In the wake of Cedric's attack, the entire school seemed to pause and hold its breath. Cedric was popular, well-known, and, most importantly, not a Gryffindor. The Hufflepuffs seemed lost, as if they still didn't quite believe that one of their own had been Petrified. The Ravenclaws were more uptight, traveling in groups no smaller that four, and were hardly ever seen anywhere except the library and the Great Hall when class wasn't in session. No visible change could be seen in the Slytherins. Worst of all, though, was Gryffindor's reaction: relief.

On some level, Harry could understand why so many of her Housemates were relieved by Cedric's Petrification - after all, it meant that Gryffindor House wasn't the sole target of whoever was attacking them - but for her it just meant that another of her friends was frozen stiff as a board in the Hospital Wing. She couldn't even walk past the place without feeling like crying.

She couldn't decide if it was a relief or not when, a few weeks later, she was packing up some of her belongings - she didn't need all of her things for a two week holiday - and following what seemed like the entire student population down to the gates, where they piled into the carriages. Harry and Neville made sure to skirt the thestrals, although now that she knew what they were, they weren't quite so frightening.

Most of the ride on the Hogwarts Express passed in silence, the three of them reading books of choice. The Weasleys, Harry knew, were secreted away in their own compartment, and would also probably be traveling in silence.

"What sort of spell could do this?" Hermione asked again in frustration. Since Cedric's Petrification, the bushy-haired witch had been chomping at the bit, and had even passed on the lineage research to Harry and Neville (who hadn't gotten very far; Harry found that it was impossible to concentrate on anything now, and lived in an odd sort of lethargy) while she browsed for any sort of spell or potion that could Petrify someone. There weren't many, and none of them fit the symptoms and circumstances.

Harry shook her head. "I've no idea. Remus hasn't the foggiest either, and he works in a bookstore." She didn't mention what kind of bookstore - for all that Remus claimed it catered solely to Muggles, Harry had her suspicions. "Anyways, Neville," she said, casting about for a change of subject, "how are we getting to your house?"

"Portkey, I think. Usually Gran and I take the Floo, but her hip's been acting up."

"Oh. All right." Harry had never actually used a Portkey before, even though she currently had one on a cord around her neck.

The last fifteen minutes of the ride, Harry stared resolutely out the window as Hermione quizzed Neville on various pureblood traditions for the holidays. Neville had just finished explaining about the Yule Log when the train pulled into the station and slowed to a halt.

"Is that your Gran?" Harry asked, peering out the window at a tall, imposing woman who had, by some miracle, managed to keep herself apart from anyone else in the crowd despite being in the middle of everyone.

Neville took one glance out the window and said, "Yeah, that's her. The hat makes her easy to find, even if it's a bit, well, creepy."

Hermione looked too, and wrinkled her nose. "I'm no Lavender or Parvati, but that is the most hideous hat I've ever seen! Why on Earth does she wear it?!"

"Tradition," Neville answered shortly, pulling his trunk down and then going back for Hermione's. As Harry wrestled hers out from under the seat, squashing her fingers in the process, Neville continued, more slowly, "It's a way to show honor and respect to my Gramps' passing, and that she won't ever marry again. If it'd been a turtledove, then she'd be open to courting proposals once she swapped it out for a quail."

"All of that from a hat?" Hermione asked.

"And there's no book for it, either," Harry cut in, flexing her newly-bruised fingers gently. "And that's only birds - you haven't gotten into the flowers and leaves, or her gloves, or," she added, peering out the window at the imposing figure, "the wood of her cane."

"All of that means something?" Hermione demanded, looking rather frightening. "And there's no books about any of it?!"

Harry and Neville exchanged glances, and then Harry said, "It's tradition for us, Hermione. We grew up with it - we don't need a book to tell us all this."

"But - that's just - " For once, Hermione was speechless.

"You'll pick it up easily," Harry said, "Just like you do everything else."

Hermione didn't looked soothed, but nodded. "Neville, I think I'll be needing some lessons once we get back to school."

"From me?" Neville asked incredulously. "Why not Harry?"

"Because," Hermione said, tying her scarf snugly around her neck. "I'm a Ward of House Longbottom. It's your duty."

"Eh - she's got you there, mate," Harry said. "But for future reference, Hermione, it's Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom."

"What's yours, then?" Hermione asked. "I know you've been researching it, but I don't think I've seen anything about the House of Potter itself besides the family members." Her statement was true; the book that Tiber had owled from the manor was just page after page of genealogical trees, with a few notes on appearances or special talents at the bottom of each page, and the copy of the Family Tree was even less informative, showing only those with the last name 'Potter' and immediate family of those who married in or out.

"Most Ancient and Honorable House of Potter." It was one of the first things Harry could remember learning about her House: a Potter was honorable, a Potter never broke their word or gave their word lightly, a Potter stood up for what was right, a Potter was stalwart, true, and brave. "Come on," she said, "We should get a move on or we'll be stuck riding this thing to the end of the line."

Hermione looked like she had a hundred more questions, but the three of them pulled their trunks out anyways. The corridor was empty - their delay had allowed most of the students to disperse - but the platform was still fairly crowded with parents and students excitedly talking to each other. The grimness that had hung over the students like dark cloud seemed to have faded away now that they were no longer in the stone corridors of Hogwarts. Out of sight, out of mind, Harry supposed, even if it didn't hold true for her.

Neville's Gran reminded Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall; she seemed to exude an air of sternness that kept even the most clueless of passerbys from coming any closer than five feet from her person. Her dark, piercing eyes zeroed in on Harry almost immediately as the three young Gryffindors approached her.

"You must be Mr. Potter," she said. Harry noticed right away that the Dowager Lady Longbottom enunciated each word clearly and separately, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, I am." Harry bowed in the manner that Remus had taught Alex almost as soon as they could walk. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Longbottom, and as a Scion of the Most Ancient and Honorable House Potter, I extend all courtesy due to the Most Ancient and Loyal House of Longbottom, and beseech you to use my given name."

Dowager Longbottom nodded regally. "The courtesy is graciously accepted, and offered in equal measures in return." She paused for a beat before adding, "Your manners are most appropriate for a boy of your stature, but may I ask where you learned the traditional greetings? If I am to understand my colleagues - gossips though they may be - your father the Lord Potter spends the vast majority of each day in the catacombs of the Department of Mysteries, and has done so since your birth."

Harry blinked several times in quick succession. How long had the Dowager Longbottom been keeping an eye on the Potter family?

"Gran - " Neville objected, but the Dowager raised a gloved hand, and Neville obediently shut his mouth, even if he didn't look happy about it. Hermione looked torn between anger at Neville's Gran's intrusion in Harry's private life, and interest at the whole proceedings.

"It's all right, Neville," Harry said, before speaking, rather coldly, to his grandmother. "My father may choose to spend his time at work rather than at home, but that does not mean that he disregarded my brother and my upbringing. He arranged for tutors at age five." While it wasn't strictly true - house elves didn't really count as tutors - it was true in the fact that their father had instructed the elves to teach Alex and Harry as James himself had been taught by his parents. Since Tiber, Leena, and Matilda had all been with the Potter family when James was growing up, Harry and Alex had received a full, if somewhat odd, education in tradition and the basics of theory in most fields of magic. The house elves knew a surprising amount about magic and pureblood tradition, just from having lived with it their entire lives.

Dowager Longbottom didn't seem put off by Harry's cold tone; if anything, her eyes sharpened and her face took on an oddly approving cast, which was quickly turned into a polite smile as she turned to Hermione. "Ward Granger. I trust that Scion Malfoy has given you no further troubles."

Hermione stuttered a little as she answered. "N-no, Lady Longbottom, he hasn't."

The old woman raised her eyebrows. "No, he has not not given you troubles?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean - " Hermione paused and took a deep breath before saying in a controlled voice, "Scion Malfoy has not approached me or insulted my person in any way since the beginning of September."

"She'll do. Now, come along," the Dowager said to Neville before turning and starting her way through the crowd to a cordoned off section of the platform where, every so often, witches and wizards would either appear or disappear, clutching some sort of worthless object. An angry blush bloomed in Hermione's cheeks at the double slight, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Harry covertly stepped on her foot, and when she glanced at her, shook her head.

"Think Snape," Harry whispered. Hermione frowned for a moment before nodding in understanding. It appeared that, as with Snape, the Dowager Longbottom didn't give praise lightly - or at all, really.

"Harry, we've got to go, or she'll leave without us." Neville was already starting to pull his trunk after his grandmother.

"I'll catch up in a minute," Harry said, giving Neville a quick grin. "Don't worry." Neville nodded - looking worried anyways - but sped up anyways, taking advantage of the path his grandmother had wordlessly managed to clear through the rapidly thinning crowd.

"Harry, you should go."

"I'll be fine, Hermione. Just- she didn't mean anything by it. She's testing you, to make sure you're worthy of being under her House's aegis." Hermione immediately began to fret, fiddling with the sleeve of her muggle coat. "You've already managed to impress her, so don't worry about it. I daresay she likes you better than me, what with you being the person who made it possible for her to get her Feud with the Malfoys. Don't worry about it."

"I - oh, all right. I suppose you'd know more about it anyways." She looked pained at the thought. "But now you really need to go. Look, they're nearly there." A quick glance told Harry that Hermione was right.

"Happy Christmas," she shot over her shoulder as she grabbed her trunk and all-but sprinted through the crowd. She only barely caught Hermione's returned, "And you!" over the hooting of owls, the yowls of cats, and the squeaking of trolley wheels.


Longbottom Manor was just as imposing as Harry had expected - and just as impressive as she supposed Potter Manor would look to a visitor, if they'd ever had any. Like Potter Manor, it was made completely of stone, from the darker-colored ground storey, barely visible though it was between the intricate tracery of ivy vines, all the way up to the black-shingled roof. As she and Neville trailed after Dowager Longbottom on the way to the manor from the small gazebo set aside for Apparition and Portkey, Harry eagerly took in their surroundings.

Whereas Potter Manor was situated on a rather wooded parcel of land, with some gently sloping hills towards the back, Longbottom Manor's grounds were almost completely flat, and snow-capped ridges could be seen in every direction. Longbottom Manor was built in a valley, and, judging by lack of smoke from anywhere besides the manor itself, was the only home there. Which made sense, given that the Longbottoms were one of the oldest families in Great Britain, with roots all the way back to Druidic and pre-Norman times.

The inside of the manor was tastefully decorated, although Harry quickly found that all of the breakable items had been magically Stuck to their spots by either house elves or the Dowager herself. The why was apparent when Neville's trunk knocked first against a vase that looked like it came directly from Ancient Grecian ruins, and then against a magnificently carved teak entry table with many small porcelain statues on it.

After the second collision, Dowager Longbottom sighed - rather loudly, Harry thought - and called out, "Tanda!" With a muffled popping noise, a small female house elf appeared, already sunk into a deep curtsey.

"How mays Tanda serve Mistress?" she squeaked.

"Take Neville's trunk to his room, and then take Mr. Potter's to the nearest guest suite to Neville's quarters. And tell Ginger that tea will be served in the Blue Lounge in half an hour."

"Yes, Mistress." Another muffled pop and Tanda was gone, along with both Harry's and Neville's trunks.

"Neville, show Scion - ah, Harry, to his rooms, and put on something appropriate afterwards."

"Yes, Gran. C'mon, Harry."

Harry followed Neville up a set of polished wooden stairs. They got off on the first landing, and Neville led the way down an increasingly green hallway. By the time there were plants on every available surface - and some hanging from the ceiling as well - Harry was sure they had to be nearly at Neville's room; there was no other reason for there to be such a large number of plants otherwise.

"Who takes care of them when you're at Hogwarts?" she asked. The Dowager didn't seem like the gardening type of grandmother – nor a knitter, at that.

"Yory," Neville replied. "He's our other elf." Harry nodded. The Longbottoms, while one of the oldest Houses of the British Isles, were far from the wealthiest; that title belonged to the Macmillan Family, and then those of the Fawleys, Blacks, Malfoys, and Lestranges. A few more yards, and Neville indicated a door. "This is my room. I'd invite you in, but we should get changed into better clothes first. Come on, yours isn't too far away."

And it wasn't. Within three minutes, Harry was stepping into her room - rooms, really - for the next two weeks. It was clearly a suite meant for long-term visitors. There was, of course, the bedroom, but also a small sitting room, an even smaller study, and a bathroom of her very own, for which Harry was very grateful. Showering at school was always stressful, with the danger of any number of boys walking in at any time. Closing the curtain didn't guarantee that none of the other boys would bother her.

"D'you think you can find your way back?" Neville asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yeah." There was an odd silence; things hadn't been so awkward between them since they'd first started to sound out their friendship more than a year ago. "Erm. What's 'appropriate' clothes?"

"Traditional," Neville said immediately.

Harry nodded her understanding. "See you in a few," she said, and then he was gone, the door swinging soundlessly shut behind him.

It took her ten minutes to shower, and a further ten to find her least-wrinkled set of semi-casual robes. They were really Alex's, since all of hers sported a decidedly feminine cut, but they fit her well enough, barely an inch too short in the sleeves and hem, which could be easily explained away if the Dowager commented.

Neville's door was open when Harry found her way back to his rooms. She knocked, but upon receiving no answer, entered anyways. Like her quarters, Neville's door opened to a sitting room, although his most definitely looked lived-in. There were plants on every available surface, knickknacks stowed wherever they would fit, and many photos on the walls. Harry took her time inspecting them. While most featured Neville in exotic locations - most often with dirt on his clothes and face and some sort of plant held proudly in his hands - nearly as many were of Neville and his Gran together. Harry was surprised to see how happy the both of them looked in the photos; the Dowager didn't come across as a woman who smiled very often, and she knew for a fact that Neville's smiles were rare things.

After a few more minutes spent exploring his sitting room, Neville appeared, hair still damp from his shower, and his face pinched from nervousness.

"I just saw Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid coming from the Entrance Chamber. She's invited them for tea."

"Okay. Why're you so worked up about it?"

Neville fidgeted for a moment before answering. "Aunt Enid...well, she's not quite right, anymore. Still thinks I'm my dad."

Harry frowned. "Have you tried - "

"Yes," Neville interrupted, suddenly bold. Harry was slightly taken aback at the mercuric change. "We've done everything; St. Mungos, specialists, even the centaurs. Nothing worked."

"Sorry."

Neville just shrugged. "Me too."

Harry didn't know quite what to say.


As it turned out, Neville's Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid had been invited to stay for the entire holiday season. For some reason, this cheered Neville up immensely. When Harry asked why, after tea, he replied, "Means that Gran won't be able to spend as much time nagging me to do better. She'll be bragging to Aunt Enid - they're sisters-in-law. They don't get along well."

And his prediction was completely true. Harry and Neville had the run of the manor and its grounds. They spent the vast majority of their time outside in the sprawling gardens that lay behind the manor, carefully tucked behind tall hedges to protect from any grazing animals that might come searching for easy food.

"The deer haven't been so bad lately," Neville commented their second day together. Harry had brought her broom with her, and was flying - slowly - around Neville's prized greenhouse, one of three that the Longbottoms had in their gardens. This specific one was rather arid, which was why neither of them had on anything more than slacks and loose shirts. Neville had long since doffed his collared shirt, and was squatting at the base of a pustule-covered tree in his vest and trousers, doing something to the tree's rather prominent roots.

Harry was very pointedly not going anywhere near the tree; its trunk was, frankly, disgusting. Some of the pustules looked ready to burst. "That's good," she said laconically. It was very relaxing, just making circles on her broom. She'd never flown inside a building, excepting her brief, panicked journey to the Great Hall near the end of last year, but she didn't like to think about those last few months.

One of the pustules near the sparsely-leafed branches burst; pale lavender pus oozed down the side of the tree. Harry gagged at the rotten scent. "What is that?" she asked, watching incredulously as Neville scrambled to get a glass flask to collect the viscous liquid.

"It's a Bleeding Yulacaba tree, native to Australia. The sap is used by the indigenous shamans in rituals, but it's an excellent purifying agent for just about anything you can think of."

Harry shook her head. "How can you do so poorly in Potions when you know so much about plants?"

Neville shrugged, using a tattered piece of terrycloth to wipe some errant sap - Harry still thought it looked more like pus than sap, but who was she to argue with Neville about plants? - from the lip of the flask. "Plants are only some of the ingredients," he said complacently, corking the flask and putting it aside, returning to the roots.

Harry couldn't fault his statement. Instead, somewhat bored and very much sweaty from the hot temperatures inside the greenhouse, she asked, "Now what are you doing? The roots don't secrete something nasty, do they?"

Neville shook his head absently. "I'm going to see if I can establish a graft on it. Professor Sprout thinks that a Blushing Crabapple might do well, since they'll share a root system."

Harry nodded; she understood what he was saying, if not the entirety of the theory behind it. A few minutes later, Neville, tired of her hovering - quite literally - just behind him, sent her outside to fly around the valley that Longbottom Manor was situated in. Eagerly, Harry complied. Even though everything she could see was somewhat drab and very wet, it was still quite beautiful. As she flew further afield from the manor the ground began to slope up to the ridges, and she saw a few deer tracks in the mud. Not far from where the deer tracks originated, she found a set of extraordinarily large paw prints – most likely some sort of wolf. Only one wolf, but still, even a single wolf could be dangerous, especially one with paws so large. She quickly ascended further into the sky, and when she found Neville in a different greenhouse, Harry joined him without complaint in harvesting the Popping Snapdragons and a few clementines from his small tree.


Two days before Christmas, Harry and Neville stood with the Dowager, Enid, and Algie in the least formal of the manor's sitting rooms. As it was the room that the Dowager most often used, it was the only fireplace in the house with an external Floo connection. Harry filed the knowledge away for future use as first Algie, and then Enid, Flooed away to Millie's Hat Shop, located in the Flower District of the Lower Alleys. Harry had been surprised to hear that the Dowager would shop anywhere besides Diagon Alley, but had realized that the woman had married into the Longbottom family. A discreet inquiry whilst waiting for the Dowager to join the rest of them in the milliners had Neville telling her his grandmother's roots.

"She's a Croaker. Uncle Algie's an Unspeakable. They don't get along much, but they stick together anyways." And then the woman in question stepped imposingly from the Floo, and Neville feigned interest in a nearby fez, a light flush creeping up what little of his neck that she could see over his tasteful grey and purple scarf.

"This way," the Dowager commanded, leading the way to the door with a polite - almost friendly - nod to the woman behind the counter. Harry and Neville made up the rear of the procession.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, shoving her hands into her thick cloak's pockets, belatedly wishing she'd thought to wear her gloves. As it was, she was glad for Remus' thoughtful gift from last Christmas before they'd walked the length of the building.

"Gran's favorite antique dealer, first," Neville said, his breath making great clouds of mist that were snatched away by the stiff breeze within seconds. "Then to an apothecary so that Gran and Aunt Enid can look over potions while Uncle Algie slips away to buy perfumes for them. And then lunch, a few herbologists, a stop at Flannery's and Silk's, and then we move on to Diagon Alley. They'll go for tea. Usually I go with them, but Gran said that we're old enough to go about on our own as long as we stay in Diagon."

Harry's head was spinning with the length of the list - she'd never spent so long a period of time in public before - but she managed a nod, glad that most of her gifts had already been ordered and sent along. She only had to buy gifts for the twins (easy), Cedric (less so), and Professor McGonagall (hardest of all).

True to Neville's prediction, the Dowager led them into a store that smelled of polish and dried flowers. Neville and Harry stayed near the door at the Dowager's request.

"The first time I came in, I knocked into a vase and broke it," Neville explained. "It was Greek, and couldn't be repaired with magic."

They spent nearly half an hour in the store. Harry found a number of items that Alex would doubtlessly be interested in, and a great deal more that she had no idea what they were. There were, of course, also some things that she easily identified, but nothing that caught her interest. Antiques weren't really all that fascinating to her, as most families guarded their heirlooms almost religiously, her own included.

At the apothecary - a charming little store with barely enough room to turn around in - Enid and the Dowager got into a debate with the proprietress over the price of an Ever-Fresh Draught, and haggled until Algie returned, his cloak now with a small bulge over his lower ribcage. Harry waited for the three older members of their excursion to leave before purchasing a 4-ounce vial of pearlescent moondew, a dram of lobalug venom, and an ounce of powdered harpy claw. Neville had looked confused until Harry said, "The twins."

"Harry - they'll blow up the entire tower!"

"They don't brew anything dangerous in their room," Harry replied as they hurried to catch up with Algie, Enid, and the Dowager. "Even they're not that thickheaded."

"But - last year - "

"That was Hermione," Harry cut off his stuttering. "Fred and George only brew in their room enough to stink it up enough to keep Percy out, and only potions that they could brew with their eyes closed. The rest of the time, and when they're experimenting, they're in one of their secret rooms." She scowled a bit; despite her pleading, they'd refused to show her where they sometimes disappeared to. She hadn't tried asking since George had been Petrified. "There!" she exclaimed, bee-lining for a small café called 'From the Dragon's Flame'.

After lunch - a hearty beef stew with dense, buttery bread on the side - they ventured into no less than three herbologists. The Flower District had earned its name from the many plant shops and small apothecaries that bordered the cobbled lane, and although it wasn't as large or as well-known as Diagon Alley, it didn't have the same stigma as Knockturn Alley or other of the Lower Alleys.

Harry saw many fascinating plants that she'd never known existed. The majority of them were merely hybrids created for their aesthetics, but a few of them also had magical properties. Her favorite was a small tree with fragile-looking silver leaves and a striking white trunk. Neville enthusiastically told her that it was a cross between a mundane birch and the silver-leaved unicorn tree, and that when it flowered in the spring would emit a faintly comforting aura. The flowers were also excellent for calming nerves and the bark for soothing arthritis when steeped into tea. She ended up purchasing a tin of ready-made tea-bags for Professor McGonagall, who had sometimes grimaced when grasping her quill to write during their private lessons. Even if her assumption was wrong, and McGonagall didn't have arthritis, it would still calm her down if she was stressed, which she invariably was.

The stop at Flannery's and Silks was quick; the Dowager and Enid both picked up preordered skeins of embroidery floss. Once they made their way down the short distance of Knockturn Alley into the very far end of Diagon Alley, the Dowager pulled Harry and Neville to the side while Enid and Algie looked on.

"Neville, Harry, as you are both young men, it is now prudent to allow you some freedoms. The two of you may wander on your own in Diagon Alley for an hour. Only one hour, mind you, and only in Diagon Alley, so be at Vivian's by four o'clock." They voiced their agreement, and she handed Neville a small purse. "Don't spend it all in one place, Neville."

Neville gave his Gran a quick smile. "Thanks," he said. The old woman smiled briefly, giving Harry a glimpse of something not at all stern and imposing, but tender.

"Run along now, and be sure to enjoy some of Dilly's chestnuts for me." And then she was back to normal, waving them off with an aloof expression.

"Whose chestnuts?" Harry asked as soon as they were alone.

"Dilly," Neville answered, setting off at a brisk clip towards Gringotts. "She's here every winter with a little cart of roasted chestnuts. She'll even roll them in butter and spices, if you ask." Even though they'd eaten lunch not long before, Harry's mouth watered at the description, and she eagerly followed Neville past Gambol and Japes, a second-hand robe shop, and Quality Quidditch Supplies to where a small cart was set up in a cramped alcove at the seam of the storefronts for Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and Amanuensis Quills. They waited for a mousy woman and her small child - just a toddler, really - to leave before stepping forward.

"Happy Christmas, Madam Dilly," Neville greeted the witch behind the cart, whose greying hair was escaping from beneath the cheerful yellow knitted hat.

"That time of year already, Master Longbottom?" the witch asked with a pleased smile. "How was Hogwarts? This one of your friends?" As she spoke, her hands were busy, scooping out chestnuts from a large cauldron that had blue flames underneath it, transferring them to a cast-iron skillet filled with butter, and adding pinches of spices without bothering to look.

"Sorry - yeah. Madam Dilly, this is my good friend Harry Potter. Harry, this is Madam Dilly. She makes the best chestnuts in the Alley."

"Now, now, Master Longbottom," Dilly said with a girlish giggle. "You're making me blush!"

Neville's cheeks flared a sudden red and he scuffed his feet. Harry swallowed a snicker. In what seemed like no time at all, Dilly was dishing the finished nuts into two small paper bags and handing them over the counter. "That'll be five knuts each, now," she said with a wink to Neville, who already had his money ready.

Harry had to grope one-handed for her own purse, which had ended up underneath her earlier purchases. As she passed over the coins, Madam Dilly's eyes widened. "That's a charming little bit of shine you got there," she commented, taking the payment.

Harry glanced at her hand - the King's ring gleamed up at her, and she had to fight to keep her eyes from narrowing. The King hadn't been lying, then, when he'd said that those from the Lower Alleys would recognize it when they saw it, even if Dilly's cart was smack in the middle of Diagon Alley at the moment. "Thanks," she said lightly, shaking her cloak so its folds hid her hand. "It was a gift from an acquaintance."

"Mighty fine gift, that," Dilly said. "Take care of it. Happy Christmas." They knew they'd been dismissed, and moved from the alcove, heading towards the Magical Menagerie so Neville could purchase Trevor some blowflies.

"Were you talking about that ring you've been wearing all year?" he asked around a chestnut.

Harry, who'd been about to pop her first nut into her mouth, lowered it back into the bag. "Yeah. It was a birthday gift."

Neville swallowed. "Can I see it?" he asked. "I mean - you don't have to, if you don't want to, but Dilly's an old hand around the Alleys, and - "

"Here." Harry thrust out her hand; she didn't want to take the ring off, and doubted that she could if she wanted to, since the cold weather had shrunk the metal band tight about her thumb.

Neville frowned at the dark stone and brass, stretching out his hand before yanking it back when his fingertips were only a few centimeters from the glittering rock. "That's dragon opal," he said in surprise. "Who gave you that ring?! Those are right expensive, and nearly impossible to find!"

"Er - a distant cousin," she lied, and Neville's frown deepened, but he didn't say anything, for which Harry was grateful. Neville probably knew that the Potter family had very few cousins left unless one counted the Black family, none of whom would've gifted such a pricy gem to a Potter. She hurriedly stuffed a chestnut into her mouth, and nearly stopped dead in her tracks - it was that good. " 'is is good," she mumbled around the nut.

The frown left Neville's face as he nodded. "They are, aren't they. Too bad she's only here for two weeks."

Harry made a noise of assent, and followed Neville into the Magical Menagerie, where she made a point of staying far away from the reptile section of the store.

Before their hour was up, Harry'd managed to find a gift for Cedric. It wasn't much - just an old silver key that clearly came from some prior century - but she planned to Transfigure it some wings and then Charm it to evade anyone who flew after it on a broom. Longbottom Manor, as with Potter Manor, had many ancient protections, and would block the Ministry from noticing she'd used magic outside of school. Plus, they hadn't handed out the pink notices like they had at the end of last year to inform students not to use magic over the holiday. Harry figured she wouldn't be the only student using magic at home - only the muggleborns had to be careful, since they weren't around any older witches and wizards whose presence could allay the Trace's detection.

After a late tea with Neville's relatives, all of them Flooed back to the Manor, ready to relax - or, in Harry's case, start planning for Christmas morning.


Nov. 31, 1992
Harry -
Who was it? Are you okay? If you want, I'm sure I can get permission from the
Headmaster so you can transfer for the rest of the year. It'd be safer, and we
could work it out so Dad would think it was me switching, not you. WRITE BACK
AS SOON AS YOU CAN!

- Alex


Dec. 1, 1992
Dear Harry,
I am very sorry to hear of the latest attack. I have contacted several people, but
none of them have any inkling of what might be causing this. Keep your head
down and your friends close.

Love,
Remus


Dec. 2, 1992
Alex -
I'm fine. I don't want to leave Hogwarts. Don't ask again.
-Harry


Dec. 4, 1992
Harry -
You didn't answer my question. Who was it? And don't tell me that you're fine. I'm
your twin - I know you better than that.

-Alex


Dec. 12, 1992
Harry?


Dec. 16, 1992
Harry, Circe take it all, if you don't write back right now I swear on Mordred's staff
that I'll come to Hogwarts myself and drag you to Asclepius kicking and screaming.
See if I don't.

Your loving and oh-so-gentle brother,
Alex


Dec. 17, 1992
Dear Alex,
Sod off.
Your sweet and angelic brother,
Harry