A Butterfly Effect Ch 23: By the Light of the Looking Glass, a harry potter fanfic

And we're back. I apologize for the ridiculous wait. Life got in the way, so thanks for sticking with me. An extra special thanks to my readers that are publicizing the story on other websites. I didn't expect that and I was pleasantly surprised.

On an unrelated note, from this chapter onward, all unsigned reviews will receive some form of reply on the newly created A.B.E. Unsigned Reviews Answer Forum. Link in profile.

Several new PoVs in this chapter. They're quite important too, despite coming from minor characters.

Enjoy.

Chapter 23: By the Light of the Looking Glass

Twinkle twinkle, little bat.

How I wonder what you're at?

0000

"Neville, where are you, dear? We have guests!"

Neville, who was deeply concentrating upon pruning his latest breed of cactuses, jumped at the sound of his Great Aunt's voice. The slippage of his normally steady hand caused him to accidentally snip a flowering bud from the plant upon which he was working. The little blue-eyed cactus looked up at him tearfully and even though it couldn't speak, Neville could tell that it felt utterly betrayed.

"Bugger… Sorry about that. But don't worry, it'll grow back. I'm in the greenhouse, Auntie Enid!"

To Neville's surprise, the glass door across the room swung open to reveal not only the hunched figure of his Gran's elder sister with whom he was spending the summer, but also a familiar pair of beautiful, caramel-skinned twins that, to his recollection, hadn't set foot in this house for the better part of eight years.

Neville dropped his shears and stood, clumsily knocking over the bench in his haste to do so.

"Padma? P-Parvati? What are you two doing here? I-I mean, n-not that you can't be here… I was just… I just meant that-"

"Our parents are leaving for India to visit relatives," interrupted Parvati helpfully. "Sadly, we can't go with them. We've far too much summer homework to get done. Enid and Algie have offered to let us stay here until they get back."

"Oh… Oh right. That's… That's excellent."

Padma, whose face bore the opposite expression from her sister's excited one, mumbled incoherently under her breath. This in turn earned her a sharp elbow in the ribs from Parvati that Neville politely pretended not to notice.

"You don't mind, do you, Neville?" asked the Gryffindor girl pleasantly. "We won't get in your way?"

"Erm… no, of course not," said Neville. "I-I'm a guest too."

"Wonderful," chimed his Great Aunt. "Come along then, girls. Let's get you settled in. Neville, dear, we'll be having tea in half an hour. Do clean yourself up beforehand."

Parvati flashed him a brilliantly white smile as she was herded out of the room and Neville felt his cheeks burn furiously.

Long after they had gone, he finally managed to unlock his trembling knees and sink back down onto the bench. It was ludicrous to think, even for a second, that one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts, one who was widely held to be even prettier than Harry, would ever be interested in him.

It took Neville several moments of gazing at nothing in particular to notice that every single one of his cactuses, even the one he had unintentionally snipped, was staring at him coyly.

"She's just… being friendly," he mumbled to them. "Nothing more."

The little plants began to waggle the tiny green bumps that he supposed served as their eyebrows.

"Oh shut it," said Neville, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I actually miss living with Gran."

After showering and changing into some of his nicer clothes that weren't stained by mud, grass, or a variety of plant fluids, it was nearly time for tea, which, in fear of facing his Great Aunt's wrath, Neville never dared to miss. However, just as he was about to make his way downstairs, he heard a door on the third floor slam shut.

The sound of two nearly-identical voices drifted down through the open window.

"This is the worst, Vati! I don't want to stay here!"

"Deal with it. Mum said-"

"Don't you give me that bollocks! We could have finished our work just as easily overseas! I know you begged her to let you stay behind!"

Neville frowned guiltily. Given the volume of the heated conversation, he really couldn't avoid listening in. Uncle Algie, who held an intense passion for gossiping, often took down the bedroom privacy charms whenever relatives came to visit. Padma and Parvati were clearly unaware that their argument would be heard loud and clear by every pair of ears in the house.

"Oh Merlin, so what if I did? Why aren't you thanking me, Padma? You were the one who said that you didn't want to stay with Uncle Bashir for a whole summer."

"Yes, but I'd much rather be living there than living here!"

"You'll offend Nani Lakshmi if you refuse to eat her cooking again. You know your stomach can't handle chili. Why on earth would you want to go through that?"

"Well, maybe it's because I don't like Neville! In fact, I hate him! My ideal destination is anywhere he isn't!"

"You… You hate him? Why? What has he ever done to offend you?"

"Oh let's see, for starters, he's a brainless idiot!"

"You don't even know him anymore, Padma! He saved Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger from Devil's Snare! They would have died in our first year if it wasn't for Neville! He's… He's a hero!"

Neville swelled with pride as Parvati came to his defense, highlighting the one moment in his life in which he had felt himself worthy to be the son of Auror Captains Frank and Alice Longbottom.

The wind in his sails immediately died, however, when he heard the Ravenclaw say harshly, "Pure luck! He's denser than a stack of bricks! And… And he's… fat!"

"What? Have you gone and turned into one of Cho's shallow minions without telling me? Besides, that was baby weight! He's almost lost it all! Neville is… sweet and… and kind… and I like him. I've always liked him. You know I have."

"Fine! Fine! Go be with him then! It's always about Parvati! Parvati this! Parvati that! Parvati always gets what she wants… even if it already belongs to Padma!"

The girl's final syllable rang dully in Neville's ears.

"Are… Are you seriously… Is that what this… You're actually angry with Neville about… about the birthday party? That was EIGHT years ago!"

"He was MY friend! But… But all he could talk about was you after… after you stole him!"

"And how exactly did I steal him?"

"HOW DO YOU THINK?"

"EXCUSE ME? YOU TOLD ME TO DO THAT! I PRETENDED TO BE YOU BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO SHY! IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT HE REALIZED IT WAS ME!"

Neville had heard quite enough. He was positive that should his blush get any more intense, his cheeks would be in danger of exploding. He needed to get away; needed to find a place to lay low; somewhere his relatives wouldn't come looking.

Luckily, he knew just the spot.

Grabbing his wand and slipping it into his back pocket, Neville dashed out of the room, took the stairs three at a time, and burst through the front door, deliberately ignoring his Great Aunt's squawks of protest from the parlor.

To his absolute horror, as he pounded down the sidewalk towards the large manor at the end of road, he could still hear the shouting match taking place between the twins. Several of the neighbors were sticking their heads out of windows to listen to the commotion. Fortunately, as soon as he stepped onto the manor's large stone veranda, the sound immediately died.

Neatening himself up as best he could, he pulled the small rope fixed against the frame of the mansion's massive door.

A series of haunting bells chimed dolefully within the depths of the house… yet no one answered.

After a full minute's wait, Neville rang again.

Still there was no answer.

Assuming no one was home, he turned to leave, feeling slightly dejected that he would have to return so soon to his overly attentive Great-Aunt, his inconveniently eccentric Great-Uncle, and his two childhood friends whose ridiculously good-looks made his head spin.

But then… there was a soft click.

Neville spun and perked up as the door slowly cracked open.

Through the gap, an enormous, watery-brown eye was gazing up at him inquisitively.

"Yes?" squeaked a small voice. "H-How may Winky be helping you, sir?"

"Hello, Winky," said Neville kindly. "Do you remember me? Two years ago, my Gran and I came to visit Mr. Crouch. I was wondering if he might-"

"Winky!" someone hissed from inside the house. "What have I told you about answering the door? You are to be watching him at all times! What if he were to-"

The door was abruptly slammed in Neville's face. He heard a great amount of muffled shouting, followed by a squeal and several small bangs, before the door opened once more, this time by the imposing figure of Bartemius Crouch, who looked terribly official wearing his impeccable business suit, despite it being a Saturday.

"G-Good morning, Mr. Crouch. You might not remember me, but I'm Neville Longbottom."

The man's hollow gaze quickly swept over him. "Longbottom… Longbottom… yes… yes we've met. You're Augusta's grandson?"

Neville nodded rapidly. "Y-Yes, sir. Two years ago, when we came to visit, I told you I was interested in Herbology and you asked me if I'd like to look after your wife's garden. I… I'm staying at my relative's house… just down the road there… and I was hoping you'd let me take you up on the offer."

Mr. Crouch's eyes darted up and down the street, before refocusing on Neville. "Ah… Yes… of course, boy; anything for a relative of Augusta. I ask, however, that you not enter the house, as I'm quite busy and don't have the time to entertain guests. Everything you'll need is in the shed. Good day."

"Oh… right. Good day to you as well, sir… and thank y-"

The door swung shut before he could finish.

Albeit being somewhat wild and overgrown, the garden of the late Mrs. Crouch was still one of the most magnificent and intimidating sights that Neville had ever seen. Stretched out before him were acres and acres of exotic trees and magical plants, lined by a towering hedge of white roses that sparkled brilliantly in the bright sunlight.

He knew at first glance that it would take weeks to tame, which was a perfect excuse to not spend time at his temporary place of residence.

Alright. Let's get to it.

Seven hours of tedious weeding later, Neville noticed that the sun had started to sink below the horizon. Not wanting to traipse about a magical garden in the dark, he returned his tools to the shed and made his way back to the house.

After a hearty apology to Enid for skipping both tea AND supper, Neville climbed the steps to his room and collapsed on the bed, only just now beginning to feel the aches and pains of his exhausting work.

"Knock Knock," whispered a melodic voice to his left. "Can I come in?"

Neville sat up so quickly, his forward momentum almost threw him from the mattress.

Parvati was standing in the doorway, wearing a long, mustard-yellow nightgown that thankfully left quite a bit to the imagination.

"S-Sure," stuttered Neville bashfully. "I wouldn't get too close though. A bubotuber sprayed pus all over my shirt."

"I can tell," said Parvati, waving her hand in front of her nose. "I don't mind though… not really."

Neville nodded appreciatively, but fell silent. He was unsure of what he was supposed to say to a girl who he now knew secretly liked him.

Parvati sighed and sauntered forward to sit next to him on the bed. "Neville… you really don't have to be shy around me. I know that we… I know that we don't talk much at school, but we've known each for a very long time."

"Er… yeah," said Neville guardedly. "I… I s'pose you're right. S-Sorry."

Parvati smiled softly at him, brushing her long brown hair back behind her ear. "Although… I do understand why you're nervous… having heard what you did."

Neville blanched and leapt up. "I… I didn't mean to listen, Parvati! I swear! The charms, they-"

Parvati grabbed his hand and he lost his train of thought as she gently pulled him back down to the mattress.

"It's alright. Enid told me that the whole neighborhood probably heard us. I admit, I didn't want you to find out that way, but it was our own fault for assuming this house was just like our own."

Neville opened his mouth to apologize regardless, but a slim, tanned finger pressed itself against his lips, silencing him.

Brown eyes sparkling, Parvati scooted closer and cupped his cheek. "And now that you know… I'm really happy that you do. I don't think that I ever would have been able to tell you face-to-face. I'm not as brave as I'd like to be. Not like you."

Neville shivered as her fingernails raked soothingly back and forth across his skin. "I'm not brave at all. I'm scared of… well… everything."

"But that's not what brave is," she muttered gently, pressing her chest into his side. "Brave is facing your fear, even when you're afraid. Brave is leaping blindly into a pit to save your friends. Brave is… Brave is leaning in to kiss the boy you like, even if you still don't know how he feels about you…"

When Parvati's full, luscious lips brushed against his jaw bone, Neville tried to make his body pull away, but the heady aroma of her cinnamon-scented hair made him feel as sluggish and unresponsive as a flobberworm.

"P-Parvati, I-"

The Indian girl moaned and once again covered his mouth with her hand. "Please don't say anything just yet. Don't do anything. Just… think about it."

Without another word, she got up and quickly left the room, only pausing to smile at him as she shut the door behind her.

As Neville changed for bed that night, his mind began to wander to places it had never dared venture before. He couldn't help but imagine that it was Parvati's fingers fumbling with his buttons, rather than his own. He couldn't help but imagine that it was Parvati's hands sliding against his waistline as he removed his belt. He couldn't help but imagine that it was Parvati who was slipping his wand out of his jeans…

Neville was wrenched violently from his fantasy, a flood of fear and anxiety seeping steadily into his heart as his fingers dug through his back pocket.

His wand…

It was… gone.

After tearing the room apart in a fruitless search for his most precious possession, Neville shrugged on his clothes, grabbed a lantern, and dashed out of the house. He retraced his every step, all the way back to Mr. Crouch's front door.

The wand was nowhere to be seen.

Frantic now, Neville pulled on the rope connected to the doorframe, hoping against hope that someone in the house had perhaps stumbled upon the small shaft of polished ash.

The bell tolled once…

Twice…

Thrice…

And on that third ominous chime, he heard a bloodcurdling cry that cut through the night's silence like a gunshot.

"MORRRRSEMORRRRRDRE!"

The dreaded apparition he had only ever heard mentioned in whispers burst into the sky above his head, bathing the entire street in an eerie green light.

Neville barely had time to gasp before he was blown backwards with the force of a cannon. He landed hard and tumbled for what felt like a good thirty yards. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of his bones crunching as he skidded to a halt on the pavement.

Through heavy-lidded eyes and mountains of pain, Neville watched Crouch Manor burn; watched the towering pillar of fire blaze high above the trees, its flame dancing in the gap between the snake-tongued skull and the waning gibbous moon.

Something hot and wet dripped down the side of his face, dribbling onto his lips. The bitter taste of copper was unmistakable.

When the world around him finally… blissfully… slipped away, the only thought running through his mind was that should he live to see another day, Gran was surely going to kill him twice-over for losing his father's wand.

0000

Dudley gazed blankly at the long row of identical houses stretched out in front of him.

The town of Little Whinging never changed. All his life, it had personified the perfect paradigm of suburbia: it was quiet, it was peaceful, and its properties were painfully well kept. In other words… it was perfectly dull. Change, in fact, was a rather unwelcome guest for those who enjoyed its dullness.

Thus, when a convertible carrying a gaggle of rambunctious girls screamed down the length of Privet Drive, the four rebellious boys lounging on the curb at Dudley's side responded naturally. Their flurry of lewd, excited cat-calls would have made even the most hardened of sailors cringe.

Dudley couldn't bring himself to mimic them. He didn't want to be left out, but he rather doubted his cat-calls would sound convincing when the only girl he could think about was…

To prevent his friends from calling him a poof, Dudley wiped the sweat from his brow, smeared a fake grin across his face, and busied himself with lighting his illegally-obtained cigarette. After a few unsuccessful strikes on his childproof lighter, the paper tip burst into flame. He took several long drags, letting the heat seep into his chest before exhaling. With every breath, her smiling visage slowly faded from his mind's eye.

Dudley hadn't been the first of the boys from Smeltings to take up smoking. That particular achievement belonged to Piers, who was currently making his way through his third pack of the week. The skinny blonde had become somewhat unhinged over the past year. Apparently, after having nightmares about being attacked by giant hounds that could transform into feral, skeletal madmen, the only thing that could calm him down was the gentle sear of smoke in his lungs.

Being Piers' only real friend, Dudley had felt obliged to accompany the boy on his many smoke breaks and eventually, he had gotten hooked as well. Even though he was quite sure his parents wouldn't approve, he didn't really see it as a bad habit. The biggest match of his boxing season was a mere three days away and the little rolls of burning tobacco did wonders for his pre-fight nerves. And of course… seeing how the first two weeks home from school had been anything but calm, he definitely needed something to help keep his head on straight.

/FLASHBACK/

THUMP

Dudley opened a bleary eyelid.

The clock on his bedside table read four in the morning.

THUMP

Ever since that 'Bumblybore' bloke had gone and magicked their house, Dudley hadn't been able to hear a single peep from Harry's room. Why she was suddenly making such a tumultuous racket eluded him.

THUMP

With a tired groan, he pounded on the bedroom wall. "Shut it, you mad bint! I've got training tomorrow! Don't make me come in there and put you to sleep!"

"That's the spirit, son!" echoed his father from across the house. "We'll show those people what's what! Do you hear that, Potter? We've been coerced into tolerating your unnaturalness, but under no circumstances will we have you keeping us up at night!"

Even though they all knew that there was no way to force an entry into his cousin's den of freakishness, the noise mercifully stopped.

Dudley was on the verge of entering a very pleasant dream involving a pair of busty, French maids, when the thumping started once more, albeit at a much lower volume. Growling bitterly, he pulled a pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise.

After the old man had forced them to experience Harry's life from her point of view, Dudley had gone out of his way to avoid her. Now she could do whatever she liked in her little fortress without fear of punishment. It was highly unfair.

THUMP

We give you plenty of space to be a freak and this is how you repay us? Dad was right. Give you an inch and you take a mile!

THUMP

Dudley realized with an angry jolt that perhaps Harry was thinking isolation wasn't full reparation for her 'mistreatment.'

THUMP

She was probably thinking that by keeping him awake and sabotaging his chances in the tournament, she could get some real payback!

THUMP

Well, we'll just see about that!

Preparing himself to dole out some of Piers' trademarked, verbal abuse, Dudley clambered out of bed and stalked to the door. However, as soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, a rather curious thought occurred to him. The thumps sounded like they were directly on the other side of his wall, and yet between his and Harry's bedrooms…

Grabbing his Smelting stick off the dresser, Dudley quietly crept from room and onto the landing. He reached out, fingers fumbling for the light switch.

He was not at all pleased to find that his theory was correct. The thumping wasn't emanating from Harry's room at all.

It was coming from inside the hallway closet.

Raising his knobby cane high above his head, his hands trembling yet ready to swing, Dudley grasped the closet's handle... and tugged.

Light spilled inward… and his jaw fell slack.

Inside the small, cluttered space, her ear pressed firmly against the unpainted drywall, was a girl; a rather attractive girl; a rather attractive, rather naked girl.

Her shockingly wide, misty-blue eyes remained fixed upon the wall as she held up a hand to stop him from approaching. "Don't come any closer please. They won't appear if they sense a man in the vicinity."

Dudley stood rooted to the spot, a large portion of his blood rushing southward while his gaze swept over her light blonde hair and willowy body. Even though he had seen his fair share of naked women in Gordon's enormous collection of dirty magazines, encountering a nude girl in the flesh still managed to send him reeling.

Eventually, he was able to compose himself enough to lamely stutter the one and only thought that was coursing through his mind.

"Y-You're not w-wearing any clothes."

"Oh… yes," agreed the girl, seemingly unconcerned by her state of undress. "One must exude a feminine presence when hunting for Fogglewumps. It's a necessity, you see. If I were searching for Mogglewumps, I would be at quite the disadvantage, for they require a male presence."

Dudley openly gaped at the blonde while she thumped her fist against the wall in various places, muttering to herself.

"Daddy always had to find the Mogglewumps. Oh dear… I do miss him. We used to hunt for Ogglewumps together quite often. It's not really the same without him… hmmm."

Dudley didn't process a word of what she had just said. His attention was focused firmly on her chest.

"Unfortunately, it seems like this particular closet is devoid of an Ogglewump population… which I find exceedingly odd. They always appear on the seventh of every month in non-magical dwellings. Perhaps they don't like it here?"

Dudley's eyes snapped upwards as her dreamy gaze swiveled towards him. "Erm… Erm… yeah… they probably don't."

"Well… while I would like to continue my search, if there are any Fogglewumps, you've likely scared them off. Also, I'm quite tired. Travelling by way of the Night Bus is somewhat exhausting. Did you know that the Night Bus is suspected of transporting Stubby Boardman? I was rather shocked when I heard the news."

"S-Stubby… what? Who are you?"

"I'm Luna," said the girl, completely unabashed. "Given your age and rotund shape, I can only assume you must be Harry's cousin Dudley. It's very nice to meet you. You don't seem quite as horrible as she described."

"Oh… erm… thanks?"

"Well, have a pleasant sleep, Dudley. Do watch out for Nargles."

The naked blonde brushed past him, opened Harry's door without experiencing the painful shock that zapped one's hand whenever they tried to enter, and casually strode inside.

/END/

By the time he had fallen asleep that night, Dudley had convinced himself that the girl had been a dream. Thus, when she walked into the kitchen behind Harry the following morning, he had nearly choked to death on his bacon.

Harry had explained that Luna, a witch like herself, would be staying in her room for as long as necessary; explained that this was a command straight from the Headmaster of their freaky school and could not be contested.

Amidst the rabid explosion of arguing that broke out between his parents and cousin, the blonde had smiled at him.

No girl had ever smiled at him before.

And so, the most nerve-wracking two weeks of Dudley's life began. Even though Luna was one of the freaks, she was constantly on his mind. Her eyes, her voice, her smile, her body, her pale skin; he couldn't get her out of his head and it was driving him mad.

"I'm bored," he grunted to Piers, stamping out his fag. "I don't want to sit here all summer. Let's bloody do something."

"I saw a couple of skirts out on the playground," grunted Gordon. "Thought I might have a go at chatting them up. Want to be my wingman, Dud?"

"Why even try?" drawled Piers, puffing on a freshly lit smoke. "The only action a plug-ugly dizzy-queen like you will ever get is from Pam and her five sisters."

Gordon, who was rather unfortunate looking, flipped Piers a two-finger salute as he stood and walked off. "Fuck you too, Polkiss. I'm doing it. Later, mates."

"I'm going with him," squeaked Dennis, hurrying after the taller boy. "Don't want to stay behind with the poofs."

When the two rounded the corner at the end of the street, Malcolm smirked and asked, "Five pounds they each get a knee in the knob?"

Snickering, Piers shook his head. "No use betting against a certainty. Come on, let's go after them. I want to watch this travesty."

Taking care not to alert the pair ahead of them to the fact that they were being followed, they slowly made their way down the street. Upon arrival at the path which led to the distant playground, Piers pressed himself up against the wall of a nearby house and peeked around the corner.

"Ha! They're really doing it! There's a blonde girl… but I don't see any others. Well, she's alright, but not really my cup of tea."

A blonde… two girls…

Dudley's heart fell out of his chest. He muscled Piers out of the way and took the spot on the corner, hoping to God it wasn't her.

It was.

She was regarding the two boys with mild curiosity as they attempted to flirt with her.

So… So… does that mean the other girl is…

As Dudley thought it, a head of black hair appeared at the top of the slide.

Oh shite.

0000

Trying his best to look inconspicuous whilst carrying the contents of his recently emptied desk, Percy kept his head down as he trudged out of the offices of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

Despite the Ministry's rather desperate attempt to keep the situation under wraps this past month, the news that Peter Pettigrew had been discovered and captured alive alongside the murderous Fenrir Greyback had managed to find its way into the headlines of this morning's Daily Prophet. Needless to say, Minister Fudge had thrown the building into an uproar.

Percy's father was waiting for him at the lifts. Tucked beneath his arm was a box full of family pictures, quills, and several misused, muggle gadgets.

"All set?"

Percy nodded dejectedly and pushed past him into the crowded, golden elevator.

Had he not just been fired after a mere two weeks on the job, he imagined the ride up to the atrium would have been somewhat amusing. The rushed effort to erase any paper trails of potential corruption within the varied departments was considerably less than covert. On every floor, the grate had slid open, bombarding the occupants of the lift with torrents of interdepartmental memos. Through the downpour of fluttering paper, he could see his former coworkers rushing about, shouting frantically at one another whilst vanishing large quantities of important looking documents.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and a soothing, female voice echoed, "Level Eight: The Atrium of Arrivals and Departures, incorporating the offices of Magical Maintenance, Visitor Registration, and the Floo Network."

While shoving his way out of the lift, Percy accidentally knocked one of Fudge's personal aides to the ground, but seeing as he had lost a great deal of respect for the age-old institution that was the Ministry of Magic, he didn't bother excusing himself.

His father patted him on the shoulder as they approached the designated disapparation area. "Don't worry, son. This isn't the end of your Ministry career. No matter what the verdict of the upcoming trials may be, I'm quite sure that Cornelius' name won't be on next year's election ticket. Kingsley gave me his word that he would do everything in his power to get us our jobs back once the smoke has cleared."

Percy laughed dryly and stepped onto the glowing platform. "And what will we be doing for money until then, Father? Will we live off Bill's and Charlie's savings? Will we live off Ron's meager reward money for catching Greyback?"

His father's expression turned stony. "We'll manage, Percy. We always manage."

"I'm afraid you're deluding yourself. I'm going to Penelope's. I'll be in touch."

"Percy… wait a mome-"

His father's protest was still ringing in his ears as he apparated into the small flat that his longtime girlfriend had purchased just days after their graduation.

Percy desperately needed a drink. With a tired grunt of "Penny?" he collapsed into the sofa and reached for the bottle of Tokay. "Are you home?"

As he hadn't been expecting any sort of reply, the familiar, feminine scream that answered made his blood run cold. A thousand different scenarios, each more awful than the next, rushed through his mind.

Burglars...

Murderers...

Death Eaters...

Leaping to his feet, Percy broke into a run and burst into the kitchen with his wand drawn.

Even though he had prepared himself for the worst, what he saw in that drably-lit room still managed to break his already weakened heart.

Penelope Clearwater was bent over the table, white knickers around her ankles as a half-naked Marcus Flint pounded into her from behind. She was grunting and moaning passionately; far more passionately then he had ever heard her whilst they had been together. The look of ecstasy on her face made him want to vomit.

Neither Penny nor Marcus had noticed his rather loud arrival, which suggested to Percy that this horrifying exercise in copulation was consensual. However, not wanting to risk it, he raised his wand and fired a stunner right into the side of Flint's head.

Penny shrieked and whirled around as her companion was blown halfway across the room.

The surprise and guilt that flashed across her face when their eyes met confirmed Percy's suspicions. This had been her choice.

Not having the slightest desire to start a relationship-ending confrontation today, he disapparated on the spot and retreated to the only place he could really find peace.

The sound of the tinkling bell that sat above the entrance to Flourish and Blotts set his mind at ease. The shopkeeper, Bert, with whom he got on rather well, sent Percy a small wave of greeting before turning his attention back to the bossy-looking witch that was waving a book in his face.

Unwilling to let himself brood over the vivid mental images of Penelope's infidelity, Percy quickly made his way to the reclusive reading area at the back of the shop, pulling random books from the shelves as he went. He plopped down in a small armchair and opened the book on the top of his pile; a thick, red tome entitled Terror's of the Middle Age.

A mind-numbingly dense account of the slew of short-lived dark wizards and witches that gained power after Slytherin's fall was a perfect escape from reality. It was just what he needed.

Percy lazily flipped through jumbles of pages until a rather odd image caught his eye. A wizard, Emeric the Evil according to a small caption, was standing at the base of a stone altar. It was covered in runes that had obviously been painted in blood. Percy remembered from History of Magic that Emeric, a suspected owner of the Elder Wand, was really only famous for his dastardly experiments with time travel in southern England. He had never heard of the man becoming involved with blood magic rituals.

Intrigued, he turned to the next page.

Percy gagged and quickly shut the book, tossing it aside.

"Bit squeamish, are you?" asked a distinctly female voice from behind him. "Me too. I nearly vomited when I saw a jar full of newt eyes in the shop next door."

Percy turned in his chair to kindly point out to whoever had so rudely been reading over his shoulder that he wasn't squeamish at all. No one in their right mind would enjoy seeing illustrations of children having their hearts cut out.

He wasn't at all prepared, however, to find an enormous pair of brown eyes mere inches away from his face.

"Hi there."

Percy jumped away from the sweet-smelling girl that was invading his personal space. "Erm… hello…"

Pushing her large, red glasses up the bridge of her softly-pointed nose, the girl stood up, allowing him to see her in full. She was tall, relatively thin, had long, mousy-brown hair, and looked to be roughly his age, despite having a childish grin plastered across her face. By any normal standard, she could have been considered plain were it not for her large eyes, the likes of which he had never seen before. Her stunning gaze radiated a wealth of intelligence and self-confidence.

The girl held out her hand, which he tentatively shook.

"I do apologize for interrupting you. It's just… I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a pickle. You see, I was separated from my younger brothers at the robe shop and now I can't find them anywhere. I'm not quite accustomed to the magical world… and you look like a nice, normal bloke… so I… well, I thought I might ask you for help."

Percy arched an eyebrow as a faint blush rose to the girl's cheeks. "Well… I've nothing to do at the moment. I suppose I can be of service. A muggle, are you?"

"A what?"

Percy stood and led her towards the front of the store. "Ah… forgive me. It does sound a bit crude to the ear. 'Muggle' is our term for non-magical human."

"Oh… yes… that does fit the bill then. Both of my brothers are going to be attending Hogwarts this year. Quite the shock when Colin got his letter… and now Dennis too. To be honest, I feel a bit left out. This magic business is utterly fascinating. Without the aid of modern technology, wizards manage to solve the same everyday problems that normal folk encounter. It's amazing."

"Well, the same can be said for us, you know. We find it extraordinary that muggles get by so well without magic. My father is particularly astounded by your wide variety of electronic gadgets. He actually collects batteries."

"Oh my… he sounds amusing. I think I'd like to meet him."

"I'd advise you to be careful what you wish for. Father can be quite… avid."

The sound of the girl's laugh blended seamlessly with the little bell that bid them farewell as they left the bookshop.

"I'm Percy, by the way. Percival Weasley."

"Audrey Creevey," she replied, smiling warmly at him. "Very pleased to meet you, Percy."

"Likewise. Creevey you say? I was the Head Boy at Hogwarts this previous year and I believe I'm familiar with your brother. When unsupervised, unfortunate injuries befell the boy everywhere he went."

"Yes… that's definitely Colin."

Percy nodded. "Well then… it would be most prudent to find him before anything unseemly happens. Shall we?"

Once again blatantly ignoring the basic concepts of personal space, Audrey reached out, grasped his hand, and entwined their fingers. "Let's go."

As the confident young woman hauled him down the cobbled street, Percy found himself feeling surprisingly at ease; which was quite remarkable considering he had lost both his job and his girlfriend in the span of a few hours.

Seeing as it was early summer and only a handful of Hogwarts students would have received their letters, Diagon Alley was almost completely bereft of shoppers. Although it shouldn't have been too difficult to find Colin and the youngest Creevey, who, from Audrey's description, looked exactly like his older brother, it was almost as if the two boys had disappeared. None of the shopkeepers had seen either of them without Audrey in their company.

After searching the entire alley with no luck, his brown-haired companion collapsed on a nearby bench with a decidedly miserable groan. "All I had to do was take the boys shopping… and now I've gone and lost them! Mum's always going on about how useless I am. I try so hard to prove her wrong, but everything I do tends to blow up in my face. School, jobs, boys… nothing ever works out."

Percy shuffled his feet awkwardly. He wasn't very talented when it came to consoling people… and consoling a muggle girl he barely knew was something he simply wasn't capable of.

The girl sighed and patted the bench. "Sorry… I'm rambling. Sit with me, will you?"

Somewhat nervous, he obliged, trying and failing to act casual when she scooted closer to him.

"I really appreciate your help, Percy. You're very sweet to waste so much time on me."

The words rolled from his tongue before he could even process them.

"It wasn't a waste of time."

Audrey blushed and looked away. "There's no need to make me feel better. I pulled you away from your reading, after all."

"Oh… erm… it wasn't anything important. I tend to find solace in dense books whenever I'm trying to get away from my problems."

The girl smiled softly and placed a sympathetic hand on his knee. "It's comforting to know that even the attractive, straight-laced blokes haven't got everything together."

It was his turn to blush and look away.

"So what do you do, Percy?" asked Audrey, quickly breaking the awkward silence. "If I were to guess, I'd peg you for a law student. You've got a look about you that simply screams, 'I'm a solicitor!' Do wizards have lawyers?"

"Erm… no, not really. We have courts and a law department… but they're nothing at all like the muggle systems. I do work for the Government though. Well, I did work for them. Not anymore. My father and I… My father and I were both sacked this morning."

Audrey gasped. "Both of you? Why?"

"Retribution, I suppose," said Percy lightly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Maybe a touch of blackmail too. I must admit… until now, I've always thought highly of our Minister. You see, we were terminated for our 'poor work ethic,' but that's utter rubbish. My father holds his department together and I had only just started at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Poor work ethic my foot."

"Well… what really happened?"

Percy raked his fingers through his hair. "My younger siblings both refused to turn down the positions of key witnesses in one of the most important trials of the century; a trial that will cast the Minister in a very poor light if Sirius Black's name is cleared."

Audrey clutched his arm. "Sirius Black? The mass-murder? He was all over the news last summer! Are you telling me that he's a wizard?"

He opened his mouth to say that Black was indeed a wizard, as well as an innocent man, when a high-pitched scream ripped through the air, interrupting him.

Audrey looked wildly around, terror-stricken, but Percy waved her off. The scream had come from the alleyway next to Gringotts, to which they were sitting quite close.

"Don't worry. The shops down Knockturn Alley sell all sorts of screaming merchandise. Distasteful products, but all of them are unfortunately legal."

The girl shook her head frantically. "No! No, you don't understand! That… THAT WAS DENNIS!"

"What?"

Clapping her hands over her mouth, Audrey whispered though her fingers, "C-Colin said he wanted to explore Knockturn Alley as we were driving to London! I didn't bother to ask what it was and… and I completely forgot! Oh God! I've got to-"

Percy jumped up and stepped in front of her as she tried to make a dash for the gate. "No! I will go, not you!"

"B-But… no!"

"Yes! You're staying here and you will not, under any circumstances, go down that alleyway! Do you understand me, Miss Creevey?"

"I can't just sit by and do nothing!"

He whipped out his wand and lit the tip with a flick of his wrist. "Knockturn Alley is filled to the brim with wards and traps that specifically target unsuspecting Muggles. You'll be in far more danger than either of your brothers if you come with me. I'm begging you… Audrey, stay here.

The girl searched his face, a glint of desperation in her beautiful, brown eyes. "Can... Can you promise me you'll find them?"

"I promise," said Percy tersely. "I'll find them."

She caught his sleeve as he made to go.

"Listen... I know we've only just met, but… please… bring them back to me."

"Don't worry. I will."

The girl bit her lip, but nodded and released him.

As Percy stalked down the narrow street wand ablaze, whispered jeers of 'Blood-traitor!' and 'Muggle-lover!' echoed in his wake. He paid them no mind. He doubted that any of Knockturn Alley's shady denizens would be brave enough to send a curse at him in the middle of the day. And even if they did attack, it was very unlikely that they would last long against him in a fight. Percy was a Hogwarts Head Boy and these miscreants were the dregs of the wizarding world; the bottom-feeders that lurked in the shadows. Unless they were looking to shop, competent dark wizards wouldn't be found lingering in these streets, seeing as Aurors regularly popped in on patrol.

He crossed beneath a trellis and another scream echoed over the tightly-knit rooftops. It was coming from just ahead.

Percy darted forward, ducked into a pitch-black side alley and, to his surprise and horror, came face to face with the ugliest hag he had ever seen. Trapped in its tight embrace, his mouth smothered by a warty, boil-covered hand, was a small, struggling boy. He looked remarkably like Colin Creevey.

Ceasing its efforts to gnaw the flesh from Dennis' bloodied fingers as the light from Percy's wand flooded into the alley, the hag hissed, "Go away! This is my snack! Find your own!"

Percy leveled his wand at the crone. "Although hags may be classified as 'Magical Beings' under the current administrative system, they do not retain their given right to trial by court when charged with feeding on a human being. I am well within my rights to take lethal action against you. Release the boy, or I shall dispatch you here and now."

After a moment's hesitation, the hag threw Dennis aside and backed away into the shadows, snarling menacingly, "The storms are stirring, wizard! Life begets death, death begets magic, and magic begets the end of all things! When your world is tumbling down around you, I pray that I might be there to see it!"

Percy refrained from lowering his wand until he could no longer hear the creature shuffling through the darkness.

"It's alright, Dennis," he said calmly, kneeling next to the whimpering boy that was cradling his half-eaten hand in his shirt. "You're safe now. I'm Percy. Your sister sent me to find you. Do you know where your brother is?"

Trembling in agony, Dennis gave a weak nod.

"Can you walk? Can you show me?"

"My… my hand…" squeaked the boy. "I… I…"

Percy tapped the injured arm with his wand and the flesh that still remained attached to bone glowed with a soft blue light.

Dennis stopped trembling. He was staring at his hand in wonder. "That's amazing! I can't feel a thing!"

Percy helped the boy to his feet. "That's magic for you. Unfortunately, healing isn't my strongest subject. A stasis charm is all I can do for you, but it will stop the bleeding and the pain until we get you to a healer. Now… where's Colin?"

With his good hand, Dennis pulled Percy to an abandoned storefront at the back of the alley. The sign above the windows read: Borgin and Burkes.

"Colin really wanted to go in and explore... so we crawled through the back window. He didn't know that thing was living inside though. It knocked him out, I think. I tried to run… but it caught up to me."

Without hesitation, Percy blew the boarded-up door off its hinges with a well-placed curse and ran inside, hoping the hag had not yet returned to its lair. Within the shop, the smell of rotting meat was disgustingly thick. Thankfully, it didn't take him long to find Colin. The boy was indeed lying on the floor, out cold.

"Ennervate."

Brown eyes, which he suddenly realized were the exact same shade as Audrey's, slowly cracked open.

Percy grabbed both boys by their collars, turned on the spot, and disapparated, reappearing moments later on the steps of Gringotts.

A loud cry of both anguish and relief rattled his eardrums.

Before he even knew what was happening, two slender arms had encircled his neck.

As the softest pair of lips he had ever had the pleasure to kiss pressed into his own, Percy got the distinct impression that he was going to enjoy the rest of his day, despite having a rather miserable morning.

0000

As the click of the door-latch echoed in her ears, the familiar setting of the Dursley's kitchen slowly materialized from the darkness.

Harry couldn't bring herself to look at the small, black-haired girl standing at the stove, doing her best to make breakfast for the first time. Eight years later and she could still feel the heat of the frying pan searing the skin from her fingers.

A younger, yet still magnificently bulbous Uncle Vernon rustled the pages of his newspaper, flattening out the wrinkles. "I don't know what that Stonewall Headmaster thinks he's doing, Petunia, sending our Dudders to remedial daycare. Educators these days; bungleheads, the lot of them!"

"Quite right," agreed Aunt Petunia mindlessly as she attempted to fit a large bib around her squirming son.

Dudley bounced up and down in his seat impatiently. "Mum! I want my bacon! Make Harry hurry!"

The pencil-thin woman whirled about and glared directly towards the spot where Harry refused to turn her gaze. "Goodness, girl! Can you move any slower?"

"I'm sorry, Auntie," squeaked a pained voice. "I… I can't hold the pan very well. I keep burning my hand."

Her uncle chortled nastily. "Well… serves you right for spilling tea on the carpet, doesn't it?"

"I didn't spill anything! Dudley-"

"Don't you dare blame, Dudley, you ungrateful little snot!"

As Uncle Vernon continued to scold her six-year-old self, a freckled arm snaked around Harry's waist and pulled her into a gentle hug. "This is horrible. I just… I just don't understand why they're so cruel to you."

With an uncaring shrug, Harry leaned into Ginny's shoulder and whispered, "Honestly, Gin, this is nothing. Don't worry about it."

The redhead tightened the embrace, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. "The fact that you think that makes it even worse. You were so young. They had no right to-"

"Well they did it anyway," she cut in morosely, "almost every day. Is that enough to lock this one away?"

Ginny nodded into her neck. "Yeah. Plenty."

After giving Dudley's large backside a swift kick, which her young cousin probably wouldn't have felt even if he had been real thanks to his sumptuous coating of blubber, Harry turned and walked out of the memory.

"Well, that's eight-hundred and twenty-three down," said Ginny proudly, slumping against the wall after closing and sealing the door behind them.

"Yeah… and thousands more to go," mumbled Harry, gesturing down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. "Come on. Let's get to it."

The freckled girl groaned. "Why are you making me do all the hard work? Can't we stop? I'm tired."

Harry promptly corrected her. "No you're not. I'm the tired one. You're just a figment of my imagination; the positive thought holding my mental barriers together. You're me… nothing more."

Smiling deviously, Ginny stood, reached upwards, and slid the straps of her yellow sundress over her shoulders.

"Are you sure about that, Har? Don't I look like Ginny?"

Harry's mouth went dry as the garment fell away from her friend's curves like a veil of cascading water.

Sauntering forward with a predatory gleam in her gold-flecked eyes, Ginny trapped her against the wall, pressed their bodies together, and breathed into her ear, "Don't I look… sexy?"

Hard though Harry tried, she couldn't manage a reply that consisted of anything more complex than a string of unintelligible gurgles. The lack of knickers and bra beneath the redhead's dress had turned her brain to mush, making the search for words nigh impossible.

"That's what I thought," whispered Ginny, hands falling to Harry's thighs, inching the hem of her skirt upwards. "You want me, don't you? I know you do. Say it; say you want me; say you'll stay with me forever."

Harry rapidly shook her head, unwilling to submit to the desires burning in her heart.

The redhead frowned and nuzzled Harry's cheek, pressing soft kisses along her jaw. "But… I'm your Ginny. Forever and ever; that's what we said."

Forever and ever…

Maybe this is alright.

Maybe this will help.

Maybe she… maybe she…

No!

Harry frantically beat down the traitorous thoughts, horrified that control was slipping away from her so easily.

Losing herself in a false reality was a very real risk of using the memory of a loved-one's personality to manage her mental barriers. It was by far one of the riskiest methods she had found in her Advanced Occlumency book, but it was also the easiest and one of the strongest. After she fully mastered this, she figured that she would be prepared to experiment with the more difficult methods, the strongest and most complex of which involved temporarily ridding one's mind of all memories apart from one, thus trapping intruders in a vision of one's choosing.

Shutting her eyes tight and clearing her mind of all negative emotions, Harry replaced the memory holding her barriers together with another. The subtle hint of strawberry that was lingering in her nostrils faded. The air around her became heavy and thick. It felt like an extra layer of protection had sprung into place; an extra layer that smelled vaguely of grass.

When she finally reopened her eyes, Ron, not Ginny, stood before her.

"If you were Ginny," muttered Harry smugly, "I wouldn't have been able to do that. Now please, get back to work."

"You're no fun at all, mate," replied Ron, blatantly disregarding her command. "No one has to know about what happens in here. Why don't we find a nice memory of a bedroom and have some fun."

"For the love of… You too? Damn't, Ron! Whatever happened to not wanting to hurt Hermione's feelings?"

The boy grinned. His large hands slid around Harry's thighs and with a single heave, he hoisted her off the ground, pinning her against the wall at eye level.

"We don't need to hold back here. Mione will never know. We can shag all you want; all your fantasies made real. You could probably have Gin and I at the same time if you concentrated. I know you've thought about it."

"Put me down, Ron! Put me down this-"

The words died in her throat as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck.

The trail of tingles his tongue left on her skin, his hot, heavy breath on her collarbone, his arousal grinding into her stomach; it all felt so real. It felt better than real.

"Why should you go back to them?" whispered Ron, Ginny's voice echoing within the undertone. "They don't want you. We want you. We love you. Stay here, Harry. Stay here with us."

Harry squealed in surprise as his hand slid into the back of her knickers. Shivers of anticipation raced up and down her body.

She wanted this. She wanted this so badly… but…

He isn't Ron.

She isn't Ginny.

This is…

This is make-believe.

Closing her eyes, Harry reconfigured her barriers once again and fell to the ground in a heap as Ron's hands disappeared.

An eleven-year-old Draco loomed above her, staring down at himself dubiously.

"Really? Me?"

Picking herself up, Harry shrugged and pushed the boy down the hall. "Yes, you. I've no desire to shag you, do I?"

The blonde, who was, for the very first time, smaller than she was, raised a platinum eyebrow and smirked lasciviously. "I dunno. Do you?"

Harry scoffed and flicked the young boy in the nose. "I've had enough of this. When I come back, it's straight to work; no more nonsense."

Draco's smirk widened. "You do realize that everything we're saying is exactly what you want to hear, don't you?"

Ignoring him, Harry yanked her consciousness out of her mental corridor.

As the senses of her physical body came rushing back, she immediately regretted the decision to spend the summer's first cool, dewy morning out on the playground.

Warm sweat was dripping down her neck, her hair was matted against her forehead, and her eyes were burning from prolonged exposure to the sun's bright reflection in the surrounding metal. The very air felt like it was on fire.

Although the skies above Britain had always been rather fickle, Harry hadn't failed to notice the bouts of peculiar weather they had been having lately. One minute, it would be pouring icy rain, and the next, it would be dry and swelteringly hot. Despite being naturally averse to admitting that anything was unusual, after being bombarded by hail the size of golf balls on what was meant to be a pleasant day, even Uncle Vernon had remarked that the climate was behaving strangely.

As she stripped off her sweat-soaked jumper, something Flamel had said during their second encounter at the fountain floated back to her.

'I fear that the world is changing. I fear that the world is wrong.'

Harry snorted.

Well, if this isn't wrong, then I'm a pink elephant.

Standing and stretching, she grinned widely as she imagined the many reactions Luna might have to that thought if said aloud.

Even though the first few days living with the odd blonde whose father she had indirectly murdered had been rather uncomfortable, she was slowly coming to terms with the idea that having Luna around was more blessing than burden. The girl was always good for a much needed laugh and she had a knack for avoiding subjects that Harry didn't want to talk about; rarely did Voldemort, the events at the Platform, or Pettigrew's upcoming trial ever come up in their conversations.

The trial…

In just a few days time, Sirius would either be a free man… or a convict for life.

Fudge had barred her from being a witness, saying that her statements would be biased due to Pettigrew's relationship with her parents. While that reasoning wasn't entirely unsound, what good her not being there would do for the Minister in the long run, Harry didn't know. Even though Draco had refused to be a witness, which wasn't that surprising given who his father was, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Dumbledore would all be there to give their accounts of Peter's capture. It wasn't an absolute certainty, but she was relatively confident that the four testimonies would be enough.

With a tired sigh, Harry clambered down the side of the jungle-gym and made her way over to where she'd left Luna rocking back and forth on a spring-loaded horse.

The blonde, however, wasn't alone. Two familiar boys, one large and one small, were standing on either side of her. From the looks they were giving Luna, it was quite obvious that they were… interested.

And that was unacceptable.

Neither Dennis Hartley nor Gordon Smith had ever been as cruel to Harry as Dudley, Malcolm, and Piers had been, but due to the fear of being beaten by Dudley, a fear shared by the entirety of Stonewall Primary, they had still avidly participated in baiting her at every opportunity.

Not at all being in a forgiving sort of mood, Harry picked up a small stone and chucked it as hard as she could at Dennis' head. While the rock did unfortunately miss, it certainly managed to catch the small boy's attention.

"Oi! What the bloody hell are you playing at, you fucking b-"

Dennis abruptly stopped speaking when their eyes met.

"Get away from her, Hartley," said Harry coolly, layering on several airs of false confidence. "Go stick your prick somewhere else."

The boy's jaw fell open. "H-Harry? Harriet Potter? Is that you?"

"So what if it is?"

Before Dennis could reply, Dudley, in all his massive glory, pounded through the playground's gate. He was dripping with sweat and clutching at a stitch in his side. If Harry hadn't known better that her cousin never physically exerted himself to the point of exhaustion, she might have thought he had been sprinting. It was a completely ridiculous premise.

To Harry's intense displeasure, Piers and Malcolm were following in her cousin's wake.

Piers' reaction when he saw her was far more drastic than Dennis'. The boy went white as a sheet and leapt behind Dudley's hulking form. "Dud! It's her! It's that girl; the one I told you about!"

"That girl?" squawked Dennis, laughing uproariously at Piers' display of cowardice. "It's only Dudley's mental cousin, you pansy! What are you afraid of? Don't you recognize her?"

"I… what? Dudley's cousin?"

Gordon clapped the boy on the back. "Mate, how can you not remember Hairy Harry?"

Piers stared at the taller boy in shock. "Harry… Harry… I don't… what?"

"Come on!" shouted Dennis jovially. "It's Potter! You can't have just forgotten her!"

Harry started to panic. The boy's churning surface thoughts were being violently tossed about by his subconscious. The memory charm the Ministry officials had used on Piers, despite its obvious strength, didn't seem like it was able to fight against nine years of oppressed memories when put to the test of her name being dropped repeatedly. She could actually see the dislodged gears of his brain snapping back into place.

When a glint of recognition flickered within the blonde's narrowed eyes, Harry grabbed Luna's hand. "Come on. We're going."

Oblivious to the very real danger that was currently developing around them, Luna smiled and slowly slid off the horse. "Alright, Harry. Can we visit Mrs. Figg now? I'd like to inspect her cats for Natterworms."

"We'll do that later," Harry mumbled, firmly pulling the girl towards the gate. "We just… We have to get out of here… right now."

Piers stepped in front of them, effectively blocking the exit, confusion smeared across his pinched face. "Wait a moment. I recognize you from the alleyway… but… I know you, don't I?"

Harry inconspicuously reached into her pocket, searching for the comforting feel of her wand. "Sorry, but I think you're mistaken."

The boy shook his head. "No… No… I'm not. I know you. I just… I can't remember from where."

"Please, get out of my way."

"No… wait… I... just let me-"

Although having remained remarkably calm thus far, when Piers moved to close the space between them, Harry instinctively flinched away, whipping out her wand in the process.

The boy's eyes steadily widened as he gazed upon the shaft of holly. Out of nowhere, like an invisible fist had hit him squarely in the jaw, Piers stumbled and began to clutch at his head as if it was paining him.

"No…" he gasped. "No… You're… You're… Harry Potter!"

Harry frantically tried to push her way past the blonde before he regained his bearings. She was halfway through the gate when a hand latched onto her arm.

Even though it was a loose grip, his touch was agonizing. All the beatings and all the torment came flooding back to the forefront of her mind. Because of Piers, she had been left to die in a cupboard. Because of Piers, Voldemort had wanted to know how she had survived death. Because of Piers, Ginny had been tortured for hours on end.

"Let me go!" shouted Harry, struggling fiercely. "Let me go!"

Piers straightened. "No. I don't think I will, freak."

She tried her best not to shiver at his icy tone. "I'm… I'm warning you, Piers! Let me go or else!"

"Or else? OR ELSE?" The glint of recognition in Piers' eyes had dissolved into fury. "I remember you, you little cunt! The glass, the snake, the explosion; those men came and they made me forget, but I remember now! I remember everything!"

Luna chose that inopportune moment to chime, "Harry… this boy's Nargle infection seems particularly mean-spirited. I'd very much like to leave."

Piers' expression darkened. "Neither one of you is going anywhere! That dog… I thought I was going mad for a whole year, but you did something to me, didn't you? You made me... see things! Well… you'll pay for that one, Potter!"

Harry was well aware of what the ramifications for using magic in this situation would be, but both her logic and reason had flown out the window the second the boy had touched her.

Terrified, she jabbed her wand into his chest.

"Ssaiassess-

"NO!"

Harry jumped in surprise as Dudley's large form slammed into Piers. She was even more shocked when her cousin grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and proceeded to wrestle him to the ground.

Confused shouts of "Oi!" and "Dud!" and "D, get off me!" echoed across the hilltop.

Paying his friends no mind, Dudley looked her square in the eye and grunted, "Take Luna. Go home. Don't leave the house."

Wasting no time trying to make sense of Dudley's uncharacteristic behavior, Harry tugged on Luna's arm and together, they darted away from the gang of boys, running back to Number Four with all the haste they could muster.

Relieved that they had escaped, yet still quite on edge, Harry stalked up to her room, flung open the two-way door, and marched into her small kitchen. Taking a page out of Ginny's book, she grabbed the enchanted blender from the counter and repeatedly flung it at the wall with all her might. The satisfaction of shattering the unbreakable appliance did little to soothe her roiling emotions, but it was far more satisfying than any of her Occlumency exercises had ever been.

As the blender rebuilt itself for the tenth time, there was a soft hiss from the windowsill.

"Hass that sshiny object offended you, Harry sspeaker? If not, then I ssee no reasson to punissh it with ssuch fervor."

Harry slammed the appliance down on the counter. "I hate it here, Alice! I hate it so damn much!"

Alice fixed her with a beady, green eye. "Thiss I know. You have ssaid it many timess."

"I just want to go home," she muttered, slumping against the icebox. "I just want… I just… I want…"

"You want your Ginny sspeaker?"

Harry nodded weakly. "This house… this life; it reminds me of everything I'm missing. I've been trying so hard not to think about her, but the harder I try, the harder it gets."

"Perhapss you need ssomething to disstract you."

"Like what? We're trapped here."

"Mmmmmmm... Why don't you mate with the yellow Luna human to passss the time? Her dessire for you iss potent enough to tickle my tongue, sso I am ssure sshe would be more than willing."

"Alice! That's an awful thing to suggest!"

"Why? You find her attractive. I have sseen you looking..."

Harry spluttered indignantly, feeling a warm, rosy blush rising to her cheeks. "That's not the point! I'm not going to go and use Luna for… for…"

She trailed off as the snake burst into a fit of gurgling hisses.

Alice was unmistakably laughing at her.

Ears burning from embarrassment, Harry grabbed a banana peel from this morning's breakfast and tossed it at the little reptile.

"Thanks. A ribbing is just what I needed…"

Instead of dodging, Alice let the yellow missile fall squarely on her head and then lovingly coiled around its length.

"You make it too eassy, Chica."

"You're getting much too cheeky for your own good," mumbled Harry. "Maybe I should neglect you and lavish Circe with attention instead? She doesn't poke fun at me."

"I'm sstill your favorite."

With a begrudging sigh of agreement, Harry gently rubbed the snake's chin and left the kitchen to search for Luna. After scouring every inch of the Two-Way room, including the closet, which Luna was oddly fond of, she eventually found the girl daintily sniffing the rather potent collection of perfumes in Aunt Petunia's bathroom.

"Luna, what in God's name are you doing?"

"Oh… hello, Harry," muttered Luna absently as she ran her fingers over the assorted vials. "Have you finished breaking things?"

"Erm… yeah," laughed Harry sheepishly. " Sorry about that. I was just working things out. Bit upset. Come back to the room, will you? My relatives will go spare if they find you in here."

The girl picked up a small bottle and examined it closely. After holding it up to the light, she balanced it on top of her head. "Oh good… this is perfect! Do you think it will be strong enough to flush them out?"

"Perfect for what?" asked Harry as she eyed the perfume nervously, readying herself to dive for it should it fall. "Flush who out?"

"The Natterworts on Mrs. Figg's cats of course; you said we would visit."

"Oh… yeah… but I can't go out there. Piers, he… he remembers me now and I… well, you saw what he was like. Had Dudley not stopped him… I… I would've lost it and really hurt him. He's awful, Luna. Just the sight of him makes me want to retch."

Bottle teetering precariously, Luna slowly spun about. "Harry, do you realize that you often say one thing when you seem to really mean the opposite? It's quite fascinating."

"What? No I don't."

"Oh but you do. You said that girls aren't allowed to like each other, but I heard you moaning Ginny's name on the playground. It sounded quite erotic, you see."

Harry blanched, hoping to God that Ginny wasn't currently using her Looking Glass. "I was… moaning? Out… Out loud?"

"Oh yes… and you were making quite a lot of noise too." The blonde cocked her head curiously and the vial of perfume fell neatly into her open palm. "Were you breaking the rules?"

Harry's stomach twisted with a pang of guilt. "Erm… right… about that… For a long time now, I've been meaning to-"

"It's alright," interrupted Luna, her eyes glazing over as they always did whenever she retreated into her thoughts. "I break the rules quite often and nothing terrible seems to come of it."

"Luna… I need to tell you-"

"I don't mean to break them, but sometimes I just can't seem to help myself."

"Luna, I-"

"Whenever I look at you, I feel very good and I find myself wishing that we could kiss again. You see, I like kissing you, Harry. You taste quite nice. But the rules say-"

Frustrated, Harry grabbed the dazed blonde by the shoulders and firmly shook her. "Luna! Listen to me! There are no rules!"

The unfocused glaze fell from Luna's eyes like shattered glass falling from a window pane.

"W-What? What do you mean?"

Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, Harry slowly repeated herself.

"I… Luna… There aren't rules. You can… You're free to like whoever you want."

"But… But you said-"

"I know what I said!" moaned Harry, quickly bundling the odd Ravenclaw into a fierce hug. "But I was wrong! I was so unbelievably wrong! I was… I was an utter idiot back then. I couldn't realize my own feelings for what they were and I… God… Luna, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"You… You… lied?"

"No!" cried Harry desperately as she squeezed Luna even tighter, tangling her fingers into the hair at the back of the girl's neck. "I just… at the time… I thought what I was saying was true! Please Luna! I've wanted to apologize for ages, but I couldn't work up the nerve! Please believe me! Don't… Don't be angry…"

The blonde's entire body began to heave with deep, staggering breaths. "I… I don't… I don't… I don't… H-Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I don't like peas."

Luna shuddered and went limp.

0000

He was running through the forest as fast as his feet could carry him. And yet, no matter how fast he ran, it felt as if he never moved.

Ron?

Harry was just ahead. Her silent screams pulled at him, wrenched at him, but he couldn't reach her. He felt lost; he felt helpless.

Ron, wake up.

He couldn't protect her. He couldn't protect anyone. He was weak. He was useless. He was the Weasley that didn't matter.

"Oh for goodness' sake. Ronald, wake up!"

With a great, shuddering gasp, Ron jolted upright, his limbs still moving in the throes of his vivid nightmare.

"Ouch!"

It took him more than a few hazy moments of frantically scanning his surroundings before he realized where he was.

He wasn't lost.

He wasn't even in a forest.

He was in his room.

And sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing gingerly at the side of her head, was Hermione.

Tossing aside the covers, Ron crawled over to the girl and gently pulled her hand away from her temple. Even in the dark, he could still make out the rather large bruise forming on her hairline.

"Merlin! Sorry, Mione. I didn't mean to whack you."

Hermione caught his retreating wrist, brought it gently back to the bruise, and then tilted her head into his fingers. "I know. I could tell you were having a bad dream. Were you running through the forest again?"

"Yeah. Whenever Harry goes and gets herself hurt, I start having it every night for weeks."

'Not every night,' protested a small voice at the back of his head. 'You should tell her about yesterday; about the broom cupboard full of toffee-apples; about how she was using them to-'

Ron mentally squashed the voice under his boot.

"Still, I'm sorry. I'll get Mum to heal that in a jiff."

Hermione giggled and patted his knee. "Honestly, Ron, I'm fine. It's my own fault for hovering over you like that. You… You were sweating and I… well, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

As a flash of lightning illuminated the tiny room, Ron saw that the bushy-haired girl wasn't wearing much of anything. In fact, between the two of them, their clothing consisted only of a body-hugging nightgown, whatever lay beneath said nightgown, and a pair of Chudley Cannons boxers.

Feeling the tips of his ears heating at a tremendous rate, Ron made a half-hearted effort to look away from her prominent curves; curves that usually remained hidden beneath her school uniform and a various assortment of modest clothing; curves that he wanted to feel pressed against his-

A massive roll of thunder shook the house and thankfully tore him from the fantasy rapidly taking shape in the naughtier parts of his imagination.

"S-So…" he stuttered breathlessly, "what's up? It's the middle of the night."

Hermione released his hand, stood, and went to shut the bedroom door, her hips swaying tantalizingly with every step. "Well… I was just hoping… I was just hoping you'd let me sleep in here with you tonight."

Ron's jaw fell slack. "You… You what?"

The girl must have realized how forward her statement must've sounded, because she hastily corrected herself, looking flustered.

"I don't mean together, you prat! I brought the cot!"

"O-Oh," stuttered Ron as he glimpsed the folded bed behind her. "Right… of course. Well, it's fine with me, but… but what's wrong with Ginny's room?"

Hermione let out a tired sigh and began to set up her bed across from his own. "I love Gin to pieces… I really do… but she's driving me bonkers, Ron. It's like she's become nocturnal! All night, she just… well… she paces around the room. And when she isn't pacing, she's at the window muttering to herself as she watches Harry in her Looking Glass. After a year getting only three hours of sleep each day, I really need to catch up on rest… and I just can't with her bouncing off the walls like that. She's clearly upset. Do you think you could talk to her?"

Ron frowned and sank backwards into his bedding. "Blimey… that's not like Ginny. I know she's been a bit off since the Shack, I mean… she bloody collapsed at Dinner yesterday… but I didn't think it was that bad."

Hermione climbed into the cot. "Well, I don't think looking like she's been put through a meat grinder has helped much either. Why didn't she let Madam Pomfry heal her?"

"Dunno," sighed Ron. "I think she wants the scars to help sway the verdict at the trial. Maybe she's scared of what Harry will do if Peter isn't convicted. Hell, I sure am."

The bushy-haired girl reached out across the gap between their beds and clasped Ron's hand, entwining their fingers. "Harry's gotten so much better at controlling her outbursts. I don't think we have to worry."

Ron snorted. "Are you kidding? Saying we don't have to worry about Harry is like saying we don't have to be wary of accepting food from Fred and George."

"Good point," mumbled Hermione sleepily, shutting her eyes and snuggling down into her pillow. "But there's really nothing we can do to help her right now."

"Yeah… I know. And I'll try and talk to Gin in the morning; see what's bothering her."

Hermione brushed her thumb over his palm. "Thanks."

"No problem. Night, Mione."

"Mmmm… Night, Ron… Love you…"

Ron went very still. He waited silently for Hermione to suddenly blush and take back those last two words, but when the sound of her muffled snores filled the room, he realized that perhaps her tongue hadn't slipped. Sure, she had it before, but never so plainly and unreserved.

For the rest of the night, despite being beyond tired, Ron lay wide awake. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the desire to open them and watch the beautiful girl lying at his side became too strong to resist.

Not that he was complaining...

In her tossing and turning, Hermione's sheet had slid from her upper body and the hem of her nightie had ridden high above her belly. Stealing a few brief glimpses of her flat stomach as it was cast into stark relief by the occasional bolt of lightning was far more gratifying than getting a few hours sleep.

Although Ron had sworn to himself that he wasn't going to choose between his best friends, as the night wore on, as he gazed upon her shadowy silhouette, it became harder and harder to remember why he was resisting. He longed to pull her close; to feel her creamy skin beneath his palms; to run his lips along every inch of her body.

But resist he did.

He resisted right up until the dark storm clouds broke above the Burrow.

As dawn's first rays of summer sunshine streamed through the window, showering the room with light, Hermione shifted in her sleep, moaned into the pillow, and uttered one single word.

Upon hearing her call out his name, Ron's strength of will evaporated. Sliding from his bed, he sat upon the edge of the cot, reached out, and swept away the strands of hair that had fallen into the girl's face during the night.

At his touch, her chocolaty-brown eyes fluttered open.

"R-Ron?"

His chest tightened as she reflexively turned her cheek into his hand. Her skin was softer than silk.

"Yeah. Morning."

"Mmmm… Oh God," she moaned sleepily. "What time is it?"

"About six," replied Ron, wishing the smell of her toffee-apple shampoo wasn't so heavenly pungent. "I think Mum's up. Someone's been banging 'round the kitchen."

The girl yawned, stretched like a particularly miffed housecat, and propped herself up. "Six? But… you never get up this early. Is something wrong?"

Ron shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Not with… Not with you so close."

"What? Not with-"

Hermione stopped speaking as her heavy-lidded gaze traveled first to Ron's palm, which was still cupping her cheek, and then to his bare chest. Biting her lip, she raised a trembling hand and ran her fingers over his abdomen, prodding here and there… as if she wasn't quite sure he was real. When at last she seemed satisfied that he was indeed flesh and blood, her face turned bright red.

"Ron… what are you doing?"

Heart thudding rapidly against the walls of his ribcage, Ron slipped his other arm around her waist and breathed raggedly, "I don't know. And I don't care. I don't care anymore, Mione. I just… I want to-"

BANG

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

Ron jumped backwards as the door to his attic bedroom flew open. Unfortunately for everyone involved, he stumbled over Hermione's bedding and fell, collapsing in a tangled heap at the foot of the cot. Wrapped in a sheet and utterly terrified, he turned to face the newcomer that had just barged in on what he was sure looked like an extraordinarily compromising situation given his lack of clothing and previous proximity to a girl whose lacy, white knickers were now exposed for all the world to see.

"M-Mum! It's not what it looks like!"

His mother swelled and stalked into the room, her eyes bulging with fury. "HOW DARE YOU, RONALD! NOT EVEN FIFTEEN!"

"No!" squeaked Hermione desperately. "Mrs. Weasley, we weren't-"

"AND YOU!" screamed the enraged woman, rounding on the bushy-haired girl. "I EXPECTED BETTER FROM SUCH A SMART GIRL! OUT OF THIS ROOM, YOUNG LADY! GET OUT! NOW!"

With a demure "Yes, Ma'am," Hermione bolted from the bedroom, pulling the hem of her short nightgown as low as it could possibly go as she ran.

With a flick of her wand, his mother shut the door and let loose.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Mum, we didn't-"

"I HAVE HALF A MIND NOT TO LET YOU GO BACK TO HOGWARTS!"

Ron's temper flared. "No! Listen to me. I-"

"DON'T THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT YOU'RE STILL GOING TO THE WORLD CUP! YOU'LL BE SCRUBBING MY FLOORS FOR THE REST OF THE SUMMER! NO MAGIC!"

"Oh for the love of Merlin! Mum, just let me-"

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO ASHAMED IN MY-"

"BLOODY HELL!" yelled Ron at the top of his voice, losing any and all patience he had for being treated like a four-year-old. "WILL YOU BE QUIET FOR TWO RUDDY SECONDS AND LET ME EXPLAIN!"

Watching her physically backpedal with a stunned and somewhat hurt expression was like watching a balloon rapidly deflate.

"Ronald… I… I… Goodness me."

All his righteous anger drained away as she sank into a chair, clutching her heart.

"Blimey… Mum… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to go off like that. It's just… we didn't do anything! I swear! Look… two different beds. Ginny was keeping Hermione awake, so she slept in here. We were only… talking."

Once his mother had calmed, she fixed him with a hard glare. "And how do you explain your nakedness?"

"It was hot last night!" protested Ron incredulously. "I swear, Mum! Nothing happened!"

"Not for lack of trying, I'm sure," said the woman sternly. "What were you doing on her bed? I suppose you think it quite impossible to talk to someone without embracing them?"

Admittedly, he had no excuse for that. He hadn't quite known what it was that he had wanted to do… but he definitely would have done something had they not been interrupted.

"Ronald… Do you think I don't know what's going on between the two of you? I'm telling you now that under my roof, no child of mine will be allowed to… procreate."

"MERLIN'S BUGGERED ARSE, MUM!" cried Ron, feeling like she hadn't heard a word he had said. "We weren't bloody shagging! I mean, yeah… I like her, alright? But we're… we're just… friends."

Even to his own ears, the word sounded wrong.

His mother stood and straightened her apron primly. "Oh yes… friends. I think that's quite enough lying for one day, Ronald. And also, should I hear any more of your foul language, I'll give your mouth such a thorough scourgifying, you'll be spitting up soap for a year. Do you understand me?"

"Fine," muttered Ron, knowing it was pointless to argue once his mother adopted her 'This conversation is finished' tone. "I understand."

"Good. Now get dressed. You'll be doing everyone's chores today. You can start by mucking out the chickens."

Not looking forward to a whole day of hard work, Ron took his sweet time getting dressed. After a good half hour of fiddling with his socks, he realized he wouldn't be able to put it off much longer and might as well just bite the bullet and get it over with. Grumbling bitterly, he thumped downstairs as loudly as possible to better express his outrage. When he crossed into the parlor, a head of unwashed cherry-red hair rose above the edge of an armchair.

"S-Sorry, Ron. It's my fault. I was making tea early this morning and I left my door open. Mum probably went upstairs to use the loo, saw the cot was gone and… well… I suppose she just knew."

Ron circled the chair and collapsed next to his disheveled baby sister, cradling his head in his hands. "But nothing bloody happened!"

"Does it matter?" asked Ginny, her voice quavering strangely. "M-Mum's not stupid. Hermione could have taken the cot anywhere, but she took it to your room."

"So?"

"So… don't be daft. She wanted to be in there with you. She wanted you to see her in that ridiculous nightgown. Do you know where she bought it? The Witching Hour. It doesn't take an alchemist to know what she was hoping for."

Ron felt his ears turning pink. "Shut it."

Ginny responded with her usual reply of, "Make me," although it seemed rather half-hearted.

He looked up, fully prepared to 'make her,' but immediately lost the will to follow through. No matter how many times he saw it, it always caught him off guard. The jagged lines carved into Ginny's cheeks were monstrous. The scar tissue around the cuts was still bright red, raised, and perforated with tiny scabs. She didn't even look like his sister anymore.

"Please, don't stare at me like that, Ron. I'm trying really hard to ignore them."

"I know," he mumbled guiltily, casting his eyes towards the floor. "Still can't get used to it."

"It can't be helped. She needs me to… to… She needs… but… but I suppose Luna will…"

Ginny trailed off. She sounded terribly out of sorts, as if she had just gotten the surprise of a lifetime.

Ron didn't need to ask who his sister was referring to. Reaching for her empty hand, the hand not clenched tightly around her Looking Glass, he asked as sincerely as he possibly could, "Gin… you alright?"

Ginny jumped, startled by the physical contact, but then squeezed his fingers reassuringly. "Don't worry. They don't hurt."

Ron grimaced. "That's not what I mean. I know you miss her… but blimey… when was the last time you really slept?"

Ginny wrenched her hand from his grasp. "What does… What does that have to do with anything? Mind your own... I'm… I'm… I'm fine."

Without another word, his sister pushed herself off the couch and hurriedly walked away.

"Yeah…" muttered Ron as he watched her feet ascending the staircase, "sure you are."

0000

For the first time in her life, Pansy was having quite a lot of trouble maintaining the fake smile that she used to disguise her apathy.

The party had all the expected pitfalls of a Ministry sponsored function: the conversation was painfully dull, her heels were killing her, and she was being forced to mingle with common witches and wizards to whom she'd rather give up all her wealth than associate with. Normally, she would have found the entire ordeal quite easy to endure, but today was different. Today, each little annoyance was made unbearable due to one single detail:

Draco wasn't at her side.

A somewhat portly man whose name Pansy couldn't quite remember began to gesticulate wildly, drawing the eyes of everyone around him. "An eighty-thousand galleon profit? I would have thought it impossible in such a competitive market! However did you manage it, Albert?"

"Oh… just smart investing, Ludo," grunted one of her father's underlings, looking overly pleased with himself. "It'll be a long time before a broom can top the Firebolt. It sports charms of a certain caliber that take years to perfect. Knew it would be top of the line the moment I heard its specifications. It was an obvious shoo-in for the World Cup's standard equipment list."

"You must be thrilled," said her father with disinterest, obviously not impressed by the pitiful sum.

"Indeed I am, Cassius. A hefty investment in the right market never fails to pay off. You know, just the other day I was-"

Pansy didn't hear anything after that. She had let her thoughts stray to the handsome boy lying in bed three floors above her head. She sorely wished she could get away to see him, if only for a moment, but the opportunity had failed time and again to present itself.

Ever since he had come back from his debacle with the Mudblood's Time-Turner, her husband-to-be had seemed unnaturally withdrawn. However, when questioned as to why this was, he would revert to his usual sarcastic self. It wasn't until this morning, when she had arrived at Malfoy Manor to find Draco passed out in his bed, clinging to a bottle of Firewhiskey, that Pansy knew something was wrong.

It couldn't have been a problem resulting from his injuries, seeing as the healers had made him good as new. It seemed deeper… much deeper. Something inside him had changed… and Pansy wasn't quite sure she was alright with that. He was her property, after all. It was terribly impolite of him to have an emotional upheaval without her express permission.

Naturally, Draco was far too sloshed to appear in front of so many Ministry workers, so Pansy had no choice but to attend the party without him. Rebutting the approaches of the many young men who were courageous enough to ask her dance was getting quite tiresome. The thought of being with them repulsed her. In her eyes, in her dreams, there was only ever Draco.

"Do you agree, Pansy?"

She snapped back to the present as the heads of the many adults swarming around her father swiveled in her direction.

Pansy's gaze flicked towards her father. She attempted to convey with her eyes alone that she hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand. With a miniscule twitch of his head, her father nodded pointedly.

Pansy instantaneously responded with a well-rehearsed, generic answer, followed by a smidgeon of polite subterfuge to evade further questioning.

"Yes. I agree completely. Oh dear… I ever so love listening to such important wizards talking shop, but I'm afraid I need to pop out and freshen up. Do continue, Mr. Runcorn."

Without allowing anyone time to protest, she made a beeline for the washroom. However, as soon as she rounded the corner and was shielded from prying eyes, she ducked into a side corridor to twist the handle of a sword protruding from a Malfoy coat-of-arms.

Like an apple bobbing from water, a door popped out of the wall at her side, revealing a hidden staircase.

She climbed the steps two at a time, which she thought was quite an accomplishment while wearing stilleto heels, and emerged mere steps from her destination. The lavish design of the enormous slab of oak consistently took her breath away. It was decorated with an elaborate, magical engraving depicting a regal Hybridean Black that was bathing in its own fire.

As her hand latched onto the elegant gold handle laid into the dragon's tail, a familiar scream of frustration echoed through the door. There was a short pause… and then something that sounded immensely expensive smashed into the other side of the wood.

Draco…

Inching the door open, Pansy cautiously peered through the crack.

The state of her fiancee's room suggested that somewhere in Malfoy Manor there raged a herd of stampeding hippogriffs. Debris of what looked like furniture littered every inch of the chamber, the windows had all been shattered, and fragments of the once-magnificent crystal chandelier lay scattered at Pansy's feet.

The many facades that she had put up over the course of the evening all came tumbling down when she saw Draco standing in the middle of the chaos, muttering heatedly beneath his breath.

"What does it matter? What does any of this matter? We're all dead. Dead."

For someone who hadn't spent the majority of their childhood trailing after the blonde, assuming the destruction of the room to be an act of rage would be an easy mistake to make.

But Pansy knew better.

This wasn't anger. Draco expressed fury through either his wand or his words.

This was something else entirely.

This was fear.

It was futility and pain.

He was afraid and like a cornered snake, he was physically lashing out.

Pansy had never seen him so frightened and that in turn frightened her. She had half a mind to run back to the party, yet her sense of duty as a future Malfoy spurred her to take action. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she slipped into the room and cleared her throat.

Draco drunkenly whirled around, stumbling over his own feet. "Go away! Leave me alone!"

Pansy raised an eyebrow and calmly gestured at the destruction around them. "Draco… you need to stop. Your mother isn't going to be happy about this."

"Stuff my mother!" yelled the blonde, violently waving a large piece of shattered vase through the air. "STUFF HER!"

"Keep your voice down," whispered Pansy, wrinkling her nose as she approached him. "Ugh… You reek of whiskey."

"And?"

"And I want you to shower."

Draco sank to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her thighs. "What does it matter, Pans? Either way, we lose. Either way, we die. I saw it… I saw it. They really do glow... just like… just like... Did you know that, Pans? Did you know they really glow?"

Pansy ran her hands through his hair, trying her best to comfort him without losing her patience. "Alright. I'm sure they do. Now please get up, Draco. You're going to make me fall. I'll fetch an elf to clean this up and you get back into bed. Okay?"

"No," he grumbled stubbornly. "I won't."

"You won't?"

"No."

"Oh dear," muttered Pansy as her sympathy quickly gave way to the pleasure she received when dominating him, "that really was the wrong answer."

"What?"

Grabbing his collar, she hauled him to his feet and whispered icily, "Get into that bed… now."

Draco visibly gulped. "Y-Yes. Alright. To bed."

Pansy pushed him backwards with a finger and he collapsed into the luxurious comforter with a soft thwump.

She clambered on top of him, careful not to wrinkle her dress. "Good boy."

"P-Pans… I don't think-"

"I didn't say you could speak," she said coldly, while simultaneously sliding her hand into the waistline of his trousers. "Hell will freeze over before I let you take my virginity while you're drunk. I just want you to listen and do exactly what I say. And you're always such a good listener when we're in this position."

For emphasis, Pansy located, grabbed... and squeezed.

Draco cringed and yanked her hand away. "AGGH! Fuck! I'm… I'm listening! Bloody Hell!"

She leaned forward, gifting him with an excellent view of her cleavage, and smartly tapped him on the nose. "Damn right you're listening. When you're sober, we're going to sit down and you're going to explain to me why you've been so sullen. You're going to tell me what's frightened you… and then… you're going to get over it."

"I'm not fffrightened," he slurred. "I just-"

Pansy cut him off with a not-so-soft slap. "Save it for someone who hasn't known you your entire life, Draco. Slytherins are above fear and bravery. Aren't you the one who's always spouting off rubbish like that? Slytherins weigh their options. Slytherins calculate and persevere. Maybe you should listen to yourself."

"I… I'm… I'm not…"

"Whatever this is, you'll do what needs to be done and overcome it. I can help you. I'll always help you. Leave feeling hopeless to the Hufflepuffs."

As the blonde boy mouthed listlessly, looking confused and somewhat hopeless, Pansy's sadistic impulses lessened considerably. Leaning down, she quieted him with her lips. Even though he smelled awful, as his tongue rolled in a natural unison with her own, she briefly toyed with the idea of ripping off his clothes and having her way with his nicely wired body.

After a full minute of roughly snogging the life out of him, Pansy broke the kiss. "I have to go back now. You will stay here and think about what I said. I'll see you in the morning."

His hand caught her wrist as she got up.

"Pans… You know I… love you, don't you?"

Pansy's heart skipped a beat. She could hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Dear me… we're certainly making progress tonight, aren't we? I think that's the only time you've ever said it right on your first try."

Draco smirked, which looked rather silly paired with his red cheeks and glazed eyes. "Yeah… well… I'm right pissed."

"You most certainly are. And Merlin knows why, Draco, but I love you too. I love you so much… even when you're being a cold, cheating bastard."

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Draco exclaimed far too loudly, "Ah… Well, you know what they say. Pansy Parkinson is a frigid, selfish bint. And that Malfoy, what a nasty, spoiled brat! Don't you think they'd be perfect for each other?"

Pansy giggled and leaned back down for one last kiss. "Manservant… I do hope you realize you'll have to be punished thoroughly for making your mistress attend a ball on her lonesome. I have something very special in mind this time. Would you like to know what it is?"

Draco moaned miserably and with surprising agility for someone so utterly smashed, he quickly crawled beneath the covers.

"Surprise me. Hopefully, I'll die from shock."

0000

The Burrow creaked and groaned in the storm's gale as the clock on the mantle chimed four in the morning. Rain pounded against the window with such ferocity, the resulting noise could have easily been mistaken as a locomotive passing through the parlor.

Careful not to spill her tea, Ginny sank into an armchair and pulled her Looking Glass into her lap. The tight pain in her chest slowly abated as she dragged her thumb across the stone's smooth surface, tracing the outline of Harry's face. Like herself, her best friend was wide awake, sitting at the window, watching the storm rage. Her knees were pulled tightly to her chest and her black hair was far messier than usual. The dismal expression plastered across her face suggested that the first two weeks of the girl's summer had been just as miserable as Ginny's own.

And miserable they had been.

Without Harry at her side, sleeping for more than an hour at a time was nigh impossible. The terrors of her vivid nightmares would keep her awake for days on end, eating away at what little strength she had left, until the physical strain of exhaustion caused her to black out. Ginny doubted she would be able to endure another five weeks without having some sort of mental breakdown.

Unfortunately, sleep deprivation wasn't the worst of her problems.

In the hopes that the desperate hunger which had overwhelmed her in the hospital wing would die away, Ginny spent her every waking moment gazing longingly into the depths of the Looking Glass. The stone was both a godsend and a curse; it allowed her to see and hear all that went on at Privet Drive, thus soothing her physical aches, but at the same time showed her a side of Harry that she had never wanted to see.

The girl Ginny watched through the Looking Glass was so much weaker than the girl she knew, loved, and relied on. She seemed so hopeless; so forlorn. Unless Luna was saying something particularly odd, the girl through the Looking Glass was almost always frowning or moping about. She was quick to anger, quick to cry, and quick to draw her wand. The girl through the Looking Glass wasn't Ginny's Harry at all. She was Harriet Potter, The Girl Who Lived in a Cupboard for Ten Years.

It didn't take Ginny long to realize why this Harriet Potter had assumed the place of her Harry. She had met this girl once before. They had sat next to each other in King's Cross for ten whole minutes. However, the second their eyes had met, the second the offered sandwich had been accepted, that Harriet Potter had disappeared.

Ginny needed Harry. It was undeniable. The girl kept her strong, kept her sane, and kept her willing to fight. However, it had never really occurred to Ginny how much Harry needed her. Therein lay her true dilemma. Knowing that she and she alone could return Harry to her normal self was wrenching at her sanity. The wait until July thirtieth couldn't be over fast enough.

A burst of blinding light flashed across the surface of the Looking Glass.

Ginny's heart flopped weakly as the miniature girl within the stone's depths squeaked and huddled against the window frame.

She could still remember the first storm they had watched together. Snuggling with her in this very chair, as lightning crackled across the sky, Harry had laughed in the face of Voldemort; laughed in the face of death. And Ginny had laughed with her. Forever and ever had seemed like such an easy promise to make without the torture, pain, and heartache that had burdened their lives for the past two years. She had no doubt that should she be given a chance to redo that night, in the end, her decision would be the same. However, knowing what she knew now, it would have been a much harder choice to make.

Ginny was jolted from her reverie as a familiar face appeared over her friend's shoulder.

"Are the Humdingers keeping you awake, Harry? I can sing a song to scare them off, if you'd like."

Even though Ginny knew Luna had nowhere to go, even though she knew that someone keeping Harry company was a good thing, her jealously still reared its ugly head every time the Ravenclaw popped into the Looking Glass. It wasn't fair that Luna got to be with her while Ginny had to wait weeks.

"No thanks, Luna," mumbled Harry. "I'm fine. Did I wake you?"

The blonde girl smiled dazedly and sank down onto the cushion next to Harry. "Oh… no… I haven't slept at all. Not since yesterday morning."

"Ah… right."

Ginny frowned as Harry turned pink and pointedly averted her eyes. She had no idea what Luna meant, seeing as she had spent the entirety of the previous morning passed out in her bed after collapsing at the dinner table.

Neither of the girls spoke again until the storm had quieted and sunlight was streaming onto their faces.

Ginny unfortunately happened to be sipping from her teacup when Luna broke the silence.

"Harry, will you marry me?"

The tea, which was now thankfully cold, shot out of her nose like a rocket.

Harry moaned and pressed her forehead against the window. "Luna… this is exactly why I was so-"

"Are you going to marry Ginny?" interrupted the blonde with a perfectly straight face. "She's very beautiful, isn't she? I like that her freckles cover her entire body. Do you think her brothers' freckles do the same?"

Ginny let her teacup clatter to the floor, her knuckles turning white from the death-grip she had on the edges of the Looking Glass.

Harry… Don't…

Harry's cheeks were reddening at an amazing rate. They had surpassed the shade of tomato and were well on their way to a bruised maroon. The jumble of expressions flitting rapidly across her face conveyed a vast and varied array of emotions. Ginny saw shock, horror, amusement, disbelief, embarrassment, indignant fury, and everything in between.

"Luna… I can't… I can't just… That's utterly…"

Without warning, Luna stood, pulling the still-babbling Harry with her.

Ginny's chest constricted painfully as the blonde leaned forward.

No! No, you can't!

Her guttural cry of protest was drowned in a furious scream that shook the Burrow to its foundations.

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

0000

Merlin… I'll never drink again...

Draco groaned and shielded his eyes as he stepped into the bright sunshine. His head felt like it was about to explode. As soon as he told her everything, it was straight to the kitchens for a hangover potion.

It was unsurprising when he found her lying in their favorite chair, still dressed in her enticing gown. Despite having been subjected to a rather ferocious storm in the middle of the night, the grounds of the Manor remained impeccable. The many protective and beautification charms did their work well. Even if the apocalypse were to strike Britain, even if sulfur were to rain from the sky, Draco suspected that spending a night asleep on the veranda would still be rather pleasant.

Kneeling at Pansy's side, he leaned down and massaged a kiss into her sleeping lips.

Although the majority of his drunken episode was a hazy blur, Draco could remember her clearly. He could remember everything she'd said, word for word… and he wanted to show his appreciation.

"How many times have I said it?" she moaned sleepily, her body stirring beneath his fingertips. "I don't like waking up like that. I never know if it's you."

Draco smirked. "Really? Who else would have the balls to snog the Ice Queen of Slytherin?"

Pansy groaned into his mouth. "You're such a pompous arse. Do you want to get hexed?"

The witty reply died in his throat as she sat up. Even though she was glaring daggers at him, with the straps of her dress hanging dangerously low over her shoulders, with her hair tussled and awry, Pansy had never looked more enticing.

A significant portion of his blood rushed south.

The girl must have noticed his roaming eyes because her icy demeanor melted away and the corners of her lips twitched upwards. In one fluid motion, she slid from the hanging bench and crawled into his lap.

"Someone's feeling better, I see."

"Only because of you," breathed Draco slowly, slipping his hand into the gap where her dress parted at the thigh. "I've been… lost. You brought me back last night."

"That's what wives do," whispered Pansy, popping open the button's of his shirt while he fumbled with the hooks on her garter. "I'm with you for the long haul, Draco. For better or for worse. No matter what."

Draco ceased his attempts to remove her undergarments as the weight of that statement sank in.

"Pans… I… I really need you to mean that."

"Of course I mean it," said the girl, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw and jostling his hand to indicate that she wanted him to continue. "I'll always-"

"No," muttered Draco, cutting her off rather forcefully "You don't understand. 'Better' isn't going to be an option if you're determined to be with me. All of this: the Manor… my wealth… When the time comes, I'll… I'll have to give up everything. And if we're together… so will you."

Pansy sat back, clearly startled. "What? Why? What's happened?"

Draco lowered his head. He didn't want to watch her reaction; he didn't want to see the fear, anger, and subsequent rejection in her eyes.

"I'm… Pans… I'm… I-"

The girl dug her fingernails into his neck. "Stop spluttering. You sound like Longbottom. It's repulsive."

Wincing, he let the words he had not dared to speak aloud roll from his tongue.

"The Dark Lord is far from dead. He's going to rise… and when he does, I'm not going to join him."

Pansy gasped and slid off his lap. "Draco! Don't say that! You could be killed just for thinking it!"

"Exactly," drawled Draco harshly as a wave of fear and nausea settled firmly in his stomach. "He's going to kill me. I saw it. Either way… I'm dead."

"What are you-"

"I saw it, Pansy! I looked into his ungodly glowing eyes and saw my death staring me in the face! With every thrust of the knife, I saw it!" For emphasis, Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist. With a violent yank, he pulled her hand to his stomach, imitating the dagger that had repeatedly plunged into his flesh. "Over and over! They carved me out! Stuck me like a pincushion!"

"Draco, let go! You're hurting me!"

"Hurting you? You don't even know the meaning of hurt! Despite knowing that I couldn't tell him what he wanted, the Dark Lord made Pettigrew torture me for hours! He was going to feed me to Greyback because of my father's failure to search for him!"

Red eyes and the cold flash of silver clouded Draco's vision.

"The Dark Lord wants Father to suffer, but he wouldn't dare kill the head of the Malfoy family, would he? He'd need our money! Don't you see? Don't you see? He's going to kill me instead! I'm expendable! Mother and father could easily have another child, so what better way to torture a man than to murder his first-born s-"

A hard slap to the side of Draco's face sent him careening to the floor, breaking his panicked fervor.

Guilt washed over him when he saw Pansy kneeling a few feet away, angry tears dripping down her cheeks as she cradled her thoroughly bruised wrist.

"Merlin… Pans… I-"

"Piss off!" she hissed nastily, pulling out her wand and pointing it at him. "Go on! You might as well leave now! Go! If you want to abandon everything you've ever known, then I won't stop you! Join up with the scar-headed cunt! I hope you're happy together!"

Draco bristled indignantly. "This isn't about Harry! This is about me surviving!"

"And you think you'll survive by fighting with them? The Dark Lord-"

"I never said anything about fighting! I'm not disillusioned, Pansy! I know that if I join Dumbledore, the Dark Lord will kill me just the same! I die either way, whichever side I'm on! Don't you get it? I'm a dead man walking!"

The girl's outrage visibly trickled away. Eventually, her wand arm fell limp.

Draco shut his eyes and rubbed at his temples. All the shouting had made his hangover-induced headache a hundred times worse.

"So… now you see what I see. The only logical thing to do is run; hide and hope he never finds me. No more mansion… no more servants... no more gold."

"No…" Pansy whispered, sounding somewhat desperate, "Draco, you'll be fine. Surely he wouldn't… You're a Malfoy."

"I told you," mumbled Draco morosely, shaking his head. "I saw it in his eyes. It was a silent promise; a promise that he'd send me to my death. Even if I vowed to kill Harry and bring him her head, I know in my gut he'd only let me live just long enough to do it."

Pansy stared at him hollowly. After several long minutes spent silently boring holes into the side of his head, she crawled forward and slid back into his lap.

"I'll go with you."

"Pans, this is serious. You'd lose everything."

"So what?" she cried angrily, balling his half-buttoned shirt in her fists. "Even if I have to live like a Weasley, I'll run with you to the ends of the earth! Merlin knows I'll hate every minute of it, but at least you'd be alive… at least we'd be together! My loyalty lies with you; not with the Dark Lord or our money! It always has!"

The steely resolve in her voice did far more than just convince him. Once again, Draco found himself flying the flag at full mast.

Pansy growled and with a great tug, pulled his shirt apart, sending a shower of tiny buttons flying in every direction over the earthy tile of the veranda.

"Draco…"

"Y-Yeah?"

She raked her fingernails down his abdomen.

"I'm… ready."

Had they not been firmly attached to his head, Draco was quite sure his bulging eyes would have popped from their sockets.

"Here? Now?"

Pansy reached down, grasped the hem of her gown, and pulled it cleanly over her head. Draco's troubled mind went blissfully blank as her perfect chest swung free.

"Why not? I've taken my potion. No one's watching. Your father said he was leaving early in order prepare for tomorrow's trial and I'm quite sure your mother will be passed out in her bed for the next few days. She had even more to drink than you did last night."

"But… I thought you wanted to wait until we were-"

"Are you really about to turn me down?" asked the girl, pouting her lips.

Draco shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not."

Pansy grinned and grabbed one of the large cushions from the loveseat.

"I didn't think so."

0000

The cork came loose with a soft pop.

"How does it feel?"

"How does what feel, Moony?"

"Freedom. You're free at last."

Sirius frowned at the very old, very expensive bottle of wine before passing it to his sickly-looking friend. "It feels… different. Not entirely good per se, but I certainly think it worth a celebratory drink. My dear old mother forbade me to open this until the day of my wedding."

Remus, who was still recovering from his transformation sans Wolfbane potion, knocked back several long swigs, his eyes never moving from the crackling fire. "Well, it's only ten o'clock. There's still time to tie the knot. Perhaps the toothless lodger in Number Thirteen would have you?"

"Ah yes. Mrs. Crimble is a fine woman. I've tried to woo her many a time, yet she continuously spurns my advances."

"What a shame," grumbled the werewolf. "I've had a wonderful toast prepared for the better part of sixteen years."

"Really? What about?"

Remus waved his hand dismissively. "Oh… this and that; a few of our various escapades. I was particularly looking forward to seeing the crowd's reaction upon hearing the story of the Puffskein."

Sirius grimaced. "I imagine it would get quite the laugh. Of course, I'd have to murder you before you could finish telling it."

"Of course," agreed Remus, raising the wine bottle in mock cheers. "Drunk and in the company of friends; a good way to go, I'd think. Perhaps you could-"

"Do you think they'd let us see him, Moony?"

Clearly undisturbed by the sudden change in topic, the graying man sighed and slid the bottle back across the table. "No… I don't think they will. And even if they did, I doubt he'd talk to us. You heard what Arthur said. Peter was silent as the grave throughout the entire trial. The fact that he didn't defend himself should put your mind at ease. He knows what he did and obviously accepts it."

"I want to hear him say it!" spat Sirius, his anger flaring wildly. "I want to hear him admit that he betrayed us long before I made him Secret Keeper!"

"Why? You know the truth. Do you think listening to Peter's confession will make you feel any less guilty?"

"Obviously."

Sirius brought the wine to his lips and downed at least four glasses worth in one go before Remus was able to snatch it away from him.

"I understand, Padfoot. I truly do. But it's over. It's time to live in the present. You've a goddaughter to watch over."

"Aye… But that doesn't mean I'll just-"

Number Twelve's kitchen fireplace roared into life, causing both of them to jump up and draw their wands.

In a burst of green flame, a woman stumbled out of the fireplace, hacking and wheezing on the cloud of soot that enveloped her.

Demonstrating lightning quick reflexes, Remus shot out an arm and caught their guest around the waist, thus sparing her from becoming painfully familiar with the china cabinet.

Sirius' foul mood immediately brightened. In the twenty-two years he had lived as a free man, he had only encountered one person who purposefully colored their hair a vibrant shade of bubblegum pink.

His exuberant shout of greeting went completely unnoticed. The daughter of the only cousin he gave a damn about was standing rooted to the spot, staring up at Remus with a dumbstruck look on her face.

The werewolf smiled uncertainly and in the span of just a few short seconds, the girl's hair flashed through every color of the rainbow, finally settling on a bright, rosy red, which just so happened to be identical to her steadily flushing complexion.

The sight of their awkward reunion carried Sirius back to a particularly happy memory; a memory from the days before his world had tuned to shite.

/FLASHBACK/

"They destroyed my house, Padfoot. We do need a place to live you know."

"But why willingly subject yourself to a two-story cottage when you've got enough money to rebuild the manor fifty times over?"

James shrugged and said jovially, "It's not the size that matters, mate. It's how you use it."

Sirius grinned and scratched his chin. "I suppose that's true. I wouldn't really know though, seeing as I'm hung like a-"

The hand that had been calmly resting on James' shoulder flew forward, latched onto Sirius' ear, and twisted.

Lily leaned across her husband's lap and whispered threateningly, "Finish that sentence and you'll be taking Remus' job. There are children in this house."

"And quite a lot of them," agreed the nineteen-year-old werewolf as four toddlers utilized his body as a jungle gym. "I'm beginning to regret volunteering for- AGGHH!"

Molly Weasley hurriedly broke away from her conversation with Emmeline and Dedalus to wrench her pair of two-year-olds away from their victim. "Ohh… I'm sorry, Remus. Fred and George do have a tendency to bite the people they like. I've really no idea where they get it from."

As Molly retreated upstairs with her sons, the many younger couples present at the Weasley's Christmas gathering shared amused looks. The lovebites which Arthur was attempting to hide beneath a woolly turtleneck answered that question rather nicely.

"Quite the turnout tonight, eh?" said Peter happily, clapping Sirius on the back as he munched on a selection of cheese-cubes. "I didn't think so many from the Order would show up. Frank, you're the walking roster. Is everyone coming?"

"Almost," replied Frank, making little effort to hide the bum-pinch he gave his fiancée as she walked past carrying several empty bottles of butterbeer. "Professor Dumbledore obviously doesn't have the time. Fabian, Gideon, and Marlene are in France. Ted and Andromeda might drop in, but I understand why they wouldn't want to risk it, given all the Muggle-Born hunting going round. Dorcas… well, I've no idea where Dorcas is. Oi, Alice, where's your ruddy brother gone off to?"

"I haven't the foggiest, love," replied the girl from the kitchen. "Perhaps another surveillance mission?"

"Well, still," said Lily, embracing James tightly. "It's nice to see so many familiar faces on Christmas. Reminds me why I haven't taken this one and left the country. We were-"

The Weasley's fireplace flared green, sending every occupant of the room reaching for their wand.

Three figures emerged from the flames and unfortunately, the smallest of them kept right on going. The little girl's foot caught on the edge of the rug and she tumbled headfirst into Remus, who was currently occupied with animating a toy horse for Percy's and Charlie's amusement.

When she regained her bearings, the girl burst into tears and scurried away to hide behind her mother.

Sirius grinned and passed his drink to James, "Duty calls. Do excuse me."

Andromeda smiled and was quick to bundle Sirius into a hug after he had greeted Ted. Despite her Slytherin upbringing, his cousin was a warm, loving woman who cared for her family a great deal. She regularly wrote to her siblings, even though they never wrote back. She was constantly telling him that he should do the same, but Sirius found himself hard-pressed to follow her advice. Regulus, loyal little death-eater-in-training that he was, was at the very top of his 'to maim' list.

Kneeling down next to the crying girl, he gently tugged on her pigtails. "Ding-dong. Can Dora come out to play? Sirius is lonely all by himself."

His little cousin gradually leaned around her mother's leg, sniffling. "Siri… is… is that boy mad at me?"

"Who? Remus? Of course he's not! In fact, he's dying to meet you properly. Isn't that right, Moony?"

Remus knelt at his side. "Absolutely. I'm always happy to make new friends, especially ones with such lovely pink hair. Sirius, could this by chance be Nymphadora, shape-shifting extraordinaire?"

"No!" shouted the girl, her tears drying instantly. "No… just… just Dora!"

"Very pleased to meet you, Dora," replied the werewolf, extending his hand. "I'm Remus."

As his cousin tentatively reached out to shake, a pink rose the exact color of her hair seemed to grow from Remus' palm. Dora's eyes went very wide as he held it out to her and said kindly, "A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady."

When she took it, both the rose and her hair simultaneously flashed through a myriad of different colors before stopping on a deep, vivid red.

Once Andromeda had pulled her daughter away to meet the rest of the Order, Sirius slung his arm around Remus' shoulders.

"Bad move, Moony."

"Whatever do you mean? I thought I was adequately charming."

"Too charming, I'm afraid. Dora's ability hasn't stabilized, so she can't go outside for fear that a muggle might spot her."

"And?"

"And… you just handed a Protean-charmed rose to a girl with no friends and told her that she was beautiful. I do believe you've just landed yourself an eight-year-old for a girlfriend."

The werewolf groaned and hung his head.

"Bollocks."

/END/

In order to save Remus from his not-so-secret admirer, Sirius said the one thing that he suspected would grab the young woman's attention.

"Nymphadora Tonks, I can't believe it's you!"

She cringed and whirled around. "Don't call me Nymphadora!"

"Why ever not?" he asked with an innocent smile. "It's a beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Don't you agree, Remus?"

If looks could kill, the pair of angry, embarrassed glares that statement elicited would have immediately done him in.

His cousin stomped towards him and waved her finger in his face. "You know I hate it! I go by Tonks now and don't you forget it!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Not Dora?"

"A lot's changed!"

He grinned and tugged on a lock of her hair. "Well, not too much I hope. I've missed my favorite metamorph."

Her angry expression evaporated and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "I never believed for a second that you were guilty, Sirius! Not one second! S'why I'm an Auror now. I wanted to investigate for myself."

Sirius rubbed her back consolingly. "It's good to see you again."

She pulled away and grinned. "You too. But that's only part of the reason I came. I really need to speak to Dumbledore and a little birdie told me that your house would be a likely place to find him. Is he here? He's not in his office."

Remus cleared his throat. "You've just missed him actually. He popped in a few hours ago to share the news of the trial's verdict."

"Why are you searching for him?" asked Sirius. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Not really… just reporting in. Shacklebolt asked me to a keep a watch out for cases that seemed out of the ordinary and told me that my first priority was to report them to Dumbledore."

"Has something happened then?"

She nodded weakly.

"Barty Crouch's home was just burned to the ground. The Dark Mark... it was floating above the wreckage."

"Death Eaters?" whispered Sirius, somewhat taken aback. "They're actively attacking? Out in the open?"

"No," said Tonks earnestly. "The Mark... it was... it was cast by Neville Longbottom."

0000

"The stasis charms seem fully charged," observed Nicolas, glancing at the clock as he stirred his piping-hot tea. "Everything is prepared. Will Bathsheda be joining us?"

"As always, she prefers solidarity."

"Understandable. Are you ready?"

Popping a Lemon Drop into his mouth, the wizened man sitting in the armchair at his side replied lightly, "A most intriguing question, Nicolas. Tell me… are you familiar with a Mrs. Alice Liddell?"

"The barmy witch who claimed she found a portal to another dimension in a rabbit's burrow?"

"Yes, that's the one. I once had the pleasure of meeting her towards the end of her life. She told me that as she peered over the edge of the bottomless pit, the terrifying abyss stared back at her; gripped her very soul. She told me that she had never been more frightened in her life, but still she jumped in as the wizard who chased her drew near. I find myself in a similar predicament. I sorely wish to run and hide. But, there is nowhere else to go. To survive, I must jump. I must fall into the unknown. It is my only option. I ask you… Can one ever really be ready for such a grim task?"

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed quite nicely, Albus."

His attempt to lighten the mood was rewarded only with a sad smile.

"Regardless of my fear, Nicolas, we must proceed."

Nicolas grimaced as Albus consumed yet another Lemon Drop.

"You know, beneath your wisdom and wrinkles, I can still see the visage of the young man who appeared on my doorstep all those years ago. You used candy as your crutch in those days as well. Although… back then, you had yet to lace your stash of Pepperment Imps with Calming Draught."

"Do not deny me my small comforts. I'm elderly and infirm. I suspect I wouldn't last a day without them."

"Come now," laughed Nicolas, deftly plucking the jar of yellow candies from Albus' fingers. "Self-loathing is my constant companion. I have learned to recognize it even when it is disguised by jest. You really must work on being more subtle."

Albus chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We know each other far too well, do we not?"

Just as Nicolas opened his mouth to reply, the clock on the wall struck midnight.

An involuntary shiver ran down the length of his spine.

Albus had obviously experienced a similar sensation, for the merry glint behind his half-moon spectacles had flickered and gone out.

It was time.

The summer solstice was upon them.

The Ley-line was open.

The Circles had been called.

Nicolas sighed into his teacup. "I fear it shall be an age before we speak again, old friend. Emrys never truthfully admitted to me the duration of his journey, but I could see the passage of time in his young eyes. I could see every lonely decade."

The lines in Albus' face became all the more prominent. "That is a necessary sacrifice which I am more than willing to make. I must succeed. I must give Harry her chance. But alas, if I do not return, if I am lost in his madness, you will guide her in my stead?"

Nicolas nodded. "I gave you my word. But I must say… should you not return, I hardly see the point. The coming war would be lost long before it begins. All our eggs are in your basket. This is for everything; everything or nothing."

"That may be true," wheezed Albus, his gaze flicking towards the empty corner of the room. "But if it be in my power, I would still see her fight back."

"Harry will surely fight regardless," said Nicolas absently, snapping his fingers to summon Riddle's sedated body. "I doubt she will ever willingly let go."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he had said far too much.

"Something you'd like to share with me, Nicolas?"

He clasped Albus' shoulder reassuringly. "I'm afraid now is not the time. We must begin. I would wish you luck, but I doubt luck will have much to do with your success. Instead, I shall remind you once again that Nicolas Blaise Flamel believes Albus Dumbledore to be his greatest apprentice, greater by far than Emrys Ambrosius."

"I am most flattered," said Albus, closing his eyes and placing his palms on either side of Riddle's temples. "However… I doubt that it is Merlin waiting for me in the darkness."

0000

GoF one is complete.

Plenty of new chapter art on the blog.

Thanks for reading. Drop a review if you have the time.

Sorry it took so long everyone.

I am aware of the reviewing problem for this chapter. Seeing as I got rid of the art blog's standalone author's note, all the chapter numbers have shifted. Basically, if you reviewed last chapter while signed in, you won't be able to review this one while signed in.