A/N: Do recall that, while I got impatient and fast-forwarded somewhat in the last years, Harry was in the past for a total of four years - meaning fifth, sixth, and seventh year, and one year outside Hogwarts.
I'd like to apologize for the horrible horrible horrible delay in this story, and thank the readers for the patience shown.
And thanks to all reviewers, for input on the story's progress!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the people, places, items, or ideas within this story; I do not make any profit from this story or the writing of it.
"Have you seen Fred and George anywhere, Dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, poking her head into Harry's room as he finished dressing.
He shrugged and then shook his head 'no'. She left.
"What do you think about recruiting at Hogwarts?"
Tom was leaning back in his chair, legs propped on the desk, twirling his wand lazily. To a stranger he would seem just like any young man, in teens or perhaps early twenties. The flicker of red behind his eyes was the only hint of his previous appearance.
"Hogwarts?" Harry wrinkled his nose. "I have to say, I was entertaining some thoughts of just skipping - I have graduated, after all. I could do more outside…" He sighed. "But, I suppose it would be best to not make Dumbledore suspicious."
"You are the Boy-Who-Lived," Tom drawled, lips quirking as Harry levelled a glare. "I imagine that would cause something of a fuss. In the meantime, I'd like you to try your hand at recruiting - " He frowned. "Though do be somewhat more… particular, in your selections?"
Harry scowled. "I thought it was worth a shot," he grumbled. "Very well. I'll try starting with my own house, or others who will have no reason to think I'd be 'dark'. It should make the whole matter seem more legitimate. Slytherin should be swayed easily enough just by you… I imagine they wouldn't be so receptive to my presence."
"No," Tom agreed. "But try them anyway, if you would? I'm curious who will be foolish enough to stick with their misconceptions of you, even after you reveal yourself."
Harry was surprised. "You think I should tell them I'm Poseidon?"
Tom let a smile touch his lips, waving his wand pointedly. "Who will they tell?"
"Dumbledore does have Legilimency, you know."
"And you know just how to bypass that issue, luckily enough."
That was true. It was a rather nasty spell - the person whose memory was being read would likely end up insane - but it would do.
Harry nodded, then changed the topic. "Australia?"
Tom sat straighter, eyes brightening. "Yes, I've looked into the matter. We'll need to meet with them this weekend - could you get away at, say, noon Saturday?"
Harry agreed readily. "Who, precisely, would 'them' refer to?"
"The faerie council."
"Faeries have a council?"
Tom gave him a 'look'.
"What? Britain has all of, what, five in the whole country? We didn't have anything to do with the faerie's last time - I'm still nineteen, old man. Fifteen, really."
"And oblivious." Tom shook his head. "'Lord Poseidon? You're such a child."
"I am not."
"And short."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm rather certain Napolean was taller. You're not exactly terrifying."
"…Fuck you."
Even after days for the knowledge to sink in, Lewis Nott and Delevan Rosier were, needless to say, more than surprised to find that their second lord - the powerful leader who had returned sanity and hope to the cause of Voldemort - was the fifteen-year-old child who had killed said dark lord.
They both seemed quite uncertain how to respond to this knowledge, actually, but Harry ignored their discomfort skilfully.
"You both have descendants at Hogwarts, correct?" Harry and Tom could afford to speak somewhat casually with these two.
They confirmed this. Harry recalled Theodore Nott, also going into the fifth year, easily enough. He was something of a loner, and while not totally disrespected in his house he had few connections and generally kept to himself. That would have to change.
"Have Theodore begin, discreetly, to let it be known in Hogwarts - both in Slytherin and the other houses - that our ideals have been altered," Harry ordered. "We will be speaking to Lucius so that Draco might aid him - " He grimaced. "Although unless I have severely misjudged him he shall be of little use."
"You believe he shall be of help, my lord?"
"Certainly. He seems more than capable; a fine Slytherin."
Nott looked pleased with the compliment. Interesting, Harry thought, that people could fall into old habits so easily; even now his master's word meant much to him.
"And you, Rosier - I don't believe I recall any Rosiers, come to think of it…"
"My grandson will be starting this year."
Yes, if he recalled right Evan Rosier - Delevan's son - had been killed in 1980, or so he had heard.
"Are you close to him?"
"I've raised him."
"Good. He can speak to the first years - the muggleborns, specifically." When Rosier blinked, Tom, silent until now, explained.
"It is vital the muggleborns realize that ours is their cause as well; the 'Light' will tell them differently, and this is one of the most damaging misconceptions that there could be."
"I will lecture him on the old beliefs, my lords." Rosier said dutifully. "But surely there is more in your plans then recruitment at the school."
"Of course," Harry said. "But this is paramount at the present - rebuilding our power base. And the two of you - along with Lucius Malfoy, quite likely - will play key roles in this. But you two, at least, will not be in Britain."
"My Lord?"
"You two have been given the duty of international recruitment," Tom informed them, watching their surprise. "Nott, you're to go between New Zealand and New Caledonia. Rosier," Tom looked at their most trusted, "you're assigned to Australia. Some of the magical creatures as well as a few officials have already pledged their support; we've assembled a list to give you. You're tasked with preparing the countries and swaying more supporters in preperation for a takeover."
The two looked stunned. "Australia?" Nott asked, incredulous.
Rosier was quicker on the uptake. "They won't be as prepared as Britain - "
"Precisely. The last dark lord in Australia was centuries ago. They're also at a prime location; we meant to bide our time, but at the moment they're experiencing a political upheaval. Ideally, a coup can be planned for the New Zealand wizarding government within the year… though we have few contacts in Caledonia, I'm afraid. We mean to have a secure hold on both before going for Australia; with hope, of course, we'll be able to help put a sympathizer legitimately into Australia's government, but if it cannot be avoided their locations will be a key aid in launching an offensive."
"Australia is more populous, of course, but also contains some… interesting diversity," Harry added. "Read our reports; I have high hopes for them. Though it may take longer; we would like New Zealand and Caledonia first, again, to have some stable bases nearby."
"…My lord," began Rosier, delicately. "With all due respect, I cannot imagine even in five years we would have the forces necessary for outright warfare…"
"Read the reports, Delevan," Tom chided. "And rest assured we have some secrets we have not yet seen fit to reveal; we are more prepared then you might think."
"Also," Harry added, and Nott and Rosier were wary of the gleam in his eye, "look out for Antipodean Opaleyes, would you?"
"What?"
"Where are they?"
Harry glanced around with surprise at Mrs. Weasley's frazzled tone, ignoring Ron's dismay as another of his chess pieces was pulverized by Harry's gleeful black team. (They were oddly bloodthirsty, and pleased that Harry had finally learned some strategy after years of losses).
"Have any of you seen the twins?" Mrs. Weasley demanded of the group. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione shook their heads. Remus and Sirius, discussing something in hushed tones on the other side of the room, looked at her with concern.
"How long have they been gone?" Remus asked. "Weren't you looking for them this morning?"
"Yes!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, irritated. "I can't imagine where they're hiding - ooooh, they better not be dabbling with invisibility again!"
Sirius seemed to find her plight amusing and snickered. The Weasley matriarch glowered, huffed, then stalked away to continue her search.
Yes, he felt a touch of guilt - but this was all very amusing to Harry. Fighting a smile, he turned back to chess, pretending to know nothing of the murder of his friends.
"You're certain it's around here?" Harry asked impatiently. "These revealing spells aren't showing us a thing!"
Tom was beginning to show signs of irritation as well. "Boren swore the Reserve entrance was right here, just warded!"
"I'm not detecting a thing," Harry snapped. "And this place is hot as Hades."
Tom paused, his wand's motion stopping for the first time in half an hour.
"Transform."
"What?"
"Try it."
Huffing a sigh of exasperation, Harry morphed into the familiar form of a black Pegasus - and, with a startled shriek, the animal stumbled back.
Sharply; "Where?"
Oh, Harry could see it well enough now!
They were in Hungary, a country famous for its dragon reserves. The vicious Hungarian Horntail was its pride, although other species such as the Ukranian Ironbelly and Romanian Longhorn were also kept in reserves.
Being some of the most deadly, magic-resistant creatures in the world, they would be invaluable if utilized correctly in warfare.
(Interestingly enough, Chinese Fireball eggs were not a non-tradeable item within China itself, and Tom was already investigating that little piece of knowledge to great profit).
(…The fact that the Imperius was utilized with alarming frequency on registered Chinese traders at this period in time was really quite irrelevant.)
Harry, while not entirely thrilled at the prospect of meeting more dragons, recognized their practical use - and recognized that the dark arts had its ways of bending even dragons wills. Not that it was expected to come to that; as in many areas, Tom had other, easier avenues of persuasion, which was why they had felt it paramount to search out dragon whilst Nott and Rosier were sent to make allies around Australia. Their contact in Hungary - who may, admittedly, have been a vampire of dubious sanity and an even more dubious expertise with the aforementioned imperius curse - had directed them to an apparently neglected stretch of land in the mountains, which was, by what they could tell, wholly unoccupied.
In the body of a magical creature, however, Harry saw this was not the case.
He turned back to his human self quickly. "There aren't any humans."
"What?"
"That's the issue." Harry grinned. "You know, it rather makes sense that no one would mess with Hungarian Horntails! This isn't a reserve in the same sense as others - more a preservation. There's dragons and a whole complex layering of spells to keep out all humans, no specifications - its how we kept going in circles without noticing it. We can't find a loophole in the warding to break through because it blocks everyone."
"They must monitor the dragons."
"I can see house-elves popping up every now and again," Harry said. "That's it."
"Do you think they'll try to stop us?"
Well, only one way to find out, wasn't there?
Leaving Tom behind to wait, Harry transformed again and galloped a short distance in the direction of the dragons, wary as he recalled that, yes, they probably wouldn't distinguish much between a Pegasus and a , he was a fair distance from any of the huge beasts when he felt the tingle and shudder of wards passing from how body.
"I can't see you!" He heard Tom's distant voice shout, in further confirmation. He was inside.
He changed back. The preserve was large. He theorized that an illusion of magic would make one believe and perceive that they were crossing the land when one attempted, and then finally transport them to the other side when enough distance was completed. An ingenious bit of magic.
"Hello?" He called.
No answer. Less than a mile in the distance he saw the dim outline of a Hungarian Horntail. Other shapes spotted along the horizon, many clinging to the cliffs along a mountain-side. Smaller shapes popping up about them seemed to be house-elves, he was sure, which he confirmed with a quick spell to enhance his vision. Letting it fade, he returned to his Pegasus form.
The elves weren't staying still long, but perhaps if he waited near a dragon he could surprise one and ask it some questions. This decided, he transformed, and with a quick running start heaved himself into the air.
The feel of wind pushing against his wings was never tiring, and with skill and pleasure he manoeuvred across the reserve, heading toward the nearest dragon.
He had almost reached his intended landing-site when he was attacked.
A searing pain from his leg warred with a dizzying rush of sensation as he flopped about in the air, an animalistic scream escaping him. The beast's teeth were like a row of knives in his flank, and he flapped his wings desperately while trying to flee, but was helpless in the beasts mouth. Indeed, the dragon had only a tenuous hold on him, and as it flew tried to readjust its grip with a snap of its jaw.
It missed, and he fell.
'Plummeted' would be more accurate. Desperate flapping slowed him enough so that when he fell he may have skidded hard across the ground, but he lived. A furious roar from above him warned that this might not last.
He transformed back with a gasp, blood pumping from the gaping wounds on his leg. Fumbling for his wand, he thrust his hand toward the sky, and yelled the first shield-spell that came to mind.
A dome of ice spread over his position.
He panted shallowly, staring above him intensely - but nothing happened. Inside the small dome, roughly ten feet high and perhaps fifteen in diameter, all was silent.
Painfully, he vanished his pant leg with a quick flick, grimacing at the red mess that was his leg. A few murmured spells had little effects, but the wound slowly closed enough that he should not, at least, be bleeding out. Unfortunately, dragon bites were quite resistant to spells, and he had been woefully unprepared.
Tap tap tap.
…
You've got to be kidding.
It seemed the dragon was curious.
Tap tap tap.
Painfully standing, with most of his weight on one leg, Harry rose.
TAP.
Oh dear.
TAP.
TAP.
TAP!
The dome cracked and broke.
The Horntail peered inside curiously, and Harry cast the spell on himself.
"Greetings, great serpent."
The Horntail paused, taken aback.
Dragons, like snakes, could be spoken with, and indeed were much more intelligent then their legless, wingless cousins. Unfortunately, the speech of dragons differed enough that parseltongues still needed to actually learn the language - or, if they preferred, they had the rare opportunity to use a simple spell, only effective on snake-speakers, allowing them to communicate with the dragons.
Harry really wished he'd known that a few years back…
"Speaker." The great dragon inclined her head, which looked frankly bizarre. Tail lashing, she sniffed the air, head swaying. "Have you seen a large, winged, magical black goat?"
Harry nearly squawked in indignation. Goat! He was not a blasted goat! Oh, he was glad Tom wasn't here. He would laugh himself silly. "That was me, great serpent - I can take on the form of a Pegasus - a winged horse," he stressed.
"Can you? We have had little to do with wizards, lately." Her tongue flicked out. She seemed to have forgotten that she had just taken a sizeable chunk out of the 'black goat' a moment ago. "Do you have food?"
So predictable.
After telling her that yes, he did, he promptly acciod a squeeling goat and gave it to her. Pleased, the Horntail ripped it to shreds, swallowed it, and, licking her claws clean of blood, inquired as to his presence.
"I have come, great serpent, with the hope that you and your might kin will assist I and another speaker in a fight for the freedom of all magical creatures."
"Fight?" She asked, perking up. Ah, Horntails.
"A great fight," Harry assured her. "And if we win, with your help, there will be great territories for the dragon to claim, for we plan to rid the world of non-magic humans - the muggles."
"I do not like them. When muggles see us, we are taken away by wizards, and spelled into this land, and it is not enough for all of us. We have to fight and kill for territory, because there is not enough." Her tail whipped around. "I like fighting, but only when I want to fight. To have lands of our own and freedom of the skies…"
"And you could have it," he promised. "Will you try to aid us?"
As she considered, a house-elf appeared.
It squeeked upon seeing him.
"What is a human doing heres?
Ignoring the question; "Do you report to humans?"
"Yes - "
"What do you report?"
"I and other elves is reporting dragon numbers, and fighting habits, and habitats, and I is collecting skins and dead dragonsy parts for masters, and I is counting eggs and rain and time of day dragons be flying and - "
"Thank you." So the elves collected information for those studying the preservation. Hmm.
"Will you need to tell them I'm here?"
Skeptically; "I is reporting all oddities, Sir."
"Well, I'm a Pegasus. Can you tell them a Pegasus flew in and was attacked, but escaped? You won't be lying."
The elf looked anxious, tugging its ears.
"Please?" He asked. "I promise you won't be going against any orders. I know you're a good elf."
A light flick of his wand had the elf quickly agreeing, for, indeed, his request did not directly go against the orders of the elves' masters and therefore did not interfere with its magic. The spell took.
He requested that the elf summon the head-elf, then turned his attention back to the dragon, who, to his pleasure, agreed to assist, and speak to the other dragons on his behalf, and they would speak to he or the other speaker in precisely forty-nine days. (He was not entirely sure why it was forty-nine, but she was insistent on this). She ordered him to wait before he left, as she had something to give to him, and flew away.
When the head-elf came, another quick spell and cajoling had it agreeing to order the other elves to evade direct mention of human interference with the preserve. He was a Pegasus, and they would report a Pegasus entering, and that was that.
The female dragon returned - and her 'gift' shocked him.
Three young dragons had accompanied her.
"You will take my youngest children," she stated, leaving no room for any thought of refusal. "They will fight in your war and be strong and win new territories."
Not that he would have thought of refusing anyway.
That was… simpler than he had expected. He decided he'd changed his mind; he liked bloodthirsty creatures. Easy to convince.
The wards were meant to keep humans out, and dragons in. Shrugging, he latched onto the nearest dragon, mindful of its spiked tail, and ordered them to stay connected. When he met the edge of the wards, he was expelled - and, with a few hasty spells, the dragons were slowly pulled after him.
Tom looked at the small, irritated dragons blankly.
"…I take it you were successful?"
Harry was never quite sure how no one saw his noticeable limp during the next week.
Tom firmly berated him for being 'careless', fussed in a way no dark lord should be allowed, and promptly banned him from dragon-negotiations. Harry gladly acquiesced.
The Weasley Twins had been dead for three days.
Took them long enough to notice, Harry thought, watching the chaos that was headquarters.
Finally, everyone had realized that the twins were not just hiding in some corner of Grimmauld Place with their experiments - they were missing. Owls had been sent to the families of friends, and the adults comforted the Weasleys, telling them that surely the twins had just gotten bored and left, and been distracted, perhaps, by something or other, but would be back soon enough. Amid tears Molly alternated between begging the heavens for their return and threatening to ground them until they were fifty.
After two days of their fretting, Harry excused himself to the Black Library and then apparated away to tell Tom that it had gone on long enough. When he returned, he told the black owls he had brought to wait five minutes, then released they and their package inside the house, proceeding to apparate again.
He waited in his rooms for a minute, then went downstairs.
Molly Weasley was on the couch with her husband. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Bill were also there, discussing in low voices where Fred and George could possibly be, trying to keep the conversation light with occasional comments on how they were probably just setting up some elaborate prank. They hardly glanced up as he entered; they seemed to take his disappearances for granted now, thinking it natural that he struggle with the 'trauma' that had occurred in the past year.
He curled up beside Hermione just moments before the black owls entered, bearing between them a large box.
The Weasleys were surprised.
"What's that?" Bill asked slowly. "Those owls shouldn't be able to get in, should they?"
They hovered in front of Mrs. Weasley, squawking irritably.
A hush had fallen on the room, as though all sensed something momentous was approaching. Harry fought to keep his features suitably anxious and uncomprehending as Mrs. Weasley, with slightly shaking fingers, reached out to untie the package. With it on her lap, she and Mr. Weasely both pulled apart the string holding the large package together and opened it.
They screamed.
The box fell to the floor as Mrs. Weasley scrambled desperately from her seat, and out of the box rolled two heads, red hair plainly visible, mouths gaping open below glazed eyes.
Naturally, more screams followed.
As footsteps thudded above them and the rest of the Order came to see what had happened, Harry feigned horror admirably, considering how amusing the whole thing was.
Yes, he had liked the twins - and, yes, this alone would almost have been worth it.
Order Headquarters was subdued after that.
The Weasleys grieved, naturally, and a funeral was set, to take place at the Burrow. Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and other school friends of the twins were visited individually by the Weasley parents to be told. Charlie returned to the Order two day later, grief-stricken with the news.
And, of course, Percy had to be contacted.
Regretfully, Harry acknowledged that it was unlikely any of the Weasleys could ever be swayed after the grief this had caused.
In his eyes, they were already walking dead.
He pretended, of course, to be just as stricken as the rest. When attending the funeral - in plain black Hogwarts robes, he noticed with distaste - those he knew assumed as much. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, grieving plainly, clung to him throughout much of the ceremony.
Still, it was interesting. He realized he had never actually attended a funeral - despite being the cause of many.
And after that, at least, he found many excuses to be away, for everyone in Headquarters seemed content to hide away in their rooms for awhile. After a fashion, however, it seemed the adults had recovered enough to think of the children, and sought to distract them. Earlier then usual, they received their school-lists, and were sent to Diagon Alley, though initially he had doubted they would be able to go at all.
One would think that in the light of two deaths the Order would be more cautious, but apparently morale was higher than such trifling matters as safety.
This was why he and Tom had had it so easy last time, he thought.
Diagon Alley, he noticed, was just the same as always. Obnoxiously bright, obnoxiously cheery. Too cheery for his liking. Still, from the wary glances they received, some might indeed have grown disillusioned in recent times.
Or they were curious about the group's ridiculous amount of guards. One of the two.
In any case, the trip was utterly dull - safe one interesting highlight.
He saw Rosier.
Rosier was not leaving to Australia until his grandson had left for Hogwarts, understandably. And, judging by the similar looks of the child next to him, the short wide-eyed kid was Maladon Rosier.
And from the looks of it, they were showing a muggleborn and her family around.
The muggle-born, he saw, looked awed and excited.
The muggles looked mildly terrified.
Predictable.
The faerie council was wary of Tom and Harry, understandably - but, at length, agreed that if they could convince the centaurs and merpeople to lend support, they, too, would ally themselves in the revolt.
"Grandfather."
Grindelwald was a pale spectre of his former self - but he was gaining strength.
With diligent care the house-elves had tended to Gellert Grindelwald since Nurmengard's take-over just weeks prior, and Grindelwald was more resilient than anyone had expected.
Tom had been wrong about his mind, as well, for as he grew stronger his memory and wits returned. When finally Harry found the time to visit, Grindelwald turned his head to Harry with unerringly sharp blue eyes.
"Henry."
"Harry, now."
"Or Lord Poseidon?" Grindelwald's smile was sincere enough, but bitter also, painful, and the lines in his face were deep. His hair was mostly gray.
"Harry will do." Harry sat by his bedside, and with effort Grindelwald pulled himself up. "Grandfather - "
Grindelwald raised his hand. "Before you say anything, Henry - Harry - there is something I must tell you to do."
Curiosity piqued. "Oh?"
"You are returning to Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
Grindelwald nodded slowly. "You must steal Albus Dumbledore's wand, and then I shall take it from you."
"What? Why?"
Grindelwald's slow smile was almost feral.
"Have you heard of the Deathly Hollows?"
The Order meetings, too, had taken on a grim cast after the deaths of the twins. The members were, of course, very concerned with where and why the twins had been killed. Why they had left the headquarters was also a matter of debate, but, with slight regret that came with casting any disparaging comments on the dead, it was concluded that in some childish whim they had left and run across death-eaters. Nonetheless, this would imply - with the assumption that the twins would likely wander only within Diagon Alley - that Voldemort or his supporters were quite actively pursuing enemies already.
The fact that even after several raids the Ministry was denying existence of Voldemort… complicated matters.
Although some, of course, were now wondering of the truth of the media. The twins had undeniably been killed, their manner of death said that much.
The issue was that when reported to the ministry, the papers had promptly grieved the tragic deaths of two Hogwarts students and blamed Sirius Black as the cruel savage responsible.
Sirius, needless to say, was not pleased.
And so the Order meeting, for once, focused less on movement of Voldemort's forces or defense of the prophecy (which both he and Tom had declared useless and totally disregarded at this point) then on how to convince the public that Voldemort - and Poseidon - had truly returned.
Henry debated excusing himself due to 'blood cravings' part way through, uncertain if he could hold in his glee, but managed.
When Lucius Malfoy was summoned to the Dark Lord, alone, he wasn't sure whether he should be excited or terrified.
He settled for a sensible mixture of both.
For years he had awaited the true dark lord, the one his father had always claimed lay within the madman that had been Voldemort for decades. He had begun to give up hope, and it was difficult, still, to imagine what he would be like; Lucius had only ever known him as mad.
It was understandably shocking, then, when he followed the Dark Mark's pull to find himself in a neat, clean office, with the newly-handsome dark lord behind a desk, gesturing politely for him to sit.
Caught off guard, he did so.
"Lucius. I would like to introduce to you my…" Tom paused, as though wondering how to phrase it, then shrugged. "partner." Lucius' eyebrows shot up. "Lord Poseidon, also known as Henry Grindelwald - now, more recently, called Harry Potter."
Harry stepped forward.
Lucius appeared stunned for a moment. "My - my lord?"
"You are one of three that we are entrusting with this information, Lucius." Harry said quietly, assessing him. "We have an assignment for you."
A brief summary of how Harry was simultaneously the dark lord Poseidon was given - and then the news that he, Lucius Malfoy, was to head the recruiting efforts and dissemination of information in Wizarding England.
The time had finally come.
Almost too soon, they were going back to Hogwarts.
Hermione and Ron were prefects (Tom was never going to let him live that down). One 'Luna Lovegood sat with him, as well as Neville Longbottom. Recalling Augusta and her husband from his schooling, he wondered how they had produced such a meek child.
Although Algie Longbottom was a nutcase, so at least he'd been spared that.
Neville had a mimbulus mimbletonia, which was interesting, if annoying when it sprayed them all. Although it did have the fortunate side-effect of unnerving a giggling group of school-girls who had happened to open the compartment door, so that was something.
Sighing, he vanished the mess.
Hermione and Ron left quickly enough for the Prefects department, and Neville, Luna, and Ginny talked off mundane topic during the ride - Neville and Luna carefully avoiding mention of the twins.
Draco Malfoy did not seek them out, for once, and he wondered at this; obviously Lucius had talked to him, but what had he said? Hopefully nothing too revealing; he did trust that Lucius would be loyal, based on Tom's information and his own experiences with the family and Lucius - the diary incident came to mind - but he was not so sure of Draco. Time would tell.
The train was slowing, slowing, and it was with a faint, dark smile on his lips that Harry Potter, for the second time, stepped out of the train for his fifth year at Hogwarts.