Notes: M rated for mature readers, some adult content. Terms used: Anirage is another name for Wizardkind, Aniragi is the language, and Vanie are the hereditary 'nobility' of Wizardkind.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author, pen-name Beren.

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Part 2/Chapter 12:

****

Andre and Harry had been back at Hogwarts for six weeks. It was Monday morning, and he and Andre were both in their quarters, though they'd eaten breakfast in the Great Hall. According to Andre, it was a political necessity that they not be seen to be hiding. Andre pulled a pile of letters to himself, and asked casually, "Care of Magical Creatures? Has Hagrid softened to you at all?"

"He glares at me whenever he spots me in the grounds. I guess he doesn't have the capacity to think for himself. Dumbledore was his god."

"I wonder where he is now."

"I don't think he's a vindictive man. I doubt if he'd try and kill us unless there was a reason to do so."

"You're probably right."

Andre handed over a letter, "Have a look at this."

Harry inspected the formal invitation, on heavy, expensive parchment, and remarked, "That's a surprise. I thought they would have waited until I was seventeen, at least."

"Maybe they don't think you'll be around by that time."

"It doesn't seem as if Scrimgeour is willing to be convinced he's dead."

"I have a letter from my father. He apparently knew about it before we did. He says that we should definitely attend. Just a ball, but every Vanie is expected to be there, most of the heirs, and partners, of course."

"Draco's Vanie."

"Is he of age?"

"He was seventeen not long ago. He's of age."

"Anyone else in school?"

"A few heirs possibly. None that actually have the title."

"It will be interesting, and these are the men who run our world."

"I never used to be interested in politics."

"I've heard you say there are so many things wrong in this world."

"If we became politically active, we should hire Hermione. She has a drive to improve things."

Andre had a hint of disdain in his voice, "Isn't she Muggle-born?" and then flushed at Harry's raised eyebrow. "Sorry. I rebuke my father for that attitude now and then, and still find it catches up with me."

Harry nodded, "What we learn early in life is sometimes hard to throw off. If someone calls me 'Freak!' even now, I immediately feel as if I'm something unworthy to crawl the earth, no matter what logic says."

"Hermione?"

"She has a much wider viewpoint than the narrow one of a pure-blood wizard, many of whom don't even bother with Muggles. She would be very valuable, - if we were to get involved in politics."

"But you feel you need a much broader education first."

"Yes."

******

A few days later, both Andre and Harry wore their hoods low when they went to Diagon Alley for Harry's robes. They didn't go to Madam Malkins for this, but to a far more expensive place, accustomed to supplying formal robes for the very rich. It had been Draco's suggestion, that Harry needed to show his status. He should have the Potter family crest, and the robes should be of top quality, and adorned with the finest embroidery, jewellery where appropriate, and he'd added, 'You have to claim status. Look humble, and you'll be perceived as of no account.'

They did not go unrecognised, and by the time they emerged from the clothiers, there was a crowd gathering, an aggressive Rita Skeeter at the forefront. Harry would have fled, but Andre kept the woman at bay with an air of cold dignity, and one raised eyebrow.

Harry, standing slightly behind him, felt his different demeanour, which would have rivalled Lucius Malfoy at his worst. He'd never seen him like that, and knew it to be a veneer, almost like acting. Andre answered a few questions for them, but the moment the questions touched on Harry's childhood, he froze them off, and stated that Harry would not be answering any questions. Harry was relieved. He could have been annoyed at Andre acting as if he was in authority over him, but the feeling of being looked after was still new to him. And Andre would never stop him from doing what he wanted to do. He knew that.

Skeeter asked, quite respectfully, "Could we have a photograph, Mssr. Melenchon? Yourself with your Bond-Mate?"

Harry felt the question from Andre, and answered, If you think it a good idea.

Andre was the one definitely in charge as they posed for a few photographs, then Andre called a firm halt to the proceedings, stating that they had business to accomplish. Harry watched and learned. A childhood spent as a neglected and abused 'Freak' had not prepared him for a role in wizarding politics, but he guessed he'd do his best. There were things that had to be changed, and he and Andre were in a good position to have an influence. Saturday's ball would be the beginning.

******

A week later, Harry and Andre prepared for the ball. Harry had his under-robe, emerald green, the bodice part embroidered in navy, and decorated with jet and diamonds. The over-robe was in a deeper colour. It was made to fall from his shoulders, open at the front. It had deep sleeves, and they too were embroidered, this time with silver thread, and a design of diamonds. The Potter crest was shown on the left-hand side, slightly overlapping the Melenchon crest, which was smaller, just below and further to the left. The symbolism was that he was a Potter first, but also a Melenchon.

Andre was in robes of a deep crimson, the over-robe darker, almost black, in a similar style to Harry's. The embroidery was in gold thread, and featured rubies set amongst images of dragons, the same theme as their signet rings. They were symbols of the Barony of Melenchon. On the left-hand side of the over-robe, he wore the Melenchon Family Crest, but what surprised and pleased Harry was that the Potter family crest was worn as well. The two crests, the same as he had, but reversed in size and position.

Andre saw him looking, and felt his pleasure. He said seriously, "I belong to you, Harry Potter, to the same degree as you belong to me. You may have become a Melenchon, but I have also become a Potter. We will belong as much here as we belong in France."

Harry felt a sudden urge to cry. He'd never acknowledged it, even to himself, but that law and custom regarded him as subservient to Andre had been a regret, even if sometimes it was nice to be looked after. He couldn't remember anyone who'd looked after him before Andre.

The ball was a trial for Harry, but Andre stayed close, silently prompting him when he was lost, and Draco, Trevor and Vayden were also there. Trevor was heir to the Family Lyons, another of the Vanie Families, while Vayden was there as his partner, though it was his father, and then his elder brother who were heirs to the title of Vanie. They had grown up in these circles. They knew the people and they knew the appropriate etiquette, as Harry might have done if he'd grown up with his parents.

There were two others he knew slightly from school, older than himself. Kosan Brooks was one. He was the older brother of seventh year, Blake Brooks. Kosan was now head of the Family Brooks, and Vanie. Harry knew Tiberius McLaggen as well. He looked like his younger brother, Cormac, and seemed to be just as arrogant, and probably bullying. Harry didn't take to Tiberius or his father, Jessem McLaggen, both physically large, imposing men, yet they treated Harry and Andre with considerable respect.

Neither Harry nor Andre danced, fully occupied with meeting new people, and making polite conversation. Harry worked hard, trying to remember names, and trying to remember characteristics, as displayed to him in their auras. Hardly any showed honesty as a part of their characters, and yet Harry thought that probably most did their duty as they saw it. Old Reginald Carlyle, for instance, was greatly respected, except that Harry could see he was nearing the end of his life. His son and heir was Tonius Carlyle, who showed a high degree of intelligence, but maybe few morals. Tonius had a powerful paid position in the Ministry. If he'd been more honest, the Ministry would have been less corrupt. Yet he didn't seem to be a bad man. The world of upper level wizarding politics was not a simple one.

Afterwards, Harry acknowledged that in spite of his recent lessons, he was still lacking in areas he needed, especially pure-blood traditions and etiquette. He hadn't disgraced himself, but only because he'd had a lot of help. He had to learn to dance, as well. He'd managed to avoid it this time, but there would be other occasions where he could not. Balls were a standard amusement in pure-blood wizard society.

At last in their own apartments, Andre asked him what their colours told him.

Harry answered, "They know their own power, nearly all of them. Ruthless, often deceitful. I liked Trevor's father, though he was low within the ranks, and others were highly intelligent, Henry Steinway for instance. I loathed Beaumont Abercrombie. He had a real cruelty. None of them mentioned Muggles at all, but I doubt even one of them think they are humans just the same as they are, and with equal rights."

"Muggles are not our kind. You know that."

"They are nearly our kind, and should be respected!"

"There are differences in our brains, in our tolerance to stresses on our bodies, even in our fertility. It is why they are numerous and we are few."

Harry retorted, "Well, it's lucky they are. At least they have some chance of fighting back against the Supremicists."

"If we do our best, it should never come to any sort of confrontation between our species."

"It would be a disaster if there were, for them and for us."

"Ready for bed?"

Harry smiled in pleasure and sudden excitement. Bed was something very special for a Bonded couple.

******

It was the early hours of the morning when Harry and Andre went to bed. For Albus Dumbledore, it was the afternoon of a sunny Autumn day. He was sitting in the top room of his home in a small seaside town on the East Coast of Australia. The whole of the East wall of the large room was glass, which would have been very expensive to adequately heat without magic. As it was, it was comfortably warm inside, and privacy spells ensured that no-one from outside could see in. He had a telescope, and when he noticed a distant splash in the water, he swung it around to observe. Whale watching was a favourite pastime in Eden.

Eden. He liked the name. In Muggle legend, it meant something like paradise. The original humans had lived there until they'd annoyed their god, either by eating an apple, or by having sex when they were not supposed to. The legend was not clear on that point. So they'd been thrown out, and had supposedly thought longingly of Eden ever since. It was a pleasant town, only a couple of thousand residents, not counting tourists, but it had been the name that had attracted him.

He'd owned this house here for many years, staffed by a pair of house-elves. It had been a potential retreat in case anyone ever noticed that he was not always strictly ethical in his dealings, either with people, or with their money. He chuckled to himself. It had been a very long time before anyone had noticed.

He didn't think he cared about revenge on Harry Potter any more. He was happy here. Maybe he'd live here for five years or so, and then resume his place in the wizarding world, probably even with the same name. It was amazing what Mind-Magic could do for someone who knew how to use it.

Dumbledore left the telescope, and relaxed back in his comfortable armchair. He was wearing a colourful robe, but earlier in the day, he'd been strolling down the streets of Sydney, dressed in a natty, pale beige Muggle suit, accessorised with a pink and violet floral patterned tie, and a beaded bag for his money, in matching colours. His hair was trimmed to a normal, if slightly long, Muggle-type cut, and his beard was just a couple of inches long. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of doing without it entirely. But just the change in facial hair, and doing without his trademark half-glasses, made a considerable difference in his appearance. He called himself Janus Hildebrande. He could have called himself John Smith or Bob Clarke or Joe Green, but Albus Dumbledore could not have abided any ordinary name.

Aberforth Dumbledore was younger than his brother Albus. His home and business was the Hog's Head Inn, in Hogsmeade. Albus had bought it for him many years before, though there had been conditions. He had to pass on whatever useful information came to him, he was never to tell anyone what he knew of what Albus was doing, and he was never to tell anyone of the relationship between them. Aberforth used a different last name when he used a last name at all.

It was the early hours of the morning, but Aberforth was still wakeful. He didn't like Albus. Albus looked down on him, - for his friends, the shady people who patronised his pub, for the dirtiness that surrounded him, even for his table manners. But he wasn't wicked, as Albus was. He'd done as he'd promised, reluctantly, though he hadn't put much effort into the endeavour. Just talking with some of his customers, that Potter was a trouble-maker, that Potter had lied, that Potter had made a good, wise man flee into exile, that maybe Potter should suffer.

Sometimes the comments fell on fertile ground, sometimes they were ignored. There was Mundungus Fletcher, for instance, who agreed with everything he said, and quite obviously had no intention of acting upon it. Argus Filch, who was happy to grumble about Potter, but as his complaints ran more on the boy being out of bed after curfew, and muddy footprints, no-one took much notice. Hagrid, who was getting drunk most nights, and rambling on about how wonderful a man Albus Dumbledore was, and how could the treacherous boy turn on him… Hagrid had always seemed a gentle man. He doubted if Hagrid would actually do anything. On the other hand, he had to have giant in him, and giants were violent, brutal creatures.

Abruptly, Aberforth decided that it was enough. He'd never helped Albus in his schemes in the past, and he would not do anything further in this either. And if Albus stopped the allowance he'd always paid him, it was too bad. It was not as if he needed it. He could retire to Australia himself if he wanted, but he couldn't imagine living as a Muggle. Muggles were an inferior species.

The dirty, smelly man turned over in bed, and went to sleep. All was quiet, and the rats became active. There were not many cockroaches. The rats ate them.

*******

Over the next days, there were several wizards who made an attempt to claim the reward for providing proof of the death of Voldemort. Most were dismissed as of no account, but Clarence Ryan was listened to. His older brothers were strongly suspected of having been Death Eaters, and Clarence stated that the Fallon Mansion should be inspected, which still showed signs of an explosion when 'the boy' had blown up the place. He named Peter Pettigrew as the one who'd looked after Voldemort in the last years of his life.

Naturally, he'd refused to admit that either himself or his brothers had ever committed any crime, and even offered his left arm to inspect. "Never Marked. Only fools allowed themselves to be Marked by that one."

Harry had also mentioned Peter Pettigrew, and when another informant spoke his name as Voldemort's personal servant, an old picture was shown in the paper, with the news that he was possibly alive, and was wanted. A few days later, there was a far more recent picture, and the statement that if it was truly the man, then there was a possibility of a past miscarriage of justice.

In the Gryffindor Common Room, several students were involved in a lively political discussion. It was quickly becoming a regular thing. Andre wasn't there, but Harry was, and eating a large piece of chocolate cake pressed on him by Ginny Weasley. It appeared that she was a devoted admirer again, though her 'Sorry,' had been an embarrassed mutter.

Charlie referred to the wanted man, and said that it appeared that Sirius Black might have been innocent after all. "Mad, though. You could see it!"

"Remember that Vayden said he was never properly tried?"

Harry remarked, "That's something I would work at very hard, I think. Trying to make the trial system fairer."

Ron asked, "But didn't you say you would have no power? That you don't even get a vote?"

"If I choose, I think I can have power. I'm planning on working hard for the next few years, making myself fit for that sort of power."

Hermione smiled. She'd be working hard as well. Whether in France or Britain, Andre had promised her a position if she wanted. Her parents were well off, and she was already looking at a University. A Bachelor of Arts was best, as Harry was talking of. It would give a good all around education, without relying on a background of Maths or Science, that neither of them had. She'd continue learning about the wizarding world as well, especially in the fields of Aniragi Traditions and History. She might never be able to take direct power herself in the wizarding world, but as adviser to Harry, and to his Bond-Mate, she'd be able to have an influence.

There were so many things wrong with the wizarding world, and a large part of it was that they ignored the advances of the Muggle world, in the world of science and technology, and more importantly to her mind, in the area of political thought. Just a Bill of Rights would be a start. Surely everyone was entitled to some basic rights! She'd been appalled when she'd discovered how house-elves were treated, though she'd come to understand that offering wholesale freedom would not help them.

Ginny said, "Black was your godfather, Harry. Did you know that?"

"I was told a few days ago. I never knew."

Ron said, "Fancy the Dementors being gone. They're still not reporting it, but Dad told me they're looking at freeing some of the prisoners."

"What will they do with them, though? They say men go mad when they go there."

"Wasn't Hagrid put in there once? Even though he didn't do anything?"

"He doesn't seem affected by it."

Charlie laughed, "Maybe he's like an animal. Half-giant, you know. Maybe they just don't affect him."

Hermione said, loyally, "He can't help not being very bright, Charlie. And he's kind, and looks after the animals. The centaurs respect him."

"What about you, Harry? What do you think of Hagrid?"

"He fought for me, remember? After the Triwizard Tournament, when they tried to take me. He saved me then. He might be angry with me now, but he wouldn't hurt me. He was the one who first told me I was a wizard, as well. It was my eleventh birthday."

Charlie asked curiously, "You really had no idea you were a wizard?"

"When odd things happened around me, I just prayed that the Dursleys wouldn't notice. Aside from that, I didn't think about it very much."

A fourth year girl said, "Maybe because you knew you'd be punished, you chose not to think about it. Like a sort of self-preservation, or you thought it was bad like they said."

Harry reddened, and said, "Cinny!"

The girl flushed and apologised. Jacinta was very bright, but had a reputation for speaking before thinking.

Harry shrugged, "You're probably right," but he stood up to leave. When political discussion turned to his personal circumstances, he always became uneasy. It was time to seek out Andre, who sometimes seemed like a warm golden beacon in his mind. He felt himself very fortunate to have found Andre, and had almost forgotten how he'd fought to deny the Hecatema Bond.

They watched after him as he left. Ron, Dean and Charlie still remembered their desperate desire to Claim him. The wild desire was long-gone, and yet there was something left. None of them would ever be an enemy to Harry Potter. There had been times in the past when Ron had been jealous of him. It seemed so childish now.

It was the same with hundreds of others, many of them young men of influential family. Vayden and Linley Carlyle, for instance. They'd both been First Order, and Linley was the Carlyle heir. There was Lester Steinway, and Henry Steinway was Chairman of the Vanie Council. Many of the Aurors had been First Order, and would find it extremely difficult to go against him. There had been Professors Trimble and Kent. They were supporters, and Kent was a member of yet another Vanie family, though not an important member. Because of the Hecatema Chase, Harry had a power base in Britain he wasn't yet aware of, and it was made up of the best, the ones with both power and intelligence.

*****

Margot Chazaud, the Healer, explained to her son that she'd never had anything to do with Muggles, and while she wanted to oblige Elsa Melenchon and her family, she was sure she'd get into trouble if she tried to find her way to Eden herself.

Joseph raised his eyebrows, "Eden?"

"It's a pretty village on the beach, Elsa said. But it's little, and there's not even any apparation coordinates, and no Floo system, so I'd have to travel there all by myself. I'll be needed there for some months, since there's no other healer at all, as far as they know. None in the whole country. But staying there, it sounds actually very nice. The house they've rented is very big and nice, we'd have a wing to ourselves, and there will be house-elves. I'd stay there until after the baby and you could too if you want, but if you prefer, you could just stay a little, and then return."

"Did you know that the Muggles have a legend about a god throwing them out of the Garden of Eden? They had to survive in the wilderness, cold, hungry and afraid. My theory is that the legend originated from the times when it was common for a wizard to keep Muggles as pets, for amusement and for sexual pleasure." It was Joseph's interest, looking at legends, Muggle and wizard, seeing how they compared and combined, and putting forward his own theories on their origins. He wrote books, but his wealth was inherited. The Chazauds had no financial need for paid work.

"So you'll come?"

Joseph thought about it. It had been supposed to be his wedding day shortly, but Francine had cancelled. It hurt to see her with another man. He said decidedly, "I'd be very happy to come with you, for as many months as you like."

Margot smiled. It had been Elsa's idea, but she agreed. Jeanne was a woman to be admired, and she was sure that Joseph had been courting her at one time. But then there had been Andre, and Elsa hadn't looked at anyone else since as far as she knew. Perhaps it was time. Joseph had never been a very sociable man, was a little diffident, even shy, but he was highly intelligent, and he was kind, as his father had been. Kindness was a valuable quality in any wizard. Jeanne would surely appreciate a kind and loyal man like Joseph.

******

The Chief Auror was relieved. Finally, they had someone able to explain exactly what had happened at the Fallon place. It had been sometimes used by Voldemort, it seemed, and then there was an explosion. The informant's face and arms showed severe scarring from burns, and he was missing his left forearm, and left lower leg. He maintained he'd only ever been an unwilling servant, and never Marked as a Death Eater.

McKenzie asked again, "So who was killed?"

"I was badly injured myself, even though I was not close, so I can't be totally sure," and he proceeded to list a dozen names, including that of Lucius Malfoy.

"And you think it was provoked when they tried to administer the Draught of Living Death?"

"Yes. I don't think the Master wanted to do it to the boy, but I heard that the Binding Bracelets were causing him too much pain and he could not be released. According to what I heard, they were going to first make him very sleepy, and only administer it then, not knowing what it was. He was supposed to be treated with kindness, as much as possible."

"The Draught of Living Death is hardly kind!"

Price said, "I was only a servant, almost a prisoner myself. I had no say. Even from his Inner Circle, he never tolerated argument."

McKenzie regarded him thoughtfully. According to Price, Voldemort had been badly hurt, had been seen by healers who could do nothing, but he'd heard nothing since. Price thought that Voldemort had died soon after the explosion. He asked, "Do you know who were the healers?"

"They would have been obliviated afterwards. The Dark Lord had no healers loyal to him. I do not know their names."

McKenzie went through everything again, noting it down carefully, before dismissing the man, not giving any undertaking with respect to the reward.

He consulted Scrimgeour then, and explained, "Just a few days after school finished for the year. The boy was just fourteen, and was picked up in a Muggle area, quite by accident. Price said that to begin with, they were not even sure it was actually him, in spite of the scar. They found it hard to believe that he was alone and unprotected, you see, not after they'd tried three times to take him at school."

"Maybe he was afraid he'd be arrested."

McKenzie grinned, "We might have had to reprimand him for using magic while underage!"

"So what now?"

"Harry said he died in early February this year. Price said he thought he probably died only weeks after being injured. I've had three others maintain that he almost certainly died in or after that explosion."

"If only we could find Pettigrew!"

They hadn't spoken to Harry yet about that explosion, and when they did, he was with Andre, as well as with George Abercrombie and Hugo Delaraine, their solicitors. Harry and Andre had already been warned about the subject, and assured that if Harry had acted in self-defence, then he had committed no crime. The interview was still an ordeal for Harry. The memory of fighting desperately against the administration of a potion that was effectively death, and then the ghastliness of burned and bleeding bodies surrounding him.

He gave a full statement, speaking in a low but clear voice, while he thought longingly of vanishing, never to face a wizard again. He couldn't have done it if not for Andre, there beside him, and there in his mind, with comfort, support and love.

Afterwards, Scrimgeour said in a stern tone, "You should have told us at the time, Mr. Potter. But I understand why you didn't, and there will be no charges laid. Now that you are Bonded, I expect Mssr. Melenchon to ensure that such vital information is not withheld."

Andre felt Harry's flash of pure temper, and sent a calming thought. He didn't quite understand why Scrimgeour had been so tactless. He was a clever man, and Harry was an extremely powerful wizard. To remind him that he was legally a minor for all of his life, was not a good idea.

McKenzie was also puzzled at Scrimgeour's lack of judgement, but changed the subject to Dementors, and with a probing look, he asked, "Do you have any idea if they might be returning, Harry?"

Harry said stonily, "I have no idea."

Andre said, "Harry, maybe you could use your Hecatemus powers to sense whether there are any left in Britain," and added, You could say that you can't sense them. That wouldn't hurt.

Harry said, "Why don't you ask another Hecatema, Mr. McKenzie? I know there are others."

"None in Britain, and since we have you…."

Harry stood, "You don't have me. I'm fed up with this country, and now you know he's dead, we'll be leaving."

For the first time, Andre was truly annoyed with Harry. They were nearly there. Soon they'd be told they could leave in any case, and Harry had just alienated two men who had a lot of power.

Scrimgeour said, in an amused tone, "Well, Mssr. Melenchon, I hope you're looking forward to losing your leg!"

Andre declared, "I have every confidence that Voldemort is dead. Harry says so, and he knows. My leg is safe, and if he wants to leave now, rather than waiting a few more weeks, than we will."

Harry smiled at him, We don't have to really, but thanks.

Andre asked, coldly polite, "Have you finished your questions, Mr. Scrimgeour?"

Scrimgeour nodded, "We have. Thank you for your cooperation."

Only when they Harry and Andre were gone, did Scringeour grin at McKenzie, "I must tell Alexander he's lucky he didn't win him. I don't think he would have been able to cope."

"Why did you anger him?"

"I wanted to see how he'd react. Dumbledore told me that unless Melenchon has full control, then Harry is too dangerous to allow to live."

McKenzie said, "It just shows that Dumbledore was an evil old man. Harry's a courageous boy, who defeated an extremely powerful wizard, at the age of just fourteen. When he told us, - he didn't say it exactly, but you could see when he spoke of it. He was sickened by the destruction, traumatised, maybe as much by what he'd done as by what they'd tried to do to him." He shook his head, and smiled slightly, "That one will never become a killer."

"Just as well for us."

"Hecatemae always are peaceful. It's a part of the lore, like the sexuality."

"Do you think…."

McKenzie grinned, "Neither of them are telling."

"So he defeated the Dark Lord when he was just fourteen. Just a child, and one who'd been abused. I really don't know how Dumbledore thought that organising to have him abused would help him become a warrior."

"To toughen him up maybe?"

Scrimgeour said, in a tone of irony, "For the greater good, no doubt!"

That saying was spreading, used whenever anyone needed an excuse for a wrongdoing. The last time that McKenzie had heard it used, it was by his young nephew, who'd been caught using his father's wand to try and disable the safety charms on his toy broom so he could fly higher.

***chapter end***