On Thursday, my sixth day in St. Mungo's, Thomas shook me awake at five thirty in the morning, shoved a bundle of clothing into my arms, steered me into the bathroom, and uttered a gruff "five minutes" that made me wonder if Barty was actually impersonating Moody during our early morning lessons or Thomas, who only appeared to be a morning person the first time I woke up in the hospital because he'd stayed awake all night. In reality, Thomas didn't wake up until he'd had at least one mug of strong tea.

I dropped my clothes on a bench and turned the water on. When I stepped under the spray, it instantly changed from lukewarm to the perfect temperature. I grinned. So much better than the muggle way. As I pondered the various reasons for Thomas's strange sense of urgency, I scrubbed myself and ducked back under the spray. Then it hit me. Release day. But Alex said he wouldn't spring me until the afternoon. Why the change? Even if they moved the time, Hermione's letter indicated Dumbledore had corrupted at least one auror other than Moody. They'd still know about the change. Maybe changing the time reduced the potential number of kidnappers. Mr. Weasley could probably 'go home early' easier than he could take the day off.

Thomas banged on the door.

"Coming," I yelled, shutting the water off. I dried off and shook out my clothing, raising an eyebrow in surprise when I realized Lolly brought one of my muggle track suits I asked Barty to hold onto for me, a white undershirt that was both too big and too clean to be mine, and my athletic shoes instead of robes. After slipping the clothing on, I stepped outside.

Alex stood beside Thomas's conjured chair, talking quietly while Thomas sipped his tea. Alex turned. "On the bed, Harry. One last checkup before you leave."

"I thought you weren't releasing me until eight," I said, cocking my head when I noticed Thomas's gray wool suit. Perfectly tailored and pressed muggle clothing, not what I expected. Then again, I sometimes spotted a pant leg poking out the bottom of his robes. I wondered if he preferred pants under his robes like I did. Probably. We were both muggle-raised. Odds were he entered Hogwarts with the same 'only girls wear dresses' notion as I did.

"Plans change," Thomas said, pointing to the bed.

Rolling my eyes, I seated myself on the edge. Alex's wand danced over me, his movements more hurried than usual. He nodded once. "You'll floo me if there's any problem," he said to Thomas.

"Of course."

"If need be, send someone to get me. If I'm not at the hospital, I'll be either at home or my brother's." Alex clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Son, this is extremely important. If you experience any chest pain, palpitations, or faintness, you must tell someone immediately. You cannot play around with this. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Take your potions every eight hours. Thomas, I gave Lolly enough for four days. If you change your mind about brewing them yourself, let me know. I assume you'll have someone stay with him when you step out."

"His tutor has already volunteered."

"You know the charms to keep an eye on him during the night and how to raise the head of the bed. Keep him calm. Harry, that means no running, flying, dueling, or competitive sports. Long walks, as long as you're with someone, are fine. You're not bedridden, but nothing strenuous."

"Yes, sir." Nothing he hadn't said before.

Smiling, he reached into his pocked and withdrew a massive tome. "Here. It's a bit over your year level, but I'm confident you'll manage. Just remember what we talked about. In the beginning, it's far more important to understand how the magic works than it is to be able to perform it. Understand now, perform later."

Grinning, I accepted the book. The leather felt worn and smooth under my fingertips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, son. Owl me if you have any questions." He turned to Thomas. "It's just theory. No actual spells. But it's more than enough to help him find out if he enjoys studying healing. I'll see you in two weeks." He shook Thomas's hand, ruffled my hair, and left.

Seconds later, a fist-sized ball of light appeared in the center of the room. It grew into a miniature sun then exploded like a firework. Sparks hit my arms, lingering without burning. The magic dispersed. An imperious-looking witch wearing a monocle and a man with unusual yellow eyes hovered a few feet above the floor. After straightening their robes, they calmly walked down an invisible flight of stairs.

The witch and Thomas exchanged pleasantries while the other man looked on. No introductions, just lingering glances and pain-filled smiles. In some ways, they reminded me of the Donaldsons—a divorced couple who lived on either side of Mrs. Figg. On the rare occasions when they weren't fighting, they wore similar expressions.

"I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule, gentlemen," she said, removing two vials from her pocket. "Lord Wychwood, I trust you secured the clothing I asked for."

"In the bag along with conjured copies of our wands and Harry's glasses," Thomas replied, handing her a canvas sack.

"Excellent. Two hairs each." She uncapped the vials and passed them to us.

I raised it to my nose and sniffed. Polyjuice! I quirked an eyebrow at Thomas, who plucked two hairs out of his head, and dropped them in the potion. It bubbled and fizzed before turning a deep hunter green. The yellow-eyed man accepted Thomas's vial, extracted a set of navy blue robes from the bag, and disappeared into the bathroom. Replacements, I realized. Probably aurors, but they were both older than the aurors who guarded my door.

Curious, I extended my sixth sense. Maybe it wasn't real, but it saved my neck a few times at the Dursleys. I'd never tried it at Hogwarts. Never even mentioned it to anyone. I pushed my senses out and brushed against her. Warm lemon pie. Tart, but sweet. Trustworthy. I grinned. A stinging hex hit my hand.

I blinked at the disapproving woman. Not furious. At least, I didn't think she was too upset. She seemed more exasperated than anything. "How long have you been able to do that, Mr. Potter?"

My eyes widened. She felt that. "You mean it's real?" I whispered.

"Of course it's," she stopped and shook her head. "Mr. Potter, you have no idea what you just did, do you?"

"It's just sensing people," I muttered.

"Did you ever try sensing people at Hogwarts?"

"No, ma'am."

She sighed. "I don't have time for this now." Her gentle tone turned cold and formal. "Lord Wychwood, I'm confident you will address this in an appropriate and prompt manner."

"Of course, Madame Bones." Thomas's tone held the same thin veneer of civility hers did. Bones? As in the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I thought she tried cases, not investigated them.

"Good. The polyjuice, Mr. Potter." I plucked two hairs out and dropped them in the vial. It turned teal. Odd. I expected bogey colored like Crabbe and Goyle or navy blue like Moody. "You two best be going. Rufus and I will handle matters here."

Thomas wrapped one hand around my wrist and grabbed my shoulder with the other. I tensed. "Breath deeply and center yourself. Tell me when you're ready and I'll apparate us."

"But I thought St. Mungo's—"

"—they've lowered the wards around your room."

"Then why didn't they apparate?"

"Safety," she said. "Neither Rufus nor I have ever visited your hospital room, Mr. Potter. We feared we might overshoot our destination and alert certain parties to our operation."

His grip tightened. "Owl me if I need to press charges," Thomas said.

"Will do."

Barty warned me once that Thomas was the most paranoid individual he'd ever met. I thought he meant wards, charmed dustbins, and maybe a few more unusual security measures. But if Thomas's travel methods were any indication, his security precautions were leagues ahead of anyone else.

First, he apparated us to Hyde Park. After he cast numerous anti-tracking and magical dampening spells on me, we apparated to Kensington Gardens. A few more spells followed by a calming draught and we apparated to a small alley I'd never seen before. There Thomas cut my hand and wrote on my forehead with my blood. I didn't freak out until he started chanting in parseltongue. He quelled my protests with a single glare. According to Thomas, who I sincerely hoped wasn't lying, his highly illegal spell temporarily disabled any blood-anchored tracking charms. Combined the earlier spells all made it impossible to track my magical signature. However, there was one tracking spell Thomas refused to disable. The trace.

Contrary to popular belief, the trace is not cast on the wand. It is cast on the person. Hence, when Dobby levitated the pudding, he didn't need my wand. He only needed to use a spell near me when I wasn't in the presence of an adult witch or wizard. In theory, you could use a minor's magical trace to track apparition. Thomas claimed it would be exceedingly difficult because the trace was only intended to track magic that wasn't used in the presence of a magical adult, but possible.

The next apparition landed us in a muggle parking garage where Thomas unlocked a blue BMW with a key, not his wand. "No magic until we're inside my wards," he said and slid into the driver's seat.

I blinked. The car remained the same. Nice, but rather ordinary.

"It doesn't bite."

"But it's—"

"—get in and I'll explain."

The car's interior was just as ordinary as the exterior. Clean and still smelled new, but no space expansion charms or unusual buttons. The passenger seat was comfortable enough for a vehicle, but not self-warming or charmed for optimum comfort. Completely mundane.

The second I shut my door, Thomas cranked the car and put it in gear. It didn't fly or even drive itself. Instead, Thomas manually drove the car out of the parking garage with the same experienced hand I'd expect from Petunia or Vernon.

Shortly after he turned onto the A12, he said, "Harry, if you were Dumbledore, how would you expect me to travel?"

"I don't know." Obviously seeing as part of me was still stunned he could drive a car.

"I dislike muggles. Correct?"

"I guess."

"When I was a little older than you, I publicly informed Dumbledore that muggles are lower than flobberworms and only good as fodder for dementors. A few years before you were born, Dumbledore quoted my words back to me. He also called me Tom during that encounter." He chuckled. "You know, I don't think he noticed the slight pause in my spell work when I realized he was trying to anger me. A rather juvenile attempt I used for my own benefit. I'm not a psychologist. I cannot fully explain Dumbledore's world view or say if he applies the same world view to everyone. In my case, he still sees me an angry sixteen-year-old. People change. No one is the same at fifty as they were at sixteen. At sixteen, I hated my name. I'd just discovered my father, who I was named after, was living in the lap of luxury while I grew up in poverty. At age twenty, the same name helped me claim my grandfather's estate." He glanced at me. "I first met Dumbledore when I was eleven. He was the teacher assigned to introduce me to the magical world. You know that little trick you tried with Amelia? I tried something similar with Dumbledore."

"How did he feel?" The words escaped my mouth before I could check myself.

"Have you ever seen a banana peel after it's been left outside for a few days?" I grimaced. "Like that."

"You never trusted him."

"Never," he agreed. "When I purchased my home, every member of Dumbledore's Order was wizard-raised."

"You live in a muggle area."

"Debatable. My nearest neighbor is over half a mile away. Since then, Dumbledore has recruited two muggle-raised member. Your mother and Severus Snape."

"Your spy."

"A double spy I only invite to meetings I want Dumbledore to know about. Based on what he believes about me, Dumbledore will be monitoring the skies, floo, apparition, and possibly portkey travel. Although portkeys are a little more difficult to monitor than the other two. No one can scry for me, and I've temporarily negated his ability to scry for you. With one exception, his agents will stand out worse than Dumbledore's robes. As long as we don't use magic, we are invisible as long as we remain in the muggle world."

Brilliant. He used Dumbledore's own preconceptions against him. My mind seized on another point. "When will he able to scry for me?"

"The spell will suffice until you're under my wards. When you feel up to it, I'll guide you through a ritual that will prevent any future tracking spells."

"What about the trace?"

"We'll discuss getting rid of it after Alex clears you. Don't worry. As long as you're either under my wards, you can practice magic during the summer without adult supervision."

"Nice."

He flicked the blinker on and merged onto another road. "How long have you been using passive legilimency?" he asked abruptly.

I jerked in my seat. "What?"

"Sensing people, as you ignorantly named it," he drawled, "is known as passive legilimency."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it." A lie. I tried it on Thomas a few days ago. Like a strong cup of coffee. Strong and bitter. Not as bad as I expected. When he didn't say anything, I assumed it was either acceptable or (more likely) not real.

Thomas snorted. "Don't lie to me, Harry. Of course you meant to. You just didn't intend to be caught. Or maybe you didn't realize you could be caught. I'm not certain. I allowed it when you were just testing Alex, the nurses, and myself. You weren't hurting anyone, and it helped you feel safe so I let it slide, but I have to draw the line at the head of the DMLE. Did you rely on it before you left for Hogwarts?"

Staring out the window, I nodded.

"Your head doesn't rattle. A verbal answer please."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, falling back on my Dursley ingrained response to male authority figures.

"When I patched your mind back together, I was more concerned with keeping you sane and safe from Dumbledore than I was with any habits he might've suppressed. I cannot verify anything without checking your mind again. Personally, I'd rather teach you how to heal your mind for yourself and then talk you through any problems you may have. That will serve you better in the future, but we'll discuss that issue later."

"You think Dumbledore suppressed it so I wouldn't realize he felt like a rotten banana peel."

He laughed. "Passive legilimency reads what others project. Everyone you read is an adult with full control of their magic. Alex, Amelia, and myself are also all skilled occlumens so we're even more muffled than others."

"So the rotten banana peel was because Dumbledore was projecting his dislike."

"It's far more subjective than that. In a single instant, you perceive some one's intent towards you, how their character aligns with traits you value. Everything you receive is interpreted, which means even the most accomplished occlumens can't block it. Although teenagers rarely perform accidental magic, they don't have the same control over their magic as an adult. They leak magic like a sieve. Your muggle cousin probably feels about the same as a muggle adult. A single magical child feels like ten magical adults. Once they hit puberty, it gets worse. I spent my first six weeks at Hogwarts with a constant migraine. I found out what I was doing from a library book and eventually taught myself how to turn it off and on."

Interesting. I wondered if I read the Dumbledore's personality completely wrong. Maybe in the twisted depths of his mind, everything he did he did to protect me. I still hated him with a passion I once reserved for the Dursleys, but maybe he didn't intend to murder me and give my body over to an impostor. I snorted. Most likely, Dumbledore just wanted a convenient excuse.

"You're lucky Amelia was so understanding."

I nodded mutely, pressed my face against the window, and stared at the scenery. Several times, he tried to restart the conversation. After the third time, he stopped trying. We left Greater London on the M11 towards Cambridge. Shortly after we turned off near Great Chesterford, Thomas stopped for fuel. Following a quick breakfast of tea and fried egg sandwiches Lolly packed for us, we resumed our journey. The city gave way to towns and flat farmland crisscrossed by waterways.

"The Fens," Thomas announced. He briefly explained Salazar Slytherin was raised in the Fens, according to legend. When I asked if that's why he lived near them, he gave me a secretive smile and shook his head. "You'll see."

The roads became narrower, less used, until he turned off a dirt track into a farm field. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" I asked.

"No one can enter or exit the property without me unless I've added them to the wards."

"Will you add me?"

"After you learn how to control them," he said with a smirk.

I turned in my seat until my shoulders were wedged between the seat and the door. "So if I go in there I'll be a prisoner."

He groaned. "You are the most paranoid child I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. For the last time, Harry, you're not a prisoner. However, Barty tells me you nearly melted the defense suite the one time he let you try to manipulate his wards. He's already added ward control to your summer schedule. Once you've learned the basics, I will teach you how to enter and exit the property without triggering the defenses or, Morgana forbid, the offensive protections."

"Promise?"

"For the love of," he banged his hand against the steering wheel. "I have put a great deal of effort into keeping you alive and as healthy as possible. I realize you don't trust me. Hell, if our positions were reversed, I'm not certain I'd trust me either. But I'm not suicidal. I swore I'd protect you and I will. Hand!"

Reluctantly, I extended my right hand. Thomas pressed his hand against mine, palm to palm. "Haraldr Iacomus Evans Potter, I welcome you home," he hissed.

The air shimmered around us. The ordinary farm field transformed into a mere*. A cobblestone drive wound around the water's edge, leading to a three story stone house with ivy growing up the front. I didn't know why, but it felt old. Not Hogwarts old, but still old.

When we crossed the ward line, the hair on my arms stood up. I felt foreign magic slither through my mind. I tried to push it aside, redirect it. Failed. Memories of the Dursleys, Hogwarts, and St. Mungo's flashed through my mind. The magic shifted. Warmth surrounded me. Safety. Acceptance.

"Home," I whispered, not realizing I'd spoken the word until Thomas responded.

"Home," he agreed. I glanced at him. His faint smile appeared more genuine than any expression I'd seen from him to date. "Lolly found this place shortly after I moved back to Britain in '72. I told her I wanted a magical home with room for an office and a potions lab. Instead she found a muggle monstrosity with half the back wall missing and giant-sized holes in the roof. I thought she was crazy. She had to trick me to come see it. Then I found the old ward stones. They weren't much. The ministry listed the home as demagicked and sold to muggles in 1813. They hadn't been renewed or recharged in over one hundred fifty years, but I could still sense them. I bought the place for the ward stones and spent the next year fixing it up. Unplottable, muggle repelling charms, and an obscuration ward that's stronger than the fidelius, among others."

My eyes widened at that. If there was a ward stronger than a fidelius, why didn't—

"A highly illegal obscuration ward."

Oh. "Why?"

"Why is it illegal or why did I cast it?" he asked as he parked the car in front of the house.

"Why is it illegal?" I asked, half expecting him to answer human sacrifice.

"Obscuration wards date back to the Indian Campaign of Alexander the Great. The wards were originally cast in parseltongue and anchored with parsel runes. At various points, different scholars have tried to translate the ward with varying degrees of success. Changing the language changes both the underlying arithmancy and the runic anchors. You can't just cast the spell in Latin and expect the parsel runes to work. On 29 March 1461, Lionel Gryffindor, the last magical Earl of Sarum and his three sons fell at the Battle of Towton."

My eyes widened when I recognized the name. "But that's a muggle—"

"—prior to the statute of secrecy, muggle and magical affairs were often one and the same. The War of the Roses was fought over the line of succession to the English throne. Wizards were just as impacted by that war as muggles. Upon their deaths, the earldom fell to a six-month-old babe. Fearing for their lives—assassinations among the magical elite were incredibly common in those days—Lionel's wife called the entire family together to cast an obscuration ward. One hundred seventeen witches and wizards, the last remaining descendants of Godric Gryffindor and their families, gathered to cast the ward. Maybe they thought if they all cast simultaneously, they'd produce a stronger ward. Some protection charms, such as repello inimicum, work like that. Unfortunately, obscuration wards are not designed to be cast by more than one person at a time. Three days later, Reginald Prewett discovered their bodies. There were no survivors. Fast forward to the statute of secrecy and most wizards believe obscuration wards, which were never well documented outside the parseltongue community, require human sacrifice."

I struggled to wrap my tired brain around his tale. "They don't?"

He scoffed. "No. All they need is half a pint of the caster's blood and a source of magic."

"Source?"

"Lolly and Nat, her spouse, take turns feeding them. It's no more draining on them than a simple levitation spell."

"Oh." A thought occurred to me. Although the OWL papers I studied covered a diverse range of topics, Hogwart's History of Magic focused almost exclusively on the goblin rebellions. "Where did you learn about that?"

"Old journals from that time period, Council of Wizards records, probably at least a hundred separate sources. In my day, Bagshot's A History of Magic included the basic story, but didn't mention which ward they were attempting."

Despite the early hour, I fought back a yawn. I hoped he didn't think I found the subject boring. It sounded fascinating. Maybe I could talk Barty, who Thomas hinted was my mysterious tutor, into letting me research it on my own for my next independent research project.

"Come. Let's get you settled. We'll talk more after you've rested."

Shortly after I awoke in the most comfortable bed I'd ever slept in, Nat popped in and informed me in his halting, but grammatically correct, speech that Thomas was called to the ministry for an emergency meeting with Madame Bones, but wanted to see me as soon as he returned. Nat's patient had taken a bad turn last night. He and were busy tending to him. I should call Lolly if I needed anything. He then cast a monitoring spell on me and popped out.

The urge to run through the house, exploring every nook, cranny, and magical object like I did my first month at Hogwarts, was almost overwhelming. Then I took my afternoon potions and moving more than ten feet away from my bed no longer seemed like a good idea. Instead, I explored my well-appointed room, opened a window in case Hedwig decided to visit, and plopped down in front of the fireplace with "Enemy of the People", a play by Henrik Ibsen that Barty left on my nightstand with a note.

Read before dinner next Wednesday.

I grinned when I read his note. By the time I left Hogwarts, meals were my favorite part of the day. At least one thing wouldn't change. I finished the first act before I swapped over to my trunk project. I lounged on the rug in front of the fire place in my bedroom with Dyfi wrapped around my neck as a silent bodyguard and my trunk warding project spread out around me. I felt oddly safe. Must be the wards.

"I worried," she hissed. "You're mine,. When Thomas said you were sick, I was so scared. I knew there was something wrong. I could smell it, feel it. I tried to tell you, but you didn't listen."

I set my pen down and stroked her head with my index finger. "I did listen. I asked Madame Pomfrey, but she said it was just the potions. I thought…Never mind what I thought. I should have trusted your word over hers. You'd never tell me I smelled like a dying rat without a reason."

"You didn't smell that bad. Almost though." She paused. "There's another snake in this house. Bigger. You will tell her I am not prey!"

"Nagini, Thomas's familiar. Lolly said the wards don't allow her to attack anyone without Thomas's permission."

"Ask if snakes are included."

"I will." The owls and house elves were included, so I assumed Dyfi was, but I'd still ask. I rather liked having her around.

I summoned Leed's manuscript and turned to the warding section. It wasn't comprehensive, but offered a decent start. An interesting parsel rune ward intended to stun grave robbers caught my eye. Not exactly the super locking charm I'd hoped for, but still interesting. I wrote the page number on my trunk diagram and began looking for another.

Then a tempest of magic stronger than anything I'd ever felt slammed into me. Absolute fury and contempt followed by the mental image of a striking snake. Reeling, I flared my magic, forming a protective bubble. The foreign magic became muted then disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

The door creaked open. "Harry?" Barty asked.

"I'm fine."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said, pulling out the wand he won from Moody. His wand danced over my head for a moment before he clasped my shoulder with his free hand and drew me into a half hug. "You're as well as you can be under the circumstances. You gave me a right good scare, kid."

I squirmed out of his grasp, earning a snicker. "Sorry, I forgot normal human contact makes you uncomfortable. Let him cool off before you go down stairs."

"That was Thomas?"

"It certainly wasn't me. Moody's sedated. You're magic is still battling acromantula venom and a heart condition. My lord is the only other person allowed on the property."

"Oh." I bit my bottom lip. Maybe I shouldn't ask.

"Ask," he prompted.

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"Moody?" I nodded. Barty seated himself in the overstuffed chair beside my bed and flicked his wand, raising the light. "How many times do I have to tell you daylight, not the pre-dawn gloom you think is appropriate for studying?"

"Once more apparently."

He smirked then turned serious. "You know the defense position is cursed, right?"

My eyes widened. No, I didn't know that, but it made sense when I thought about it. None of our defense professors lasted longer than a year, and something horrible always happened either to or because of them.

"If you catch him in a good mood, I'm sure my lord will share the tale. It's common knowledge among the law enforcement community the position is cursed. That's why Dumbledore's forced to hire people like Lockhart. No one in their right mind wants the job."

"You did."

"Extenuating circumstances, and I was never contracted for the position. Arguably, the curse would target Moody, not me. The only people who are interested in the job are either incompetent frauds or people with nothing to lose."

"But Lupin—"

"—was living hand to mouth. Teaching at Hogwarts meant free room and board and allowed him to save his wages. Without it, he probably would've starved to death by now. Magicals don't hire werewolves, and they can't hold most muggle jobs because they miss too much work. Do you remember when we studied why some curses are illegal?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, afraid I already knew where this conversation was heading.

"Moody was an auror. One of the best of his day. I've known him my entire life and can't remember him without his magical eye or what his face looks like under the scars. The man's been subjected to more curses than any currently active auror. About a month ago, you helped me brew healing potions. I didn't tell you at the time because you didn't want to know, but those potions were all for Moody. Some curses you can't completely remove. The way I understand it, and I'm not a healer so I may be wrong, they can only stop certain curses for a time, but without a counter the spells will slowly regain their strength. Moody wasn't worried about the defense curse because he was already dying. If he had stopped taking his potions and lived with the pain, he might have lived a few more years. But I kept him on the potions."

"So you're killing him." I regretted my tone the instant the words left my mouth. If this was true, then Moody was already dying. It was the same as a terminal cancer patient not opting for a final round of chemo.

"No. My lord gave him a choice. I wasn't here when they spoke. Moody said my lord showed him some of the pensieve memories I sent him about you. I don't know which ones. I know better than to ask. I do know Moody swore an unbreakable vow when he joined Dumbledore's order. Moody said…" He paused and collected himself. "He said he'd rather spend what little time he has left with me than his remaining time helping Albus with his cockamamie schemes."

That didn't sound like the Alastor Moody I'd read about. "Are you sure it's not a trick?"

"Harry, whatever my lord showed him broke him. I've never seen a more devastated person in my life, and I spent a year in Azkaban. I need to go. Will you be all right by yourself for awhile or would you like Lolly to come stay with you until my lord calms down?"

"I have Dyfi and Nat's monitoring charm. I'll be fine."

"Okay. If you need me, I'll be in the guest room. Down the hall second door on the right."

* A shallow lake

This is not my typical author's note. I'm only writing this because I have received several questions regarding these issues. Writing a response here is quicker.

Why isn't this story marked as an AU? Because ALL fan fiction is by definition AU unless you copy the books word for word. Adding an AU to the description servers no purpose in my opinion and is redundant.

Why didn't you label this as neutral!Harry or at least manipulative!Dumbledore? It's not labeled as neutral!Harry because that's a spoiler. If asked, I will sometimes send regular reviewers spoilers, but I personally dislike them. The manipulative!Dumbledore is addressed in WGM Part 1, Chapter 1's author's note. In short, I consider manipulative Dumbledore canon.

Now for the pink elephant in the room…

Isn't Voldemort a psychopath? The answer depends on several factors, including how you define canon and if you mean the clinical definition of a psychopath. If you include all the interviews where Rowling contradicted either previous interviews or the books, yes with a BIG maybe. However, we've already established that I do not include interviews. Here is also where I warn you that the popular usage of the word "psychopath" and the clinical definition are worlds apart.

Years ago, I attended an open psychology lecture on the leading figures of World War II. I was completely shocked when the lecturer firmly stated that Heinrich Himmler, the man who orchestrated the final solution, was completely sane. He wasn't a psychopath or sociopath. He was simply a man who strongly believed in antisemitism. At the time, this was incredibly hard to swallow. Even Hitler, who some scholars believe was a psychopath, was iffy. Among other issues, Hitler was an addict, which confuses the issue of his mental health.

If you think this is relevant, why didn't you discuss it a few chapters back when you first presented Thomas Riddle, Lord Voldemort as mostly sane? Because I wanted to wait for his political beliefs to begin bleeding through. Until Book 7, everything we know about Voldemort's political beliefs meets the definition of propaganda. Book 7's main purpose always struck me as being to 1) prove Voldemort is insane (and blind/stupid), 2) imitate WWII without actually studying the causes of WWII, and 3) prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Harry picked the right side. Not that he ever picked a side, but you get my point.

We do know from Sorcerer's Stone (or Philosopher's, I can't remember which the US version used, but I also read it in French, so I get mixed up some times) that Voldemort tried to recruit both James and Lily. So having him personally believe muggleborns are worthless or magic thieves (the views shown in Book 7) doesn't fit with Book 1. Since I consider Book 7's proper title to either be Harry Potter and the Deux ex Machina or Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows, I'm more likely to believe Book 1.

Additionally, in canon (not after the fact interviews that magically make McGonagall twenty years younger than she was in a previous interview) we are given very little evidence to support the view that Riddle is a psychopath. We see Riddle either trying to defend himself long enough to get his body back (Quirrel and diary), proving a point to his followers that Harry Potter is not his magical equal (graveyard), punishing followers after they royally screwed up (ex. Pettigrew losing Crouch Sr.), interrogating a prisoner (Olivander), and in battle. Predominately, we encounter him when he's being thwarted by Harry, meaning we see him when he's fighting someone he perceives as an enemy. NONE of this provides sufficient information to diagnose him as a psychopath. It doesn't even prove he's a little disturbed. All it proves is that he is a fairly hands-on general.

In book 6, we're shown all those 'lovely' (note the sarcasm) memories by Dumbledore. I'd like everyone who's made it this far in this ridiculously long author's note to stop and think for a moment. The first time he met Dumbledore, Riddle demanded he tell the truth about whether Dumbledore was there to take him to the asylum. Translation: scared, angry kid. Dumbledore's response, he set an eleven-year-old child's wardrobe on fire. Dumbledore entered the room with a preconceived idea of Riddle based solely on his conversation with Mrs. Cole. This is the same Mrs. Cole who was publicly drinking in the middle of the day during the late 30s. In other words, Dumbledore took the word of a drunk and never bothered to look any further. Honestly, this says far more about Dumbledore's character than Riddle's. However, it is what Dumbledore presents to Harry as proof Riddle was always a disturbed little boy.

His portrayal in books 5-7 (I'm certain you've noticed by now that my story begins in book 4 and then deviates so while I'll use books 5-7 their characterizations are largely irrelevant) is a sadistic man who engages in random acts of violence and destruction while taunting his opponents and cackling at inappropriate moments. This is a classic villain, not a psychopath. Classic villains are formula characters. For example, Voldemort is a combination of the mastermind and the monster.

My Riddle is a closer to an antihero than a classic villain. He is either a revolutionary or a terrorist, depending on your point of view. While his reasons may be perfectly understandable, his methods will remain questionable because that is the nature of both terrorists and revolutionaries. Sadly, the politics shown in the books allow me to do this.

Terrorists are frequently portrayed in the media as psychopaths. The truth, unfortunately for anyone who feels safer believing they're just crazy, is quite the opposite. Numerous psychologists have studied actual terrorists from multiple countries. I believe Martha Crenshaw says it best: "the outstanding common characteristic of terrorists is their normality." (Crenshaw is a political scientist, not a psychologist. The psychologists I've read agree with her. They just use more flowery language.)

While you do see a few psychopaths/sociopaths involved in wars, coordinated terrorism, like Voldemort's Death Eaters, requires organization, loyalty, and ideology. Some of the traits associated with psychopathy are disadvantages to a terrorist. I don't remember where I read this, probably in one of those crazy security studies classes I took as an undergrad, but at one point, there was an argument that a true psychopath made an excellent captain, but a poor general. This being said, it's not uncommon to see true psychopaths associated with war crimes, but their not normally at the top of the food chain. (I suppose that's why they normally charge whoever committed the war crime and their commanding officer.)

Now that I have that rant out of my system, I'm certain one of you lovelies has already started on a 'it's a children's book, you idiot!' review. While I always appreciate reviews, I've already responded to this issue in my profile.

Thank you all for your lovely reviews! Knowing actual people (Wait, you are humans, not martians. Right?) are reading and enjoying my story means the world to me.