Fair warning, the first scene (which somehow ballooned to like 8k words, ha ha whoops) gets pretty nerdy. But I guess you should be used to me being nerdy by now. And the second scene just did not go the direction I had originally planned at all. I can spot the very moment the Melantha in my head just goes HA HA NOPE. Whoops.

If someone had told Sirius, at any point after he'd turned twelve or so, that he'd be sitting in this chair, behind this desk, there was absolutely no way he would have ever believed them. Even now, it seemed surreal.

The official headquarters of the Wizengamot was, as he'd known from childhood, somewhere on the island of Inys Ðyvīl — though it was unplottable, and had been for long enough no one was entirely sure exactly where anymore. The thing was an enormous construction of wood and stone, the circular Chamber itself left to the open air (though warded to prevent rain or snow from falling in), the ring of surrounding halls and chambers glistening with granite and marble and precious metals. Underground, sprawling out some distance in all directions, were chambers and offices and apartments reserved for each Noble House, those meant for older or more powerful houses arranged near the middle, the weakest to the fringes.

Being a Noble and Most Ancient House and everything — and, for most of their history, one of the more powerful ones at that — House Black had a set of rooms directly under the Chamber floor. It wasn't exactly a very ascetic place, either. Every surface of every room, walls and floors and ceilings, were all tiled with shining black granite, swirls of reds and yellows and greens visible here and there, broken occasionally by intricately carved trim of silver or gold. The Lord's office, which he was sitting in right now, held a gleaming desk of dark oak, bookshelves filled with dozens of volumes he hadn't had the opportunity to look through yet — not that he expected anything pleasant, honestly — a few couches and chairs off to a corner encased in shining black leather. The tall chair behind the desk looked severe and uninviting, but he'd decided once he'd sat in it there had to be an array of cushioning charms and such worked into it, because it was actually quite nice. He couldn't see it from this angle, but he knew on the wall behind him was a floor-to-ceiling reproduction of the familiar House Black coat of arms in marble and silver.

This wasn't the first time he'd come here, since taking up the Lordship of the House some months ago. But sitting in this chair still felt indescribably strange. Like he didn't belong here, a child playing at his father's place. He had to wonder to himself if he'd ever get used to it.

Not really the time to think about that. He had other concerns for today. He certainly wouldn't be here otherwise.

He felt the slight tingle at the back of his mind, the wards alerting him to the arrival of his guest. Finally. This was really the only business he had here. He'd just as soon have stayed at home, but he didn't feel comfortable letting this particular person through the wards there as yet. He didn't have to walk out to welcome his guest in himself — Danielle would take care of that — but he got to his feet anyway, walked around to the front of the uncomfortably ornate desk, propping himself up against the center. And waited.

He didn't have to wait very long. Only a few seconds later, there was a soft knock against the door, the heavy wood pushed open a few inches, revealing the unassuming, brown-haired girl in her late teens on the other side. Danielle Kelly, one of the several grandchildren Sirius had found of his great-uncle Marius, a squib who'd been cast out of the family before Sirius had even been born (which he'd reversed posthumously, for all the good it did). While some of Marius's children and grandchildren were magical, some of them were muggles — Danielle was one of House Black's muggle members, something that hadn't happened since before the Statute of Secrecy, but it was technically legal, so he didn't care. Danielle was studying at university right now, but had some free time and was curious enough to be interested, so he'd offered her a job as his assistant. One of a couple he needed to manage all this rapidly accruing House business nonsense, actually.

He'd freely admit, part of the reason he'd offered her the most visible assistant position he'd been looking to fill was because she was a muggle. She didn't even try to hide it, either, usually appearing in the Wizengamot Chamber or the offices below in one obviously muggle-style dress or another. Before her first day, she'd reluctantly asked if she should dress like a witch, and he'd told her not to bother. Mostly? He just loved to see the scandalised looks on the faces of all the self-important inbred arses all around him. And how anyone who wanted to speak to him in here had to go through her first like this, ooh, it just tickled him, he loved it.

By the sharp-but-subtle smirk he caught on her every once in a while, he knew it all amused Danielle too. If he'd needed further proof she was a Black, he guessed that was it.

Leaning slightly through the gap into the room, in that odd muggle English accent of hers, Danielle said, 'The Lady Malfoy to see you, Uncle.' Technically, she shouldn't be using that familiar of address in this particular place.

But if he actually cared, he would have corrected her by now. Besides, he was sure she was perfectly aware of what the rules were for this sort of thing anyway — Andi had given her an etiquette booklet and a few lessons when she'd accepted the job. 'Let her in, then.'

Danielle stepped aside, pulling the door open with her, and then Narcissa was walking into the room. More gliding than walking, he guessed. Even when they'd been children, Narcissa had always seemed to take up the whole prim and proper thing far better than any of the other Black kids. She hardly seemed changed for the years since last they'd met at all, actually — if he hadn't known better, he'd almost think he was still sixteen, the both of them stuck at one of those mind-numbing society parties they always got dragged to. Narcissa might not have hated them quite as much as he had, and had been much better at hiding it, but she'd still complained in private. There was hardly a single line on her face, looking far younger than he did by now (for which he blamed Azkaban), the smooth, shining silk robes and jewelry glinting at neck and wrists somehow familiar despite the fact that he'd never seen these exact specimens before. Oh, and the flat, coldly observant cast to her face, couldn't forget that. Myrðin, his younger cousin always did have one hell of a glare, she even looked sharp and annoyed when she was happy.

It also helped that the blonde highlights she'd been putting in ever since she'd been engaged to Malfoy were gone, all of it solid her natural black. He didn't think he'd seen her without that since...Hogwarts? Her sixth year, his seventh, he was pretty sure.

But it was better not to think about that too much. Dwell too deeply in his memories, and he might find the familiar, icy blackness the dementors had left him with crawling over his mind before he could even react. Better to move on.

'Narcissa,' he said, giving her a thin, reserved smile. 'This is a surprise.' The meeting itself wasn't, of course — she had gotten the message to Mel so she could call him and arrange it, after all. What she and a few others he'd talked to inferred the meeting was about, though, that was a surprise.

For a second, Narcissa froze; at a guess, he'd say processing the fact he'd used her given name. That was a bit out of place, but he was in the power position here, and he'd never been much for all those tedious properties anyway. With a hesitant nod, she replied with, 'Thank you for meeting with me, Sirius.'

After a few confused blinks at Narcissa — in the quick and dirty education most of the new members of the House had gotten in their history and alliances, House Malfoy had been named one of their more powerful enemies at present, after all — Danielle turned back to Sirius. 'You'll be in the corner, I assume.'

'Yes, thank you, Danielle.'

A last uncertain look at Narcissa, then she closed the door, and they were alone.

Sirius didn't waste any time, and led Narcissa around to the little sitting area in the corner. They'd hardly both sat down when there was the slightest of pops, and a couple bits of laden dishware appeared on the table between them. Sirius didn't waste any time, immediately pouring himself a cup of coffee, splashing a bit of honey into it. He'd already gotten snide comments from a few people who'd been in here about how it wasn't "traditional" to serve coffee to his guests like this, which he really just thought was funny, honestly. The common sort of tea everyone drank these days had only been introduced to Europe in, what, the Sixteenth Century? Barely a hundred years before the Statute. How was that "traditional", exactly? The same beverage form of coffee everyone knew about now hadn't been seen in Britain until the Fifteenth Century, which was still earlier, but their ancestors had known about the source plant since literally Roman times. Couldn't say the same thing about tea.

Well, ancient Celtic peoples had drunk various tisanes once upon a time, which some people did still hold on to — James had been particularly attached to this one mint brew Sirius had always found just disgusting. But that wasn't what people usually meant.

And, sure, he'd barely ever even seen coffee before he'd started stealing Lily's, but that was hardly the point.

After a moment, he realised he'd probably been sitting there thinking to himself a little more than he probably should have, so he quickly dragged himself back, glanced up for Narcissa. And was a little surprised to see she wasn't paying him any more attention than he'd been her. She was staring at the plate of...whatever they were called, he honestly didn't know. These thin little crispy pancake things, wrapped around strawberries and cream cheese. He must have seen them a million times growing up — they were one of the things more commonly found with the finger food at pretty much any occasion — but he'd never bothered asking what they were called. Possibly because he'd never liked them all that much himself, really. They were fine, sure, but he just hadn't cared enough to ask.

By the distant, slightly dazed look on Narcissa's face, there was something more going on here, some significance to this he didn't follow. 'Is something wrong?'

She blinked to herself for a second, glanced back up to him. 'He's still alive, then? Kreacher.'

Well. That managed to answer nothing. 'Yes, he is. Was in a right state when I first found him, but he's been doing gradually better.' His little speech about shifting times and such had helped a little; shattering that locket Reggie had stolen from Voldemort and bade him destroy had helped a lot more.

Sirius still had no idea how to feel about that one.

But, back to the present conversation, right. 'How'd you know, anyway?'

'He knew these were always my favourite, is all. I don't think I told anyone else.' Every movement slightly hesitant, she picked up one of the little things, brought it to her mouth, and slowly bit down. Her flat face didn't give away even the slightest bit of whatever might be going on in her head.

Alright, then, Sirius wasn't entirely surprised by that, he'd admit. He'd told Kreacher he would be meeting with Narcissa today, and that it was quite likely she might be legitimately asking for asylum. The thing had been so ecstatic at the idea of having his young Miss Cissy back Sirius had hardly been able to believe he was the same irascible little elf. Arranging for one of her favourites to end up on the table was just the sort of thing he'd do. Sirius waited a few moments, sipping slowly at his coffee while she ate the little thing — and hid a smirk when she calmly-but-swiftly followed it with a second and a third — before getting straight to the point. 'Before we say anything else, I'd like you to confirm what your son told Mel.'

Narcissa paused for a moment, before visibly resettling herself — Kreacher's thoughtfulness had apparently thrown her off more than he'd thought. She didn't answer until she'd taken a sip of her own coffee, the flickered grimace she sent down to it almost unnoticeable. 'Assuming Draco told your ward I'm seeking asylum with the House of Black, you heard correctly.'

Well. That was it, then. Honestly, when he'd started putting the House back together, this was not one of the consequences he and Andi had predicted. This could get somewhat complicated, not even considering how Andi would likely curse him if he didn't take this seriously — no pun intended. Might as well get things started with probably the most important question: 'Why?'

'In short, the Dark Lord.' Big surprise, there. For a long moment, Narcissa didn't say any more, just staring at...honestly, he couldn't tell. Not even pretending to drink her coffee anymore, either. Finally, after what felt like a couple minutes, she started talking again. 'I'm not sure you remember — it was a long time ago — but I was never particularly enthused about the Dark Lord.'

Sirius shrugged a little. While that was true, he knew, it wasn't really the whole story. 'You've certainly never said much against him.'

'Skýlla and Khárybdis,' Narcissa said, her tone still even, but now with the slightest hint of sharpness. She was probably calling him an idiot in her head right now, he guessed. 'In the beginning, my objection to the Dark Lord and his followers was more about their methods than anything — I was raised as deep into the blood purist mindset as you were, but I didn't see much point in killing them all. They weren't that much of a threat, surely, to justify that much effort to get rid of them. As long as they didn't get ideas above their station, I honestly didn't see how they mattered, especially not enough to risk so many of our kind as the Death Eaters had been doing.

'Honestly,' she said with a slight tilt of her head, 'I didn't give the whole thing a second thought until I caught Andi and that Tonks boy together.'

Sirius frowned a little to himself; with what he knew of the timeline of Andi's expulsion from the House, that didn't make a lot of sense. 'When was that?'

Narcissa's eyes flicked back to him, blinking, as though suddenly remembering he was there. 'January. My first year at Hogwarts, her seventh. They ran off five months later.'

'You didn't tell anyone.' He couldn't help the shade of shock on his own voice.

Which just seemed to annoy Narcissa a little, her thin eyebrows falling into a slight frown. 'I didn't. If I told someone it's quite possible they would have killed her. That was the fate of blood traitors, after all.' Sirius certainly knew that — he couldn't count the number of assassinations he'd evaded after he'd finally left the mad remnants of the family. 'Andi always did look out for me, when she could, so...' She shrugged, as though the matter were simple, and of no consequence. 'And, over the next few years, I got to know Severus—' Sirius did his best not to grimace at the name, mostly succeeded. '—a bit, and he only ever had good things to say about Evans. Or at least he did when we were in private. By then I'd already been a bit half-hearted in parroting the same blood supremacist speech I learned to repeat, and I think he could tell. I actually witnessed Evans flatten Arianna Yaxley in a duel in two seconds in fourth year, and by then, well, the evidence speaks for itself.'

Sirius vaguely remembered that. They had been in fifth year, in May or June he thought. Most of the school had been outside, he and the other three under their usual tree by the lake. Some seventh-year Slytherins were taking out their exam anxiety on a younger muggleborn or two — honestly couldn't remember their names or even their genders, but he was sure they were in first or second year or something. Lily had come out of nowhere, tried to talk them down with that icy derision she could get when she was truly furious. Yaxley had taken exception to something she'd said, and fired off some dark curse or another at her (Sirius didn't remember what, only that James had been livid over it). Lily had batted the curse away like it was nothing, and an instant later Yaxley had been motionless on the ground, thin curls of smoke rising from her robes. Sirius hadn't even really seen it, it'd been so fast. The other Slytherins, showing a bit of brains for once, had decided not to push her any further, and had instead picked Yaxley up and carried her to the Hospital Wing, where she'd ended up staying the next four days.

Sirius hadn't been joking even a little when he'd told Mel that Lily had honestly scared him sometimes. She'd been perfectly nice and sometimes even sickeningly sweet to people she liked, sure, would do whatever necessary without hesitation for her friends. But, when she got angry? Not just annoyed, over something stupid, but really, truly enraged? Completely and utterly terrifying.

And add in that he was rather sure she'd been powerful and knowledgeable enough in her later years to count as a sorceress already, and he could see why Lily could give anyone second thoughts about that whole blood purity thing.

But anyway, Narcissa was still talking. 'But I couldn't very well say anything about it, could I? I'd be putting myself at nearly as much risk as Andi. It was a balancing act, you could say, between visibly agreeing with the Dark Lord and his followers, but not seeming too fanatically supportive either, lest they decide to try to recruit me. Which, with Lucius as a husband, wasn't at all easy to do.'

Mostly reasonable, he guessed. Just with a couple holes, but... 'That wasn't your only option.'

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him — only that, but he still felt like she were laughing at him. 'Weren't they? What were my other choices?'

'The Order would have protected you.' It would have taken some convincing to bring them on board, but Sirius was rather sure he would have been able to pull it off. At least, before she married Malfoy, but even then Dumbledore probably would have jumped at it, the way that man was about second chances and all. 'Or the Circle of Agastya, at least.'

'If I'd known the Circle existed,' she said, traces of frost on her voice, 'they would have been to my tastes, I suppose. But I would not have gone crawling to Dumbledore. I despise the man. Quite frankly, if my choices were between a painful death at the hand of the Dark Lord or spending the rest of my life indebted to that deluded, self-important, condescending, blundering hack of a High Enchanter, I'd rather die.' Well. Just say what you think, why don't you. 'But joining either wouldn't have solved my problem anyway. They were both explicitly fighting the Dark Lord, the Order even created for that sole purpose. My intent was to avoid the war as best I could — throwing myself at the mercy of either wouldn't have helped much with that, in the end.'

He had to admit, she did have a point there. Dumbledore may not force people to fight directly, true, but he was rather persistent about getting people the Order had directly helped to contribute somehow. Whether it would be hosting a safe house, donating funds or sociopolitical capital of some kind, or just tending to any wounded or even brewing healing potions in their free time — and Narcissa had been intending to get a Mastery in Potions, he recalled, he hadn't heard if that'd actually happened or not. Doing any of those would only have painted a larger target on her back.

And, well, going to the Order would also require her to interact with Dumbledore on occasion. When he'd been younger, he would have been immediately suspicious of anyone that would be a downside for, but he saw things a bit clearer these days. Not to say he thought Dumbledore was a bad guy, and Sirius did plan on remaining in the Order. He just didn't think he was absolutely perfect. No one was, of course, and it was now embarrassing in hindsight how convinced he'd been of Dumbledore's infallibility. Order meetings were usually insufferable these days, since half the people there still seemed to think Dumbledore was Myrðin reincarnate or something, and it stung all the more because he knew he'd been just like them the first time around. It was just so...ergh.

Though, he had to admit, how Mad-Eye kept rolling his eyes at half of everything the Dumbledore-fanatics ever said never ceased to make him chuckle under his breath.

'So,' he said after another couple sips, 'is that all that's different this time? You have somewhere you can go?' He considered pointing out he was a member of the Order anyway, but that was sort of irrelevant — Sirius had made it clear to Dumbledore that members of his House would be permitted to join or avoid the Order as they saw fit. Most of them had settled on avoid.

'Not entirely.' It was hardly noticeable, but he'd known Narcissa long enough he noticed the difference. The almost inaudible hardness on her voice, the slight tension in her shoulders, fingers. She was definitely holding back something.

Sirius figured it out rather quickly. 'Ah, this is about Draco, isn't it?' Warily staring back at him — she had to know her son had been not exactly kind to Harry over the years — Narcissa nodded once. 'I assume I'm supposed to believe he's no greater a supporter of Voldemort's than you are.'

Narcissa noticeably flinched at the name — a bit less than he'd expected, honestly. 'The last couple years, he's been working the same semi-neutrality I have. Before, oh, roughly when he turned thirteen, he revered his father, and believed all the nonsense he repeated. I managed to turn him around.'

'How?'

With a slight shrug, Narcissa said, 'History books. British ones pre-Statute only, but certain foreign texts from more recently.'

Ah, yes, that would just about do it. It was astounding, comparing modern British history texts to ones published in most other magical nations. Their ancestors had undertaken a fair bit of historical revisionism during the decades surrounding the Statute of Secrecy. Really, most British people seemed to honestly think things as ridiculous as large-scale witch hunts had actually happened — old Bagshot in particular was known for her "scholarship" on the topic, and none of it was even true! Other nations weren't entirely innocent of it either, of course, but most had progressed a bit since. Most British people in the modern day weren't aware that magical and muggle society hadn't been segregated for nearly as long as they liked to think, weren't aware the entire concept of blood purity was a comparatively recent innovation. There was a reason House Black hadn't had any muggle members in centuries, not never. Assuming young Draco actually listened to what he'd read, it wasn't at all inconceivable that he'd started questioning what his idiot father had taught him growing up. So Sirius just nodded.

'The problem comes in with the fact that Draco is his father's heir — one day, he will be Lord Malfoy. The Dark Lord will want him. I could avoid taking his Mark without too much difficulty, though admittedly after some arguing with Lucius, but I'm not sure Draco can do the same. One day, maybe in a year, maybe in a week, one day he'll be forced to choose. Take the Mark, or die. This is the best way to stop that from happening.'

He could slap himself. If that wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. 'I'm guessing you want asylum for Draco as well.'

Slightly to his surprise, Narcissa shook her head. 'If necessary, but a lesser degree of association would be ideal. Some type of protection or sponsorship, perhaps.'

For a couple seconds, Sirius was confused, but when he finally put it together he felt like slapping himself again. 'If he's officially adopted into our House, that would make his claim on House Malfoy, if his father dies, a lot less cut and dry.'

'When his father dies,' Narcissa corrected lightly. She didn't seem too concerned about the possibility. Not that Sirius was entirely surprised — even he wasn't so foolhardy as to threaten a child of any of the women of House Black. Andi had been angry with him enough for allowing Dora to go anywhere near the Order, and the girl had volunteered for that, and was already an Auror.

Sirius couldn't help thinking it was a bit peculiar how protective Andi still was of her daughter. Seriously, that girl did not need to be protected. Not to flatter himself too much, but Sirius wasn't exactly a slouch in a fight himself, and he'd be surprised if Dora couldn't flatten him on two hours of sleep and without even using her wand. He could probably count the number of living people he'd bet could actually take her on his fingers — definitely, if he excluded other Aurors. Honestly...

But, anyway. It was completely obvious what he should do here. It wasn't even that hard of a decision. Sure, he'd never really gotten along with Narcissa all that great — not after he'd started at Hogwarts, at least. But that didn't mean he could just consign her and her son to the Dark Lord's nonexistent mercy. Even if she weren't family, he'd probably feel obligated to do something about it if he could. And, really, this wouldn't even be that difficult. And Andi would probably stop giving him dirty looks over that whole Dora-joining-the-Order thing. Not much reason to say no, really.

'Alright.' He sighed, rubbed at his forehead for a second, running through a few possibilities in his head quick. 'You remember the villa in Provence?'

Narcissa had to think about that for a second. 'The old Roman manor house, on the Mediterranean just east of Istres?'

'I'd suggest you go hide out there until I can get the parchmentwork finalised. Lucius and his Death Eater buddies can't intervene if they can't find you.'

For a moment, Narcissa just stared at him, blinking. Eventually, she said, 'What, right away?' Huh, actually sounded a bit surprised.

'Would you rather sit on it?' Narcissa just gave him another weird look at that, so he shrugged. 'Run home quick to grab whatever you think you might need, but other than that. The place might be a little bit of a mess, honestly—' He hadn't checked, been too busy with things in Britain to bother. '—but the wards are pretty solid, and you should still be keyed in. And it should only take a couple days, so.'

Sirius had to congratulate himself a little. He wasn't sure he'd ever managed to render Narcissa completely speechless before. He could only assume she hadn't thought he'd agree as easily as this.

He tried not to be offended, and mostly succeeded.

A few minutes later, Narcissa was gone, and he started on his way out. He stopped in the room just outside his office, standing before Danielle's desk. She was reading through some thick volume — a magical-manufactured text of some kind, judging by the binding — but he wasn't sure what, chewing absently on the end of one of those brightly-coloured highlighters of hers. 'Anything come in today?'

Without even looking up from her book, she reached into a drawer to her left, pulled out a thick stack of bound parchment, and dropped it with a thud to the surface of her desk. 'Another revision of Boot and Diggory's creature law reforms was released from committee yesterday.'

Sirius winced; he'd hated these reforms from the very first second he'd heard about them. Which wasn't at all surprising, considering most of the people working on the thing were in the Light's faction. Not all of them — there were a couple names of pureblood supremacists attached to it — but mostly.

It was a bit embarrassing in retrospect, but he'd been extremely naïve about politics until very recently. He'd long had it in his head that Light equals good and Dark equals bad, but it wasn't nearly that simple. For one thing, there weren't necessarily stable factions in the Wizengamot who called themselves Light and Dark — there were major alliances of Noble Houses that tended to subscribe to ideology traditionally considered one or the other, but that wasn't quite the same thing. These alliances were usually called by the Ancient Houses almost universally at the center of them, but temporary terms would turn up for one or the other from time to time. Right now, the so-called Dark faction was the Ingham–Monroe alliance, and the Bones–Longbottom alliance was sort of neither, somewhere in the middle. Since there weren't any Ancient Houses that could be considered Light, that faction these days was mostly just called, well, the Light. Which he thought just sounded silly, but he wasn't in charge, so.

And, sure, that was a bit more complicated than he'd assumed — these were shifting, temporary alliances, and just because Houses were in the same faction together didn't mean they would necessarily always vote together. But he'd even managed to entirely misunderstand what "Light" and "Dark" actually meant. To put it briefly, the Dark were magicentric, and the Light were humanocentric. Traditionally, the Dark opposed regulation of various forms of magic, supported liberal laws when it came to non-human beings and magical creatures, and supported the assimilation of muggleborns while opposing greater rights for muggles. The Light, again traditionally, supported regulation of magic, supported restrictive creature–being laws, and supported the assimilation of muggleborns while ensuring protections for muggles and allowing various degrees of cultural exchange. Houses not aligned with either faction tended to mix and match positions.

Of course, the keyword there is traditionally. The Houses of the Ingham–Monroe alliance had stayed ideologically pure, for the most part, but various Houses had broken off to form a second "Dark" faction. They were, in short, Voldemort's people in the Wizengamot, rabid pureblood supremacists all, and were what Sirius had thought of growing up when he'd heard "Dark" in relation to politics, despite them not really being ideologically Dark at all. On the regulation of magic, sure, but not really on much else. Some of the "Light" Houses were still ideologically Light as well, but they'd been messed up just as much as the Dark had. And, much as the disorder in the Dark could be blamed on Voldemort, there was one man largely responsible for the mess in the Light: Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, upon being named High Enchanter, hadn't been a politician at all. He'd been a talented-if-ignored Professor of Transfiguration who'd been crowned Champion of the Light with his defeat of Grindelwald — he hadn't been at all prepared to be suddenly thrusted to the top of the British political world. Which probably indicated a huge problem with how the nominations for High Enchanter worked, but that was something to consider next time around. Everyone hailed Dumbledore as a new leader of the Light, a designation he didn't much argue with.

But there was a problem with that: Dumbledore wasn't ideologically Light. He was neutral at best, really. Supports greater regulation of magics considered dangerous — Light. Supports more liberal laws concerning werewolves, centaurs, merpeople, veela, giants, and goblins — Dark. Supports more restrictive laws concerning vampires, ghosts, lilin, and a couple others — Light. Prefers muggleborns to fully assimilate into magical culture, leaving behind that of their birth (even if he doesn't come out and say it) — Dark. But, at the same time, supports greater protections for muggles — Light.

Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. He'd fit right in with the Bones–Longbottom alliance (soon to be Bones–Longbottom–Black, Sirius planned on joining). The problem came in because he claimed to be Light, a claim everyone repeated and believed. He was, effectively, the leader of the Light faction in the Wizengamot, even though he didn't agree with them half the time. Exactly how he handled himself politically made it even worse. His bargaining style was generally rather soft and passive — he'd come to the table with concessions already made, and would be far too quick to sacrifice his own desires for a compromise. To be perfectly fair, that sort of style was just fine for a neutral facilitator. But he was supposedly the leader of one of the three major factions — that's not how he should negotiate in his position. At all. He's been crippling his own side for decades now, seemingly without even realising it.

The combination of Dumbledore's ideologically moderate stance and general political weakness cued a dramatic reshuffling of the Wizengamot in the decade immediately after his investiture. The ideological Light mostly stayed put, joined by a smattering of Light-leaning Houses from the Bones–Longbottom alliance, and even a couple of the traditionally Dark, while some of the neutral-leaning Light broke off in protest. Over the next years, as Dumbledore did little to stop his own faction from passing tighter restrictions on the practice of magic, and even creature–being laws he personally disagreed with, many of the neutrals fled straight to the Dark in a desperate attempt to overcome the Light's plurality. Then, a decade later, when the pureblood supremacist "Dark" started to rise, some of the ideological Light jumped ship to join them, since, by the most absurd arrangement of chance, they had more political opinions in common with those psychotic bigots than they did the leader of their own faction.

Which was all why laws like these kept happening. The few ideological Light left in Dumbledore's faction write up some stupid nonsense like this. They give Dumbledore a few concessions — from what he remembered of this specific case, pseudo-being status for centaurs and merpeople (they refused the being label for some reason, it was stupid), greater rights for goblins, and full human status for veela (which was going to be very controversial when it got to the floor) — which he considers enough for a good compromise, and lets it go past. On the floor, the bigots will almost certainly slip in a few more unreasonable regulations Dumbledore will only put up token resistance against. And, even though most of both the Ingham–Monroe and Bones–Longbottom alliances will vote against it, the pureblood supremacist "Dark", the Light (and "Light"), and a few defecting neutral Houses here or there will still make it an easy pass.

When Andi had made him finally understand just how bad it was, he'd almost wanted to cry. It was just so depressing. Until he'd found out Doge, the moron Dumbledore had chosen to temporarily fill the Potter seat, had actually voted for the law that made it almost impossible for Remus to find any kind of work at all, at which point he'd switched straight to rage.

This law, if anything, was even worse. Last time he'd checked, Dumbledore hadn't moderated Diggory's frankly ludicrous views of werewolves at all — should this law pass, Remus would legally be considered a bloody magical creature, not even the non-human being the law treated him as now. Lilin would have it just as bad, with the added benefit that, depending on exactly how one read the law, they could potentially be sent to Azkaban for just using their natural gifts at all. It was so bloody stupid.

Reluctantly picking up the revision and holding it at arm's length, as though worried the thing would bite him, he said, 'Please tell me they actually fixed it this time.'

'Of course they did,' Danielle said without looking up, her voice perfectly flat. 'Also, Voldemort has started a hospital where he uses his dark and terrible powers to provide magical healing to muggles free of charge, the goblins have risen from their subterranean warrens to start a circus, and the Daily Prophet did an exposé about how completely stupid Fudge's hat is.'

Forcing his voice level to match hers, he said, 'I'll have to catch the next show. I can only imagine what a goblin circus would be like.'

Danielle rolled her eyes before returning them right back to her book. 'No, they didn't fix it. What fantasy world do you live in?'

'Magic.'

'Yes, I realised that was a stupid thing to say even as I was saying it. Anyway, I've already highlighted the sections changed from the last revision. Just slightly different wording, shouldn't make a significant difference in the application of the law.'

'Alright.' Honestly, he was rather impressed Danielle could follow all this stuff half as well as she could — she'd only known the absolute basics of the magical world before, but after hardly a week on the job she'd already known all the ins and outs of Wizengamot procedure and how all the various Departments and Commissions and Councils interacted like the back of her hand. Ted had explained that the subject she was studying in university was sort of the comparative science of how government worked, but he'd still thought it was a bit much. 'Anything else?'

'Oh, wait.' She shuffled around her desk for a moment, eventually pulling an envelope and a loose slip of paper out from under another book. 'Just a statement of intent from Director Zabini.'

Sirius just stared at her for a second. A member of the Wizengamot would sometimes send a notice to allies confirmed or potential of a previously unplanned move they were to make in the next session — that in itself wasn't unusual, he'd gotten six in one day once. It was the name that was weird. 'Zabini? Bella Zabini?'

'How many Zabinis are there, really?' A fair few, actually, but he didn't think that important right now. Turning the deep purple envelope around, Danielle read off the front. 'Department of Education, Office of the Director, Lady Mirabella Kyveli Adelina, Imperial House of Zabini–Değsut. And damn if you magical people don't love your names.'

He ignored the last comment. He was too busy trying to think of why the hell Zabini would be sending a statement of intent to him, of all people. Back when his father had been Lord Black, Zabini had been considered a friend of the House — if mostly because she'd had an on-again-off-again thing with Bellatrix for a few years there — but that had been back before the Zabinis had had a vote in the Wizengamot. They were foreign nobility (royalty, technically), and Zabini only even had a vote now because she was the Director of a Department. He guessed they'd been friendly enough, back before he'd gone to Azkaban, but he didn't think friendly enough for her to assume they would be allies on much of— Actually, he was having a thought. 'What does it say?'

Danielle shrugged. 'Just the title of Boot and Diggory's proposal, then Cēterum cēnseō haec stulta vervēca esse dēlenda. I get the Punic Wars reference, but I'm not sure what a, erm, it's vervēx singular, right?'

Oh, yes, he hadn't been mistaken. Zabini would have to be deadly serious to even consider writing those words — considering the origin of the phrase, and a slew of inflammatory uses over the history of the Wizengamot, Sirius could probably start an uproar in the Chamber just by meeting someone's eyes and saying the word dēlendum. He wouldn't be surprised if Zabini were feeling positively murderous right now.

Not long after Sirius had been exonerated, and had reunited with Andi, who'd been in the same Slytherin class with Zabini, she'd offhandedly mentioned that Zabini had gone through a few more husbands while he'd been away. Which hadn't been a shock to him — he'd fully expected it. Honestly, Zabini somehow ending up the Director of Education was the part he still didn't get. Zabini wasn't human, and exactly what she was was why he'd expected it: Zabini was a lilin, one of only two he knew to be currently in Britain. And the other was her son, so that was practically cheating.

He knew only a little bit about lilin, partially from Zabini herself telling him across a couple visits to Grimmauld Place when he'd been younger, partially from reading a couple books. Not that he could trust the books to be entirely accurate. There were reasons there were only two lilin in all of Britain: the Celtic Nations had never exactly been friendly to the race, hostile enough they'd been considered by law to be "abominations" until the Fourteenth Century, and creatures until the Nineteenth. Which, as far as he could tell, was a bit of an overreaction. There were plenty of lilin elsewhere, after all, and it wasn't like they went around murdering everyone or anything.

From what Zabini had told him, the lilin and the veela were rather similar — similar enough they both considered each other distant relations. In their own language, they called both of their races together the people of the Song, which was apparently a reference to some peculiarity about how they perceived magic he hadn't quite followed. Distinguishing between the two of them, the veela were Daysong, the lilin Nightsong. Both races had a set of very similar magical abilities — they could call fire without any focus, assume a rather avian form, and manipulate humans (and other races to greater or lesser success) through a sort of instinctive emotional legilimency.

The differences came in the details. While a veela's avian visage seemed rather like a hawk, lilin were proportioned more like owls. Veela fire did interfere with magic somewhat, and could get rather hot, but was comparatively harmless. Lilin fire, on the other hand, was technically considered to be dark magic: it came out a mix of blues and purples and blacks, burned through enchantments like they were hardly there, and humans injured by the stuff were infamously tricky to cure. For one thing, burns from lilin fire, much like any wounds from dark magic, were resistant to healing spells, and would scar permanently without careful, specialised treatment. In addition, for some reason, the victim would enter a harsh chill a few hours afterward, risking death by hypothermia if it wasn't caught quick enough.

The last part didn't exactly improve their reputations with Light-thinking people. Veela, while just as non-human, were by comparison rather innocuous. Their emotional manipulation worked by inducing a sort of romantic obsession — humans under the thrall of a veela tended to over-exaggerated displays of admiration or devotion, which were usually more embarrassing than anything. Long-term overexposure could permanently damage a person's mind, yes, reducing them to a dreamy, near-catatonic state, but that didn't happen often. The entire purpose was for self-defense, for the veela in question to diffuse any threatening situation long enough to escape, and wasn't really intended to be used against a single person for an extended period of time.

Lilin were, well, less...wholesome? Their effect on humans was more one of intense desire. Passionate. Sensual. Jealous. Since the impulses affected were rather more animal, they tended to linger for longer as well — while a veela could usually only affect someone in their immediate presence, their hold fading as soon as they parted, the equivalent compulsion laid by a lilin could last for hours, even days. For all the stories out there of veela seducing men (or women) against their own interests, the superficially similar stories about lilin were a hundred times worse. Much like veela, it was quite possible for a lilin to permanently damage a human's mind, though it worked a bit differently. For one thing, overexposure wasn't so much a problem of length but of intensity — a lilin throwing too much at a human all at once could turn their brain to mush. Even, he'd been told, accidentally. Apparently, it was quite easy to lose control of it in the heat of the moment, so to speak. A sufficiently powerful mage could resist it well enough to retain their sanity, which was part of why Zabini had liked Bellatrix so much, but a simultaneous lapse from both parties was still all it would take.

Unless Sirius was very much mistaken, Zabini hadn't killed any of her husbands on purpose. Involuntary manslaughter, sure, but not outright murder.

A lot of people, in Britain especially, very much did not like lilin. Which he didn't think was necessarily fair. For one thing, between veela and lilin, it was lilin who had the higher opinion of the human race. Lilin were usually rather fond of humans, while veela tended to think themselves superior. And for another, thinking of lilin as vicious, uncivilised animals was...well, sort of silly? The ruling clan of the lilin — Değsut, where the "Imperial House" attached to Zabini's name came from — had been around since literally before the birth of Western Civilisation. They were old. According to a few extremely old myths, lilin had actually done a fair amount to help humanity along. As an example, written language? Yeah, according to the Melīx, the first humans to develop writing far as anyone could tell, the lilin had flat taught them how. They weren't nearly as malevolent as many people thought.

There was a reason Sirius didn't really agree with the Light on creature–being stuff.

Which was why Zabini had sent him this statement, of course. It was rather obvious what she was getting at. Last he'd checked Boot and Diggory's proposal, it reduced the official classification of lilin from beings to creatures. If she were suddenly considered a creature by law, Zabini wouldn't be allowed to keep her position as Director of Education, which she was only even permitted now due to a loophole: Ministry positions were only open to humans or members of any Noble House (even foreign ones), but while beings could be legally recognised as nobility despite their non-human status creatures could not.

For a moment, he had to wonder if Dumbledore had decided to not interfere with that measure on purpose. Zabini, to make a bit of an understatement, did not much approve of Dumbledore. She was probably his second greatest opponent in the Wizengamot after Malfoy, and considering she headed the Department of Education and held a seat on the Hogwart's Board of Governors that was especially bothersome. But after some thought he decided it didn't matter — he'd already known Dumbledore didn't like lilin, never mind Zabini specifically, so he probably wouldn't have advocated for them in any case.

Zabini might have come to a slightly different conclusion. Her exact wording was telling. Haec stulta vervēca — "these foolish castrated goats". Naming the proposal itself suggested Boot and Diggory to be targets, but the use of vervēx was obviously a reference to Dumbledore. He wasn't entirely sure, to be honest, how exactly Dumbledore and goats had become so inextricably linked in the public consciousness, but he'd long known the association existed. The use of a word for a castrated goat specifically was an extra bit of funny. Such insults (threats?) from veela or lilin always amused him, he loved it. It was very clear to him what Zabini was doing with this statement of intent, exactly why she'd sent it to him and quite likely dozens of others in the Wizengamot.

Zabini was entirely fed up with the unholy alliance of Dumbledore's people and the blood purists. And she was declaring war.

He was completely powerless to stop a gleeful smirk from spreading across his face. This was going to be fun.

Baby Cousin—

Sorry about þe slightly roundabout way of getting þis letter to you. Sirius recommended it, he's worried your post might be monitored or intercepted. Might want to be careful about stuff you send by owl.

I'm not really sure what to þink about all this. I mean, it isn't like I þought Dumbledore was completely and totally perfect like a lot of people I know seem to. Mum has never really liked him, she's never said why, so I guess growing up I heard a lot more doubt turned his way þan some. But none of þat makes any sense. I mean, sure, I'm not going to argue þat you have any shot at all against He-Who-Smells in a straight duel. Þat'd be ridiculous, even some of þe best fighters in þe country would be squished. But, like you said, þe Dark Bastard isn't þe only one around who might make a try for you. Teaching you to handle yourself a bit is, just, þe obvious þing to do? Most Noble Houses even teach þeir heirs a fair bit more þan you'd learn in school just in case. Not teaching you what even some of your far less þreatened peers get is just completely stupid. I have no idea what he could possibly be þinking.

I've talked about it wið Sirius, and got Dad to check quick, and yeah, þere's noþing anywhere þat says you can't arrange supplemental lessons of your own, even inside Hogwarts. Especially if it's Sirius arranging it, þere's pretty much noþing Dumbledore could do about þat wiðout getting everyone ever furious wið him. We boð agree it might be smarter to keep it on þe down low, just so you don't have to deal wið him being all preachy, but even if he finds out about it he shouldn't be able to interfere.

So, yeah, about þe duelling lessons, I am so willing to help you wið þat. I've already started making up an outline of everyþing we'd go over, even. A lot of it won't be very easy, some of þe spells are NEWT-standard or even Mastery-level stuff and you'll probably get beat up more þan a bit, so it might not be fun all þe time. But if you want to get good fast þen þat's really þe only way to do it. And, well, if you wanted an easy time of it, asking an Auror wasn't þe smart þing to do. What I have in mind even falls far short of þeir training program, þat was just brutal sometimes.

You said you had a place to go, so þat's covered. I'll trust you know what you're doing for þat. As far as times to meet go, my schedule isn't even close to regular, so I can't make þe same time consistently or anyþing. Auror life, þat. I drew up a rough timetable of when I'd be available for þe rest of þe monþ on þe back of þis letter, but þat might change if someþing comes up. Meeting at least once a week would be good, more often would be better. Þink about when you want your first lesson, mirror Sirius and he'll tell me. Don't owl it. We're working on enchanting someþing you can talk to me wið, I'll have it by þen.

Oh, one more þing: you need to pick a training partner. I know þat wasn't part of your original idea, but it's really for þe best. You can't practice duel wið me very effectively because, honestly, þe skill gap between þe two of us is enough I could þrash you wið hardly paying attention, wouldn't even need my wand, and I'm worried anyþing we do would just come off as...I don't know, condescending? Like I'm toying wið you? I get þe feeling you wouldn't appreciate it, is all. Þat and it's fun to have someone to learn and compete wið. So, yeah, training partner. Pick someone you trust well enough to not go blabbing it to everyone, would actually be interested in learning þis stuff, is talented enough þey can keep up, and who you won't feel too embarrassed getting slapped around a little bit by. Because þat is going to be happening a bit, can't really avoid it. Anyone you want is mostly fine wið me, but I'd raðer you not bring þe little Weasley. Þe whiny one. Ronald, I þink his name was?

I can't þink of anyþing else important. Oh, when you meet me to bring me to þe spot, wear someþing you can move around in under your robes. Can't train too well in full robes, þey get in þe way. Make sure whoever you pick knows too. I þink þat's it. Pick a time, tell Sirius, and come open þe door for me. I'll be stopping at Honeydukes on þe way.

—Dora

Well. Looked like the very first place she'd thought to go for lessons had panned out. Not that she was surprised, honestly — Dora was already nice to her enough it made her a little uncomfortable, she'd expected her to be willing. So, not even a week after Dumbledore had told her no, and she already had an Auror tutor lined up. Not bad.

Melantha folded up the letter, put it back where she'd found it. Which had been something of a surprise in the first place. She was just back from breakfast, grabbing her broom quick to head for the quidditch tryouts starting in a few minutes, when she'd found the letter sitting on the foot of her bed. Honestly not even sure what that roundabout delivery method Dora had referred to was. For a moment, she was stuck pondering those last couple sentences, a bit confused. She was supposed to be opening the door for her? Which door? And...why would Dora bother telling her she'd be stopping at Honeydukes on the way? That didn't make any—

When she finally figured it out, she felt like slapping herself. Dora was sneaking in through the secret passage between the basement in Honeydukes and that statue of...that Healer who developed an old treatment for dragon pox, can't remember her name. Obviously.

And now she apparently had to find someone to take her duelling lessons with. Great.

A moment later, she was slipping out of her dorm's window, the updrafts that always seemed to follow Hogwarts' towers clawing at her clothes and hair. She could have just walked down, she guessed, but she hadn't accounted for reading a letter, so she'd probably have been late, and this was just easier. Though, now she had to get the window closed again — she could leave Gryffindor Tower just fine, but the place was warded against approaching brooms well enough she wouldn't be able to get close enough to even touch the open window to close it. After a moment of thought, she reached for her sleeve, pulling out her wand even as she slid around to the side with a few twitches of her ankles. Intentionally underpowering the spell as much as she could, she summoned the sliding part of the frame, and the window softly snapped shut. There.

She didn't shoot straight for the pitch, instead taking her time with a couple sliding curves between a few towers, updrafts and crosswinds lightly buffeting her. By the way she slipped through the air, she thought her weight was probably about the same — she was shorter now, but she'd been eating better, so she guessed that made up the difference — but her balance was slightly different. Not too much different, she didn't think, but a little. Wouldn't be too hard to adjust for.

As soon as she thought she had the picture of it, she didn't bother dallying any further. Seconds later, wind tearing almost painfully at her face and hair while the world blurred around her, she was arcing over the quidditch pitch, then gradually came to a stop, plopping to the ground next to the other Gryffindors who'd shown up, standing waiting on the grass for the team to arrive.

She didn't miss the annoyed glares a few people were giving her Firebolt. It was basically cheating, having a professional-tier broom to play on a school team like this, but it was the only one she had, and she honestly didn't care enough about quidditch to think it worth getting a different one just for this.

Actually...that was something she hadn't thought about before. Did... Did she even want to be in the quidditch team? No one had really asked her opinion the first time, just sort of press-ganging her into joining. She'd mostly gone along with it because, well, she did like flying, and the team had kept pounding into her head over and over that there was no one else they could go to, she was their only choice, and she hadn't really wanted to disappoint them, she guessed? It'd just been easier not to say anything. And, honestly, in the years since, it'd never even occurred to her to consider whether or not she wanted to stay. She was sure that, if it had, the fact they would have needed to find a new seeker would have dissuaded her from thinking about it seriously anyway.

Well. Just a few days ago she'd decided she was going to do what she actually wanted for the first time in her bloody ridiculous life, so. She should take a moment to decide if this really was what she wanted. Yeah.

Okay, good things about re-joining the team. She did like to fly. The game could be sort of fun sometimes. During practice was pretty much the only time she ever saw Angie, Katie, and Alicia, since they were usually off with friends in their own years otherwise. If she didn't join, she'd still likely see the twins, but she thought she might miss the girls — hmm, probably more Katie than Angie and Alicia, to be honest, she liked Katie. She thought there were Gryffindors who only liked her because she did pretty well on the team, so it would make things sort of easier she guessed. Erm... She couldn't really think of anything else that mattered.

Bad things about re-joining the team. Not exactly a bad thing, but she could just go flying whenever she wanted, that didn't require being on the team. And the game could be fun, sure, but, if she were being completely honest with herself, it wasn't her favourite thing to do, not even close — it still struck her as strange how obsessed some people got about it. And there were almost always pick-up games going on, so if she really felt like playing she could just go join one. And, to be completely honest some more, she really didn't like the fact that the games were played in front of practically the whole school. Even after years of doing it, it still made her dreadfully uncomfortable every single time. Being on the team might make some Gryffindors nicer to her, yes, but it also made a fair number of people in other houses, Slytherin especially, just awful; there was no period of the year she hated more than the week or so before any Gryffindor–Slytherin match, constantly being jeered at and hexed in the halls, it was awful. And, well, this was her OWL year, the professors were talking constantly about how much harder everything was going to be this year — the amount of homework they'd been assigned just this first week alone was staggering — and she was adding lessons with Dora and self-study from her mother's journals on top of that. Practices took up a fair amount of time, and she wasn't sure she could fit in everything, and quidditch was really not that important compared to—

Oh.

Oh, wow. She was having a thought. She'd gotten to know the chaser girls comparatively well over the years, what with how much the seeker was basically a chaser most of the time. She'd heard them talk a fair bit about what they wanted to do after Hogwarts — when the time to pick electives at the end of second year had come around, he'd been curious just what the fuck mages did after school, so he'd asked. Of the three, the only one who wanted to stick with quidditch professionally was Alicia (though she'd said something about an enchanting apprenticeship if that didn't work out). Angie had said something about...pet shops and breeding magical creatures, whatever, he hadn't followed much of that. But, Katie's plans?

Katie wanted to be a goddamn Auror. She was apparently even good enough to maybe make it. And Melantha would be getting personal tutoring this year from a current Auror, which she needed a second for. Well...that was just perfect, wasn't it?

So...

Melantha blinked, looking around the pitch, the stands, taking in the small crowd of nervously chatting Gryffindors around her.

Why was she here, again?

As she tentatively made her decision, she couldn't help wincing to herself. Angie was going to be so, so angry with her.

Taking a long, steadying breath, she hopped back onto her broom, and shot for the Gryffindor changing room — she assumed the team would be in there right now, finalising the plan for the tryouts. Sure enough, she found the girls and the twins not far inside, Angie giving what sounded like a very Oliver-esque rant to the other four, all with varying shades of disinterest on their faces. Come to think of it, doing any fair job of captaining this team was probably a bit like herding cats. Anyway, the twins spotted her immediately, bright grins splitting their faces. 'Why,' said one, cutting over Angie, 'if it isn't little Mel!'

'Did you get lost or something? You're supposed to be—'

'—outside, with the eager, hopeful masses.'

She mostly ignored that — she was already casting the increasingly familiar list of privacy charms around them. It was a bit harder to ignore Angie again glaring at her. That girl was going to give herself a stroke before the year was out. 'What are you doing back here, Black?'

'And, paranoid, much?' Katie said, giving her a weird frown. 'I mean, was that a paling against shadow-scrying? Seriously?'

Alicia blinked at her. 'What in Morgen's name is shadow-scrying?'

'Long-distance surveillance magic. Extremely finicky, no one uses it. So, paranoid.'

'Yeah, well.' Done with the charms, Melantha slipped her wand back up her sleeve, again crossed her arms under her chest, hugging her Firebolt to herself. 'I just really didn't want anybody else to hear this: I'm Harry Potter.'

Angie snorted. 'Right, and I'm the—'

'No,' one of the twins said, again speaking over her, 'she's not lying.'

The other nodded. 'She really is. We've known for months. Went all girl-shaped at the beginning of the summer, no idea why.'

'Though, hearing she'd be going to Hogwarts pretending to be a completely different person made our day, didn't it, Forge?'

'That it did, Gred. Perhaps the best prank we ever did hear of.'

'Maybe we have been rubbing off on her after all.'

'First Hermione, and now Harry bloody Potter. Good influence, we are.'

'None better.'

Melantha did her best not to shift in place like an awkward...she didn't know, crazy person, whatever. Through the twins' whole thing, the girls were just staring at her, Alicia looking mostly surprised, Angie a bit confused, and Katie...well, she seemed faintly amused, which was a little annoying, so she did her best to ignore that. A few seconds after the twins were done, Angie said, 'Well, you know I can't just give you the spot. If you don't want people to know who you are, I mean.'

'Well, actually, erm.' She shrugged, trying not to look too guilty. Or would it be better if she looked guilty? She wasn't sure, really. 'I came to tell you I'm not going to try out. I decided just a minute ago I...don't really want to be on the team anymore?' She winced at the sound of her own voice, coming out more a question than the explanation she'd been going for. 'I mean, with Voldemort—' Everyone else flinched. '—being back and all, I just have...you know, more important things to focus on.'

For a couple seconds, the team just silently stared at her. Then Angie let out a long groan, rubbing her face with both hands. 'Alright, fine. I didn't think you'd be around anyway, so I guess it makes no difference. But, damn, Harry, couldn't—'

'Melantha.' She'd hesitated just an instant before correcting her, making Angie break off from whatever she'd been saying, staring at her through her fingers.

'Ah, question?' Katie was actually raising her hand. Okay, then? 'Are you, I mean, actually a girl now? Or is that a weirdly thorough disguise or something?'

'No, I, er, it's permanent.' She didn't really think Katie wanted to know the weirdness that had been going on in her head lately — she wouldn't know what to say anyway.

'So you're stuck like this?'

'Ah.' She hesitated a moment, shuffling her feet a little, looking off at the wall. 'Erm, Dumbledore said he could reverse it for me, but we, er, didn't. Obviously.'

'Right, fine.' Angie took a long breath, shaking her head to herself. 'This is all really interesting and all, but we do have tryouts to get to. There wasn't anything else, was there?'

Melantha shook her head. 'If I could just talk to Katie for a second?' Her eyes flicked back to Katie as she asked; she got a shrug in return.

A few seconds later, the rest of the team had walked out toward the pitch — though the twins did stall a bit, wailing about how they didn't know how they would go on without their tiny little star seeker until Angie managed to drag them away. Once they were gone, single eyebrow raised slightly, Katie asked, 'Yeah?'

'Erm, you still wanted to be an Auror, right?'

For a short moment, Katie was silent, blinking up at her from her bench. Obviously wasn't a question she'd been expecting. 'Ah, yeah. I applied for their summer internship program thing for next year already.'

Right. Thought so. 'Well, I have a cousin who's an Auror, and she's going to be coming to the school once or twice a week to give me some lessons, and she said I'd need a training partner or whatever. I was just wondering if you'd be interested.'

And Katie was silent again. For longer this time, blankly staring at her, frozen mouth dropped slightly open. Finally, she managed, 'You're fucking joking right? Of course I'm bloody interested.' Melantha felt a sheepish smile pulling at her lips. 'Which Auror is this?'

Melantha almost said Dora, before realising it was very unlikely Katie would have heard of her by that name. 'Ah, Tonks.'

'Right. Yeah, I'm definitely interested, thanks for thinking of me.' Probably wouldn't be tactful to mention she almost hadn't. 'Once the practice schedule is set I'll find you and we'll figure out a time, yeah?' With an agreement from Melantha, Katie gave her a brilliant smile, popped her broom onto her shoulder, and wandered out to the pitch. After tearing down her privacy charms, Melantha walked out the other direction, started lazily drifting back up toward the castle on her Firebolt.

Well. That could have gone worse.

Inys Ðyvīl (IPA: /ɪ.nɨs.ðɨ.βyl/) — Literally meaning "dark/shady island", Brīþwn name is a cognate of Welsh Ynys Dywyll, referring to the same location, which is now officially called Anglesey in English and Ynys Môn in Welsh. An island in the northwest of Wales, was considered a Druidic cultural center since Roman times, part of the native Celtic Kingdom of Gwynedd, which existed in one form or another until Edward I of England took over the place around 1283.

[it was technically legal] — Any muggle formally a member of one House or another, Noble or Common, is allowed to know about magic without any legal consequences. Danielle specifically has magic cousins and uncles/aunts too, so she'd been in a sort of grey area even without that.

[Skýlla and Khárybdis] — Scylla and Charybdis in the transliteration used in-universe. Greek mythology reference, but I think what she means by it is pretty obvious with the next couple sentences.

[My first year at Hogwarts, her seventh.] — If you're thinking of correcting me, I've adjusted birthdates in the House of Black like crazy. It's not a mistake.

sorcerer/sorceress — Might have explained this earlier, since the term did show up in that Tom-POV chapter, but oh well. In my fics, a general term for an exceptionally powerful mage. It's more a social convention than it is a scientific evaluation of ability, so it isn't like there're any hard and fast rules for exactly who does and does not count as one — people tend to believe they'll know one when they see one — but it's generally accepted that they have to have both an unusual degree of natural power as well as enough knowledge and skill to stand head and shoulders above the vast majority of their peers. While Lily could likely be considered one from roughly the age of eighteen to her death, which is very young for a sorceress, it wasn't something that was popularly said at all, not least because most people weren't aware of just how good she was. In the present day, British sorcerers (among less visible figures) include Dumbledore, Flitwick, Snape, Tom, Bellatrix, Bones, Kingsley, Dora, and Dolohov, and potential sorcerers (that is, people who have the natural talent, but not yet the fully-developed skill) include Neville, Hermione, Astoria, Bill (who's not far off by this point), Katie Bell, and Melantha. Both Zabinis should technically be on one list or the other, but they're not human, so they don't count.

[most British people seemed to honestly think large-scale witch hunts had actually happened] — In my headcanon, people were on occasion executed for "witchcraft", yes, but never in any significant numbers, disproportionately in England, and the victims were almost always muggles. Which is, you know, what actually happened. Basically, it happened for the same reason irl historians say it happened: superstitious people blaming social outcasts for bad fortune on absolutely no evidence. The prominence witch burnings are implied to have in History of Magic class and the consciousness of the magical people of Britain is revisionist history — which is funny, because people irl have often blown what actually happened far out of proportion as well. And, for the record, Bagshot specifically wasn't being misleading on purpose, she just trusted bad sources.

[the entire concept of blood purity was a comparatively recent innovation] — True. The state of magical society in medieval Europe will be talked about a bit more later, but I just thought I'd confirm that Sirius isn't wrong.

Değsut (IPA: /ðɛɰ.sɯθ/ ; /ɖɛɣ.tʰɯʈ) — Just a name, in Nightsong. And yes, I did mean to give two entirely different pronunciations just there.

[Cēterum cēnseō haec stulta vervēca esse dēlenda.] — Something like "Therefore, I believe these foolish castrated goats should be destroyed." Pretty sure I didn't fuck up the grammar. An intentional reference (on both my part and Zabini's) to Cato the Elder's favorite saying in the years leading up to the third Punic War, where Rome not only defeated Carthage, but erased their entire civilisation from existence. Yeah, Bella Zabini is not a happy woman right now.

[the seeker was basically a chaser most of the time] — Reference to the modified rules in my headcanon of quidditch which, since Melantha sprung actually having an opinion on me, don't actually matter anymore.

Just to clarify, yes, the locket horcrux is destroyed.

That second scene, just. I completely intended on quidditch being a thing in this fic. I even worked out in my head modified rules that actually made sense, a few plays and shit, the mechanics of exactly how the enchantments on brooms work. And then, suddenly, writing the try outs about to happen, the little Melantha in my head is just like, "Why am I here?" If you think about it...exactly how much enthusiasm does Harry actually show for quidditch in canon? He got dragged into it the first time, and pretty much every year has moments where he's complaining about practices being awful, or everyone else being crazy obsessed over it. He never really seemed that into it to me. He doesn't stop doing it, true, but this is socially spineless canon!Harry. So, I'm like...shit.

Yeah, that didn't go the way I'd planned.

Until next time,
~Wings