November 1069

"Wow. Just wow."

Allow me introduce you to Alterna-Harry. Alterna-Harry is some kind of subconscious alter ego of mine that crops up like a bad rash every once in a while when I fall asleep. Like the id to my ego. Or, no, super-ego? Whichever it is, I'm not really fluent in Freudian psychology.

Alterna-Harry looked like he wanted to sell the Cultured Evil Wizard look and fashion line. He clipped his hair short and neat, had a fastidiously kept beard with a bit of a goatee, and wore a black silk shirt over black trousers, with black shoes on the bottom. Oh, and just to rub it in, he also had unmarred and unburnt hands.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," I said, sitting back in a leather La-Z-Boy that just appeared and throwing my arms back in the process. "Was it too much to hope you'd just disappear?"

"Maybe I would if you started indulging me. It's not like you'd be in a much better position if you listened to me or anything."

"Oh yeah? And how do you figure that?" I asked.

"If you'd slept with Mab the first time she came onto you, she wouldn't be after you," he said. "Well, not in the same way, at least."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Okay, we're not even a minute into the conversation and I'm already done. Can I wake up now?"

"Oh, sure, ignore my advice again, like you always do," he said, rolling his eyes. "Would it kill you to at least consider sex?"

I took a deep breath and looked at him. "The last time I was not willing," I began.

He arched an eyebrow. "I don't recall you pushing her off."

"Because she surprised me," I said. "And then a little while later I had to kill Susan and watch her die in my arms. Then I really fucked up with Murphy, and that's not getting into the entire giant multi-lane screw-up that was me involving Molly in my suicide." I sighed. "Look, just, I'm done, alright? My entire love life has been one long train wreck from start to finish."

To his slight credit, Alterna-Harry was solemn and silent for a few moments. Then he ruined it. "You're done, huh?" he asked. "Is that why you keep checking out Elfleda's bountiful estates?"

"It'd be rude not to," I muttered.

"That's what you're going with, really?"

"It's not like that relationship's a good idea either, is it?" I asked. "Do you want to test if Mab can feel jealousy? Or see what she'd do to Elfleda if she found out?"

"Then do her, then her third task assuming that isn't it, and move on. To Elfleda. I'm really not seeing the problem here," he said. "The solution's very simple."

I sighed. "I am not getting involved with M…" I trailed off and looked around suspiciously. "We can't summon her here, right?"

"You did before," he said.

"Yes, but not here."

Alterna-Harry shrugged. "We can test it. Could even be the best solution. You don't necessarily have to sleep with her–"

"No. Just no."

He sighed. "Fine."

"Is there a point to this discussion? Or are you just here to bitch?" I asked.

"Driving in the hints you've been missing is as good a use of my time as any, but no, there is a point to this. I think."

I narrowed my eyes. "You think."

He rolled his. "I'm your subconscious, I think and know more than you do. The trouble is I can't generally realize more than you do." He frowned. "I can tell there's something we're missing. Something important, and potentially life-threatening, but that's it."

I took a deep breath and bit down my first response. "Do you have an idea as to the category of threat?"

"No, but it's probably fairly recent, otherwise I would have shown up earlier," he said, drumming his hands against the arms of the chair he was sitting in. It was a mirror image of mine. "Could be any number of things. The current plans for Hogwarts–"

"Please don't use that name," I groaned.

"If you really believe the school isn't going to be called that then you're in serious denial," Alterna-Harry said, not breaking stride for even a moment. "Anyway, the current plans, the memories, you've been digging into them a little more often recently, something to do with Elfleda or Lucille or Eva, something else, who knows?" He frowned. "Maybe something to do with Lasciel."

I looked at him. "Where'd that come from? We shouldn't have anything to do with her, beyond the memories."

"Well, somehow, either she or someone higher up, maybe Lucifer, whispered in our ear and got us to kill ourselves," he said. "So there obviously was some connection, and considering what Lasciel is, an Angel, Fallen or not, maybe there still is. And also, remember that you considered, if only for a moment, calling her up and taking her coin. Without some connection that wouldn't have worked; you know that."

"Except I was lying about being able to do that," I said.

"Yes," he said. "You were. But just because you were lying doesn't mean you were... right about the assumption that caused you to lie."

I frowned. "What's that mean?"

"That you could actually be able to call her coin, that there is a connection, and you just assumed it's impossible. You never actually gave her up, after all. Lash just died and broke the link."

"So you think she's aware of us?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Either way, I don't think that's what the instinct is pointing at. But it is something to consider." He folded his hands together. "Actually, she'd be running around right now, wouldn't she? With a different host."

"Maybe. Assuming she isn't locked up," I said.

"Assuming," he allowed with a nod. "Questions for later, in any case."

I frowned. "Wait. No. What if it is related?"

Alterna-Harry frowned.

"Uriel," I said insistently. "He was supposed to say seven words, someplace, somewhen. And so far, nothing."

"Maybe he hasn't felt the need, is saving them for a rainy day."

"Or maybe he already has," I said.

Alterna-Harry considered that, looking up for a moment. "And brought us here? Not impossible. But he'd have to say it to us, and I certainly don't remember anything like that, which means you don't either." He looked at me suddenly. "Are you going to write this down?"

"Probably," I said.

"Then make sure to say that I'm much uglier than you."

I woke up at the crack of dawn with the crowing of a rooster. One that seemed to be crowing within the tower. Did Rowena have some kind of morning alarm set up?

Never mind, that's a stupid question, of course she does.

I grudgingly got up from under the furs, putting on my coat before crouching down and picking through the fur where I'd rested my head. I doubted Rowena would get up to anything nefarious with my hair, and it'd go bad in a few days anyway, but I figured it was a good idea to not take any chances. It took me five minutes to go through the entire stretch of brown fur trying to pick out tiny strands of black before I finished, at which point I shoved the hairs into one of my pockets and started folding and packing the furs back up. Once that was done, I set the furs on the table and took a seat, waiting for Rowena to come down.

Because I figured it would be rude to just leave, and for no other reason. Well, one other reason, actually: her wards might've fried me had I tried.

About ten minutes later, Rowena came down the stairs and then stopped halfway down, blinking as she saw me. "You're still here."

"Yes, I am," I said, picking up the furs and holding them out. "I figured it would be rude to just leave. And I'm not sure if your wards would kill me if I opened the door. I assume they're up."

Rowena looked away for a moment. "Yes, yes they are. And yes, yes they might. That's a good point." She raised her hand and started to mutter something, then stopped. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Normally, yes, but I'd also prefer to make the most of daytime traveling hours," I said. "Sorry."

"No, no, that's alright," she said, waving her hand. Then she muttered something under her breath, something Russian or Slavic at my guess, and I felt the wards shift. "Until next time then." There was a little pause, and then, "Be safe."

"You too. And thank you for the quill."

Rowena nodded, took the furs, and headed back upstairs. I, meanwhile, descended the tower and left, heading out to an ornery Shadowfax. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I forgot about you," I muttered, reaching into one of my saddlebags and pulling out an apple. "Here, take this as an apology."

He did. He also damn near took my fingers off at the same time.

"So friendly," I muttered, waiting for him to finish eating before untying him, saddling him up, and riding him southeast. I had about nine hours of daylight, and I needed to make them count. December and winter would be even worse; I'd have to ask Helga to postpone any non-crucial meetings to the spring.

I really didn't want to get jumped by Mab, whatever my subconscious thought.

Back in July, the trip from house to tower, and back, took about three days. Back in July, I still lived just outside of Dorham; I could also expect sixteen hours of daylight, thereabouts. With the new schedule, the added distance, and the vehement desire to avoid forests, it took five days to go from Rowena's tower to Berkhamsted.

Maybe I should precipitate some kind of confrontation with Mab. Not being able to use the Ways is getting to be a real pain. Mom's exact navigational data is definitely out-of-date, but all the mapping insights she'd put into the ruby were still valid. It was kind of a waste not to use it.

Five days. Five days of pushing harder than normal during the day, then spending long hours next to a fire protected by layers of temporary wards. And every day, it would just get colder and colder, until sometime in January or February, just like it had last year, and the year before that.

Moments like these drove home just how much I'd lost. They made me almost hate Uriel.

Except, now that I thought about it, really thought about it, was that the point? Was thing a long con by Hell or some other force to make me bitter and spiteful? I mean, sure, it was kind of working, but. Ah. Whatever. I'm never going to get a straight answer, I know that.

When I finally made it to Berkhamsted, late on the fifth day, I found a new set of flags flying above the keep. They looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn't exactly place the design. At least it looked more sensible than Robert's bizarro chimera design. Two golden lions on a red field was a lot plainer and less headache inducing.

Yes, yes, obviously I can place the design now, as I'm writing. Quiet in the audience.

As I rode in, I considered whether to go back home and settle in for the night, or drop by the castle, make it known I was back, and see what was up with the new flags. After some thought I settled on the latter, reasoning quite reasonably that someone would just come to politely drag me to the castle anyway and so I might as well get it out of the way now. It wasn't like my charms were going to break just because I wasn't there.

Oh, right, forgot to mention that bit: while my heat conducting charms don't need to be constantly powered by me, I do need to keep a close eye on how they're operating, so I've taken to disabling them when I leave my house for longer than a day. Don't want to come back to a burnt-down district and add to my accidental arson record.

I did stop by my house just to check the wards though, to see if anyone had tried to break in. The very outer set of wards, the one I had set to deter thieves, was structured as a simple kinetic push. The more lethal ones were for those without the ability to take a hint. No one had tried yet, but I figured it was a matter of time. In any case, the wards hadn't been disturbed, so I went on to the castle.

From there, I stabled my horse, ran into some guards, they started leading me somewhere, yadda yadda yadda, boring simple semi-routine stuff.

The guards brought me to Robert's meeting room, the small one with the single table and basically no decorations. Besides Robert, there were two other people inside. The first was a long stick figure of a man with a stereotypically aristocratic nose, and thick, wavy black hair, dressed in a blue-on-blue robe over a blue-on-blue tunic. The other was about six feet tall, with short brown hair, and kind of sea-blue eyes. He was wearing a fancy red doublet and long tunic, along with a sort of orange-brown cloak over the top of both.

Every one of them turned to look at me as I walked in the room, and I spared them each a quick glance before stopping beside the table and leaning on my staff. "So what's so important you need to literally bundle me in here Robert?" I asked.

Robert turned an interesting shade, while the brown-haired man raised an eyebrow and the lanky black-haired one scoffed.

"This is my brother," Robert said stiffly. "King William."

Author's Note: You shouldn't worry about deliberate revisionism on Harry's part, beyond how it may apply to a very select few of Alterna-Harry's lines.