"Harry!"

"Hermione, Ron. Where have you been?"

"Prefect meeting. We've both been made Prefects, you know."

"Oh, really? Congratulations."

"Where have you been? You just disappeared from the Leaky Cauldron…"

"I've been at home."

"You went back to the Dursleys?"

"That place was never my home, Ron."

"You're really pale, Harry. Did something happen?"

Harry sighed. "You could say that. Umm… I'm sure Ginny'll tell you all about it…"

"Does it have something to do with Rhode?" interrupted Hermione, knowingly. Ron looked at her strangely.

"What gives you that idea?" he asked, clueless.

"Boys," Hermione exasperatedly sighed. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Not really," said Harry. "You don't even know what happened."

"She's jealous," Hermione continued as though he had not said anything.

"Huh?" grunted Ron, still clueless. Harry, however, widened his eyes in sudden understanding.

"So that's why… I see. I… somehow don't think she's jealous anymore. She probably hates me."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look confused, if only for a few seconds. Disapproving and exasperated, she asked him, "What did you say to her, Harry?"

"It's not so much what I said as what I did," he murmured in reply. "You… should probably go to her. She is your sister after all, Ron. Siblings should look out for each other, right?" There was something oddly thoughtful about his tone as he spoke that last sentence.

"You should come too," Hermione all but commanded. "It'll give you a chance to apologise. What did happen?"

"Ginny insulted Rhode and I lost my temper. That's really all there is to it. And I've already apologised."

He left them without another word, seemingly deaf to Hermione's protests as he stalked down the corridor. This is much harder than I anticipated. Everything seems so different, but I know it isn't. It must be me. Have I really changed that much? He wished that everyone would stop staring at him. If fame was a nuisance, then infamy was a real pain. A small crowd drifted after him, curious and brazen, collecting ever more members as they moved. Their mutters seemed to grate on his ears.

"What's this? Don't you people have anything better to do than wander aimlessly?" It was Ernie Macmillan, his chest puffed out so that his Prefect badge was clearly visible. "Go back to your compartments before I start handing out detentions!" He winked at Harry. The crowd dispersed. A few lingered, obviously reluctant to leave, but Harry glared at them, and something in his gaze caused them to shrug, falsely nonchalant, and obediently retreat. Harry turned back to Ernie and raised his eyebrows.

"Does this mean you believe me?"

"Yes. I… was wrong about you in second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and… well, I'm not one to repeat my mistakes. So, I believe you, Potter… Harry."

Harry smiled tentatively. "Thank you."

"Where're Ron and Hermione, anyway? The Prefect meeting's over, so… Aren't you guys normally inseparable?"

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "I suppose we are, aren't we?" He offered no further explanation, and Ernie studied him closely, thoughtfully.

"Do you want to sit with us Hufflepuffs?"

"Alright," Harry replied. He was not particularly fond of the idea of wandering the corridor until they reached Hogwarts, after all. So it was that he found himself sitting in between Ernie and Susan Bones, with Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchery seated opposite. Conversation was infrequent and awkward, but they were all very nice and courteous. A thought occurred to Harry.

"Do you, by any chance, have a relative called Sara Bones, Susan?" he asked the shy redhead at his side.

"Um, I'm not sure. It sounds familiar… That's right! She's a cousin, but she never went to Hogwarts because she's a squib. I think she's a waitress or something. Have you met her?"

"No, I haven't. But a friend mentioned her…"

"Oh, really? Who was it? Ron Weasley? Hermione Granger?"

"Neither. It's… someone you wouldn't know."

Later, as he left the train, he looked up at the star-dotted sky and breathed deeply of unusually warm night air. He glanced in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, and thought that the dark silhouettes of that mass of trees looked to have something of that wild darkness he had identified in the Black Forest. It appealed to him in a way it never had before. Was that a sign that he was destined to dwell in darkness? He felt suddenly sure that, should the Earl win the war, only that would be left. But would that really be so bad?

And then Hermione was at his side, frowning. "Ron isn't very happy with you."

"I don't blame him. What about you?"

Hermione laughed dryly. "I… What's happened to you, Harry? You… I'm not entirely sure what it is, but you seem… different, darker. Rhode… She seemed the same. It's… unnerving. What's happened to you, Harry?"

Harry stayed silent for several seconds, staring into Hermione's eyes, gauging how much to tell her. "A lot has changed, my friend," he eventually replied, his tone unusually gentle to the point of being almost hypnotic. "I have a family now."

"A family? Whatever do you mean? Aren't the Dursleys…?"

"No, never. They w- are regrettable relatives. No, I have a real family now; a family that cares whether I live or die."

"I… see," said Hermione. "Or at least, I'm trying to. By the way, Ginny made us all promise not to tell anyone what happened. She said she didn't want it beaten up by the rumour mill."

Harry started when he saw the horseless carriages that were to transport them to the castle, because the carriages weren't horseless anymore. Instead, they were been drawn by skeletal black horses with great, bat-like wings and pale, forward-facing eyes such as would be seen on the corpse of a carnivore. In short, Rhode would undoubtedly love them. "What are they, Hermione?" he asked, awed in spite of himself.

"What are what?" she asked, puzzled.

"Those… horse-things pulling the carriages."

Hermione gave him a strange, concerned look. "There's nothing pulling the carriages, Harry. They're horseless, just like every other year."

Harry caught himself before protesting. "Yeah, you're right," he said convincingly. "It's a trick of the light. I'm just tired, y'know?" But it's not, they're definitely there. Can I only see them because I've awakened as a Noah? Or is it something else? When Hermione had entered the carriage, he reached out cautiously to stroke the creature's flank. It was corpse-cold but solid, definitely without-a-doubt solid. Yep, it was definitely there. Both creature and carriage started to move, and Harry had to make a running jump through the door that Hermione opened for him.

Inside, Harry was greeted by a savage glare from Ron and a penetrating stare from Luna. Neither Ginny nor Neville would meet his gaze, and even Hermione seemed uncomfortable. After several minutes of tense silence that, thanks to Ron, threatened to explode with all the force of Mt. Vesuvius on Pompeii's last day, they scrambled out of the carriage. That was no reprieve from stares, of course… tch, how annoying.

"Harry Potter!" called Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher, over many heads of chattering students. "The Headmaster wishes to speak with you." More stares. Wonderful.

Professor McGonagall escorted him to the animated gargoyles that guarded Professor Dumbledore's office. After she spoke the password (blood pop [Harry raised his eyebrows and wondered]), they were admitted to the stone staircase that moved just as though a muggle escalator. Beyond the door at the top, Dumbledore's desk was just as cluttered with odd, unidentifiable artefacts as ever, and the many portraits of former Hogwarts Headmasters that lined the walls muttered to each other upon their entrance. Professor McGonagall departed, but not without looking at him with a strange expression.

Dumbledore sat behind the desk, solemn and tired. "Sit down, Harry," he said quietly. "Would you like some cockroach cluster?" And he offered a handful of odd-looking black sweets.

"Er, no thanks, Professor," Harry replied. "Is there a reason you called me here?"

"Ah, yes." The solemnity of his expression trebled. "I'm so sorry, Harry, but the Dursleys… They're dead."

Harry blinked. In wake of the events on the train, he had all but forgotten about that. "Huh? No way… What happened?" His voice was dull, monotonous. How much do you know?

"I'm not sure. There was a fire that couldn't be put out, and vanished suddenly as though it was never there, if it weren't for the ashes and the house's charred remains. They found them inside. I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry nodded, ducking his head to hide his expression. "Was anyone else harmed?"

"Not that we know of."

Harry once again nodded. Fletcher's body had disintegrated, so he was most likely considered missing or a victim of the fire. Of course Dumbledore wouldn't want me to know about my minders. They sat in silence for quite some time. Harry nibbled at a few offered sandwiches and lost himself in his thoughts.

"May I go now, Professor?" he eventually asked, voice husky to disguise his lack of grief.

"Of course."

The empty halls were dark, silent and soothing. No one was here to stare… Harry gave a small sigh of pleasure and rested his head against the cold stone wall. So peaceful…

"Potter?" It was Professor McGonagall. That strange expression had returned, and this time Harry recognised it as pity.

"I'm fine," he muttered agitatedly, and hurried away, never pausing until he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was snoring, her dark curls mused and her double chin resting against the pink fabric of her Victorian gown. Harry cleared his throat loudly. The portrait jerked awake with a glare and much grumbling.

"Password?" she finally asked after finishing her quiet rant. Harry blinked.

"I-I don't know…"

The Lady commenced irritable muttering over wasted time. Harry scowled and resisted the urge to place his hand on the portrait and burn right through it. Right now, Tyki's ability would be very useful… although, come to think of it, phasing through the canvas would not be any less conspicuous than burning a hole in it. If only Rhode was here… She was telepathic, right? Rolling his eyes at the once-again snoozing portrait, he turned on his heel and strode away, the hem of his cloak fluttering with the movement.

Unbidden his feet took him to the dungeons where a dark presence caught his attention. He shoved the hidden door open and entered the snug chambers, fully confident in his right to do so. Green and silver décor – Slytherin colours – greeted his gaze.

"Who are you?" he asked the watchful Akuma that wore the skin of Severus Snape.

"Potter!" the disguised machine (for that is what the Akuma are) spat. "Twenty points from Gryffindor! What gives you the right…"

Harry gave a chilling laugh that would have made Lord Voldemort proud. The appearance of a Noah swept over his form, and the Akuma gasped, its jaw dropping. "I ask once again. Who are you, Akuma?"

"I-I'm sorry, Master Noah. I didn't know –"

"Who are you?" Harry repeated coldly. "Who did Snape seek to revive from the dead?"

"Lily Evans, Lord Noah."

Harry's eyes widened and dread coiled in his stomach as though a cobra prepared to strike. "Lily Evans? My… Mother?"

The Akuma blinked and tilted her head to the side. "Am I? I can't quite remember… Master Noah."

Talking to a Level 2 Akuma was, Harry thought, both very different and very similar to conversing with a Level 1. "My Mother," he whispered, almost tasting the words. Seeing Cedric had seemed at the time quite a shock, but in no way had it prepared him for something as significant as this. A small noise of comprehension came from his Potions teacher.

"That's right," he – no, she – mumbled. "I think… I remember now. Yes… how could I have forgotten? That baby I gave my life to save… memories unbefitting an Akuma who has killed as many as I. That's why I forgot. I first went out with James Potter in our seventh year, but before that I thought I despised him. When I evolved I chose to devote my remembrances to then. For that reason I acted as I did towards you, the very image of James, and for disguise I played the biased Head of House. Forgive me, Master Noah."

The latter sentence caused Harry to recall the reality of this situation. "Maintain the act in public that suspicions may remain unaroused," he commanded, and something died in his eyes.