Joe's Note: As someone who's done a few different stories set in variant Harry Potter universes, I like to cross-pollinate a bit just for the fun of it sometimes. And so yes, the reference to the hand-holding Carrow sisters is a nod to Flora and Hestia from Holly, Phoenix, Diamond, Elm. Oh, I'd like to thank the folks over at Dark Lord Potter right now. Because they hate me and feel a need to create threads expressly to bash me as a person, under the guise of 'reviewing' any Harry Potter story I post, I've now got my fic scattered over about a dozen different sites that dredge DLP's forums to populate themselves, and my reviews and hits have literally doubled. I'm not going to lie; I find it hilarious mostly because of the extent of my interaction with the site. Namely that I joined solely to respond to a 'who drew this?' thread - the answer was my wife, and the piece was for one of my stories - and then got attacked and eventually banned for supporting the idea of the movie uniform design instead of the idea that the kids are running around naked under big black robes at Hogwarts…
Dedications & Thanks: To Alexander, Nick, Nathan, MJ, Jessica, Aaron, Daniel, Vi9, William, Koby, Wil, Thomas, Tracy, Christopher, Juan, Mitch, and Jess for sponsoring me on , and making it easier for me to spend more of my time writing.

September 6, 2001
Transfiguration Classroom
Hogwarts
Moray, Scotland, United Kingdom

The first week of classes was fun, reminding Harry of the simple joy of magic back in his first year at Hogwarts. Mostly because… well, it was his first year. Again. As best he could tell - he hadn't wandered off in search of the third year and above elective teachers - all the same professors were here and acted the same. Well, Flitwick hadn't fallen off his stack of books in excitement the first time he called 'Harry Potter' in Charms… but he had done it a few seconds earlier for 'Neville Longbottom', which was close enough in Harry's book.

He'd been looking forward to a chance to finally one-up Hermione - which wasn't really fair, considering he had seven years of very advanced training on her - but found himself denied both in that class and Transfiguration, where Altaira quickly claimed the muggleborn as a partner. Given their confrontation in the common room on the first day of classes, Harry found his best friend's interest in the muggleborn to be… curious, to say the least. Not wanting to get stuck with someone like Crabbe or Goyle nor under the delusion that he could use class time to talk enough to make friends with someone he didn't really know, Harry had ended up pairing off with Daphne.

This time with a person of equivalent intellect by her side, Hermione raced through the first lesson even more quickly than the first time, she and Altaira silently egging each other on in a competition to be the first with a properly transfigured matchstick. Under other circumstances, they would have come in first and second, earning Slytherin ten points a piece for their work. Unfortunately for the two girls, they were competing against someone who had mastered the lesson seven years ago. With a haphazard flick of his wand, Harry turned his matchstick into a needle, earning himself ten points and a comment about his father's prowess in the discipline.

While the rest of their classmates struggled through the lesson for obvious reasons, Harry decided that giving Daphne a bit of a hand wouldn't be a bad thing. A hand up, though, rather than a hand out; if he simply provided all of the answers for her, she'd be continually reliant on him to stay with the rest of the class going forward. Which meant no lecturing her the way Hermione had been prone to. Goading her the way he had with Altaira probably wouldn't work either, Harry mused. And so instead, he opted to ask her a simple question. "Be honest, did your parents teach you any spells before you came to Hogwarts?" After a momentary pause, Daphne nodded hesitantly. "How do you make them work for you?"

"Easy. I use the wand motions and the words to harness and focus my magic, funnel it through my wand to keep it from being wild magic, and will it to do what I want. Come on, Harry, you're from a magical household. You should know something that sim…" Daphne abruptly trailed off and looked from Harry to the matchstick and back. Harry just smirked and raised an eyebrow. Turning her attention to her matchstick, Daphne waved her wand and said the incantation on the board, the slim shaft of wood warping and shifting into a perfect sewing needle. "Right then. Thanks, Harry."

As much as he tried to be surprised, Harry couldn't even manage to fake it when Wanda turned out to be the only Gryffindor who finished the assigned transfiguration by the end of class. Well, technically Wanda was a bit of a surprise because he didn't know her at all and so he had no idea how competent she was or wasn't. Still. Based on what he'd heard about the boy's arrogance from several sources so far, it was surprisingly satisfying to watch Neville receive a hefty homework assignment - one Harry had received himself the first time around - as a reward for his failure to complete the task.

In Charms, Altaira and Hermione paired off again to work together - or rather compete against each other - leaving Daphne and Harry together. Neither minded too terribly much, though, and after Harry once again stymied the dynamic duo's quest to be the first to perform the class's assignment - in this case, levitating a feather - he started tickling Daphne with his flying feather. Faster than she'd managed in Transfiguration, Daphne mastered the spell and almost poked his eye out as she whipped her feather shaft-first at him, a rather familiar smirk on her face as she let it drift away before dive-bombing him again.

Batting at the feather until he managed to pin it to the desk, Harry waited for Daphne to release her spell before relaxing and leaning in, nodding towards where Altaira and Hermione appeared to be having a dueling banjos moment going, the muggleborn repeatedly trying to outdo her smaller companion, only to have Altaira perfectly mimic her feather's movements each time. Given Hermione's stubbornness, it didn't surprise Harry in the least that the green and silver streaks were still present in her hair four days after he'd charmed them into existence, specifically making sure to use a spell that couldn't be canceled with a simple 'finite'. He found it rather fetching on her, or at least as fetching as he could find an eleven-year-old girl without feeling like a pedophile. "So, how long do you think it'll be before she goes to a professor to get her hair fixed?"

"Not sure. The question is, do you want to let it last that long?" Daphne's eyes flicked from Harry to Hermione and back. "If she does go to a professor, she might ask them to do more than fix it. Maybe, I don't know, see if they can figure out whose magic it is on her in the first place? And she may be new to magic, but she's a mean one. She'd probably start learning some nasty little spells just to get her revenge." Hmm. She had a point there. "She was still in the bathroom this morning brushing her hair out when I went in for my shower. Some of the things that come out of that girl's mouth… I've never heard such creative yet disturbing examples of profanity in my life. She's even worse than my father was that time he found out my mother had spent a quarter of the family's budgeted galleons for the year on new shoes."

Hmm. If this version of Daphne's family was equally as rich as the version from his universe… that was a whole lot of shoes. Harry looked down at his feet. He only had two of them: one left and one right. What did someone need that many shoes for?

September 7, 2001
Potions Classroom
Hogwarts
Moray, Scotland, United Kingdom

Given that he'd never liked his fame, Harry had found the next day particularly amusing. So many others, Ron among them, had wanted to be him in his old world and so it was fun to step back and watch as someone else experienced what he lived with… even if it was just an evil dungeon-dwelling bat.

"Ah yes. Neville Longbottom. Our new… celebrity." Snape went through roll call before his dark eyes rose from the parchment, sweeping back over the class slowly. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

There were snickers from the Slytherin side of the room, although few lasted more than the few seconds it took to look and see that Harry wasn't laughing. Crabbe, Goyle, and Mimas Carrow were the primary offenders there, making Harry wonder if he was finally seeing the formation of an opposing power bloc - pitiful as it may be - within his year. Beside him, Altaira rolled her eyes before leaning in and lowering her voice. "Just because Snape won't take points from his own house doesn't mean he won't let you know he's unhappy later. Idiots."

"Longbottom! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't know, sir."

Sneer firmly in place, Snape clucked his tongue. "Tut tut, Longbottom. Fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again, shall we? Longbottom, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Neville, looking as clueless as usual, gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"Decided not to open a book before coming to my class, eh, Longbottom?" Harry smirked; he, Hermione, Altaira, and Daphne had taken over a corner of the common room the night before with their copies of both One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Magical Drafts and Potions. Oddly enough, Hermione had barely touched either before that point, not finding magical horticulture or the brewing of potions to be particularly fascinating subjects, but all four were now passably informed in case Snape turned his attention their way. "What is the difference, Longbottom, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Sighing, Neville could only offer up another helpless shrug in reply. "I don't know." Then the unfairness of his situation finally seemed to occur to him, and upset morphed into anger as he glared at Snape. "Why are you picking on me? I bet nobody else in here could answer those questions either!"

After pondering his request for a moment, Snape grinned evilly at Neville. "Five points from Gryffindor for your insubordination, Longbottom, and another five for coming to class unprepared. But… very well. Let's put your theory to the test with a member of my own house. Potter!" Harry looked up from the notes he'd been jotting down; he'd been expecting Snape to launch into a tirade ending with him demanding the answers he'd just given them be written down and had decided to get a head start. But if the Death Eater wanted to play… "Asphodel and wormwood. What happens when I combine them?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk as he met the potion master's eyes. After all, Lily had given him permission to go after Snape if he felt the need. Granted this was more of a vicious assault on a person than a prank but hey, she had married James. Obviously that sort of thing didn't bother her either. Besides, Harry needed to make it clear to Snape that his mind was his own. He had too much going on in his life to spend time constantly deflecting legilimency attacks. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say… some sort of potion. Right?"

"Amusing. Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death, Potter." Slowly crossing the room, Snape loomed over Harry and Altaira, staring down at Harry with malicious black eyes. "Perhaps you can tell me where a bezoar comes from, then, since you lack knowledge of basic potions?"

After pretending to ponder that for a moment - and ignoring Altaira stomping on his toes before grinding her heel in - Harry shrugged in response. "An apothecary?"

Titters of laughter greeted his flippant answer, at least until Snape looked up and his glare cowed the class. "Technically correct… once they have been harvested from the stomach of a goat. They can save you from most poisons, which is what makes them relevant in my domain. Neither potions nor the requisite equipment seems to be your forte… perhaps ingredients? Monkshood and wolfsbane. What's the difference, Potter?"

"Oh, I know this one. They're the same. It's also called aconite. According to my mother, if you dice it up really finely, it's a great way to add a little flavor to your tea. Potion masters in particular seem to enjoy it." Harry narrowed his eyes as he met Snape's gaze, wondering how far he'd have to push the man verbally to get him to lash out with legilimency. "Particularly Aconitum ferox." Oh yes, he would love to give another version of this man a hefty dose of Aconitum ferox if he could manage to get away with it. Nothing beat a nice mug of elf-made hot cocoa, some biscuits, and watching your childhood tormentor vomit and then asphyxiate as his respiratory system failed…

The look on Snape's face made it very clear to Harry that the man knew exactly what he was implying, and given that he'd attributed the comment to his mother, it made him even more curious about how far things had fallen between the two former friends in this universe. Then the professor's eyes drifted down to Harry's book, widening as he took in the scribbles that filled the margins, all written in a looping script far too feminine to be his. "Mister Potter… would you care to tell me why your book has been defaced before your first class period?"

Harry glanced down at his book for a moment before smiling widely as his gaze returned to Snape's. If this didn't push him over the edge, nothing would. "They're my mum's. We had enough money for new ones, but I decided to bring hers with me instead. That, and it kinda feeds into that royalty thing I like to promote. You know, the Half-Blood Prince. After all, knowledge is power and I'm inheriting power from my parents… it fits, doesn't it?" A cheeky little wink pushed the man over the edge, sending Snape crashing into his occlumency shields for a second time with the subtlety of a wounded dragon. Harry's grin grew even wider in response. Showtime. Creating a handful of bubbles just inside of his shield, Harry began packing them full of memories that weren't his own, memories found in carefully organized vials when he'd cleaned out Snape's office after putting the man down like the rabid dog he was. The first time Snape had met Lily…

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"What's obvious?"

"I know what you are."

"What do you mean?"

"You're… you're a witch."

"That's not a very nice thing to say to somebody!"

"No! You are. You are a witch. I've been watching you for a while. But there's nothing wrong with that. My mum's one, and I'm a wizard."

Their first ride on the Express…

"Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."

"So what?"

"So she's my sister!"

"She's only a… never mind. But we're going! This is it! We're off to Hogwarts! And you'd better be in Slytherin."

The end of their friendship…

"I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."

"I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you mudblood, it just…"

"Slipped out? It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends… you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you? I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."

"No… listen, I didn't mean…"

"…to call me mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth a mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

His betrayal of Voldemort…

"The… the prophecy. The prediction. Trelawney."

"Ah, yes. How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything… everything I heard! That is why… it is for that reason… he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July…"

"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down… kill them all…"

"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have… I have asked him…"

"You disgust me. You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

"Hide them all, then. Keep her… them… safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In… in return? Anything."

There were others, but Harry kept them to himself for now. Make the man think that he knew of his past, and hope that they were close enough to this universe's version of events to fool Snape. Once he was ready, Harry began creating weak spots in his shield just above the bubbles… and then his smile turned vicious as Snape took the bait, plowing through his shield over and over, plunging himself into pockets of his own memories. The connection broke abruptly as Snape stumbled back, wrenching his head to the side. "The potion is on the board. Get to work." Protests broke out from both sides as Slytherins and Gryffindors alike realized that they had yet to receive any actual instruction, and that what he was ordering them to do was a terrible idea. "Now! Or I'll have you all serving a week's detentions with Filch!"

Harry smirked as he and Altaira got to work. Game. Set. Match.

September 10, 2001
Library
Hogwarts
Moray, Scotland, United Kingdom

"It's been three days and he still won't stop glaring at you. Do I want to know what you did to my godfather back on the first day of Potions, Harry?"

"I don't know… you saw how he reacted to it. Do you really want to know?" After thinking about that for a few seconds, Altaira shook her head and Harry chuckled before gesturing to the seat beside him. "Didn't think so. Now, what brings you down here? I thought you were spending time networking with the rest of the Slytherin girls today?"

Altaira just waved one hand dismissively as she circled around the library table, taking a seat beside Harry. "I networked for as long as I could before all the conflicting accents drove me insane. I don't know why you're so set on me being nice to Lilith, though; I should be focusing on Brianna if we're after someone useful. After all, she knows another supergirl. Two of them, actually." Suddenly, she had Harry's full attention and he set down his quill before gesturing for her to continue. "They live across the pond in Boston and they're old enough to be Hogwarts graduates, if just barely. Evidently, Brianna was over there when she got her letter and two days later, they showed up at her house to talk. Turns out, they knew all about our supergirls but had never even heard of the wizarding world. So now they pay her to keep a journal of everything that happens to her at Hogwarts. And before you even interrupt me, this all leads into me telling you why they're super… they're telepaths. That's how they knew about Brianna being a witch. They literally heard her thinking about it from halfway across the city and tracked her down."

That was… minorly terrifying, to be honest. Mostly because - as hypocritical as it may have been - Harry wanted his mind to be his own. He'd mastered occlumency specifically to ensure that it would be, but would magical mental defenses be enough to keep out people whose powers stemmed from other sources? Did he want to risk meeting them so he could find out? "Did she mention if they're sisters or something? Because I'd find it odd for two girls in one city to randomly have exactly the same powers."

"They're not. They're actually very different looking according to Brianna: one is a really pale blonde girl and the other is some kind of Mediterranean with black hair. Their powers aren't exactly the same, either. Blondie can turn herself into a diamond, and her friend has… Brianna lost me, something about 'gen-e-ticks' and 'jump starting' and 'kom-pew-ters'. But basically she can think better than us, and also can find potential superpeople and turn on their powers." Leaving Harry to ponder that, Altaira reached under the table to fiddle with something. There was one muffled thud followed shortly thereafter by a second, and then Harry looked down as something came to rest on his lap. A foot. Harry looked from it to Altaira's face, raising an eyebrow, and she scoffed at him before nudging his thigh with her other foot. "Well, go on then."

Harry rolled his eyes before reaching down to take her foot into his hands, rubbing at the sole of her left foot. One of these days, he was going to buy - or conjure - her a shirt that said 'Will Work For Massages'. Whether she genuinely enjoyed them as much as she seemed to or if she was just in it for the fact that it forced them to interact physically, there wasn't much Altaira wouldn't do if that was the reward. "I could talk Mum and Mother into taking us to Boston, but there's no way our fathers would allow it. Still, the more we know about these girls, the better. So you're right, focus on Brianna for now. Once she starts to dry up, move on to Lilith. Ignore Pansy and Millicent except for casual conversations and classes. Olivia… use your best judgement."

As his hands slowly moved down from the ball of her foot to the arch, Altaira let out a soft groan and leaned back in her seat. "I have terrible judgement and you know it. Which probably explains why I think dating you someday is a brilliant idea." Hey! He was a wonderful catch, thank you very much! "Speaking of, where are we on that? Because I think there's a pool starting and I want to take advantage of it."

"I'm thinking maybe third year, on the fifth of never?"

"Did I mention that I'm willing to split the take fifty/fifty with you?"

"…getting back on track, we need to make a Gryffindor friend. I mean, obviously we can reach back out to Ríonach because we met her before Hogwarts and she seemed to like us plenty, but I don't want her being forced to face her housemates alone when the inevitable happens…"

Four tables away, Hermione let her book drop back onto the table as she gave up on any pretense of studying and looked from Harry and Altaira to her friends and back. "Am I the only one freaked out by the two of them? They're eleven. And they're cousins. I'm not sure which part of that is worse. Hmm. No, the more I think about it, the equally gross both parts seem."

Daphne spared a quick glance up from her essay for Professor Flitwick, eyeing the pair in question, before shrugging and returning to her work. "I don't see the problem. Or what age has to do with anything, Miss 'Chicks Dig Scars'." Hermione narrowed her eyes at Daphne for that one. She'd told her new friends about her preferences because she'd wanted to get the freaking out and ditching done with now, rather than a few years down the road after she'd become emotionally invested in the three. That didn't mean they could use it against her to… prove a very good point, she was forced to admit. "Harry's mature for his age, we all know that. It's odd. That doesn't change that he's mature. Personally, I'd still be his friend even if it wasn't the good Slytherin thing to do for that reason alone. And so if he does become the first boy in our year to get a girlfriend, it really won't surprise me. That said? While Tara may want it and bad, there's nothing going on between them. But if there was? It's not like their parents are siblings, Hermione. They're second cousins once removed; you have to go all the way back to Cygnus Black to find where their trees meet. And don't even look at me like that, you know I know these things."

"Whatever. If you can name how close someone is on your family tree, they're too close for you to date, Daphne. And I'm sticking to that." Hermione stared at the quietly talking pair for a long moment before looking away. She knew it wasn't jealousy; even at her age, she had a defined enough set of aesthetic preferences and Altaira definitely didn't fit them. Neither did anyone of the opposite gender, which eliminated both halves of the pair. So why did they bother her so? Maybe Daphne was the weird one and Su or Tracey would vindicate her? "Tracey? Su? Help me out here?"

Peering up from a Potions essay, Tracey shook her head rapidly. "Leave me out of this. Besides, what makes you think I know anything about normal families or relationships?" Touché.

Su wasn't any more helpful. "I can't help but notice that you're not trying to connect me and him, even though we're the same way. I mean, I don't touch him as often because we're not together much, but I do it when we are." Hermione furrowed her brow at that; was that true? How had she never noticed? "Like Daphne said, if there was something going on - and I'm with her, we'd all know if there was because Tara would be bragging non-stop about finally catching him - it wouldn't be that weird. There are a lot fewer wizards and witches than muggles. Of course family trees overlap more than muggles' do."

"Thanks, Su."

"Welcome. And it could be worse. At least they're not as weird as those Carrow twins from the next year up. They walk around holding hands."

All three girls let out squeals of disgust… and were promptly shushed by Madam Pince.

September 13, 2001
Training Grounds
Hogwarts
Moray, Scotland, United Kingdom

His second week of school brought something Harry had been dreading: flying lessons. Not that he was afraid of flying, far from it. But evidently this Neville Longbottom had more in common with Harry's original life than just the lightning bolt scar: he too wanted to be seeker for the Gryffindor team, although he evidently saw both filling the open slot on the house's quidditch team and the bending of the 'no brooms for first years' rule to be his right as the Boy-Who-Lived rather than a privilege. Arrogant brat.

It left Harry with a bit of a dilemma, though. What did he do if the Remembrall situation - or something close enough - occurred again in this world? Should he take care of it himself? There were all sorts of problems with that idea, the least of which were that he'd end up standing out even more. But while he'd escaped punishment for his rule-breaking in the first world, Harry wasn't deluded enough to think that Snape would similarly shield him… even if the Slytherin team was short a seeker, he was still a Potter. But if he let Neville take a crack at it and against all odds, the boy performed adequately? It would begin adding substance to the mystique of the Boy-Who-Lived, making it harder for Harry to unify the school behind him in the future.

Choices choices.

Altaira and Daphne were both old hands on brooms by this point, having come from pureblood families. Well, they were competent if not confident; neither had parents that were wild about the ideas of girls flying. Hermione, on the other hand, was obviously nervous about the idea. As best Harry could tell, though, it was just a general nervousness that she'd be bad at even one core wizarding skill… especially since being a terrible flier would ruin her chances of getting to try quidditch someday. Hopefully she'd be at least a passable flier; even if she wasn't skilled enough to play quidditch, it would be nice to have her able to join him on the pitch in her spare time instead of nagging him about revising the way her old self had.

After lunch that day, the Gryffindors and Slytherins made their way out onto the grounds for their first - and only, Harry mused, unless the others had been given further classes he'd been exempt from - flying lesson. There were two rows of ten brooms lying on the grass when they arrived and without a thought, the two houses moved to stand facing each other with the brooms in between. As they tended to most of the time, Harry and Altaira ended up forming the boundary between the boys and girls of Slytherin… although there was a girl on Harry's other side as well. The ninth of the house's eight girls, to be precise. "You picked a really, really bad day to get in touch with your feminine side, Michaela."

"Actually, I did it on purpose. I figured that if I could ride a broom in a skirt, I could take anything that Hogwarts threw at me." Frowning, Michaela crossed her arms over her chest as she nudged the nearest broom with her right foot. "Or at least that was the idea. I'm starting to have second thoughts, to be honest. Especially since I didn't order the Evans Charm on my skirt like some of your friends."

That grabbed Harry's attention. While it could very well be a charm created by someone named Evan, there was an equal chance that the spell's formal name was the Evans Charm… and given there was no magical Evans family that he knew of, what were the odds of another magical person sharing his muggleborn mother's maiden name? "The Evans Charm?"

Michaela nodded in Hermione's direction, and Harry leaned forward to watch as the muggleborn drew her wand, tapping the tip against a seemingly featureless spot on the waistband of her skirt. "Down with the patriarchy." Even as Altaira and Pansy let out scoffs of disgust - joined by all the other Slytherin boys and a mixture of Gryffindor boys and girls - the girl's charcoal grey uniform skirt morphed into slacks identical to the ones he was wearing. "The patriarchy is keeping me down." Her trousers became a skirt once more and Hermione scanned the crowd threateningly, waiting for someone to openly object.

Wisely, nobody did.

While he'd spent some time paging through the books he'd inherited from her, it only hit Harry then that he had never actually asked if Lily had done anything more than be a housewife during the gap between when she left Hogwarts and when he entered this universe. He probably should have, Harry realized. Maybe there were other, more useful spells wandering around in that brilliant mind of hers that she'd invented after graduation, just waiting for him to put them to good use. "Also wishing I'd taken the time to braid my hair this morning. Or maybe cut it off; it always grows back to the same length if I let myself revert before taking another dose." Harry looked over at Michaela curiously, the girl reaching up to play with her brown hair. "There's a reason all the Harpies have either short hair or long braids, you know."

"Turn around." Harry drew his wand as Michaela hesitantly obeyed, bringing it up to press against the back of her skull. "Intreccio." The tip of his wand glowing pink, he slowly drew it down the shimmering brown curtain of hair in front of him, watching as it drew together and wove itself into a simple fishtail braid. It was one of the few useful things he'd picked up from his sisters' obsession with primping Hjördís rather than Narcissa's lessons; he was also passing fair at manicures and pedicures, but that didn't seem particularly relevant at the moment. When he was done, Michaela pulled the braid over her shoulder to examine it before giving him a thumbs up… and then all of Slytherin's actual girls save Millicent came bustling over for the same treatment. Harry made a point of refreshing the charms on Hermione's hair before braiding hers. After ten days, the green was starting to look a bit dull.

Just as the Slytherin girls were lining back up with their brooms - and the Gryffindor girls appeared to be ready to cross the invisible line and request his help as well - Madam Hooch appeared, scowling down at Neville as he stumbled along beside her. "For the last time, Longbottom, I have nothing to do with the house's quidditch teams. I am merely the referee for the school's matches. If you are willing to attend try-outs on a school broom and are selected by Mister Wood, then perhaps you'll be allowed to have your broom sent from home. But neither that nor the composition of the house teams are things under my control. Now go line up with the rest of your classmates before I take points from Gryffindor." Huffing, she stopped at one end of the brooms, forcing Neville to run all the way down to the other to take up a spot next to Larry. Her yellow, hawk-like eyes raked back and forth over them a few times and then she nodded. "Right then. I assume everyone is in a spot where they can hold their dominant hand out over a broom? Which means right-handed flyers to the left of the broom and vice versa. Is anybody in the wrong position?" There was a chorus of vaguely negative replies and Hooch gave a sharp nod. "Now hold your hand out over the broom and say 'Up!'."

"Up!"

A few brooms rolled over and twitched. Neville got a rude shock as his flew up to hit him in the face before dropping to the grass again, making him stumble back and fall on his arse. Harry let out a snort at that, easily curling his fingers around the shaft of his broom as it jumped to his band before looking to either side of him. All of the Slytherin boys - and Michaela - had gotten their brooms airborne as had all of the girls save Millicent, whose broom appeared to be trying to burrow underground to get away from her.

Mounting their brooms - after shifting her skirt back into trousers in Hermione's case - the students waited while Hooch patrolled up and down the two rows, checking their grips and where they were positioned on the broom. "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground. Decently hard, mind you, the charms on the broom take a second or two to kick in and if you don't get high enough you'll be smacking your shins into the ground instead of flying. Once you are in the air, keep your broom steady until you're confident. Lean back and rise a few feet, then lean forward and point the nose down to descend again to the ground. Slowly. On my whistle… three… two… one…"

Harry kicked off, easily leveling off into a hover before sparing some attention to check on his friends. Altaira and Daphne kicked off and easily achieved hovers of their own, and then came the moment of truth: Hermione. He was worried over nothing, though; his muggleborn friend made the transition from ground to air as smoothly as the others. "Huh. That's it? This… this is too easy." Hermione grinned and rose a few feet before tipping to one side, rolling her broom a full three hundred and sixty degrees before straightening up. Leaning forward, she descended until her feet touched the ground again and looked around. "Now what?"

Before Madam Hooch could issue further instructions to the class, shouting broke out from the boys' end of the line, coming from both sides. Harry sighed as he watched Neville and Mimas shout at each other at ever-increasing volumes, eventually culminating with the hovering Mimas rocketing forward and knocking Neville off his broom. Even though they weren't too far off the ground, Neville evidently landed just wrong and Harry winced as he heard a sickening crack that heralded at least one broken bone.

Déjà vu…

"Longbottom! Carrow! Ten points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin for your inane posturing and another five from Slytherin, Mister Carrow, for your attack on Mister Longbottom. I want everyone's feet on the ground right this minute." Hooch stomped over to where Neville was curled in a whimpering ball on the grass. Leaning down, she pulled his arm away from his chest and waved her wand over it. "As I suspected. Broken wrist." Standing again, she glared at the rest of the class. "I need to bring Longbottom to the hospital wing. If I see any of you back in the air, you will regret it. Especially you, Mister Carrow."

Each member of the class nodded their assent in turn as her hawklike eyes scanned up one line and down the other… but as soon as Hooch and Neville were out of sight, history began to repeat itself. Dashing forward, Mimas plucked a Remembrall from the grass near where Neville had fallen and began playing with it. How the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived justified needing something like that, Harry had no idea. But now Neville was out of the way and Mimas seemed intent on giving him the chance to stand out all over again. This particular iteration presented a new complication, though: Mimas seemed willing to challenge Harry for control of their year within Slytherin, and Harry not rising to a challenge would just just as bad as rising and being overcome by Mimas. "Whatever you're thinking, Carrow, don't. Give it to one of Longbottom's friends."

Looking him up and down, Mimas thought about it for a moment before sneering and shaking his head. "No, I don't think I will, Potter. Maybe I'll leave it up a tree for him to find. See if the fat braggart can actually manage to get up there and fetch it or if he's completely worthless on a broom."

Harry just let out a sigh of disgust as Mimas mounted his broom and lifted off the ground again, Remembrall in hand. Having shed his robe for flying class, all Harry had to do was bring his right hand across and catch his wand as Rensaren shot out of the top of Vörn's minimized gauntlet form. "Get back down here or I'll bring you back down."

"You may be all the professors' favorite, Potter, but turning a matchstick into a needle isn't going to help you now. I don't think you can back that threat."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked up at that. "I find your lack of faith disturbing. Wingardium leviosa." First came an exaggerated swishing motion that segued into a harsh downward flick, and then Mimas was letting out a rather unmanly shriek of surprise as he was slammed downward into the grass shins first. "Someone evidently forgot who mastered levitation charms first in our class." Leaving Mimas to roll around on the grass and moan in pain, Harry turned to Altaira only to be brought up short by the look of… not quite lust, but definite longing in her eyes. While they both preferred the velvet glove, she evidently wasn't put out by him needing to demonstrate the iron fist. Far from it, in fact. And while he desired neither lust nor longing from her - not now, maybe not ever - it was reassuring to know that she wouldn't shy away from him once the worst began and he had to unleash his full might. As she slid in to take up her customary spot under his left arm, he leaned down and lowered his voice. "You know, now would be a really good time to go say hi to-"

"Pity. I was actually looking forward to experiencing your kind's flight." Harry gave a start at the unexpected voice before looking up to find Thrúd standing between him and his school broom as she eyed it curiously. Since the world around them wasn't frozen and blue-tinged… he glanced down at Altaira. She was staring at Thrúd with wide eyes too. Oh God, had she- "I'm bored, not stupid. Nobody can see me but the two of you. Although I was tempted to appear to Hermione; there's something about that girl that I really like. Not sure if she reminds me more of myself or Mæja… possibly both of us in equal measures? She could be our daughter, really." Oh, now that was a scary thought. Hermione the Valkyrie. Or perhaps Hermione the Ásynja? Both options were equally terrifying to be honest. "I hope your mistress of flight returns soon. You should not be deprived because of the fat and stupid child."

Harry let out a snort at that. "Technically, we're being deprived because the evil child flew into the fat and stupid child…"

"Harry? Who are you talking to?" Starting at the question, Harry looked past Thrúd at where Michaela was eyeing him curiously. "Not that I disagree, but that sounded like part of a conversation that I wasn't hearing the rest of and I know that Altaira didn't say anything."

A chuckle from behind him made Harry shoot a dirty look at Thrúd before letting out an exasperated sigh. This particular ability of hers was going to drive him up the wall, he just knew it…

September 13, 2001
Great Room
Potter Manor
Fowey, Cornwall, England, United Kingdom

She really needed to find wherever her Gryffindor courage had wandered off to in the past decade or so and tell her husband the truth, Lily decided. Because the silence had long since passed comfortable and morphed into oppressive. Almost every night he was home, they ended up spending at least two hours - sometimes as many as four - sitting in the great room together, studiously ignoring each other as they enjoyed individual entertainment and tried to pretend their marriage wasn't an utter failure being held together solely by the existence of three children.

Then a low warble broke the silence, a brilliant rainbow light came blazing through the windows that looked out onto the back lawn, and Lily found herself jumping to her feet. The Bifröst obviously worked both ways, and if there wasn't anyone out on their back lawn departing for Asgard… she tried to dash for the doors, only to be cut off by James. "Stay behind me. I have no idea who or what that is, but they've come to the wrong damn house."

Lily cringed at his arrogance but couldn't think of a way to dissuade him. Suddenly, she found herself regretting her willingness to bind her children into Unbreakable Vows that limited them to talking about Harry's hybrid nature only with those who already knew; one of them probably would have spilled the beans by now otherwise. Or she could have been an adult and… gotten Harry to tell James, since she couldn't. Hmm. That was awkward. Either way, he was walking into a situation where he'd be completely outclassed, and she had no way to stop him. Unless… "Maybe it's something… natural? You know, like a really intense version of the Northern Lights? Actually, it's kinda pretty." Taking a step forward, Lily leaned against the arm of the couch and did her best to look seductive while wearing an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. "It'd make good mood lighting, you know. Wanna go back to our room and-"

"Lily, there is a rainbow… tornado… thing on our back lawn. A rainbow tornado thing that's causing the wards to go off. And you want to go shag? Are you mad?" Shaking his head in disbelief, James turned and closed the remaining distance to the doors. From outside came a dull boom that Lily assumed was the actual arrival event; it had happened during Harry's return as well, but not his departure. Then the light show abruptly cut off, plunging the back lawn into darkness once more. Peering out the French doors, James swore under his breath. "I count… at least three of them. Lily, floo to Sirius's house and send him back to help me before heading over to the Ministry and-" Before he could finish his instructions or Lily could argue about how incredibly sexist he was being, there was a sharp rap on the door and James stumbled back. "Bloody hell, they're fast!" Drawing his wand, he pointed it at the doors. "Who are you?!"

Stepping into the flickering, yellowish-orange light provided by the sconces located on the exterior wall on either side of the doors, a pair of unfamiliar women regarded her and James curiously for a few seconds before the blonde reached out, tapping delicately at one of the door's glass panes with her fingernail. "Midgardians have doors on their dwellings now? Will the wonders never cease. May we come inside? Shouting at each other through a door is hideously uncivilized."

James shot a disbelieving look over at Lily before turning his attention back to the strange women. "…I'd rather you not, if it's all the same to you."

"Very well. Uncivilized behavior all around, then." The blonde let her hand drift down to rest on the doorknob before giving it a sharp twist, the lock giving way under what was likely superhuman strength and allowing her to push the door open. "Good evening, James Charlusson. My name is Amora the Enchantress, and this is Loki Odindóttir."

Loki entered the house first followed closely by Amora, the dark-haired woman looking around the great room and nodding to Lily before offering James a curtsy. "I apologize if my companion is a bit… enthusiastic… but we're here on a very important mission. Tell me… do you have a moment to talk about the Allfather?"

"Yes, because that's hilarious when you're dealing with someone who has no idea what a Mormon is and has never had to deal with an evangelist before in his life. I swear, it would kill you to be open and direct for once in your life. Literally. It'd kill you. Not that it'd be a bad thing; maybe then you'd actually spend some time with me." With a low growl, a black-haired girl who looked to be roughly Dora's age forced Loki and Amora apart so that she could pass between them, making her way over to the couch and throwing herself down with a huff. She was… quite the sight, Lily thought diplomatically, with almost unnaturally pale and perfect skin, bright green eyes almost identical to the ones Lily and Harry shared, and glossy black hair that probably would have fallen to her waist if it hadn't been artfully draped up and over a strange green headdress that looked a bit like stylized antlers. Her dress actually wouldn't have looked out of place in the wizarding world, black and frilly and straight out of the Victorian era, although Lily was reasonably certain that combat boots hadn't yet filtered through to be sold in Diagon Alley. Putting said boots up on the coffee table, the girl fixed James with a glare as she reached up to adjust her headdress. "What? You've never seen a teenaged death goddess before?"

That question evidently caused James to reach the end of his ability to deal with strange things, and her husband's eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out. Lily winced as his head hit the floor with a dull thud before shrugging; he'd suffered worst both at work and while fooling around with Sirius and Remus. Returning her attention to the girl on the couch, Lily offered a polite smile. "Well, since you obviously want to be the only other adult in the room, I'll talk to you. Why are you here…" Trailing off, Lily's mind raced as she tried to figure out how to address the girl in front of her. Who she was was quite evident based on the 'death goddess' part, but the Eddas had multiple names for her. "Hel?"

"Helreginn. Helreginn Lokijardóttir. Call me Helreginn." That was… very specific and slightly awkward, but doable. Helreginn's gaze drifted over to where Loki and Amora were still standing in front of the damaged doors before returning to Lily. "They've been using Heimdall to spy on you. They know what you and Narcissa are preparing for Samhuinn, and want to know if all of a student's family members are allowed to attend. I'm… a bit curious myself, to be honest. I'm looking forward to meeting my half-sister. Half-brother. Whatever you want to call Hjördís. Especially since a certain somebody decided not to introduce us last month…"

"You were in Hel!"

"Yes, because I never get tired of you using that excuse."

Casting a charm to keep their bickering from traveling up to where Jasmine, Rose, and Dora were sleeping, Lily tuned out the mother and daughter pair as she tried to wrap her mind around what was going on. A minimum of two Norse deities - and whatever 'the Enchantress' was - wanted permission to attend the Samhuinn festival that she and Narcissa had spent the better part of the last twelve months organizing. On one hand, she seriously doubted that refusing a goddess anything would be good for her long-term health. On the other, Lily agreed wholeheartedly that the wizarding world wasn't ready to know Harry's secret yet, and these woman could easily blow that for him. "One condition." That brought the argument between Helreginn and Loki to an abrupt end, their matching green gazes turning her way. "If you really are who you say you are, then I'm not sure I have the right to forbid you because you are his family after a fashion. And I seriously doubt that I could actually stop you from attending if I had to try. That doesn't mean I have to help you, though, but I will… on one condition."