Ghosts of the Past

by Nimbus Llewelyn

Sequel to Child of the Storm. Harry's life has changed a lot over the past year, what with the return of his father, Thor, murder attempts by everything from HYDRA assassins to Elder Gods keeping him on his toes and making a few new friends. But while Chthon and HYDRA are gone, all sorts of dark things have been stirred up, things thought long gone. And guess who they're after...

56. Chapter 56: Fractured Symmetry

I know – a chapter, half as long again in actual material as the last one, barely two weeks after the last one? What is this sorcery? How can such a thing have come about? Well, the fact that I already had a lot of it put together didn't hurt, and the rest was planned out. As it was, though, I hit a burst of inspiration over the last couple of days and wrote about half the chapter over the weekend and this afternoon.

It helps that Clark and Harry tend to click, making scenes with the two of them easy to write. Lex, meanwhile, more or less writes himself, with all the amusing and worrying connotations that implies.

Also, I realise that now, Ghosts has officially surpassed Child of the Storm for published length. Oh dear. Ah well. Considering how long I've been writing it (about three and a half years, so, roughly the same time as its predecessor), I suppose that isn't surprising.

Anyhow, enjoy.

SuperTulle: There are worse guesses…

SilverLion80: … and that is one of them.

"I thought so."

As it turned out, Lex had not been in the least bit surprised that Clark was being attacked.

"You did?" Clark asked, startled, finding this in itself to be surprising.

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow at Lex, who conceded with a nod.

"Well, I thought something was up," he amended. "I wasn't sure what, though."

"Yeah, you don't often get ill, Clark," Chloe Sullivan, the fourth member of this impromptu group, said. While she was arguably the least informed, she had adapted remarkably quickly to meeting Harry. Not many people did. At the very least, the 'son of Thor' thing was usually a sticking point, even if the person had no idea of what Harry had done, much less what he was capable of – and Chloe, thanks to her research, had a better idea than most (even if it still fell far short of reality). The fact that he looked somewhat uncannily like one of her best friends might also have been a sticking point. But it wasn't. Indeed, mostly she'd just looked like someone who'd had a theory confirmed, before being excited to work on something interesting.

She was also the one technically holding court, with giant-sized coffee mug in hand. This was because it had been agreed that of all the available locations, the Torch's HQ at the school combined the best access to information with the least likelihood of being surveilled or drawing unwanted attention. Meeting outside hadn't even been considered, on the grounds of potential directional microphones, and the fact that it had rapidly clouded over, causing the temperature to drop like a stone – and, to add insult to injury, it had then started snowing.

All in all, the Torch made sense. Chloe routinely went in on weekends to do research and work on the next edition, Clark was well known as her friend and occasional dogsbody, and Lex could plausibly make any claim from assisting with the story as a favour to Clark (who had saved his life) to considering donating computers to the school, with Harry coming along out of curiosity. None of this had stopped Harry using every counter-surveillance trick he knew, or making a very – to Clark's eyes, disturbingly – thorough search for possible bugs, and insisting that any notes be made on paper, in case Chloe's computers had been hacked.

Another reason was that she had by far the most comprehensive information regarding the meteor mutants – apparently, she'd once called them meteor freaks, but stopped for some unknown reason a few months ago – and generalised strangeness in Smallville outside of SHIELD, who no one particularly wanted to involve. And even then, Harry privately thought as he'd scanned the very thorough database, she might give them a run for their money. She was the logical person to turn to.

The downside of this was the fact that she had the related eye for information and discrepancies. Such as with Clark being ill.

"Actually, I don't think I remember you being ill at all…"

"Living on something other than coffee will do that, Chloe," Clark teased, slight smirk concealing a hint of nerves.

As Chloe mock-scowled at him, Lex intervened smoothly, adding, "what raised my suspicions was the fact that no one else seemed to be experiencing the same symptoms, and if it was an ordinary cold or flu, then it would have spread to at least a couple of other people. In fact, in a High School environment, with all the… contact, I'd expect it to spread like wildfire."

Clark went beet-red at the not-so-subtle insinuation. "I haven't had any contact," he said. "You know. Like that. At all."

"You're missing out," Lex said, smirking, then eyed Harry. "Also, since you're now the sole person in Avengers Mansion with restrictions on when they're allowed to have their doors totally shut, you are not in any position to roll your eyes at me."

Harry, who had indeed been rolling his eyes, blushed crimson, while Clark blinked at him.

"Why not?"

Harry's blush deepened as Lex's smirk widened.

"His girlfriend comes to visit," he said. "Shenanigans have been known to ensue."

Clark stared at Harry (who was now shooting a look at Lex that if looks could kill, would at least be in maiming territory), in a mixture of astonishment, shock, and envy.

"Shenanigans?!"

"Shenanigans?" echoed the amused Chloe. While she was the only one who was not in the loop regarding certain things Clark related, she was rapidly being brought into the loop on certain things Harry related.

"Creative shenanigans," Lex added, a thin tone of apparent helpfulness overlaying the mischievous glee of someone stirring up trouble and enjoying it immensely. "I, for one, would never have thought you could interpret those strictures like that, bending the letter of the law so far beyond the spirit that, well… I blush to think. Was it you or Carol who came up with that particular idea? Or was it a joint effort? Because whoever it was has a fine career in contract law awaiting them at Luthorcorp if they're ever interested."

Harry caught Clark's astonished look, somehow managed to blush even more, ducking his head, muttering something.

"What was that?" Lex asked. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch what you were saying."

Harry shot him another evil look, then looked at Clark askance as the other boy's eyes widened and he blushed in turn.

"Clark?" Chloe asked, intrigued.

"'The clothes stayed on'," Clark said, experiencing second-hand embarrassment.

"Yes, they did," Lex said reflectively. "At least one layer was the rule. Unfortunately, that rule didn't cover how much those clothes were supposed to, well… cover. Or, in fact, if that was one layer each, or one layer between you. Personally, I thought that the exploitation of the ambiguity was masterly." He paused. "Apparently, however, Captain America thought differently."

Harry was muttering something under his breath, which sounded like a repeated refrain of, "you can't kill people for being annoying." Clark looked downright mortified on Harry's behalf. Chloe, meanwhile, was restraining a severe case of the giggles.

"Personally, I thought it was an overreaction," Lex continued blithely. "After all, they had a shirt, a pair of shorts, and two-thirds of the expected underwear between them – they adhered to the very letter of the law."

Clark's eyes were now as wide as tennis balls as he looked from Lex to Harry and back again, as if to say, 'really?'

Lex, for his part, just smirked, while Harry's continued blush was answer enough for both of them.

"Okay, enough from the peanut gallery," Chloe said, through stifled amusement. "I think that before we got off track, what Lex meant is that even if you aren't, Clark, you have ordinary contact – or your germs would have ordinary contact – with people who are. Plus, even if it's just ordinary contact, under normal circumstances that's all that's required for those kind of germs to spread." She looked at Clark. "So whatever this is, it's very specifically directed at you."

Harry cleared his throat, face still red, but composure more or less restored. "My theory was that he'd been targeted because someone mistook him for a superhuman," he said.

"That works as initial reasoning," Chloe said. "But why would they continue doing it if he wasn't?"

Clark tried not to look uneasy at this very pertinent question, while Lex stepped in.

"From what I know of dark magic, it's extremely addictive," he said smoothly. "The kind of power rush from draining Clark, using the magic itself, would probably be comparable to being high on drugs. Once you get started, you can't stop."

"Then why isn't it more widespread?" Chloe countered. "An addict, once hooked, would be looking to expand their supply."

"There are magical authorities," Clark began, then stopped when Harry raised a hand. He'd spent the last couple of minutes staring quite hard at Chloe, and now, after another couple of moments of looking at her, he nodded.

"You know, don't you?" he said shrewdly.

Clark half-turned, caught between feigning innocence and remonstrating with Harry for throwing around his secret, but Chloe beat him to it, looking him in the eye.

"Yes. Since Red Sky Day."

"What?" Clark asked, thunderstruck. "But… what are you – "

Chloe rolled her eyes, cutting him off before he could assemble excuses. "Clark, one moment the two of us were here, the school was on fire, and the next, we were outside. I looked around for you, and then I saw you zooming off after something. Afterwards, there were a whole bunch of accounts of similar things happening to other people – being pulled out of the way of horrifying monsters, finding themselves outside buildings they'd just been in before they collapsed… that sort of thing. And then, the meteor mutants, the bad ones, start appearing more and more. They get knocked out, usually from behind, or they…" She trailed off.

"Self-dispose," Lex added helpfully.

"Right," Chloe said. "Either way, whenever that happens, you're usually not that far away. It wasn't hard to join the dots." She smiled wryly. "You know, once I knew that they could be joined."

Clark, for his part, just gaped, then shot appealing looks at Lex and Harry. Lex, for his part, just shrugged.

"I worked it out more or less the same way," he said. "I can't say I'm surprised Chloe did too."

Clark shot an appealing look at Harry, who looked both unsurprised and surprisingly unconcerned.

"Willow," he said cryptically.

Clark looked puzzled.

"Buffy reference," Lex murmured. "He's a fan." He smirked as Clark nodded his comprehension. "It's why he has a thing for violent blondes."

Harry rolled his eyes and almost absent-mindedly flipped him off.

"I can see it. Except that I'm straight and the monsters are psychotic mutated humans, not demons," Chloe pointed out, then paused. "Probably."

"Meh. Details," Harry said, waving it away. "Humans can be every bit as bad as demons. They tend to have more imagination, for one thing." He sat back. "There's a lot of parallels, actually. Smallville is beautiful. It's a sweet, picture-book town. But it also happens to have a frankly staggering death rate and be home to all sorts of weird happenings that the normal locals seem almost wilfully oblivious to, which have previously got attention from the likes of SHIELD. Seriously, this place is the Sunnydale of the Midwest."

He grinned, sudden and bright, like the first light of dawn.

"Complete with the secret superhero trying to juggle normal life, developing superpowers, and fighting monsters, who's ably supported by a close friend who happens to be a brilliant researcher and a computer genius with a caffeine addiction. Really, the parallels are remarkable…"

He trailed off, a speculative look in his eye, one which left Clark feeling rather worried. A very particular thought crossed his mind, and he gulped.

"You're not going to turn me into a girl, are you?"

Chloe burst out laughing, as Lex raised an amused eyebrow.

"Well, I wasn't going to," Harry said, drawing out the sentence. What with how his eyes dancing with mischief and his smile downright impish, a small part of Clark was beginning to think that over the last few minutes, Harry had come across as something different to the way he had before. Before, he'd been this knowledgeable, wise, and protective older-brotherly figure – calm, controlled, and just a bit otherworldly. Now, though, being teased by Lex about being caught necking with his girlfriend – necking and more – and how he was teasing Clark in turn, he seemed… normal.

Or at least, as normal as you could get, given the circumstances. For one thing, Clark wasn't entirely sure that he was joking.

"Now that you mention it, the idea has potential," Harry continued. "I mean, since magic is involved, and a gender flip is quite a big change, it might actually throw off our mysterious infector's aim."

"You can do that?" Clark asked in alarm, voice cracking.

"I don't think it would make that much difference," Lex said, smirking. "His voice is already halfway there."

Clark glowered at him, to no effect.

"I think so," Harry said, eyeing Clark with poorly hidden amusement. "My dad was an expert in transfiguration, transformation magic, when he was human, and so's my godfather. The two of them have given me a fair bit of tutelage. Add a bit of raw power, and a little precision…" He drew a long, thin stick from one of his pockets – a wand, Clark realised suddenly – and twirled it through his fingers. "It could work."

"No," Clark said firmly.

"No?" Harry asked.

"No."

"You would make a cute girl, Clark," Chloe said. When Clark glared at her, she snickered, but raised her hands in concession.

Clark eyed Lex, who looked innocent, then Harry, folding his arms. "How would you like it if I suggested that we should turn you into a girl?" he half-demanded.

Harry paused, considering this. "I have to say, I'd be a little intrigued," he said. "It would be an interesting experience. He eyed his borrowed clothing. "Though going by my cousins, I'd hope I was wearing a shirt that was at least slightly baggy if it actually happened."

Clark found himself once again somewhat puzzled, while Chloe snickered and Lex snorted. On seeing Clark's embarrassment, the latter explained. "Harry's cousin Jean turns heads fast enough that people get whiplash," he said. "I've never met any of her relatives, but I'd say that pretty genes run in the family."

"Like Lana?" Clark asked, oblivious to how Chloe looked like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. Or, perhaps, the heart. Harry and Lex, who weren't, shared a wince.

"Lana's the slim kind of pretty. Jean is a different kind of pretty," Lex said patiently. At Clark's continued incomprehension, he rolled his eyes slightly. "Please, Clark, don't make me resort to spelling it out. Or, worse, hand gestures."

Clark blinked, then realised what Lex and Harry had been driving at, and blushed like a sunset. Again.

"Still, my potential gender-bending isn't relevant to your situation, Clark," Harry added. "Nor is this admittedly entertaining conversation." He darted a glance at Chloe. "Mostly entertaining." He sighed. "Anyway, yes, Chloe, you're right. Well done. Clark has powers. Someone probably made the same deduction you did and targeted him."

Chloe nodded. "It makes sense," she said.

"You never said," Clark said.

Chloe arched an eyebrow. "That makes two of us, Clark. Why did you never tell me you had powers?"

Harry pointedly eyed Chloe's Wall of Weird. "I might have a pretty good idea," he said. Chloe followed his gaze, and flushed.

"Oh. Right," she said. "Yeah, I can see that. Clark, I'll keep your secret. I mean, if anyone asks you that you're a meteor mutant, I can definitely say you're not."

Clark paused, then sighed, and glanced at Harry. "I suppose the resemblance gave it away, huh?" he said.

"Yeah. What are you two, long lost twins?" Chloe asked, curious.

"Cousins," Harry said, surprising Clark. "Very, very distant cousins. By adoption. The resemblance isn't a coincidence – my grandfather made dad look like that on purpose when he incarnated him as a mortal, and yes, I am very aware of how strange that sounds."

"You don't sound it," Chloe pointed out.

"Believe me, that is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how weird my life is," Harry said wryly. "And I've got used to explaining it, in terms of why I actually look more like my uncle than my dad – though apparently I look a lot like my mum these days. Last year, I could have used Clark for a mirror, and vice versa." He shook his head. "No, Clark isn't Asgardian."

"I'm an alien," Clark said. Chloe's mouth, which had opened to ask further questions, snapped shut with an audible click. "My ship came down with the meteor shower." He took a deep breath. "Actually, it brought the meteors with it. Them and the ship are all that's left of my home planet, Krypton."

Chloe's look of curiosity and astonishment slowly shifted into one of absolute horror, as Harry silently grasped Clark's shoulder in support. "You mean…"

"I'm the last," Clark said, voice cracking again. "It was the only ship."

"God, Clark… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"My birth-parents sent me to Earth," Clark said. "Smallville, specifically, on purpose. Actually, they were aiming for mom and dad, it's probably why I landed right next to them." At Chloe's puzzled look, he explained. "They had contacts on Earth," he said. "My birth-father had been here before – here-here, actually, Smallville – and he asked people to look out for me."

"Your parents?" Chloe asked, astonished.

"No," Clark said, shaking his head. "But apparently, he'd known grandpa Kent and liked the look of mom and dad."

"He knew they'd love you," Lex said quietly.

Clark nodded painfully. "The contacts were just in case," he said. "Just to keep an eye out." He looked down. "They didn't anticipate the… debris. The meteors."

Harry looked like he was wrestling with something, before he sighed. "We need to get this back on track," he said. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this tries again, and I want to at least have a good idea of who they are before it happens." He hesitated, then sighed. "Clark, this is only a very small possibility. Very, very, very small. But you might not be the last."

Clark's eyes widened and he whipped around, sudden hope surging through the pain. "You mean – "

"There might be another," Harry said. "Might. I didn't say it before, because the subject didn't come up and I didn't want to get your hopes up. But now, you're hurting over it and…" He sighed. "I shouldn't have said it. Ah well. I did go on about knowing being better than not knowing last night, so you might as well hear it."

He sat back. "There was a Kryptonian off-planet when the planet died," he said. "One of your ancestors, a great-something grandfather, or a great-something uncle. His name was – maybe is, Kal-El. He was fostered with my grandfather, raised in Asgard." He sighed again. "But no one's seen him since then, either, and they've looked – as far as I can tell, he was close." He shook his head. "My grandmother thinks he flew off into deep space to mourn, so…"

"It's possible he's still out there," Clark said quietly.

"Possible," Harry warned. "Not even close to certain. Actually, more like the opposite."

Clark nodded. "My Kryptonian name is Kal-El," he said, after a moment. "According to… one of the contacts, my birth-father said something about me being named after an ancestor who spent a lot of time in the Nine Realms." He shot a look at Harry. "I was nearly sent to Asgard, actually, but your dad had disappeared and my birth-father was worried." He paused. "Also, uh, I got the sense that he liked Earth better."

Harry raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Huh," he said. "That… actually fits. Dad would have still been on Earth, still mortal, or very recently back." He shook his head. "Anyway, reminiscing and speculation time is over." He looked at Clark and squeezed his shoulder. "For now."

"You know, you keep saying that you want to get things back on track, but you're the one who keeps taking them off track in the first place," Chloe said archly.

Harry shrugged. "I tend to make things up as I go along," he said. "I'm still working on it."

"Oh, that's comforting," Clark muttered.

"The bit I've largely figured out is the strategy bit," Harry continued meaningfully. "Which involves research."

"Just before we get started, I've got access to a lot, but my material is mostly meteor mutant related," Chloe said. "I've got a few contacts who know supernatural stuff, and I'm sure Lex knows a fair bit about some of the weirder things in Smallville, but…" She trailed off meaningfully.

"Magic is my thing, I know. I'll be brainstorming," Harry said, pulling out his notebook. "I've already got some theories to work with, and ideas to bounce off you." He grinned. "And through the hacking services of JARVIS, Tony's friendly AI, access to SHIELD files."

Chloe looked like every Christmas and Birthday had come at once.

OoOoO

Entertaining as it was, though, unfettered SHIELD access was not proving to be all that helpful.

"Okay, so going by these SHIELD files, plus the local police files, the school nurse, other members of staff at Smallville High, and for that matter, Clark's hairdresser and everyone who works there… none of them are raising any red flags," Chloe said. "Well, none that suggest that they're into black magic. Which doesn't so much narrow our suspect pool as empty it."

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Lex said. "There's probably a supernatural community in Smallville. Why not work our way into that, and find out what they know?"

"Easier said than done," Harry said, looking up from his latest set of power calculations. "But it's worth a shot." He glanced up at the SHIELD files. "Maybe they'll even point us in the direction of something that SHIELD missed."

"Way ahead of you, guys. In between file skimming, I did a bit of asking around, on a few sites that talk about this stuff," Chloe said. "Most of it's rubbish, but a few of the people sound like they know what they're talking about. And some of them," she continued, bringing up some forum posts on the screen. "Have got back to me."

"How do you know that that isn't just better quality rubbish?" Clark asked reasonably.

"Special journalist senses, young Padawan," Chloe said. "If you worked for the Torch more often, you too could develop them."

Clark rolled his eyes.

Lex snorted. "You don't need to be a journalist to have a bullshit detector," he said. "If you get fed it for long enough, you learn to recognise the taste."

"Or that," Chloe acknowledged.

"She's right," Harry said, who was leaning forward and studying the text.

"About the special journalist senses?" Clark asked, mildly surprised.

"No," Harry said. "Well, probably not. But she is about this person. At the very least, this poster, 'Mr Knight' –" He pointed at a lengthy post on the screen. "Definitely knows what he's talking about when it comes to thaumaturgy."

"Almost makes up for the taste in profile pictures," Clark muttered, eyeing the ominous image of a knight in solid black armour.

Chloe shrugged. "He's a bit weird, and he's got an ego, but he's worth talking to," she said. "I know a lot of people online, and a lot of them talk like they're experts. If you know who to look for, and how to filter through the bullshit, you can find the ones who actually are. He's one of them."

"'One of them'?" Lex echoed, intrigued.

Chloe regarded him for a second, as if weighing up whether she should elaborate or not, but nodded. "Yeah," she said. "There's a whole bunch of us, actually. Skye's an expert hacker, and she's the one to turn to about SHIELD." Her brow wrinkled in a frown. "Or she used to be, until she clammed up about a year ago." She shook her head. "So's Oracle, though she – I think she's a she, anyway – is more about organised crime and high end tech. Apparently, she's still talking to Skye, though there's no use on what's up with that. Shutterbug's great for New York based super-stuff, and weird bio-chemical tech stuff; bootleg super-soldiers, that sort of thing – though he's been branching a bit into supernatural recently, trying to work out how science and magic mix. As for Science Queen… well, it's in the name: she talks really high end tech, enough that I think she's got sources inside a European government agency or something."

"Not American?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

"Not from what I can tell," Chloe said. "It could be China, Russia, Japan, or somewhere else, but Europe's more likely." She nodded at the computer screen. "Anyway, Mr Knight is the go to guy about supernatural stuff. Everything he's said that I've managed to independently verify has been right on the money."

Harry nodded, frowning. "He seems to know his stuff," he agreed. "In fact, when it comes to thaumaturgy, I'd say that he knows more than I do, which is pretty unusual."

"Because you're an expert?" Chloe asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry shook his head. "Not even close," he said. "But the only people who do know more than me would almost certainly be magical, and magical people don't use the internet. Wanded usually don't, even if they live in a non-magical area, while wandless usually can't," he explained. "And thaumaturgy," he added, poking the screen for emphasis. "Is almost exclusively a wandless art. Except for potions, in one or two cases, but that's neither here nor there." He paused. "Probably."

"You said usually," Clark said. "Are there ways around it, that let them use computers?"

"Some," Harry said. "But not accessible to your average person, either from the tech end or the magical end." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "A weak wandless person might manage it, if they're careful. But that doesn't track with what Mr Knight knows: he either has access to some serious books on the theory of thaumaturgy, which aren't all that common even in the magical world, or he's been taught by a member of the White Council, which is on the far side of unlikely. When weak practitioners do get some lessons, they're taught just enough to stay out of trouble, and that's it."

He shook his head. "Anyway, who or what Mr Knight is, that's not the issue," he said. "What we do need to know, though, and where he might come in useful, is figuring out just what the local supernatural community looks like, and where they hang out."

"Excuse me?" Chloe said, a touch indignant at the implied slight to her journalism skills.

"The supernatural community, as a rule, likes to keep its head down," Harry said, and glanced at Clark. "As do superhumans in general, come to that."

"And what does that make the Avengers?" Chloe asked, folding her arms.

"An exception," Harry said. "More or less every other superhuman I know prefers to fly under the radar, individually or as a society. They, we, stick to our own." He frowned. "Particularly if they're weak. Supernatural predators like to pick off magical practitioners. Plus, mortal humans aren't always fond of them either."

"Safety in numbers," Lex noted. "Typical prey strategy."

Harry nodded. "Right," he said. "And they probably are weak. Actually, thinking about it, I'd say that this is the last place an ambitious practitioner would want to come, let alone a powerful one. Which makes what's happening to Clark a lot more puzzling."

"Why?" Clark asked, offended on behalf of his hometown.

"A powerful one wouldn't want to come here because it's halfway between too isolated and not isolated enough," Harry said. "Powerful practitioners, as a rule, either live in big cities, where they can blend in, or in the middle of nowhere, where they're not likely to be bothered by anyone. You get exceptions to that rule, too, but I'm not sensing any major ley line convergence that would draw someone to set up here. It's got potential in all the weirdness going on, but most powerful practitioners wouldn't bother – it's too much trouble, and they've got better options elsewhere."

"It's like business," Lex remarked. "You either want to set up somewhere with good transport links, communications, infrastructure, that sort of thing, or somewhere with resources that you can build something around."

Harry nodded. "Exactly," he said. "I don't imagine that there'd be that many around here at all, actually." Noticing the frowns worn by the two Smallville natives, he sighed. "Like I said before: Smallville is dangerous. Lovely place, but it has a death rate that would make Sunnydale blink, and it doesn't have the sort of compensations – power or the ability to blend into the background – that would draw most magical people. So, finding the supernatural community is a good idea: it keeps its ear to the ground, and even if it hasn't figured out about Clark, it's not going to miss the meteor infected, or the attention that brings. My bet is that very sensibly, they won't want any part of it." He sighed. "But it also means that there probably won't be many of them, and they'll be even more careful than most about keeping their heads down, which in turn makes them even harder to find – or at least to get talking. So, what's your friend got for us?"

"Not much," Chloe said, skimming the text. "He's come to pretty much the same conclusions that you have – no one who's anyone on spooky side would really want to come here, and not many people without enough power to defend themselves would want to stick around."

"Where's it going?" Clark asked suddenly.

"At the moment? Round in circles," Lex said dryly.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Not the investigation," he said. "The energy. I mean, energy can't be destroyed. It's a fundamental law of the universe. So where's it going?"

Chloe looked puzzled, Lex had raised an eyebrow, but Harry had looked up and cocked his head thoughtfully.

"Energy can be dispersed," he said slowly. "Stored, or used. There wouldn't be any point in dispersing it, unless this is just to weaken you, but even then, that doesn't track. No one's tried to attack you in any way, trap you, or kidnap you."

"Can that sort of energy even be stored?" Lex asked curiously.

"I think so," Harry said, frown deepening. "There's a lot of stories, some of them based on reality, about practitioners storing energy – usually magic – in a talisman of some kind, to use later. I've done it myself, as it happens." His expression darkened. "And I needed help, because it sure as hell wasn't easy." He folded his arms. "But this is leeching off someone else's energy, and storing it… if that's actually what's happening, that suggests that whoever it is either really knows what they're doing or got obscenely lucky. If they didn't, they'd probably have blown themselves up by now."

Lex glanced at Clark, then the power calculations. "Along with all of Smallville and everything for 10 miles around," he added.

Clark's eyes popped out. "WHAT?!"

Harry sighed. "Clark, your powers are nowhere near where they should be," he said. "There's a lot of raw power inside you, deep down, that's completely untapped. You're only skimming the surface of that power, and even that is seriously impressive. You're at least on par with an average Asgardian in terms of the energy you're using, if not above that, considering your speed and other abilities. Those kinds of abilities takes a lot of power to use."

"And someone's been draining you sufficiently to leave you averaging, oh… about fifty percent?" Lex suggested. "Maybe thirty, considering that it's getting through your immune system. Maybe a lot less."

"About that," Clark said doubtfully.

"Either way," Harry said. "It's a lot of power."

Clark slumped. "Yeah," he said disconsolately. "I got that."

Harry held his gaze for a long moment, then, without looking away from him, spoke.

"Chloe, could you please dig into where the magical community hangs out around here? Maybe see if anyone else has come down with symptoms like Clark's?" he asked. "And Lex, you know more about the requirements on storing this kind of power than I do – could you see if anyone's bought or renovated any place recently that might fit the bill, cross-reference with SHIELD files? Clark and I are going to have a chat."

Truth be told, he didn't really ask. It was phrased as a series of polite questions, but the steady tone made quite clear that there was no question about it.

The other two shared a look, one followed by Chloe opening her mouth to ask something like 'about what?', before being cut off by Lex's hand on her shoulder.

"Sure," he said.

"Thanks," Harry said, before getting up and adroitly piloting Clark out the room.

OoOoO

In the end, they didn't go far – or at least, not physically. That is to say, the cafeteria was only about fifty yards away, but the next part of the journey drew a double take from Clark, as Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out a double-fingered dark bronze ring and slid it into his right hand, before firing a blast of orange light into the air ahead of him, which promptly cracked like a broken mirror. This was, as Clark was soon to discover, an apt comparison.

"Wait, what is that?" he asked warily, stopping.

Harry, now a couple of steps ahead, paused and turned back to him. "It's an entrance to the mirror dimension," he said, as if this was perfectly normal. "The literal other side of the mirror. It's a pocket dimension, running alongside reality, created and maintained by the Sorcerer Supreme. It's got a lot of functions: it can be a training area, a temporary prison, a safe house, convenient backdoor into just about anywhere… or just somewhere to talk. In private."

Clark hesitated. "It's safe?"

"It's what you make of it," Harry said. "Or more accurately, what I make of it, because I'm the one with the magic. So yes, it's safe."

Clark hesitated for another moment, then followed him through, looking around in disbelief. Safe this place might be, but it was nevertheless kind of weird. In fact, he thought, as two chairs slid over to them, the floor beneath their legs flowing like water, it was very weird.

"Reality is easier to mess with here," Harry explained.

"… I can see that," Clark said, watching as Harry's chair shifted from the standard semi-comfortable bucket seat of Smallville High's cafeteria to a squashy armchair, before doing the same to Clark's and gesturing to it. A little uncertainly, Clark sat down. As he did, something occurred to him. "Could you make me better here?"

Harry was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "No," he said. "I'm sorry Clark, but all being here does is make it easier for me to sense, and do, things that I could already. For instead, if you had a lot of broken bones, more than I could normally fix, then maybe it would be easier to pull off here, because I already know how." He gestured at Clark, then snapped his fingers, and to Clark's astonishment, a vein like tracery of energy like golden sunlight appeared on his body. Suddenly, Harry frowned and leaned in. "Hello… what's this?"

"You're the one who cast the spell, don't you know?" Clark half-demanded, somewhat disturbed.

"I didn't expect to see this much," Harry said, eyes narrowed. "And look." He pointed at the energy flowing through Clark. It was interwoven with traces of darkness, like oil slicks on a river, and what looked like small islands of emerald gems clustered deformed the current, blocking it from pooling. "That is interesting," he murmured.

"What is it?" Clark asked. "And what are you doing?"

"Casting an illusion of what I'm sensing from you," Harry said. "It's not that dramatic – like writing down an idea, or sketching a crime scene." He nodded at Clark's body. "Anyway, those little bits of darkness? They're signs of the spell, scars showing where you've been drained." His voice lowered to something approximating a growl. "Like vampire bites."

"What about the green stuff? It looks like…" Clark began, before narrowing his own eyes. "It looks like meteor rock."

"I thought so," Harry murmured. "I saw the pictures in the papers when I looked up the meteor shower, but I wasn't sure. I think I'm beginning to put together how they're doing this."

"Can you fix it now?" Clark asked. "I mean, if you know how it's being done…"

"I'm beginning to put it together," Harry corrected, dismissing the illusion. "And I could still be wrong. You'd need seriously powerful – and, more to the point, complex – healing magic to pick all that green stuff out without risking damage, and I'm nowhere near that good. I'd be like asking a biology student to do cancer surgery." He frowned. "Besides, that wouldn't get rid of the hooks that sorcerer has in you."

"But with all those spells; sleeping spells, magic circles, transforming stuff, opening gateways into other dimensions," Clark said. "I'd have thought…" He trailed off.

Harry smiled wryly. "What? That I knew it all?" he asked.

"You seemed confident enough," Clark pointed out.

"Magic circles are the most basic thing in the book," Harry said. "You don't even have to be magical to make them work, not if you've got a drop of blood to work with. As for sleeping spells, they're psychic effects, so they come pretty naturally. As for transfiguration, like I said, my dad and godfather were experts at it and taught me a few things." He sighed. "Clark, I'm talented, I'm powerful, and I'm creative. That means that I can pull off a lot of seriously spectacular things. But while healing magic, creating – or at least recreating – something? Something real, not just a construct or an illusion? That's really, really complicated. It's some of the hardest and most powerful magic there is, and I am nowhere near on that level yet."

"So," Harry said. "My amazing super senses tell me that you're having trouble taking it all in."

Clark blinked. "They are? But you said…" He trailed off and scowled slightly at Harry's wry expression. "Okay, fine, you can read my face. Don't rub it in."

Harry sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to," he said. "It's… it's how I talk to people. Honestly, I think I started doing in order to cope with how crazy my life is." At Clark's expression of surprise, he smiled a lop-sided smile. "What, you thought that I was all 'cool, totally normal, nothing fazes me'? Guess again, Clark. Sure, I've got a much higher level of weirdness tolerance than most people, than practically anyone. But at the same time, my life… my life is unbelievably weird. A year and a half ago, I thought I was 'just' a teenage wizard. Aside from being able to talk to snakes and having survived something impossible when I was a baby, I was normal by the standards of the community I lived in. A little over four years ago, I wasn't even that – just your average, normal orphan who sometimes had something weird happen to him and was kept in an under-stairs cupboard." He paused. "Okay, even that's only normal for a given value of normal, but point is, I didn't know anything more. Even until last year, I thought I was pretty normal, much the same way you did. Now…"

He sighed again.

"Now," he said. "Now, I know that I'm a demigod, half-human, half-Asgardian. I know that my ancestors were Asgardian royalty, ruling for at least 700,000 years before humans even existed, with millions of years of history as mortals before that. I know that I'm one of the most powerful human psychics ever to exist, thanks to genes from the next stage in human evolution. I know that I'm technically immortal thanks to having been given a fragment of an impossibly powerful cosmic entity via a bargain my mother made with Her, which involved my mother merging with said entity and ascending to a higher plane of existence when she was murdered shortly after. I know that if I ever use that power again without being in total control of it, I could become a monster that would destroy everything and everyone I've ever loved, because it nearly happened. I know that if I use it anywhere around Earth in the cosmic sense at all, I'll unleash a multi-million year old monster with a god-complex that ate a galaxy – oh, and I know that sooner or later, he's coming anyway, and that he's got a grudge against me. I know that that deal is the reason I even saw my second birthday, and it only happened because the man who brokered it, Doctor Strange, wanted me alive. I know that he wanted me alive because he decided that I was the perfect candidate to be his living weapon, his favourite pair of loaded dice to win a game that either started fifteen hundred years ago, or millions and millions of years before that, depending on how you look at it."

He stood up and began to pace, never dropping a beat.

"I know that I'm going to travel back in time sometime in the next five years because I've read a letter that my future self sent from the 1960s and I've met several people that he knew. I know that my body is six months older than my mind, and that six month gap was filled by my body being reprogrammed and used as the Winter Soldier's superpowered successor. I know that my girlfriend and I have an accidental psychic connection and we often slip into talking in each other's minds without even realising it. I know that reality bends around me to draw people in, because my godmother, who wields chaos magic, put a blessing on me as a baby to make sure I'd never be alone. I know that I was possessed by an Elder God of Chaos six months ago, on Red Sky Day, and I threw him out of my mind and this universe. I know that the universe as it exists now was torn apart on that day, and I stitched it back together – and frankly, it wasn't the best of jobs. I know that I'm telling lies and keeping secrets that my friends will never forgive me for, and that I can't tell them the truth all the same."

He took a deep breath as Clark stared in disbelief – no, astonishment.

"And I know what it's like," he said, suddenly looking very tired. "To suddenly have your entire worldview shifted, changing beyond anything you could have imagined, over and over again. To realise that even though you've already got power far beyond the ordinary, there's so much more to come. To worry about what you could do, who you could hurt, even without meaning to, and to be scared witless of that happening because you can hardly cope with what you've already got." He rubbed his brow. "I know what it's like," he repeated. "So I make jokes. Good or bad, light or dark, little or big, it doesn't matter. I make them. And I make them because it's one of the few ways I have of really coping with the utter insanity that is my life."

"What are the others?" Clark asked, after a moment.

"My friends. My family. Doing normal, ordinary things – not even human things, necessarily, though mostly human ones. Stuff that reminds me that I have a life outside of being part of or preparing for some great destiny or grand plan," Harry said, before sitting back down and looking thoughtful. "Really, I suppose… it's about living. Not staying alive, I mean. That's just surviving. But living."

"Human stuff, huh," Clark said, and smiled slyly. "Like getting caught with your girlfriend by Captain America?"

And just like that, the wise, thoughtful, somewhat tired, and indefinably older aspect of Harry fell away, leaving a teenage boy much like Clark. A teenage boy who, as it happened, was going bright red. Again.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" he muttered.

"Probably not," Clark said, grinning.

Harry sighed, but this time, it was an amused and rueful sigh rather than a tired one. "I can live with that," he said. "Besides, Carol will almost certainly kill Lex when she hears about this."

"I could believe that," Clark said. At Harry's slightly surprised look, he added, "Jean-Paul's mentioned her a few times. He said she had a temper."

Harry grinned. "That's putting it mildly," he said.

Clark cocked his head and frowned at Harry.

"What?"

Clark shook his head. "It's nothing, it's just… how do you go from being all serious and wise and all-knowing, sounding like you're years older than me, because you've seen and done so much, to being… normal?"

Harry let out a bark of surprised laughter. "Good question," he admitted. "I suppose it helps to remember that weird as my life is, there's a lot of normal in it." He went pink. "Including getting caught with my girlfriend."

"Even if it is by Captain America."

Pink turned to red. "Yeah," Harry said, and coughed. "Look, my point is that no matter how weird things get, normal, ordinary, real things just keep happening. Hold onto them."

There was a long moment of silence, as Clark turned a few things over in his head, before nodding. "I suppose it helps that you've had this kind of power – the kind I'm meant to have – for a while. You've been able to get used to it."

"What kind of power? The ability to level a building by sneezing?" Harry asked lightly.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "How do you cope with it?"

Harry considered this for a long moment. "My powers are different to yours," he said eventually, in a measured tone. "They're both easier and harder to control. I don't have to worry about squashing loved ones into crunchy jam with one misjudged hug, but you don't have to worry about accidentally frying the minds of everyone near you like a phone dropped in a bath, doing the kind of damage that no amount of dry rice will fix. And then…"

He raised a hand and embers kindled in it, before he twisted his wrist, sending them floating up into the air, lighting up the dark room, dancing around them like fireflies in the night sky. "That cosmic power I mentioned, the one that makes me functionally immortal, the one I got given as a protection. I mentioned that I learned to tap into it. And with it… I can do anything I want. I could reshape continents. I could pull the stars down from the sky and hold them in the palm of my hand. I could even bring back the dead. At the small, small cost of my soul."

"'For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?'" Clark said quietly.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Clark flushed a little.

"It's from the New Testament," he explained. "The Gospel of Mark, chapter 8, verse 36. King James Version." When Harry's other eyebrow rose, he flushed again. "And you're pagan, Asgardian I mean, so you probably won't want to hear something from the Bible. Sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Wisdom is wisdom, wherever it comes from," he said. "Anyway, I've talked to Jesus, in person."

Clark's eyes nearly popped out. "You're kidding?!"

Harry grinned. "Not even slightly," he said, before his grin faded a little. "He offered a friendly ear and some good advice, at a point when I really needed both. A couple of points, actually. The first one was after I tapped into that power, that protection I mentioned, and did it for all the wrong reasons. He put in another visit more recently." His expression turned wry. "He's sort of like a mixture of therapist and parole officer."

"Parole officer?" Clark asked, startled.

Harry paused for a moment, then closed his eyes briefly. "When I said 'all the wrong reasons', Clark, I meant it," he said. "I was on the edge of not just losing my soul, but quite possibly going insane and destroying a large chunk of the universe, including the Earth. You've read your Bible? Well, if I hadn't been talked down, I'd have made Revelations and what happened on Red Sky Day – what actually happened, not what it was leading up to – put together look like nothing." He shook his head. "But even knowing what it would do, how it would burn me up from the inside out… it's still tempting."

He sat up, resting his crossed arms on his tucked up knees. "And that's the thing about power," he said. "It doesn't have to be some weird cosmic energy, or dark magic, to be tempting. You could change the course of rivers, or carve your face into a mountain or something. I could level Smallville or make more or less its entire population do the Cha-Cha Slide – which, thanks to Tony, Tony Stark, I have stuck in my head at the moment. There's a temptation to cut loose just to see your limits and what you can do, to do things just because you can, without considering how that might affect other people."

He looked over at Clark. "You already know, probably better than I do, that you have to be careful. That's all it is, really – just coping the same way you are already, but on a slightly grander scale." He smiled kindly at Clark. "What I'm saying is that eventually, you get used to it."

He shrugged.

"Besides, it's not all tip-toeing through the world. There are places you can go to cut loose and let off some steam. My dad could probably tip you off to a few, Bruce Banner a few others." He stood up. "There are also a few places, and people, who help you get a handle on your new powers."

"Couldn't you," Clark began, before stopping at Harry's sad smile and shaken head.

"No," he said. "I'd love to, don't get me wrong. But you deserve, and need, more than just a few tips whenever I have a spare moment – which, frankly, isn't all that often. And my powers… not only are they pretty different from yours, I'm still figuring them out. Sure, I can mimic your abilities, but that takes focus, and they still work differently. More than that, I've still got a lot to learn." He smiled slightly. "That doesn't mean that there isn't a thing or two I could teach you. About flying, for a start."

Clark perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah. With luck, you should be past the floating and flailing part in no time."

Clark rolled his eyes again, before a thought struck him. "You have a girlfriend," he said.

"I do," Harry said.

"And she knows…"

"More about me than I know about myself," Harry said.

Clark nodded. "How did she take it?"

"She didn't have to," Harry said. "I mean, she knew what I was from the start." He paused. "Well, most of what I was. I mean, there was quite a lot that I didn't know about myself back then." He tipped his head and regarded Clark. "Who is she?"

Clark chewed his lip. "Lana. Lana Lang," he said.

"Ah. Lana who is the slim kind of pretty," Harry said. "Who isn't your girlfriend, and doesn't know your secret."

Clark nodded. "I suppose…" he began. "I suppose I wanted your advice. On how to tell her."

"That you have a thing for her, or that you have powers?" Harry asked. "Because going by the conversation earlier – and the one right now – let me tell you, the first one is obvious. Very obvious, in fact. To anyone with eyes."

Clark sighed. "You're not the first to say that," he said. "I just…"

"Why not tell her how you feel?" Harry asked. "I mean, gods know it can be scary to come out and say it, even when the other person actually already knows, but what's stopping you? Is it just the powers thing?"

Clark looked shifty. Harry noticed.

"Okay, so it's not the powers thing. Is… oh for crying out loud. Clark, is she seeing someone?"

Clark's silence said all that was necessary, and Harry pinched his brow, muttering under his breath. Clark couldn't hear exactly what he was muttering, and he was pretty sure that most of it wasn't in English. He was also more or less certain that the majority of it was the sort of thing Harry had tried to avoid saying in front of his parents. Eventually, he looked up and exhaled sharply.

"Clark, has she given you any reason – any at all – to believe that she says you as anything more than a friend? Be honest with me."

"Well," Clark hedged. "One or two times? Maybe?"

Harry sighed. "So, probably not. Or at least, if she does have some feelings for you, they're definitely not greater than the ones she has from her boyfriend," he said. "What's he like?"

Clark paused, thought about this, then, with the strict honesty he'd been raised to have in everything that didn't involve his secret, he said, "He's good to Lana."

Harry eyed him. "There's something you're not saying there," he said. "But…" He trailed off, and his eyes narrowed. "Clark, did something happen between you and him?"

"I, what? Why do you ask?" Clark asked, startled.

"Could he be behind this?" Harry asked.

"No," Clark said, shaking his head firmly. "We had a problem or two, but Whitney's the sort of guy that if he has a problem with you, he'll come straight to you."

"Which means that he saw you nosing around his girlfriend and did exactly that," Harry said bluntly.

Clark winced.

Harry shook his head. "Clark, a couple of my oldest friends – they're called Ron and Hermione – are in a love triangle kind of like that. Except that I know for a fact that both of them have feelings for another. But they're not together. Why? Because someone else Hermione cares for confessed first. So I'll tell you something that a mentor of mine told Ron: accept it gracefully, and leave well enough alone." He sat back, expression and tone superficially lightening. But his gaze remained razor sharp, pinning Clark in place like a butterfly on a pin. "If you love her, then you will want her to be happy. If you try to force her to choose between you and him, then she will not be happy, and you will not be the kind of person that I thought you were."

"What's that?" Clark snapped, stung by the implicit accusation.

Harry, though, met his gaze evenly. "A good man."

Clark looked away. "Lex said I should go for it," he muttered, realising as he did that it was rather petty.

"I'm not surprised," Harry said after a moment, in slow, measured tones. "Lex… from what I know of Lex, he's completely focused on doing what he thinks is right for his people. You're one of them. What that also means, though, is that he doesn't always think about the concerned about the consequences, whether they're to people who aren't 'his', or in general."

Clark, hit by a flash of intuition, frowned at Harry. "You used to think the same way," he said.

Harry sighed. "No," he said. "I used to think about what's right for everyone. Then I focused just on the people I cared about, not counting anyone else. Now… I suppose I'm caught in between."

He stood up.

"Still," he said. "I think we've dealt with what we came here to deal with, and a few other things, too. All in all, I count that as a win – even more so if Lex and Chloe have something for us." He glanced at his watch, expression becoming grave. "But time, I think, is not on our side."

OoOoO

However, while time was ticking, Chloe and Lex had struck gold. They had found out the primary supernatural hang out in Smallville – a bar called 'Spellman's' that left Harry wondering if the ability to use magic came with an irresistible compulsion to make bad puns – and several potential locations for power storage that they could ask questions about while investigating.

Some were considered to be more likely than others, with Chloe discovering that one was close to what had become an almost Bermuda Triangle-like area for first animals, then people – drifters – vanishing. Lex had also thought that it was the most likely place, and the most ominous one as well.

"Belle Reve Sanitarium," Chloe said. "It's where most local superpowered criminals have been sent, because, well, they're usually kind of nuts."

"So, it's run by SHIELD?" Clark asked.

Chloe shook her head. "No," she said. "Officially, it's privately run. Unofficially, I'm pretty sure that there's some government involvement, even if it's just oversight for a private contract."

"SHIELD's not exactly in the official good books at the moment," Lex said dryly.

"And after how HYDRA gutted them, I doubt they've got the resources to maintain something like this," Harry said. "They've got enough trouble with the Raft."

"The Raft?" Clark asked.

"I've heard rumours about that," Chloe said, sounding intrigued. "It's like, some super-Super Max, right?"

"More or less," Harry said.

Lex nodded. "Belle Reve sounds familiar," he said. "Not just because it's around." He frowned, rubbing his jaw. "Something about a new director, I met him when I first came to Smallville, at one of those networking dinners. Middle aged, white, blond, a bit weird. His name was Doctor… Robert something. Something else starting with R, I know that much – I remember thinking that from my own experience, no kid deserves alliteration in their name. Which might be why he preferred to be called Bob, come to think of it." He shook his head. "It'll come to me. Anyway, my predecessor introduced us."

"Wait, you think Luthorcorp is involved?" Chloe asked. "With Clark?"

Clark froze, looking deeply worried.

"I think my father would love to get his hands on the kind of power Clark has, if only to use him as a battery," Lex said, frowning. "But I don't think he's involved, not directly. If my father knew about Clark's power, and a way to weaken and contain him the way whoever's behind this does, he'd have made Clark vanish a long time ago."

Clark looked troubled, as Harry's expression froze, ice and marble flowing into his features.

"He would have tried," Harry said in a soft voice that carried all the deadly chill of a polar night. "And if he'd walked away with his life or sanity, he'd have been luckier than he deserved."

Chloe blinked, staring at Harry in evident surprise. Clark wasn't. Not entirely. True, it was incredibly disturbing to see an expression like that on a face so like his own, to hear such threats – no, statements, there was nothing uncertain about them – slide smoothly from a similar mouth. But it wasn't surprising. Not from what Jean-Paul had said, and what he had alluded to, about what had happened to Harry. What it had done to him.

No, what was more surprising was that Lex not only didn't seem surprised, or even fazed, by this. Instead, he studied Harry carefully, before giving him a slow, precise nod of acknowledgement. As he did, Clark was reminded of what Harry had said just a few minutes ago – Lex did what he thought was right for his people, and damn the consequences.

That led him to another uneasy thought: what if Lex did not see his father as one of his 'people'? He had offered to protect Clark against Lionel in the past, which was certainly something to be grateful for, and Lionel Luthor was no saint… but when he thought about what Harry had said, just what did that offer of protection – and how he was behaving now - actually mean? If Lionel was behind this, what might Lex try and do?

This train of thought was disrupted by Lex, who addressed a more immediate issue. "Who's going to go and check out this bar?" he asked. "It can't be me – I'd have no reason to be down there, none that would make sense and avoid arousing suspicion. Plus, if my father is even believed to be involved, directly or indirectly, then it could be counterproductive."

"I'll go," Chloe said. "I'm the one with practise of getting information out of people."

"That would make two of us," Harry muttered, then shook his head. "I'm willing to bet that at least some of them will have heard of you, and your interest in the supernatural. They'll clam up the moment they see you."

Chloe looked affronted. "He's right, Chloe," Clark said. "You do kind of have a reputation for, well, being nosy."

Chloe continued to look affronted, but she didn't actually disagree. "Fine," she said. "You're going, then?"

"And Clark," Harry said. "The two of us need to stick together, just in case our sorcerer has a go at him."

"So, we're going?" Clark asked.

"No," Harry said. "First, we'll be dropping by your parents and telling them what's going on, then doing a lot more research." As Clark grimaced, he smiled faintly. "It's hardly 11, Clark. We've got a while before it'll open." He glanced out the window at the snow, which was falling at the sort of steady, workmanlike rate that implied that it had settled in for the foreseeable future. "Which I assume it will, even in this weather."

"I rang and checked," Chloe said. "And booked a table."

"Great, thanks," Harry said, then paused as he saw Lex smirking. "Under what name, out of interest?" he asked suspiciously.

"Danvers," Chloe said. "Lex suggested it, since Kent, Sullivan, Luthor, or Thorson would all stand out too much."

Harry gave Lex an unamused look, getting an amused shrug in reply.

"What?" he said. "It's not a name anyone around here would know. Even my father would have to think for a few minutes to recall it." The smirk widened. "I'm sure Carol would be honoured that you'd give up your maiden name."

Harry sighed. "She's going to kill you, you do realise that? And then she's going to make me bring you back so she can kill you again."

"What can I say? I like to live dangerously. Besides, if I'm undead, she can't kill me again."

"Speaking as someone who's seen her decapitate a vampire… yes. Yes, she can."

"Her expression will be worth it."

"You worry me, Lex."

"I didn't already? I must be losing my touch."

OoOoO

Harry was not the only one worried, and for more serious reasons. The Kents were not entirely happy with the idea of Clark, at the very least, getting involved with asking the sort of questions that invited dangerous answers and potential reprisals – in this case, from someone with the proven ability to hurt Clark. However, they had eventually conceded on the grounds that Harry had to do the investigating, and the safest place for Clark was beside the one person who had proven able to deal with the attacks on Clark. Additionally, though it went unsaid, it was also reassuring to have him guarded by the most powerful person in the state – and one of the most powerful in the entire Midwest.

As a result, they accepted it, fed both Harry and Clark gigantic bowls of chicken soup, before placing stern injunctions on Clark to be careful and to take a large packet of tissues, just in case. Harry, to his credit, maintained a poker-face throughout. Indeed, he had spent most of the afternoon concerned with his face.

"I have two very recognisable features," he explained, pointing the scar on his forehead, and the white lock. "The scar, I doubt anyone will clock as anything unusual, but there's always a possibility – I'm famous in the British magical world, and the scar is my defining feature there, because it shows that I survived the so-called 'Killing Curse'. That doesn't mean it'll have crossed over here, especially since this lot will probably be wandless rather than wanded – entirely different communities – but it pays to be sure. The lock of hair, though…" He tugged at it. "I've been seen out and about with it a lot more while I've been over here, and it catches the eye more than a scar does." He shrugged. "Odds are pretty good they won't recognise either, even if our sorcerer has spies there, but even still, a disguise is good idea."

"They'll see something's wrong if I turn up and you look too much like me," Clark said, cottoning on. "So what are you planning to change?"

"Not much," Harry said, looking into a mirror, before pointing his wand at his hair and muttering something. To Clark's astonishment, as right before his eyes, a distinctive dark red – not ginger, not auburn, but true red – shade flowed through the strands of hair. Harry regarded it critically, turning his head this way and that, before looking satisfied and moving onto his face. This was a matter of smaller, finer changes, but the result was someone with sharper bone structure than Harry, and certainly rather sharper than Clark himself.

"I… wow," Clark said, taking in the changes as a whole. While someone looking closely might recognise Harry for who he was, it would be more by expression, manner, and his striking emerald green eyes than by ordinary facial features.

Harry just looked at the mirror, frowned, then chuckled ruefully.

"What?" Clark asked, a little puzzled.

"I was going for a male version of my cousins, Jean and Maddie," Harry said. "We have the same eyes, and the red hair…" He gestured. "They have it. So did my mother."

"So?"

"So, I think I actually managed to come out looking more like a male version of Natasha," Harry said, rubbing his jaw, before drawing his wand again.

"Natasha?"

"Black Widow," Harry said, drawing his wand over jaw and mouth, adding a simulacra of dark reddish stubble.

"Oh," Clark said, not sure what else he should add. Now that he looked, he could see the resemblance, albeit mainly thanks to his hair and eyes. Mostly, to Clark, Harry looked thinner, sharper edged, and, dare he say it… dangerous. Harry caught his expression and smiled a razor-like smile, which only made Clark more certain that it was intentional.

But aside from the Kents pronouncing that the change was uncanny, that had been more or less it. They had waited for evening to come, then headed out.

Spellman's itself was an unprepossessing place, wood construction on a bare concrete foundation, with the slightly rundown look that's lent by peeling paint and windows old enough and dirty enough to develop a patina. Placed on the outskirts of Smallville, it was close enough that they could plausibly walk – though it would raise an eyebrow or two in the current weather, which was snow, snow, and more snow.

Outside, Harry stopped and turned to Clark.

"Before we get started," he said. "Let me make one thing very clear, Clark. If I say something, I expect you to do it."

Clark bridled a little, and it must have shown on his face, because Harry's expression turned flinty.

"Don't argue with me, Clark. The people in here are almost certainly going to be scared, and definitely on their guard. If you make the wrong move, they'll lash out, and while they might not have much in the way of magic, there's every chance that they'll have enough to hurt you. And that's taking into account any agents, human or otherwise, our sorcerer might have in there."

"Or otherwise?" Clark echoed, frowning.

"Magical creatures," Harry said. "Some of which can be very nasty. A human agent, though, a lesser sorcerer powered up by their master with some of what they've stolen from you… that's a much more worrying prospect." He looked at Clark. "Point being, I've done this before. I know how this game is played. Not as well as some, but much better than most, and that includes you. So. If I say something, you'll do it. Is that understood?"

Clark met his gaze, then nodded.

"Good," Harry said, before looking up at the door. "Now, to meet our reservation." He paused, then shook his head. "Carol really is going to kill him."

OoOoO

Most of what Harry told Clark, however – after Harry had introduced himself as 'Nathan Danvers', they had ordered a couple of hot chocolates (to stave off the cold from the outside and the inside, thanks to occasioal draughts) and taken their seats – was less 'what to do', more 'how to do'.

"First rule of espionage," Harry said quietly. "Whenever you go in somewhere, always – always – look for the exits. If you're tracking someone, it's to trap them or know where they're going to go if they try to escape. More importantly, it means you can make an escape plan: one that accounts for as much of what you might face as possible. You won't account for everything, every time. That's what adapting is for. But cut down the amount you have to adapt to, and it becomes smoother and easier."

"You already have one?" Clark asked, surprised. They had, after all, only been in the pub for two minutes.

"Five," Harry said.

Clark blinked, and Harry smiled wryly.

"Some of them aren't that subtle," he said. "Like blasting our way out, or me flying you up and out. Brute force is an option, and I think it's one you use a lot."

"I don't, I –"

"Use your speed advantage to get clear whenever you need to," Harry said bluntly. "From what I can tell, you rely on it far too much. Speed is good, speed is useful, especially for getting into and out of places discreetly. But remember: there's always someone stronger, someone faster, and more importantly, someone smarter. And if you give them even half a chance, they will catch you. I forgot that, and it got me killed."

"You mean, almost got you killed."

"I meant what I said. It almost got me killed once – actually, two or three times, now that I come to think about it," Harry said calmly. "But another time, it actually did get me killed. I was resurrected, which is why I'm here and talking to you now, but it came at a price."

Clark's eyes darted up to where Harry's white lock was, under the illusion.

"No, actually," Harry said, noticing the gaze. "Good guess, but no. That was something else. Point is, speed won't work every time. It can be part of your plan, but it can't be the only part of your Plan A. You need to have more; to see more, to think more."

"How did you learn how to 'see more' and 'think more'?" Clark asked, a touch defensively.

"It's a cliché, but a lot of the answer is 'the hard way'," Harry said, shrugging.

Clark's eyes narrowed as an insight sparked in his mind. "That's why you're teaching me this now," he said. "So I don't have to learn the way you did."

Harry smiled, this one more genuine and sadder than the grim smiles of before. "Is it that obvious?" he asked rhetorically, before nodding. "Yes, more or less. Still, not all of the answer is 'the hard way'. I learned a lot from the Avengers, my uncle, Clint, and Natasha in particular. Bucky, Bucky Barnes, too. I'd be a bad student if I didn't try to pass them on to someone who needs them."

Clark frowned, then nodded slowly. "Fine," he said. "Any other lessons?"

"Glad you asked," Harry said. "Lesson two: don't stand out. Try to blend in. Whatever group you're looking to deal with, if you can, mimic them."

"Mimic them?" Clark echoed, surprised.

Harry nodded. "As far as you can, preferably without making it obvious – and especially avoid looking like you're mocking them," he said. "People respond better to familiar accents, mannerisms, appearances, and attitudes. It puts them at their ease, makes them think that you're one of them."

"Really?"

"If I put on a hat, even without any other disguise, no one in New York, London, or Moscow would give me a second glance," Harry said evenly. "In the latter two, at least, I could pass for a local. And if you learned how not to look like a tourist, so could you, until you opened your mouth. Yet half of me, genetically speaking, isn't human and never has been." He eyed Clark. "And you, Clark, genetically speaking, aren't human at all. But no one would know it from the way we look, the way we dress, or the way we act. Not unless we did something that made us stand out."

Clark frowned, not liking being reminded so bluntly that he wasn't human, but didn't dispute the point.

"So, don't look around, and don't be obviously searching for something. If you are, you'll alert the people you're looking for to the fact that something's wrong," Harry continued. "Lesson three: read the room. You can tell a lot about a situation by the body language of the people in it; individuals and groups."

"That's what Jean-Paul told me," Clark said. "First, to look at the eyes, because the eyes always give it away, but don't look for too long. Second, if you can't look at the eyes, look at how people around them are acting and reacting."

Harry smiled faintly. "Good advice," he said. "And just what I'd expect from Jean-Paul. There's only one person in all the Nine Worlds who I'm sure is better at reading people than he is, and that's Natasha." He looked at Clark. "So. Jean-Paul taught you to read people. All right, then. What are you getting now?"

Clark looked around, frowning slightly, reading the room. "It's fuller than it should be on a night like this," he said eventually. "Everyone's sticking together, in groups. And they keep looking at us."

"Well-spotted," Harry said, smile widening slightly. "They also keep looking every time the door opens and someone comes in, and every time they do, they tense up. They're expecting, or afraid, that someone, someone dangerous, is going to turn up."

"Then why are they here?" Clark asked.

"Because they're afraid of being picked off," Harry murmured, before sliding his eyes back to Clark. "The same way you were."

Clark shivered in a way that had nothing to do with any unexpected draughts.

"Someone's got their hand around this town," Harry said. "The magical part of it, anyway. And they're squeezing." He swept his gaze around the room again, before frowning and getting up.

"H – Nathan?" Clark asked, remembering just in time to use Harry's choice of pseudonym.

"I can't get a clear angle on part of the room without making it obvious I'm looking," Harry said. "Sit tight." Then, he headed to the bathrooms at a relatively relaxed saunter, not missing a beat. He did miss one on the way back, though, a mere fraction of a second. No one would have seen it unless they were looking, and knew what they were looking for, but Clark was and did. In any case, Harry strolled back, picked up the mugs and said, "Refill?"

It was phrased like a question, but only superficially, so Clark nodded, stood up and followed Harry to the bar, uneasily noting that the eyes of everyone present were following them. He glanced over at where Harry had hesitated for a split second, but he couldn't get anything more distinctive than an average sized man dressed in warm weather clothing shrouded in shadows.

"Two more hot chocolates," Harry said to the barman, a stolid looking older man, with the kind of build that came from both hefting kegs and emptying them. "Along with another of whatever my friend in the corner," he said, nodding over at the man in the corner. "And a moment of your time – I've got a question."

"What kind of question?" the barman asked, a little wary.

"It can wait," Harry said, pulling out his wallet and doing just that, shooting Clark a warning look as he stirred, trying to get a look at the person Harry had seen.

The barman returned with a tray, on which were two hot chocolates and a coffee with what smelled like a small, but strong, alcoholic component. "Now," he said, putting the tray down. "What was your question?"

Harry pulled out a fifty dollar note and met the barman's gaze. Then, moving quicker than anyone human could have managed, he grabbed the man's open hand in a vice-like grip, pinning the notes into his hand with his thumb. The barman jerked, as if receiving an electric shock, and stared at Harry with wide, fearful eyes.

"Would you have time to spare for a conversation with us?" Harry asked mildly. "Perhaps with my friend, over there."

"What if I don't?" the barman asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Look, I don't want trouble –" He let out a small squeak, ruddy face going pale as Harry's grip tightened.

"Then I will have a sense of humour failure," Harry said, without raising his voice. "And you will be explaining to the White Council why you're aiding and abetting the practise of dark magic."

Harry released his grip and sat back on the barstool, but if anything, the barman's face had gone paler, now a sickly milk-white.

"I'm not –" he began, voice trembling.

"Involved?" Harry asked, voice lowering. "You know that something's wrong, that dark magic is about. It's written on your face, and on the faces of everyone else in the bar. And you haven't said anything, have you? That's fine. Dark magic is scary, and everyone's been a bit busy recently – no one's had time to come sort things out. So, you keep your head down and get on with life. Again, that's fine. Understandable, even. But don't even try to pretend that you're not involved, because like it or not, friend, you are."

He leaned forward. "You're involved, and so am I. I'm here to sort this out. So: now, I'm here. Now, I'm asking. Which means that now, if you refuse to tell me what I want to know, you will be helping to protect a Warlock from justice. Therefore, you will be aiding and abetting the practise of dark magic. I think that the White Council would swallow that whole, don't you?"

The barman swallowed, and nodded.

"So. How about you get that drink, and come join us?" Harry asked. He still hadn't raised his voice. For Clark, that was the scary part.

"I'll do that," the barman said. "Just… let me get someone to cover for me."

"Don't go far," Harry said. The barman froze for a moment, before smiling a smile that was more like a grimace and going to talk to one of the barwomen. She went pale, shot Harry a frightened look, then nodded, sliding along behind the bar as the barman drew a pint with a trembling hand.

"What was all that about?" Clark demanded in a harsh undertone.

Harry flicked a look over at him as he went to pick up the tray. "He's scared," he said quietly. "Everyone here is, and if I'm any judge, they've been scared for a while. I didn't have the time, or the reputation, to reassure them. So instead, I invoked something scarier."

"The White Council," Clark said. "You pretended to be a member, by… some kind of handshake?"

Harry smiled faintly. "No. He made that assumption. I just encouraged it. And it wasn't a handshake – wandless practitioners can sense each other on skin to skin contact, when auras interact. The stronger the practitioner, the stronger the reaction."

"That's why he jumped like that," Clark said, catching on.

Harry nodded, picking up the tray. "Exactly."

"And the White Council… they're that scary?"

"Definitely," Harry murmured. "And it was more believable than claiming to be Strange's apprentice. He's scarier than the Council, but he's a myth to most ordinary practitioners, if they've heard of him at all. The Council, on the other hand, are scary enough to carry weight, but tangible enough that people won't doubt their existence. And if you're strong enough, they won't go doubting that you're a member. I could have claimed that I was from SHIELD, but they've never really had much trust, especially not since it became clear they were infested with HYDRA Agents."

"What about me?" Clark asked.

Harry set the tray down and shrugged. "He probably assumed that you were my apprentice," he said. "Or another witness. Something like that. Hello, Agent Coulson."

Clark's gaze snapped up sharply to the man sitting across the table from them, whose friendly and deceptively harmless features he could now make out.

"Hello Clark," he said. "And hello… Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did I miss?" he asked.

"You have very distinctive green eyes," Coulson said. "And if you're not going to disguise them, then you should at least try and avoid picking the same, similarly distinctive, hair colour as your cousins. Also, you threaten people the way your uncle does."

"I wasn't sure if I could get eye transfiguration right, and I wasn't about to risk blinding myself," Harry said. "All right, fair point." He glanced up at the barman, who was making his way over. "And speaking of people…" He pushed out a chair for the arriving barman. It would take someone with a good angle to see that he hadn't used his foot to do so. "Take a seat," he said.

The barman hesitated, before gingerly sitting down. "Look," he said. "I don't want any trouble."

"Nor do we," Coulson said, smoothly leaning across and cutting Harry off before he could speak. To Clark's surprise, Harry accepted it with nothing more than a briefly raised eyebrow, and settled back into his seat. "We want to help, Mr Spellman, and we can. If you'll let us."

Spellman shot a look at Harry. "Right. You want to help me," he said. "I could tell from how you threatened me with Council 'justice'."

Coulson's poker face didn't flicker for a moment. Instead, he simply looked simultaneously grave and apologetic, as if regretting what had been said without, for one moment, considering it anything other than necessary. "My colleague isn't known for his patience," he said. "He wanted to convince you of how seriously we are taking this. The sooner you help us, the sooner we can bring, ah, justice to the people who deserve it."

Spellman grimaced, then sighed. "You've got me over the barrel, haven't you?" he said. "I'm screwed either way."

"One way, you get a Warlock out of your hair," Harry said curtly. "The other way, you go before the Council – and I can guarantee that whatever they do to you will still be much less painful than what a paranoid Warlock might do out of revenge or on a whim." He met Spellman's gaze, green eyes cold and dispassionate. "If you cooperate, you will be fine. If you clam up, you won't. If you try to screw us… well. I'll grant that Warlocks are worse than we are. After all, they're happy to cross lines that we won't. But we're more persistent." His fingers flickered, and a gleaming knife appeared in his hand, dancing in the firelight, before vanishing again. "And more creative."

Coulson frowned at Harry, and Clark was unsure if it was acting or not. He was pretty sure that Harry had been acting, though – the knife trick had clinched it. Then, Coulson turned to Spellman. "Please, sir. Anything you know would be very helpful."

Spellman swallowed. Then, he talked.

It had started a few months ago, after Red Sky Day, on the other side of Smallville – the Metropolis side. Some of the more sensitive members of the magical community had started getting 'bad vibes' about the area. In some places, they were so bad that the sensitive in question had actually blacked out while driving. Needless to say, they hadn't survived the experience.

At the time, it had generally been assumed that it was a lingering side-effect from that day, and it was best just to avoid and let it die down on its own.

But it hadn't.

Instead, animals, then people, mainly drifters, had started disappearing. So far, Clark noted inwardly, this lined up with Lex and Chloe's report. Then, however, it deviated sharply. People, who were usually but not invariably young and had relatively stable powers of uncertain origin – powers that were tended to manifest around or shortly after the meteor shower – and had found their way to the edges of the supernatural community in Smallville were being steadily approached by people from Belle Reve.

Apparently, the new director had decided to begin a discreet outreach program, to find people as soon as they got their powers and teach them how to handle their abilities. In other words, learn how not to become a new in-patient at Belle Reve after wreaking havoc and being stopped by mysterious means.

Here, Spellman looked meaningfully at Clark, who looked puzzled. Seeing Clark's expression, he snorted.

"What? You thought no one would notice, son? Most people don't, but we did. As far as we're concerned, it doesn't matter – you're just trying to live your life, and you're doing a bit of good in the world on the quiet. That's fine by us. We'll keep your secret." He waved a hand around the room and snorted. "It's not like we don't have enough of our own."

Clark coughed awkwardly and wisely chose to say nothing.

"Whatever you may have assumed about Clark is only relevant to this discussion in one respect," Coulson said calmly, poker face still intact. "Someone else may have assumed it too. Someone who wasn't inclined to simply let it pass unexplored. I take it you might know who that might be?"

Spellman hesitated, then nodded, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Some of the people who chose to go into Belle Reve didn't come out again. The ones who did… something wasn't right about them," he said. "So people stopped going in willingly."

"But they ended up going in anyway," Harry said, before tilting his head and regarding the bulky barman with a chilly stare. "And none of you said a word."

Spellman looked down. "I don't deny it," he said, in little more than a whisper. "No one really wanted to… they were…"

"Different?" Clark suggested.

Spellman glanced up at him, expression full of shame, before nodding jerkily. "That's what people said," he said, voice low. "They bring trouble, they go crazy half the time, without any warning. Easier just to let someone who knows what they're doing sort it out. And…" He trailed off.

"'Better them than us'," Harry said, voice heavy with contempt.

The barman's eyes blazed as his head snapped. "None of us are real talents," he snarled. "Make a few books move, start a fire, get a sense of something strange, that's it. You, you've got all the power in the world, and you come here and judge us –"

"Yes," Harry hissed, voice low and deadly as he interrupted Spellman, words cutting like knives. "Yes, I'm judging you. I might be strong, but I wasn't always. Once, I was hardly any stronger than any of you, and a child too. That didn't stop me facing down a fully grown mountain troll for the sake of someone I hardly knew. Even now, as my friend and my colleague can attest, I pick fights with people and things that are as far beyond me as you are beyond an ant, if not more. And I'm not talking about magical duels, storming the castle, or anything like that. No one sane or reasonable would expect that of you. No, I'm talking about helping someone who's being chased. Hiding them maybe, or buying them a bus ticket out of town. I'm talking about looking for someone who could fight – it's not that hard. Harry Dresden's your regional Warden Commander, and he's pretty hard to miss – he was on the tv killing a giant fucking monster with Wanda Maximoff in the middle of Chicago about six months ago, and he advertises as a Wizard in the fucking phonebook!" He sat back in disgust. "But no. You didn't do that, did you? It's written all over your face. You turned your back and said nothing. Hear no evil, see no evil, pretend it's not happening and be glad it isn't happening to you. So yes, I am judging you. Be glad, be very glad, that that's all I'm doing."

There was a charged silence, as Spellman, now purple with fury, looked like he was about to surge across the table and hit Harry – whether with fist or half empty pint glass, it was uncertain. Then, he sagged, shame once again consuming his features.

"Please excuse my colleague," Coulson said, directing a hard look at Harry that was very definitely genuine. "He –"

"He's right," Spellman said heavily. "We did nothing. Because we thought, we were told, it would be us, our children… my granddaughter… next if we did. They took things. Hair, mostly. Said they'd use it against us if we even breathed the wrong way." His breath caught, voice almost breaking. "They threatened her. My little Sabrina." He looked up at Harry, whose expression had softened into something moresympathetic, stricken rather than scathing. And while there was still anger in there, Clark thought, it wasn't contemptuous, but righteous. And it was growing.

"We're not brave, like you are," Spellman went on. "We didn't do what maybe we should have done, didn't take any kind of stand, or even ask for help. We were too damn scared to do anything like that. Just too damn scared." He shook his head. "We're not fighters, or heroes. We're just people, trying to live our lives, and we made some mistakes because of that, I won't deny it. Maybe we'll be judged for it, eventually." He was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. "I've told you what I know. You want the root of this disease, you've gotta go to Belle Reve, and… speak to the guy in charge."

"Thank you, Mr Spellman," Coulson said. "You have our sympathies for everything you've been through, and our thanks for the information you've given us." He stood up, Harry and Clark rising with him. "I think it's time to prepare for our appointment with Doctor Reynolds," he said, before shooting a pointed look at Harry and Clark. "And deciding who'll be attending that appointment."

Clark looked stubborn, while Harry raised an eyebrow. Before they could make any argument, however, the door slammed open, and a group – almost a pack – of over a dozen heavy-set men and women in battered, workman like security uniforms barged in. If their entrance and aggressive, almost hungry expressions hadn't suggested trouble, the way everyone else in the room drew as far away from the doorway as possible did. Their gazes swept over everyone in the room, dismissing most, before finally settling on the group in the corner. Specifically, on Clark.

"You," their leader, the largest and ugliest of them. "Come with us."

"Or what?" Clark asked, hands clenching into fists.

As one, the group's faces rippled, their jaws elongating, shoulders broadening and hunching as their forearms lengthened, their skin becoming greyish hide speckled with wiry reddish brown hairs. Their fingers lengthened, spread into an unnaturally broad grip, nails extending into talons, and yellow fangs jutting forth from a mouth stretched in snarl. The whole picture was some unholy combination of a human, a baboon, and a hyena.

Clark didn't know what they were, and, especially following his discovery that he was an alien, took trouble not to judge people by their appearances. And he didn't here. He saved all the judgement for the look in the eyes, a dark blend of hunger, bloodlust, and rage.

Harry slid up beside him with the inhuman grace he'd shown before. He would later tell Clark that these were ghouls; creatures with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. Clark, though, didn't need to be told their names to know what them for what they were: monsters. And as he realised that, a horrible feeling suspicion over him that he might have to kill some of them.

Coulson, meanwhile, stepped forward, calm expression still in place as his hand rested on a strange looking pistol that Clark could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago.

"Well," he said mildly. "It looks like our appointment has come to us."

And that is where the chapter ends. What will happen next? Will someone get eaten? Will Harry set fire to half of Kansas? Will Clark face a badly timed moral quandary? Will Coulson kill a ghoul with a paper-clip? And just what have Lex and Chloe done (because let's face it, leaving those two alone was not one of Harry's better ideas)? Find out next time! In the meantime, questions, thoughts, and general feedback in the little box below