right to do that."

"We weren't even speaking," Malfoy said, stilted. "Yet you still… I don't understand, Hopkins. Why would you do that?"

Malfoy didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to for Michael to understand what he wasn't saying.

And, well…Michael didn't really have an easy answer. He'd interfered because what Moody had done wasn't right – wasn't justice – but the sheer fury he'd felt at the time hadn't been impartial. That had been all too personal.

Heavens above, his friends were right.

"Friends have disagreements, don't they?" Michael said finally, meeting Malfoy's eyes with a small smile. "But they're still friends."

"You think we're friends?"

This time the answer came easily, without hesitation. "Yes."

"Slytherins don't have friends."

Michael glanced down at his uniform and the distinct lack of green on his person. "I wasn't aware I was a Slytherin."

Malfoy – or Draco, really, if Michael was going to do this all the way – opened his mouth, only to shut it with a torn expression. Michael wasn't even listening but still heard the unspoken Malfoys don't have friends.

Since Draco was already somewhat aware of Michael's ability to read thoughts, Michael took the initiative to touch his shoulder with a gentle hand. "You do, Draco. I may not be happy with some of the choices you make or how you act, but you're still my friend."

Draco stared in confusion at the hand on his shoulder. "It's Draco now, is it?" he said eventually, the words tense.

"Yes." Michael left no room for argument.

Pulling away from Michael's touch, Draco folded his arms across his chest, sneering. "As long as you don't expect me to buy into that rubbish you keep trying to sell."

"I don't—" Michael broke off, sighing. "I can't force you," he continued after meeting Draco's eyes calmly. He wasn't a human child that could be scared off by a few insults. "That wouldn't be right. But I can disapprove. Simply because they're different doesn't mean they don't deserve equal care. Maybe they don't see the world as you do, but they still feel as you do and have their own desires."

"Right." Draco scoffed.

"As I said, I can't force you to believe what you don't want to." Such was the beauty and ugliness of free will. "Of course…" Michael raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean you can use that kind of language around me."

Draco's answer was slower this time. "…Right."

"Good." Michael extended his hand, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile. "Friends?"

There was a slight hesitation, but Draco clasped his hand in turn, his answering smile warier than Michael would have liked. "Friends."

---

Things returned to a sort of normality over the next several weeks.

Or what Michael supposed was "normal" for Hogwarts. There was still a great deal of gossiping and speculation on the Triwizard Tournament. There were also excited conversations about Moody's lessons, which Michael found boring.

Even with Moody staring daggers into Michael's face every time they were in the same room together.

It would probably have been more intimidating if Michael had been an actual fourteen-year-old human. As it was, he indulged himself by staring back until Moody broke the staring contest.

From the whispering between Ernie and Justin, there was apparently some sort of bet going on in the Hufflepuff dorm that involved him and Moody and eyeballs. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know and didn't make an effort at finding out.

But things were relatively normal. More so than they had been at the beginning of the term and at the end of the last one, largely because Draco was speaking with him again. He had – much to Susan's disappointment – not sent another apology package filled with sweets. But Draco had otherwise helped by once again joining in on their study sessions, contributing his notes from last year and this year.

It was entirely unexpected, and Draco said nothing about the extra notes he provided at the first session he sat in on after reconciling with Michael. By mutual agreement, nobody else did either. And no one mentioned the absence of Crabbe and Goyle, who had previously also joined Draco during the study sessions.

There were few safe topics for his friends to talk about, but one thing they did seem to enjoy speculating about was the tournament. After some pushing, Draco admitted he didn't know all that much because his father had been unusually cagey in regards to giving information.

So when the news came about the other schools coming on the thirtieth of October, there was a general air of excitement that buzzed throughout the castle.

Michael hadn't even known about there being other magical schools. Although perhaps he should have…

It wasn't as if the magical community was only isolated to Great Britain. He'd seen other wizards and witches on his excursions to other countries.

There wasn't a great deal of information on the other schools either, magical schools apparently being notoriously close-lipped about what they did. Aside from teach magic that was.

From what Draco said, apparently Durmstrang taught more Dark Arts than Hogwarts did, and his father had wanted to send Draco there but his mother had found the uniforms too tacky and the school too far away.

Ernie had rather sincerely said it was rather sad that Draco hadn't gone; it would have made Hogwarts's environment much nicer. Also, Draco would have looked lovely in those uniforms.

Luna had rather earnestly said it was a good thing Draco was not at Durmstrang – he would have been eaten by the Headmaster's pet howling dogs.

The conversation ended there, no one wanting to get into it with Luna.

Michael was left to make his own opinions on Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, which became possible on the thirtieth when they both made a rather showy entrance. Flying horses and a ship appearing from the middle of the lake were involved.

Michael wondered if the giant squid had any protests about its living space being used as a doorway. He then asked himself why he was even wondering about the giant squid's concerns.

The welcoming feast went well, although there appeared to be a general air of smugness radiating from the Slytherin table because they had the Durmstrang students. Michael ignored the byplay and the excited chattering over some Quidditch player and a pretty female to study the new Headmasters.

The Beauxbatons's Headmistress was a striking half-giant. Durmstrang's was not particularly striking except for how he carried the same dark aura as Snape and Moody. It was an aura not carried by his students except for one, and that student didn't seem as involved with his fellow classmates.

They wouldn't be involved with Hogwarts beyond whatever needed to be done for the tournament, so Michael didn't much care about studying them further beyond making a note to keep an eye on the Durmstrang Headmaster.

It concerned him that there were now three people of the same kind of darkness in Hogwarts. Snape was one matter given that his darkness was lesser, but Moody and Karkaroff were both steeped in it.

But as it seemed no one else was worried about it, Michael resolved to shelve the matter for another day. Moody hadn't done anything beyond turning Draco into a ferret, and Michael wasn't about to stop keeping an eye on him.

In the meantime, he would watch and see how this tournament played out. It might serve as some kind of amusement.

---

Well, Michael wasn't entirely sure if this would constitute as amusement. Rather, he thought it was kind of pitiful.

How many times did Potter have to be thrown to the wolves before Fate would be satisfied?

Not only was Potter looking rather panicked and upset about having his name be spat out by the Goblet, so was the rest of Hogwarts. Albeit for rather petty reasons that had Michael wanting to nurse a headache that archangels couldn't get.

They were upset because Potter being chosen slighted Cedric Diggory, who had been chosen first. They thought that Potter wanted the fame and glory of being Champion, apparently being blind to the fact that Potter looked a bit like he wanted to dive into the lake to escape from it all.

Even his Hufflepuff friends were upset, grumbling about Potter being unable to stay in the background.

Michael wasn't sure what to think of Diggory, only that he'd had few interactions with the Hufflepuff prefect. The boy was nice, kind to the younger children, and fair to a point. He also hadn't said much about the House's distaste towards Potter, only raising small protests about the affair that had gone ignored.

What was perhaps even more amazing and unexpected was how it drew Draco and the other Hufflepuffs together.

"Do you want a badge?" Draco asked Ernie the next afternoon. "It's your House being snubbed after all."

"What kind of badge?" Ernie said suspiciously.

Draco pulled one out of his robes to show Ernie. It read SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY – THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION in red letters. When Draco pressed against it, the words changed to POTTER STINKS, which glowed green.

Michael was rather starkly reminded of the fact that he was surrounded by children. That he had chosen to befriend these children. Or, rather, that he had let them befriend him.

He wondered why.

"Oh, that's a nifty charm," Justin said admiringly.

Draco looked pleased. "It was simple enough," he said, tone dismissive. "Would you like one, too?"

"It seems a bit mean, doesn't it?" Hannah sounded hesitant.

"I'll tell you what was mean," Ernie said, taking the badge Draco proffered. "What was mean was Potter putting his name in the Goblet without telling anyone else how he managed it and then getting chosen as a fourth champion. We barely get any acknowledgement as it is. He just had to take it this year, too!"

"I don't think Harry did anything," Ginny said stiffly, frowning. She cast the badge a dark glower. "And that's not just mean – that's dirty."

"Just because you like Harry doesn't mean he's perfect," Susan said.

Ginny's frown deepened. "Of course I like Harry! He's nice, even if a bit dense at times. But I know he didn't put his name in the Goblet! Even if Ron's too big of an idiot to believe him."

"You don't have to share a dorm with them," Neville moaned, head in his hands. "It's the worst. They're not even speaking to each other anymore, and it's only been a day!"

Draco hesitated, then offered Neville a badge.

"No." Neville's answer was short. "Harry's my friend. I'm not going to start wearing that."

Well, maybe not all his friends were so childish.

But he'd honestly thought better of Susan.

When no one else protested Ernie, Justin, Susan, and Hannah taking the badges Draco had brought, Michael decided enough was enough. He would've just let it slide, but how could he let himself associate with this level of stupidity?

And if he let it just go, soon enough his friends would ask him his opinion. No, it was better to just head it off at the pass.

And maybe give Potter some relief. The boy deserved it.

"This is ridiculous," Michael said flatly.

"I know you don't have any sense of House pride," Ernie said, puffing up indignantly, "but let us have some at least!"

"This doesn't have a thing to do with House pride," Michael said. "Or if it does, it's so shortsighted I can't see it since Draco made the badges, not you." He turned to Draco. "I hope you haven't handed those badges out to anyone else. What do you think the other schools are going to think once they see how divided Hogwarts is?"

Draco's mouth twisted. "They should see that we're not just going to take Potter sneaking his way into the tournament lightly!"

"Really?" Michael picked a badge up, pressing on it so that POTTER STINKS was flashing at everyone. "This doesn't seem like a reasonable statement; it's something a child would come up with. I wasn't aware you were a child, Draco."

Draco's cheeks flushed. "I'm not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one." Michael dropped the badge back into the pile with a small plink. "If you want to continue with this, then do so, but I refuse to be a part of this."

Ginny stopped him from standing with a hand on his arm. "Do you think Harry put his name in the Goblet?" There was something meaningful in her tone.

Even Draco was listening, although all he knew of Michael was that he could read minds.

"I know he didn't," Michael answered evenly. "Anyone who was watching him last night would have known. So the question isn't if Potter put his name into the Goblet – it's who did do so."

"And do you know?" Draco demanded.

"I don't." Michael did stand now, picking up the textbook he had been reading before Draco had introduced his ridiculous badges. "But I have no doubt they'll reveal themselves at some point."

Those types of humans always did.

---

The badges did not make a showing on his friends. Or on Draco.

Unfortunately, the rest of Hufflepuff received their badges from other Slytherins, and Potter was subjected to them after all. Although it did appear that the badges were malfunctioning and were only showing a union of red-gold and yellow-black.

There was no comment from Draco on the matter, but he did look rather shifty every time complaints were brought up in his presence.

Michael, on the other hand, was accosted by Ginny.

"But could you find out who it was?" she demanded to know, blocking the pages of Michael's positively scintillating reading material with both hands. He'd been defacing the pages with his notes; Pince was going to be screaming for someone's head when she noticed.

Sighing, Michael looked up at her, blinking slowly. "I suppose. If I wanted to rifle through the minds of every human here." Or he could just peek back in time, but he didn't really want to put that much effort into it. He'd checked that Potter would be fine; the boy was unusually lucky.

His statement gave Ginny pause, her brow furrowing. "Oh. Does that mean you don't want to?"

"I usually don't," Michael said dryly. "None of us do, except for those of us who are particularly nosy. It would be a bit like you continually looking through people's clothes to see how they looked like underneath. Occasionally interesting, but usually boring and mostly disgusting."

"Ugh." Ginny made a face. "Thanks for the image." She paused, then said, "Do you really not like our bodies?"

"They're functional enough." Michael still resented the fact that he had to manipulate this body's hormones to be able to grow normally. At this point it was second nature to do so, but it was so tedious.

Ginny blinked, then mouthed They're functional enough like she couldn't believe Michael had just said that.

After a moment, she said, "Sometimes I think you're human, but then you go and say something like that. I did want to thank you for yesterday. I didn't think anyone could put Malfoy in his place like that, but you did."

"I didn't." Michael gently pushed Ginny's hands off his book. "I pointed something out. It was up to him as to what he wanted to do."

"Right, sure." Ginny nodded, mouth twitching. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

The words were teasing, meant in jest, but they stung Michael all the same.

Still, he managed a light smile, showing a hint of teeth. "If you think so."

---

Most of Michael's existence had been based on knowing exactly what he was supposed to do and doing it. He was the eldest archangel, the Commander of the Heavenly Host. If he didn't know what to do, who would?

Yes, he'd take suggestions and feedback from his fellow siblings, but that was all secondary to what he already knew.

Or it had been.

Now Michael knew he really didn't know what he was supposed to do. What he'd been supposed to do in his world. What he was supposed to do here.

He'd stopped performing miracles since the incident with the Dementors last year, not seeing any use in continuing. It had been somewhat nice to do it, but he wasn't sure what he was accomplishing with it beyond fulfilling some kind of human notion of what angels should do.

Maybe angels should perform miracles, but Michael's job had always been something larger.

He didn't do humans.

Even if he'd had to over the millennia after Gabriel left. He'd improved, but there were still moments where he faltered and didn't know how to predict them.

Oh, he thought he'd gotten it down. He'd tried to predict the apocalypse, hadn't he? Only to fail because he hadn't taken into account just how unpredictable humans could be. He'd brushed it off, assuming that they could be brought to heel, only to be locked into Lucifer's Cage.

Now, Michael was even more lost. And this time he wasn't afraid to admit it to himself.

---

Matters at Hogwarts smoothed out over the next several months, especially after Potter successfully completed the First Task and Neville and Ginny stopped complaining about Weasley and Potter not getting along.

Then it started going insane again once the announcement of the Yule Ball was made.

Michael made the elective decision that he wasn't going to go because ugh. (Susan pointed out that "ugh" wasn't a reason. Michael left before anyone could press the point.)

Michael would definitely have continued to ignore all mention of the ball if it didn't turn out that Neville had asked Ginny, Draco was going with Pansy and had issued Michael a mild threat that he'd better be there or else, Susan was going with Ernie, and Hannah with Justin. That left Luna, and she'd asked Michael rather cheerfully if he wouldn't mind attending with her.

Feeling rather guilty about Luna being the only one who wouldn't be able to go on account of being a third year, Michael had said yes. Any regrets about deciding to go vanished upon seeing how happy Luna was, although they cropped up again when Draco started pulling out plans for dress robes.

Michael had no idea that Draco had a sense of fashion.

Neither had anybody else, but no one made a fuss of it since no one wanted to be the one to rock that particular boat.

As it turned out, Draco's sense of fashion extended to hair. Michael had no idea that his hair could be styled in so many different ways, but he came away more educated and with a sense of appreciation for humans' design styles.

Maybe human bodies were a little better than "functional." It wasn't like he could style hair in his true form.

---

The Yule Ball ended up not being entirely awful. Michael had suffered through dancing lessons with the rest of his House with Sprout, but it had served the purpose of making sure that he didn't step on Luna's feet.

Then there was Draco, who abandoned Pansy for the latter half of the ball to stand by Michael and point out fashion disasters. He stayed away from poking fun at Potter's friends, although Weasley's robes looked sad enough that Michael would have expected at least something.

As it turned out, it was Michael who couldn't resist saying that Weasley's robes seemed like someone had tried to cut something off the edges but done so badly.

Draco looked so delighted and stymied that Michael thought he knew how Gabriel (and Lucifer) had felt whenever he'd pulled one over on someone. It made him want to do so again, but he didn't know what else he could say.

Potter vanished somewhat halfway through the ball as well, which Michael could sympathize with. He would have done so as well if not for Luna and Draco. His other friends were happily dancing, partaking in the hopefully non-alcoholic punch (he saw Fred and George sneaking around the table, Lee Jordan running distraction), and mingling with the others.

Pansy vanished, too, clearly fed up with Draco's inattention and with a vague look of disgust in Michael's direction. Draco didn't even notice, although Justin did and sent Michael two thumbs up for some odd reason.

All in all, Michael had to admit it hadn't been the worst decision to come to the Yule Ball.

---

There was an article on Hagrid the next day. It was written by Rita Skeeter, a name that sounded vaguely familiar to Michael until Ginny muttered something about "journalistic hacks who'll do anything for publicity." Then he recalled the article she'd written on Potter before the First Task, which had been in rather poor taste.

This article was in even worse taste. Especially since Pansy was quoted in it.

Michael was rather abruptly reminded of the conversation he'd had with Draco last year and earlier in the fall and glanced over to the Slytherin table. Draco looked a bit pale and didn't seem to be saying anything, even though his companions were laughing and tossing the article around to be read.

"That's odd," Justin said when Michael turned away from Draco. "I would've thought Malfoy would be crowing about this, too."

"Maybe he's sick," Ernie suggested.

"He does look a bit peaky," Susan noted.

"Maybe he's jealous he was unable to get a sound bite in?" Justin said.

Michael wasn't entirely sure that was it, although it was certainly plausible.

But Draco sought him out later that day, quiet and withdrawn and well away from prying ears. No one liked the History of Magic section of the library.

"I didn't realize," Draco said, arms folded over his chest. He was studying his feet intently. "But he wasn't at class today, and I haven't seen him at meals."

Michael thought he knew who Draco was talking about, but he asked anyway. "Who?"

"Hagrid," Draco answered snappishly. He inhaled sharply. "I…I put some thought into what you said before," he continued haltingly. "And…I don't think you're right about everything." He paused here, looking mulish. "But…you…might…have a point."

If Michael were a more vindictive being, he could have pressed for Draco to really specify what he was talking about. But it was clear as day that Draco was trying, and that he didn't want to be pushed more than he was already pushing himself.

And Michael could show mercy. "I'm glad," he said quietly, giving Draco a small smile. "If you want to talk—"

"Ugh, no." Draco brightened slightly, going to sit on the chair across from Michael. "Let's talk about something more interesting. Like why you're sitting in the History of Magic section. I thought only Granger came here."

There was probably more that should be said, but one thing Michael had learned over the past few years was that some things needed to be pushed gently. So he let Draco change the subject, voices low so as not to attract the attention of Pince.

---

Considering how peaceful the last several months had been, with only some spurts of excitement now and then, Michael should have known that it wasn't going to last. Since when had a single year ever been peaceful since he'd started going to Hogwarts?

At this point he should start keeping a calendar just so he wouldn't be caught off guard.

No one else noticed it. Not with the only thing before them being a giant maze that had once been the Quidditch pitch. It was ridiculously boring, with many of the students beginning to drift off. There had only been sparks shot off twice, indicating the forfeit of Krum and Delacour.

It was just Diggory and Potter now, and Michael was getting a bad feeling.

The bad feeling only magnified when something seemed to pull.

Michael's breath froze in his chest, lungs ceasing to work altogether as he registered what had just happened.

Nature had just…been bent. Bent in a way that shouldn't have happened.

Justin leaned in, shoulders brushing against Michael's. "Wayne?" he murmured.

Michael didn't answer, looking through the maze. There was no sign of Diggory or Potter. There was also no trophy in the center. And when he brushed closer, he could sense a type of magic that didn't mesh with the rest of the maze.

Justin elbowed him, hissing, "You're not breathing, Wayne."

Breathing in sharply, Michael went to stand. "Something's wrong."

"What – Wayne—"

Ignoring the whispered questions the others were shooting at him, Michael edged past several more spectators before seeking out a shadowy corner and flying.

Magic left traces, and he could follow this one's easily enough. It stank of Moody's magic, which he was familiar enough with after months in the man's classes.

It landed him in a cemetery.

Diggory's body lay beside a tombstone. Potter was tied up to a much larger one. And in the middle of a circle of robed figures – that all carried an aura of darkness akin to Moody – was a pale-skinned man with red eyes, projecting an aura of such malevolence that Michael had to admit he was rather impressed.

There was no question as to who it was. He'd encountered a portion of that man's soul before, and although it was even smaller now, there was no mistaking that disgusting presence.

Voldemort was alive.

Michael would put aside the questions for why and how later. For now he needed to figure out how to get Potter out without raising too many suspicious questions.

After a moment's thought, he stuck some Grace around Potter that would give him more luck than usual, then caused the ropes to fray and snap apart. Turning his attention to the robed figures, he made them more sluggish than usual.

As for Voldemort…

Michael rather wanted to smite him and be done with it.

But was it his place to do so?

Voldemort was still human, no matter how twisted and strange his soul. He should be dealt with by humans.

It wasn't the first time Michael had been faced with this conundrum, and he doubted it would be the last. And every time he struggled with the answer.

Was there even an answer? How much should he interfere? He'd already given Potter a helping hand. The boy was dodging the others' spell fire and Voldemort's with remarkable aplomb.

Michael absentmindedly nudged Potter's wand into reach, plucking it from Voldemort's possession before the man could notice.

This much angels could do. Perform minor miracles, give a helping hand to those in need.

Anything more…

Fuck, Michael hated making decisions like this.

The Portkey still had some magic attached to it, so he planted a strong suggestion in Potter's mind that he should grab the Portkey and leave. Only for Potter to dive for Diggory's body first and then go for the Portkey. The two vanished in a swirl of magic, Voldemort screaming in rage after them.

Hesitating, Michael took one last look at the circle of robed wizards and the insane man cursing them all out before he decided. This was a human matter. He'd leave this for humans.

And he flew back to Hogwarts, arriving in the midst of pure pandemonium. Thankfully he'd decided to avoid landing in the Quidditch pitch, choosing instead a patch of grass that was clear of worried humans.

Michael observed the bedlam for a few minutes before deciding to steer clear of it entirely and go back to Hogwarts. His friends would find him when they wanted to.

Potter would be fine now.

---

"What happened?" Susan demanded. "You just left without a word, and then Potter comes back in with Cedric's body! What happened?"

Michael looked up from where he was seated by the fire, Dane curled in his lap. "Has no one said anything?"

He'd sensed a Dementor a short while ago but hadn't gone near it, choosing to remain in the Common Room.

"I'm sure it'll be all over the castle by morning," Justin said, face pale despite his somewhat jovial tone. "But you were there, weren't you?"

Michael dropped his gaze to where his fingers were in Dane's fur. "Voldemort is back," he said quietly.

There was no response from them, simply a stunned horror and disbelief that hit Michael with a punch.

"You're joking," Ernie said weakly. "Please tell me you're joking."

Michael shook his head slightly, eyes still on Dane.

"Bloody hell." Ernie slumped to the floor by the closest armchair with a loud thud. "Shit. That's why Cedric's dead, then."

There was a choked sob from Hannah, which seemed to break the dam since she burst into tears immediately afterwards, turning into Susan. Susan was also crying.

"Did you kill him?" Justin asked, voice wavering. "You-Know-Who?"

Michael did look up now, voice flat as he answered. "No."

"You…didn't?" Justin sounded confused. "Why not? That's – isn't that your job? Getting rid of evil?"

Michael resisted the human urge to rub a hand over his face, settling for digging his fingers into the carpet. "It isn't. Not the way you think."

"Then tell me what is!" Justin snapped. "Because you could have killed him!"

"I could have," Michael said, staring sharply at Justin, "but then what would you have learned? What would any of you learn if I stepped in every time danger rises? Voldemort is human; if he were a demon, if he were anything else, then I would have interfered as is my place. But he isn't. I helped as much as I could, giving Potter a way out if he took that initiative. And he did." He looked between each of his friends. "Anything more falls to the people who usually deal with men like Voldemort."

A muscle twitched in Justin's jaw, but he didn't say anything more.

Susan did, voice thick. "You say that, Michael, but you stepped in two years ago to deal with the basilisk. Even though you said it'd be handled. Only you went and handled it yourself because you changed your mind. Now you're doing the same thing here, pushing it onto us to take care of."

Anger swirled in Michael's chest. "Don't speak of things you don't understand—"

"I understand, Michael," Susan snapped, biting his name out. "You just don't want to deal with it. Maybe we're missing something, but you've never bothered explaining why. Because we're human? Because we're incapable of comprehending?" She paused, eyes flashing furiously. "I think you'll find that we're capable of a lot more than you think."

"Susan—" Hannah protested.

"No, Hannah, I'm right." Susan wiped her face with a hand, rubbing at her eyes. "Maybe You-Know-Who is something for us humans to deal with, but that's just an excuse. And I'm done with excuses."

Anger burned hotly in him, and Michael had to close his eyes as he inhaled reflexively. After a moment, he lifted Dane off and put him to the side and stood, meeting Susan's eyes.

He wasn't entirely sure what was on his face, but Hannah flinched. Susan didn't, although her eyes tightened.

"Call it an excuse all you will," Michael said softly. "I won't explain myself to you. I know you're grieving a loss, that you're angry and frightened."

Susan narrowed her eyes. "Do you think so? How generous of you."

Michael ignored her bitter tone. She didn't understand. None of them could.

Keeping his voice even, he continued. "Voldemort will be taken care of, but I will not go and seek him out. That is not my job, no matter how much you plead." He looked past them to the other Hufflepuffs, who were quietly morose, with many sobbing or staring into space. "Now, I think it's time to finish this. If you want to speak again, you know how to find me."

Michael moved before they could say anything else, reappearing somewhere quiet and far from Hogwarts. Anger still simmered in him, hot and bright and everything Michael didn't need.

There was no reason for Susan's words to have hit so hard. There wasn't.

It wasn't Michael's job to take care of Voldemort. It wasn't his job to take care of every threat that came here. Especially not a human that other humans could deal with.

What his job was…what his role was…

Michael had no fucking clue.

And it terrified him.

---

If Michael is coming off as an ass towards the end of this, that's entirely intentional. Michael can be an ass. He's traumatized, been through his own shit, but he's still an ass. And he's an ass who's struggling desperately and is terribly unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. So he's trying to cling to what he knows, even as he's also trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now. Unfortunately, the two aren't meshing together very well. (This is also because he is traumatized. Not an excuse, but a reason.)

Also! Draco! They reconciled after the argument last chapter. And I hope in a way that was satisfying. Draco's also learning, and there's a lot going on that hasn't been shown because this isn't from Draco's POV. If it was, there'd be a lot of angry internal muttering and a huge dilemma as he's trying to figure out what he believes and WHY he believes it. I'm hoping some of it is coming across. Keep in mind that I've smooshed an entire year into a 14,000 word chapter, so lots of things are happening in a short space of time.

WE'RE GETTING INTO THE FUN STUFF NOW.