Chapter 37

Tyler woke up in bed. His real bed, at home in Bath, and it took him a moment to realise that wasn't right. He sat up quickly, then stopped and groaned at a headrush so bad it made his vision waver.

"Stupid boy," Marcus' familiar voice scolded gently. Tyler felt his hand on his shoulder before his vision cleared enough for him to see Marcus properly, pushing him back down. "You lost a lot of blood, you need to rest."

Tyler lay, reaching up to touch his throat and finding it wrapped in bandages.

"What happened?"

The wrinkles along Marcus' forehead deepened as he frowned. "You don't remember?"

"No—I mean, yeah. I remember getting attacked, but after. I thought she'd kill me."

"I wouldn't kill you."

Only Marcus' hand on his shoulder kept Tyler down. His gaze snapped around and he saw the vampire woman sitting in the furthest corner of his room, on his desk chair beneath his wall of photos, arms folded over her chest and legs crossed.

"What the fuck!"

"Tyler, relax," Marcus ordered. "I won't let her hurt you again."

"Get her out of my bedroom!"

"Tyler, listen to me, I need—"

"No! Get her out, I'm not listening to anything until she gets the fuck out! She tried to kill me!"

"Tyler, stop!"

Tyler stared at him, confused. Marcus had always protected him; why was he letting a vicious monster near him now?

"She's here because there's a reason she attacked you, and you both deserve an explanation."

"What fucking explanation does she need?"

"If you will stop shouting, I'll tell you. And please stop swearing so much."

Tyler glared at him, knocking his hand away. "Get on with it then."

"Please do," the vampire agreed.

Marcus sighed, moving his hand to his lap. "Very well. First of all, let me introduce each other. Tyler, this is Danielle Baines. Danielle, this is Tyler Lyle."

"He already told me his name," Danielle snarled. "I want to know who he is."

"Wait, I know that name," Tyler said, frowning. "You've mentioned her before. Where…?"

"Danielle used to be my fiancée," Marcus said.

Tyler remembered. "You said she died during World War Two."

"I thought she had. Her home was destroyed during an air raid and her body never found. I had no idea she might still be alive until today."

They both looked over at her, seeking explanation. She scowled, but spoke.

"I almost died. One of the bombs came down directly on the house and I hadn't reached the shelter yet. I was struck across the head and that was the last thing I remembered before I woke up in some underground room with a handful of other newly made vampires. We were to be soldiers for Grindlewald."

Marcus winced. "I'm sorry, Danielle."

Tyler sat up, ignoring the brief burst of dizziness the movement caused. "What are you apologising to her for?"

"Do you think I wanted to work for that man?" Danielle shot back before Marcus could answer. "He wanted to enslave my kind!"

"Good! Vampires deserve nothing better if they're like you!"

Danielle snarled at him, started to rise, but Marcus thrust his other hand out, pointing his wand at her. She sat back again. Marcus lowered his hand and looked to Tyler, but didn't put the wand away.

"She's not talking about vampires, she's talking about Muggles. Danielle wasn't a witch before her undeath."

"You were engaged to a Muggle? You never mentioned that."

Marcus shrugged. "It wasn't important. She knew about magic; I told her of it so she wouldn't go into our marriage ignorant."

"You broke the Statute of Secrecy? Lose your job for that."

"I didn't work for the Ministry then, and what they don't know won't hurt them."

"Who cares?" Danielle broke in. "I've told you how I survived. Tell me who he is. How is he related to Nathaniel?"

"Who's Nathaniel?" Tyler asked.

Danielle said nothing, averting her gaze, expression softening slightly for the first time since he woke up.

"Nathaniel was the reason Danielle and I never wed," Marcus said. "Ours was an arranged marriage. Although my family were all wizards from five generations back, we had land, money, and titles granted by King William the third and we had a presence in the Muggle world."

"My parents were very eager to get rid of me to someone rich," Danielle said, voice dripping with bitterness.

"The Baines' fortunes were waning," Marcus explained, sounding apologetic. "Danielle's great-uncle gambled away much of their money and they weren't recovering well. They owed my parents quite a bit of debt, and Danielle was promised to me to pay it off. I realise how awful that is," he added at Tyler's incredulous expression. "I objected, but if I hadn't agreed the engagement would just have been moved to my brother, who was far less pleasant."

"What happened to John anyway?" Danielle asked somewhat begrudgingly.

"He was killed by Death Eaters in seventy-six."

Danielle caught his gaze. "Sorry."

Marcus accepted the sympathy with a nod, and continued explaining to Tyler, "Six months before our wedding, Danielle met Nathaniel at a homeless shelter where she did voluntary work. They fell very much in love, and while I would have wed her before, I didn't have the heart to keep her from true happiness. I broke the engagement and helped her set up a home to hide from our respective parents. I even offered to pay for their wedding, but…"

"We would have paid for it ourselves," Danielle said pridefully.

"Would have?" Tyler repeated. Danielle looked away, pain flickering across her face.

"The war broke out," Marcus said. "Nathaniel was Muggle and of age; he was drafted into service."

"He died?"

Marcus nodded. "Presumably, yes. He went missing in forty-two, while on the front lines, but his remains were never found. By that time, Danielle had already died—or so I thought, anyway—the year before."

"Right," Tyler said, looking between them. "Look, this is all… really sad and everything… but what does it have to do with me?"

Danielle looked at Marcus. Marcus looked at Tyler. "Nathaniel's surname was Lyle."

Tyler inhaled sharply, felt his eyes widen, glanced between the two adults. "He was… am I…?"

Marcus shook his head. "You're not his direct descendent."

"We never had the chance for children," Danielle said. "So he's from Elliot's boy?"

"Yes," Marcus agreed, and explained to Tyler, "Nathaniel had a younger brother, Elliot, who had a son named Benjamin. Benjamin was your mother's father."

"My grandfather? The one that disowned mum?"

Marcus nodded.

Danielle shifted. "Why'd he do that?"

"Because he's a bigger bastard than I am," Tyler said.

Danielle raised her eyebrows at that. Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Tyler was born out of wedlock. Benjamin disapproved."

"Typical Lyle," Danielle said, lip curling.

Tyler scowled. "What's that meant to mean?"

"Parents disowning their children. Nathaniel's did, Elliot went and got himself killed in a brawl when Ben was just a toddler, now Ben did it too. Bet your mum did as well."

"My mum died," Tyler snapped. "She didn't abandon me. It wasn't her fault."

Danielle looked doubtful. "You should probably avoid having kids in any case."

"Danielle, stop it," Marcus scolded.

She turned angry eyes on him. "I'm only speaking the truth. That boy's a Lyle, and a wizard to boot. That makes him twice as bad."

"I'm a wizard."

Danielle just looked as if this proved her point.

"What have you got against wizards?" Tyler asked. "We've never done anything to you."

"Are you joking? Grindlewald tried to enslave us, You Know Who is trying to kill us all, for the second time. Numerous wizards have tried to kill me since I was turned. It was the whole reason Nathaniel's parents abandoned him. As far as I've seen—"

"Wait," Marcus interrupted, staring at Danielle in shock. "Nathaniel's parents?"

"They were wizards. It's the whole reason they kicked him and Elliot out, because they were both squibs. I thought you knew that."

Marcus looked stunned. "No, you never mentioned."

"Oh. Must have slipped my mind."

Tyler furrowed his brow. "Hang on, so that means my… great… great? Grandparents were magical?"

Marcus shook himself off. "Yes. Not that it matters to anyone that cares about purity; it's too far back to be worth anything."

"So how did he—" Danielle nodded her head at Tyler "—end up with you?"

Marcus put off answering until he'd called for Mitzy to bring them tea. Tyler noticed Danielle flinch slightly when the elf appeared and vanished. She refused a drink, but Marcus poured a cup for himself and Tyler, who gratefully accepted it, and Marcus finally answered the question.

"I kept a bit of an eye on Benjamin after you and Nathaniel died," Marcus eventually explained. "Nothing overt, he was living with his mother's family, but I looked in on the family from time to time. When Victoria—Benjamin's daughter, Tyler's mother—was disowned, I tried to help her out. Gave her money when she needed it. When she died and Benjamin refused to take Tyler, I adopted him myself."

"Why?" Danielle pushed. "What was it to do with you?"

"Nothing, really," Marcus admitted. "But you were my friend, you loved Nathaniel, and Nathaniel loved Benjamin. I suppose with you gone, I felt I owed it to look out for the boy that would have been your nephew. I never married or had family myself, and I suppose when Tyler's mother died…"

He trailed off with a shrug.

Danielle looked at Tyler. "Where's your real father?"

Tyler scowled down at his tea and didn't answer.

"I don't think that's important," Marcus answered for him. "I think we've had enough history. I want to know about tonight. What were you both doing at the Bennett house?"

Tyler grit his teeth.

"What do you think I was doing there?" Danielle snapped. "My whole family was murdered, Marcus."

Tyler jerked his head up, spilling tea over the sides of his cup. "Your what?"

She gave him a cool look. "My family. Richard was my brother."

"Who's Richard? Wait, was that Charlie's great-grandfather that came to live with them this summer?"

Danielle nodded curtly. "What were you doing there?"

He shrugged.

"An answer, please, Tyler," Marcus said. "You ran away from the Swifts for it."

Tyler grit his teeth, then spat, "That bitch wouldn't let me go to the funeral. She said they weren't worth it, because they were Muggles! I couldn't stay there, Marcus. I was coming home, but when I got here I just wanted to look in the treehouse once more."

Marcus sighed. "I understand that, but you shouldn't have run off like that. It's far too dangerous out there right now."

Tyler opened his mouth to reminded him about the Word of Death Curse and the fact that everywhere was dangerous for him right now, but he glanced at Danielle again and stopped. Instead he said, "Whatever. Is she leaving yet?"

Marcus looked around at Danielle, who sniffed, but said, "I don't want to stay in the home of wizards, anyway. Besides, I need to find the one that killed my family."

Tyler looked over. "Can you do that?"

"The Ministry is hunting the Death Eaters," Marcus said warningly, gaze also fixed on Danielle.

"A bunch of useless wizards," Danielle derided.

"You never used to hate magic this much, Danielle."

"You mean when you were the only wizard I knew? Imagine that."

Marcus frowned, but didn't argue with her.

"Can you really find the ones that killed them?" Tyler asked again

"Maybe. I found a little bit of foreign blood in the room where they died. If I can find who it's from…"

"If you do, will you kill them?"

"Slowly," she said.

"Good, then I'll forgive you for attacking me."

"Tyler!"

He looked at Marcus, setting his jaw. "They killed my friends and their families. They deserve to die just as painfully and slowly as they killed Charlie and Alex."

Marcus shook his head. "More death solves nothing."

"It gets revenge," Danielle and Tyler said together, and Marcus sighed. He vanished the tea tray and their now empty cups, took his cane from where it rested against the foot of Tyler's bed, and stood up.

"It's time you left, Danielle. I'll be back soon," he said to Tyler.

When they were gone, Tyler slumped against his pillows, staring up at the sloped ceiling above him. His whole life he'd known almost nothing about his biological family; his mother had only ever told him she'd been disowned for getting pregnant out of wedlock, and that was it. Now, in the past two months, he'd learnt more about them than he ever had. It just sucked that most of it was crap. Getting Cid for a step-brother was the best that came out of it all, and Layla as a half-sister was alright, although she was a bit of a spoilt brat at times.

Marcus came back five minutes later and sat down with a small groan.

"You okay?" Tyler asked, sitting up again.

Marcus nodded, smiled. "Just old. Seeing Danielle looking so young reminds me just how old. And those stairs. I think it's time I put some charms on them, or perhaps just install a lift."

"Charmed stairs are cooler," Tyler told him, and he chuckled.

"Well, we'll see. Now, lets talk about you running away."

Tyler scowled.

"Dylan told me you argued with Olivia. Over Charlie's funeral?"

"She's a complete bitch, Marcus, and Dylan doesn't stand up to her, ever. I hate her. I'm not living there any more, I don't care if he is my father. You're my dad."

Marcus smiled. "We'll have to figure something out then. I don't like leaving you home alone, especially not now."

"I don't think the Death Eaters are gonna come after me again," Tyler pointed out. "And if you make me stay with the Swifts I'll run away again."

"I won't," Marcus promised. "That's very clearly not an option any longer. But I didn't just mean the Death Eaters. I didn't mind leaving you alone before because the Stones and Bennetts were nearby to look in on you occasionally."

Tyler clenched his hands in his lap. Despite being personally cursed by Voldemort, he was more angry at the Death Eaters for murdering Alex and Charlie. Voldemort might scare him, but the Death Eaters pissed him off.

"I'll take a few days off work, for now," Marcus said. "Perhaps I can get the last few weeks until you go back to Hogwarts."

"Thanks."

"You are my son. I fear I've been a little too absent through the years. Perhaps I'm a little late to make up for it, but…"

"I didn't mind," Tyler told him honestly. "I liked having freedom. You're a good dad, Marcus."

Marcus smiled. "Well. If you say that I certainly can't have been too bad. How do you feel about having Cid here for the time being, as well?"

"Really? Why? Also: yes, definitely. But why?"

"It seems he took your runaway as an inspiration for his own rebellion. He says he won't live with his mother if you don't have to."

"But he's not going to his dad's?"

Marcus sighed wearily. "Eric feels too guilty over the kidnapping to let Cid stay with him. Olivia also refuses to let Cid go back to his father's; she's threatening to apply for sole custody. I think letting him stay with us for this summer should settle things down."

Tyler nodded vigorously, then stopped because it made his head spin. "Yeah, let's do that. I don't like Olivia or Dylan much, but Cid's still my step-brother and my friend."

Not to mention he could really do with the company right then. It'd been bad enough dealing with Charlie and Alex's deaths halfway across the country. Being back home, with their empty houses just across the street, made it worse.

The eighth person Harry killed should have been the hardest, but it was the easiest. He spent a week after killing the Bennett family agonising over it, knowing there was going to be another person he was asked to kill and unsure if he could tip that balance between the number of people killed and the number of lives he was saving.

He was called once in that time, but it was only to plant some illegal documents, stolen by a recently recruited Death Eater who worked in the Ministry, in the home of one of the Minister's personal aides. The aide was arrested for possessing documents he shouldn't have, and was replaced by someone that the Death Eaters controlled.

When Harry was finally called to kill again, his target was a wizard who ran a new orphanage for magical kids. Harry was horrified at first, but then he found out why he was being sent there—the man was abusing the children in his care.

"You know as well as I that the Ministry doesn't care about us orphans," Voldemort said to Harry after giving his orders. "We owe it to those children to deal with this monster. Make an example of him."

A small part of Harry realised that there was probably more to this than what Voldemort was telling him, but he had no inclination to ask for more details. Only one thing concerned him—"What about the kids?"

"Leave them. I believe they have a matron, though if she is willing to overlook the abuse then perhaps she ought to die as well. I will leave that choice to you."

Harry went with only Antonin, who, on their way out the hospital, stopped Harry to explain in calm, reasonable tones that he'd lied about the Stones only for Harry's sake, to help him do what he had to. It sounded so perfectly reasonable, and all the while Antonin smiled that nice, convincing smile of his, that Harry found himself believing it and forgiving the man.

Only later would he think to wonder if this, too, was a lie, but he never confronted Antonin about it because whether it was a lie or the truth, it'd worked. Harry had done what had to be done and Antonin's lie about the Stones had helped. Mostly Harry just felt angry at himself still for believing it, and eternally wary of whatever else Antonin's silvertongue might trick him into doing.

Harry was worried that Antonin would scare the children, intentionally or not, but he proved surprisingly good with them. Better than Harry, in any case, but he was too angry to worry about it. There were a dozen kids in the orphanage, all under ten years old and all with bruises on them. The oldest, a girl of nine, had oil burns on her hands, and a five year old boy was screaming to be let out of a trunk when Harry and Antonin arrived. When Harry broke open the locks, he found the boy trapped in with three huge rats.

After that, he left the children to Antonin and went to deal with the manager. For the first time, he not only didn't feel bad about torturing someone, but took pleasure in it. He wired the man's jaw shut first—he didn't want the kids to hear him screaming—and by the time Antonin came through to check on Harry, the man was a sobbing wreck, pawing at Harry's feet and looking up at him with pleading eyes. Harry shoved him in the same trunk the five year old had been in, shut the lid, and Wished the rats inside into a frenzy until the thuds and thumps of the man's struggles stopped.

He left the matron, although Antonin suggested killing her. She was an aging woman bearing bruises herself and the children didn't seem afraid of her, for which Harry was glad. He didn't want to kill someone when he had the choice not to, but he wasn't sure he could forgive someone who stood aside while children were hurt. He just left her with a firm warning that he would be back if she hurt the children herself, satisfied by her terrified nod of agreement.

He didn't feel bad about any of it until three o'clock in the morning, when he woke up from a dream where he enjoyed torture as much as Bellatrix Lestrange. For the first time in weeks he had a really bad panic attack. They'd stopped as his Occlumency got better, only the minor ones still hitting him, and those were easier to bear and at least didn't make him destroy things.

Now he sat in his bed shaking and gasping, struggling to keep his magic from destroying the bedroom around him. He knew it would pass like they always did, but that didn't stop his heart pounding or lessen the tightness in his lungs or stop his thoughts racing with fear.

When it passed, he checked Sirius and James were still asleep, and left for Spinner's End. He felt a little guilty for waking Snape, but he needed his honesty right then. He needed to tell him what he'd done and hear Snape say he wasn't a monster.

"If you ever cross that line, I will tell you," Snape promised him. "For now, can I go back to sleep?"

Harry finally got a letter from Ollivander a week before the end of the holiday, so he took another trip to Diagon Alley to pick up the new wand and his supplies for the new year.

"Here you are," Ollivander said, presenting the wand to him. "Acacia, eleven and a half inches—just a touch longer than your last one—with a core of basilisk scale. Professor McGonagall was able to provide me with one, which has kept the price down."

Oh yes, purred the voice as Harry took the wand, yes, I like this one.

When he waved it, an entire swarm of butterflies of every variety came pouring out the end and with another flick, they vanished.

Harry grinned properly for the first time in months. "It's perfect."

"Hm," Ollivander said, looking satisfied. "That'll be ten galleons, six sickles."

By the end of the month, Harry's kill count was up to ten and he'd helped kidnap Florean Fortescue. On the night before he returned to Hogwarts, he was called back to kill him, and as he stood over the cooling corpse Voldemort praised him.

"I saw the horror in your eyes when you returned from your first mission. I'm sure it was harder to kill someone who hadn't wronged you so badly, as your worthless father had, but now you do it with ease. You're a true Death Eater, Harry. I knew you would be an excellent addition to my ranks. It's almost a pity you'll be at Hogwarts these coming months, but I'm certain that if I need you, you'll find a way to come to me, will you not?"

"Of course, my lord," Harry said with a bow of his head, burying his horror at such praise beneath his Occlumency shields.

"Good. Now, I have a mission for you, Harry. Your most important one. You have a year to complete it."

Harry looked up, curious despite himself. Up until now, all his missions had been quick and technically simple even if they were emotionally difficult. What could he be asked to do that might take a year?

"I want you to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Well now, the voice murmured. I didn't see that one coming. Still, should be easy enough. Not like we like the old bastard that much.

"I want it to be public."

"P-public?"

Voldemort reached for him and Harry fought not to flinch away as Voldemort pushed his mask up.

"When you kill him, I want people to see you do it. Let the world know their leader is dead and the boy they put so much faith in works for me."

"In a year?"

"Before the end of the last school term." Voldemort gave one of his terrifying, teeth-baring smiles. "This is my grace to you, Harry. Do this, and I will ask nothing more of you in the last year of your life. Perhaps you can use it to find a way to avoid the hellhounds that are coming for you. As long as you don't stand against me, I will release you from active service to me."

It sounded like an offer far too good to be true. He didn't know how Voldemort would react if he mentioned that, though, so he just nodded.

"Thank you, my lord."

"You're dismissed."

Harry bowed and left. He teleported to Spinner's End, vanished his mask, and went up to the lab, where Snape was working on a potion. Neither of them spoke for a while, Snape focused on his brewing and Harry just watching, taking a seat on one of his stools. When Snape reached a part of the brewing where he only had to stir, he looked over.

"You looked troubled."

"The Dark Lord…"

"What did he do?"

"I don't think I should tell you while you're working."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't push for details. As he worked, a thought occurred to Harry. When he left for school tomorrow, he wouldn't be able to come back so often. He could sneak out the school, but it would be awkward and with his school work to deal with he didn't want to spend half his nights staying up. But if he couldn't visit regularly, he wouldn't know if Snape needed anything. Snape had the Polyjuice now, but they might still need to communicate.

Fortunately, he had an idea and hopped off the stool, telling Snape he'd be back in a bit. Snape frowned at him but Harry was already moving. He recalled seeing a Post Office when he raised Snape from his coffin earlier in the summer and he went there now. It was shut, of course, but he broke in and only felt a little guilty about stealing two cheap notebooks. He returned to Snape's house, where Snape gave him a curious look as Harry set the two notebooks down on the workbench. He made a Wish, conjured a pen, then opened the notebooks and, in one, wrote:

My name is Harry Evans.

As soon as he wrote the words, they appeared in the second notebook, duplicated exactly, right down to the flick he put in the dot over the i. Satisfied, he left them and waited until Snape finished his potion, covered the cauldron, and washed his hands. Harry stayed where he was and Snape pulled out another stool, sitting facing him.

"Do you want to explain this?" he said, gesturing to the notebooks. Harry pushed one towards him.

"They're for if we need to contact each other while I'm at school. I won't be able to come regularly or I'll never sleep, but if you need something then you can use this."

Snape flipped through it, but his mouth twisted with a frown. "I won't pull you away from Hogwarts."

Harry shrugged. "It's there in case of emergency."

"Hmm. Tell me what the Dark Lord wanted."

"He wants me to kill Dumbledore," Harry said, and explained the details of the mission whilst Snape looked stunned. "Do you think he means it?"

"Letting you stop working for him? I highly doubt it. He can't remove the mark, so you'll always be his." He paused, looking troubled, then admitted, "I suspect he plans to kill you."

"But he knows I'm going to die anyway."

Snape grimaced at that. "Regardless. You're a danger to him if you choose to stand against him. It would be foolish of him to give you even a modicum of freedom."

"So what do I do? Killing Dumbledore…"

"It's a big thing," Snape agreed. "It'll have huge ramifications for the war, especially if you reveal yourself a Death Eater. It would break the light side's moral. It might even end the war entirely; I don't know how well the Ministry would stand up against the Dark Lord without Dumbledore as a rallying point."

"What about my lessons?"

"Lessons?"

"The ones Dumbledore wants to give me. He hasn't come by and mentioned them again, but I never told him no. Maybe… if I took them and found out how to defeat the Dark Lord, I could kill him instead. I wouldn't have to kill Dumbledore."

"It would certainly be ideal," Snape mused. "Your Occlumency is good enough now that I'm not worried the Dark Lord would find out. But if the time came and killing him wasn't possible—if whatever Dumbledore plans to teach you isn't enough—could you kill Dumbledore?"

"I'd have to, wouldn't I?"

"But could you?" Snape repeated. "This isn't strangers or even vague acquaintances. You know Dumbledore. Could you kill him? Especially with an audience."

Harry stared down at his knees, imagining it. Imagined standing in the Great Hall at dinner, announcing himself a Death Eater, and Wishing Dumbledore dead. He'd escape in the ensuing pandemonium, while they were still figuring out what had happened.

Or perhaps not at dinner, he suddenly thought, imagining the looks on his friends' faces. Maybe he'd barge into a staff meeting and do it then. But McGonagall and Sirius and James would be there. He found himself oddly more worried about McGonagall's opinion of him than his godfather's.

So then where? The Ministry? Dumbledore visited there, or so Harry assumed given that he was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. There was no one in the Ministry whose opinion bothered Harry. It might be a little harder to escape, but he could manage it.

"I could do it," he said quietly. "If it was him or my friends, I could do it."

"You're certain?"

Harry nodded, smiling wryly. "Honestly, the hardest part is knowing my friends would hate me for what I'd done. But actually killing him?" He shrugged. "I think it'd be easier than I should be comfortable with."

The next morning, Harry, Sirius, and James were early to King's Cross. Sirius and James would be taking the train up to Hogwarts with him—or rather, they would be on it, but Harry had been very clear that there weren't to sit with him.

"I'm sixteen," Harry told Sirius before they left the house, "and having my godfather ride the train with me is just embarrassing."

Sirius looked at him pitifully. "You wound me."

Harry just glowered at him. Sirius' affected look faded to one of genuine irritation, but James spoke before they could ended up in an argument.

"We'll be patrolling the train," James said, grabbing the trunk he and Sirius were using. Apparently they weren't taking enough to bother with one each. "I'll try and keep him from embarrassing you."

Platform nine and three-quarters was mostly empty when they arrived, all except the train staff and a few Aurors. There was a lot of concern over the safety of the students this year, a fear that Voldemort and the Death Eaters would attack the school. Harry had to choke down a hysterical giggle at the idea; they had no idea he was the only Death Eater entering the school, and that he was the biggest threat Dumbledore faced.

Harry settled into a compartment and consented to let Sirius and James stick with him until other students started arriving. Sirius grumbled a little about cruelty to dogfathers, but his expression was serious by the time he stepped onto the platform and helped the Aurors keep watch over the growing crowd of students and parents.

Harry stayed where he was, unwilling to face the crowd. He sat low on his seat, trying to stay out of view, with Nyneve's journal propped open, a Latin dictionary at his side, and in his lap the notebook he'd bought specifically for his translation. It was a slow process; the Old English gave him as much trouble as the Latin did, but he persevered despite the tedious paragraphs of daily life and the descriptors of her menses and what she did with it. The history he could discover was worth it.

He kept half his attention on the door of the compartment, aware of people pausing occasionally to stare in at him, but he only looked up when the door opened and Cid and Tyler entered. He closed his notebook, eying them warily as they sat down opposite him.

"I take it back," Cid said.

"Take what back?" Harry asked.

"That I'm happy you got moved up a year."

"Why's that?"

"Because it means you're not the new prefect. Guess who is."

"Orion," Harry said, and Cid nodded miserably.

"I saw him on the platform, strutting about like he owned the place. As if my life is not bad enough right now."

Harry looked down, unable to meet their eyes.

"That wasn't aimed at you," Cid grumbled. "Look, I'm sorry about all that shit I said before. I was angry and afraid. I'm still afraid, but I'm not so angry anymore. I don't blame you."

Harry glanced up. Cid seemed to mean it and he'd never been any good at hiding his emotions.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly but earnestly. He glanced at Tyler, who was slumped against the window, staring miserably out at the busy platform. He gave no sign of wanting to talk.

"You hear about Alex Stone?" Cid said quietly to Harry, and Tyler's face got even more miserable.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying not to remember the sound of screams and unable to suppress a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry."

Tyler didn't acknowledge his sympathies, just rubbed at his neck, drawing Harry's attention to it.

"Er… is that a bite mark?"

Tyler jerked his hand down. "I had a run-in with a vampire," he muttered, and Harry's eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

Hey, I wonder if becoming a vampire would save you from the hellhounds, the voice wondered suddenly. Harry ignored it.

"That's Tyler," Cid said with mock exasperation. "Irresistible to the ladies, even dead ones that used to be engaged to his dad."

Tyler punched Cid's shoulder while Harry looked on in bafflement. With a sigh, Tyler gave Harry a brief run-down of his newly discovered family history. It made Harry start to wonder about his own family history—he realised he knew nothing of Snape's family—but the compartment door slid open again and Draco entered, derailing his train of thoughts. Harry instantly relaxed, looking up at him with a smile. Draco came over but didn't sit down, just ran his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry leant into him.

"You alright?" Draco asked quietly, and Harry hummed an agreement.

"Why are we getting dirty looks?" Cid demanded, folding his arms over his chest and glaring up at Draco.

"I don't want you upsetting him. If you're still bitter about what happened, you can get out right now."

"Draco—" Harry objected, but Tyler cut him off.

"You've got no right to say anything, Draco. You're not the one who was cursed. We've every right to hold a grudge if we want."

"It doesn't mean I'm going to let you harass him about it," Draco snapped. "He's been through enough without you two—"

"He's been through enough?" Tyler snarled, leaping to his feet. "I was kidnapped and cursed so I could die at any second. I was tortured for no other reason than that bitch Lestrange's amusement. My two oldest friends were tortured to death and all my neighbours were murdered just because they're my neighbours. My birth father is a coward married to a racist bitch, and to top it all off I was nearly killed by a goddamned vampire."

Harry stared at his lap, feeling like he might be sick. Draco's presence was no comfort at all now.

"I'm sure Harry went through some shit when he was taken," Tyler went on, "and I don't actually blame him for what happened despite what you seem to think, Draco, but that doesn't mean the rest of us have nothing to complain about."

He stood there glaring at Draco, one hand tightly clenched and the other over the pocket with his wand, like he was ready to draw at any moment. Harry felt Draco's hand tighten slightly in his hair and glanced up to gauge his expression, then stood.

"Draco, leave it," he said quietly. "Tyler's right, and they're not harassing me."

Draco held Tyler's glare for a moment longer, then turned to look at Harry. "You sure?"

"Yes, and I can look after myself, you know, even if they were."

Still frowning slightly, Draco nodded. "We're setting off soon. I have to go to the prefect's carriage, but I thought you should join me and the other sixth years after. You should meet them properly now you're joining us."

"Maybe," Harry said. His guilt made spending the entire trip with Tyler and Cid a daunting prospect, but meeting the sixth years meant meeting Theo Nott. It might not be a problem, Theo might not look like his father, but the fear of it was enough to make Harry consider putting up with his guilt-induced nausea instead.

Draco nodded, kissed him, and left. Harry sat down, the train set off, and Harry fell into conversation with Cid and Tyler. They caught up on each others holidays and Cid and Tyler asked about his work with Nyneve's journal. They soon regretted asking about that as he had what they affectionally termed a 'nerd moment'.

James stuck his head in when he passed the compartment, briefly asking after them before resuming his patrols. When he'd gone and Harry explained what he was doing there, Cid asked, "Are you going to tell people he's not your dad?"

Harry blinked, startled, then frowned thoughtfully. He'd forgotten that almost everyone believed James was his father. They might find it weird when Harry didn't call him that over the next year, and it could get awkward for him to pretend. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but did he want people to know he was Snape's bastard?

He thought about it for a while, and decided that he didn't mind it that much. Despite spending a significant portion of his life hiding who he was, he found he didn't want to spend the next year lying about who his father was.

Aware that it would affect more than just him, he excused himself from the carriage and went to find James. He found Sirius first and told him about it. Sirius didn't look happy about it.

"Don't know why you'd want to acknowledge that git as your father," he muttered, keeping his voice down in the busy corridor.

"He died for me," Harry said, and Sirius scowled deeper but didn't argue. "I don't want to lie about it, and it's not your decision anyway."

"Fine," Sirius bit out. "But you should talk to James first. It affects him, too."

He stalked away before Harry could reply.

He found James a few carriages down; in just that time he was stopped by people asking why his 'dad' and godfather were on the train, and it only cemented his decision even more.

James was a lot more relaxed about the idea, saying only, "If that's what you want, I don't mind."

Harry still didn't correct anyone just yet. He went to the nearest toilet and Wished for the notebook he'd stolen last night, and a pen, and flipped the lid down on the toilet before sitting on it, opening the notebook and writing in it.

Do you mind if I tell everyone you're my dad?

He wasn't even sure if Snape would notice it. Harry hadn't put any kind of alert system on the notebooks; he could only rely on Snape to actually look at the notebook. He would give it a minute or two and if there was no response then he'd teleport away. He'd never done it from a moving vehicle; he wasn't sure if he'd splinch himself doing it.

He didn't have to find out. Just as someone knocked on the toilet door, new words appeared in the notebook.

Who's everyone?

"Hurry it up in there!" a voice called through the door.

"Just a minute," Harry replied, and hurriedly wrote back.

The students. But they'll tell their parents and the DP will prob find out.

Why do you want to tell them?

I don't want to lie about James.

"What the hell are you doing in there? Come on!"

Have to go. Mind if I tell?

If you must.

Harry could imagine Snape's irritated tone of voice as he said it, but it was enough. He Wished the notebook and pen away, stood, flushed the toilet, ran the tap, and then unlocked the door. He didn't get chance to even step forward before he was grabbed by the lapels and wrenched out. He stumbled into the corridor and the toilet door slammed shut behind him. He rolled his eyes and walked away.

The first person he told the truth to was Jia, who was a new Slytherin prefect alongside Orion. Two carriages later, everyone seemed to know. He was stopped several times to ask if it was true, and got reactions ranging from shock to near horror. He refused to answer any questions of 'How?' with anything more than a simple, "An affair." He didn't appreciate some of the judgemental looks he got for even that much.

A younger girl approached him at one point and thrust a small scroll tied with violet ribbon into his hands. He unrolled it to find an invitation from the new Professor Slughorn to join him for lunch in a compartment. Uninterested, and having already grabbed a snack from the trolley witch, he vanished it and carried on in search of Draco, taking care to Wish himself unnoticed as he passed the compartment where Slughorn was entertaining. When he glanced through with his eye, he saw Ginny in there, looking unhappy to be squashed between Slughorn and the wall.

He'd just stepped into the next carriage when a compartment opened ahead of him and a tall, thin boy stepped out. Harry stopped short, recognising him as Theo Nott. His heart picked up a pace, but Theo looked nothing like his father and Harry felt a rush of relief that he wouldn't have to see that face around Hogwarts.

But then Theo asked, "Did you see the trolley on your way down here, Evans?" and in an instant, Harry was back at the hospital, pinned to the floor terrified and helpless, unable to do more than squirm uselessly while that voice laughed in his ear.

The windows blew out.

A hand touched his arm. He wrenched away from it, stumbling around and blinking as the train carriage came back to focus around him. He found Ginny staring at him with concern and a little bit of fear, one hand cradled to her chest. The wind was whipping their robes and hair about their faces and people were screaming and yelling with fear. Glass littered the floor, but most of the windows seemed to have blown out instead of in and only Theo had been injured.

"What the hell?" he muttered, pulling at a piece of glass stuck in his cheek.

That voice…

Harry shuddered, spun, and burst into the previous carriage. There was an empty compartment just inside and he fell into it, dropped to his knees, and threw up. He knelt there sobbing and shaking, using every inch of his self-control to keep his magic from lashing out further. He could hear voices in the corridor beyond and at one point he was sure someone spoke directly to him, but all he could focus on was himself, on straining his Occlumency to keep the memories from overwhelming him and his magic from destroying the whole train.

When he calmed down enough, he sat back and wiped his face. The vomit was gone, though he didn't remember vanishing it, and he used a freshening charm on his mouth.

"Alright?" asked Draco's voice from behind him.

Harry nodded and got up a little shakily, turning to face him. Draco stood in front of the repaired door, and Sirius was on the other side, his back to it, looking like a guard dog. The train windows beyond looked to have been repaired.

"Did I hurt anyone?"

"Nothing serious. Weasley tried to touch you and burnt her hand, and a few others were cut by the glass, but it was nothing we couldn't fix up." He twisted his head slightly to nod towards Sirius. "I had to keep him from touching you. He said he's never seen you have a panic attack before."

"I didn't want to bother him so I hid them from him."

"He's worried about you."

Harry sighed and sat. "Let him in."

Draco slid the door open and Sirius instantly turned and pushed his way in. Harry forced a smile for him, but Sirius wasn't fooled.

"What the hell was that? Malfoy said you were having a panic attack."

"I was."

"He seemed to think it wasn't the first."

"It wasn't."

Sirius waited. When Harry said nothing more, he sighed irritably.

"Harry, I'm your godfather. You didn't think I needed to know that you're having panic attacks? How long has this been going on? Why the hell didn't I know?"

"Since June. I didn't tell you because you had enough to deal with without me adding to it."

Sirius muttered a curse and dropped heavily into the seat beside him. He grabbed Harry's shoulders, ignored Harry's flinch, and turned him to face him.

"I am your godfather. I'm here to look after you, you moron. I can't look after you if I don't know what's wrong with you."

"You weren't exactly easy to approach this summer," he muttered, and when Sirius grimaced he added, "I didn't mean that. Remus died and you were dealing with that, and then that stuff with James… you had enough to manage, Sirius. I can handle myself."

Sirius hands tightened briefly around his shoulder. "You shouldn't have to," he said, and pulled Harry into a hug. "I know things haven't been great between us lately, but if I promise to do better do you promise to talk to me so I can help you?"

Harry nodded, but knew it was a lie. What could he talk to Sirius about these days? School, perhaps, once that really got started, but other than that… Draco and Snape were his confidantes, the ones he sought for comfort and support. Sirius simply couldn't give him what they did.

Sirius drew back and patted Harry once more on the shoulder. "You should probably speak to Ginny Weasley. She was a bit upset about you burning her hand."

Harry nodded. Sirius gave him a smile that Harry did his best to return, then he left. Draco immediately took his vacated seat and Harry leant into him with a sigh, closing his eyes as Draco's arm came around him.

"What set you off?" Draco asked quietly. "I know your panic attacks are random sometimes, but you broke the windows. You don't break things with panic attacks."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Harry…"

"Please, Draco." He wrapped both hands around Draco's waist and buried his face in his shoulder. "Another time maybe, if I'm ready. But not now."

"Alright," Draco said, and kissed his hair. Harry hugged him tighter, breathing him in and trying not to think about the time that he would have to face, and hear, Theo again.