Fifty-second

The next prank was even better. Ron had not stopped running his mouth, telling everyone who would listen that it was Harrison's fault that Lavender Brown no longer had her hair; that it was Harrison's fault that she had to leave school. Most of the students didn't listen; they were quite aware of her involvement in Harrison's kidnapping the first time. Most were puzzled at the effort Weasley put in to help the Brown girl save face; after all, he'd told her, point blank, that he was just using her for his own entertainments. The unfortunate thing about the most recent prank pulled on the Weasel was the fact that he remembered none of what he'd said or done that entire day.

Potions was a rather interesting experience for the redhead. Every time he went to class, the Potions Master would stare at him until he blushed, making it exceedingly difficult for him to concentrate on his potions. He also couldn't understand why he'd had such a long punishment with Filch's replacement, who was even worse, if that was possible, or why he was no longer allowed to play quidditch. All in all, Ron Weasley was a very confused boy.

It was this confusion that left him distracted, so he never noticed the odd white powder that was on his scrambled eggs, surreptitiously placed there by Seamus. Of course, considering his table manners, it was doubtful he'd notice anything on his food, the way he inhaled it. This morning was no different, and he left with a slight spring in his step, glad that there was no one there to pester or nag him about the way he ate.


He stood outside the door to the potions class, waiting impatiently for the professor to open up so he could sit down. He was feeling a little dizzy, and needed some place to rest for a moment. He dropped to the floor on his ass, legs suddenly weak, and didn't notice the other students who had come to the classroom. Just as the door squeaked open, there was a puff of smoke, and in the redhead's place was a skunk. There were shrieks in the crowd of students; the muggleborns and halfbloods had recognized the animal, and were desperate to get away before the creature could unleash its weapon on them. The purebloods stared at Weasel's form, laughing loudly. There were a couple of coos from the girls; after all, though he wasn't a particularly attractive human, he made a really cute animal.

Pansy bent down to pick the skunk up, freezing as Severus barked out, "STOP! That is a skunk. Do not touch it."

"What's a skunk, sir?" Theo asked curiously, not seeing the danger in the tiny animal.

"It is an animal with some very obnoxious scent glands that it uses for protection. It can spray a liquid from these scent glands that will linger on you for weeks. There is nothing that will rid you of the smell once you've been sprayed." Gasping, the students stampeded down the hall and away from the menace, watching from a safe distance as Severus stupefied the animal. Bending down, he picked it up by the scruff of the neck and glowered at his students. "Who put this animal here, and why?" he growled lowly.

"No one put it here," Neville said, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. "It's Weasley." Ebon eyes widened as the Potions Master stared at the skunk hanging limply from his clenched fist. It started as a quiet snort, thin lips trembling. Then there was a couple of chuckles as Severus clenched his eyes shut. Laughter quickly followed as the Potions Master lost control, bending over and wrapping his free arm around his waist. He staggered against the wall before sliding down it, laughing loud and long. The students stared at him with wide eyes, shocked stupid by the older man's behavior. Finally, Harrison shot a calming spell at his dad, a grin on his face as Severus had, once and for all, destroyed his image of a cold, forbidding, unforgiving man.

"Thank you, son," the man finally said as he caught his breath. Standing from the floor, he pulled out his wand and sent a patronus to Newt Scamander, who had taken Hagrid's place whilst the half-giant was re-learning his magic. "Dobby," Snape called softly, smirking when the elf's arrival caused a few of the students to jump and squeak in startlement. "Could you please take this animal to the Care of Magical Creatures professor?"

"I is being happy to," the little elf said, reaching for the skunk. Severus drew his arm away, holding the furball out of reach for a moment.

"Be very careful," the Potions Master warned gently. "This creature has the ability to make you smelly and miserable for a while if you handle it too roughly."

"I is being very careful, potions daddy," the elf responded with a grin. He took the animal and popped away before the snarky man could respond, leaving him standing in the hall, blushing and rolling his eyes. A few snickers from the crowd of students brought him back to the present, and he glared at them, reminding them without words of how fierce he truly was. They scuttled into the classroom, Harrison bringing up the rear.

"The twins are to be commended," Severus murmured as his son wrapped his arms around the older man's waist.

"Indeed."


It was the weekend, and Harrison was in Tom's study, finishing his homework. He looked at his father for a moment before speaking. "Father?"

"Yes, Harrison?" the older man asked distractedly. Riddle was working his way through the information provided him by the Unspeakables on their progress in shielding the computers from ambient magic.

"What happens to the Daily Prophet building?" There was silence for a moment, before ruby eyes lifted to look at the teen, an eyebrow quirked. "I mean, it's a good building, with lots of space. It shouldn't stay empty. That would be such a waste."

"Agreed," the older man murmured after a moment's thought. "Perhaps it could be used as some sort of living space? After all, it's no longer suitable as a publishing firm."

"I was thinking the same thing," Harrison said with a wide smile. "I think it should be used as house elf quarters. There are a lot of house elves that are without families at the moment. They need somewhere to stay, where they can be easily contacted if they wish to bond with wizards or witches. I think we should disband any elf 'auctioneers'. I've been doing research, and I've discovered that the 'auctioneers' actually go out and hunt the elves, forcing them into a temporary bond before they sell them.

"A lot of the elves are abused by their 'caretakers' in order to make them more obedient and compliant. I think the Prophet's building would be a perfect set-up for all the house elves not currently bonded. As well, it would provide a safe, secure environment for them to thrive."

"Let's go to Diagon Alley and talk with the owners of the building. We can take a tour and see what refurbishments we need to do to make it a suitable living space," Tom told his son with a proud smile.


Harrison and Tom had just finished touring the facility, and were on their way to the Abbott-Macdougall Design Firm to enlist the men for the redesign of the building. They passed an alcove in which one of the new recruits for the pureblood uprising had been hiding, unaware of the danger lurking within. As they passed, the hooded man stepped out of the alcove, aiming his wand at Harrison's back. The flaying curse flew from the tip of the wand, splitting the Dark Lord's back open. The spell that was meant for Harrison missed; someone had bumped into the pair, knocking them enough from their path that the spell landed on the wrong person.

Riddle fell to the ground with a scream, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his back. His screams brought people from the surrounding businesses, who rushed to the fallen man to offer aid. Harrison, after his initial shock at seeing his father injured, turned burning eyes, which had gone completely crimson, to the offender. His magical aura pulsed with rage, the color of it black as pitch. The assassin then turned his wand to the son, flinging a cutting hex at the boy's unprotected throat. With a swing of his arm, Harrison deflected the curse and advanced menacingly on the would-be murderer, who had frozen in place with fear. Raising his wand, Harrison incanted the sectumsempra spell with enough violence to take the other man's head clean off. The hood fell back and to the ground, the idiot's head still contained within, and his knees gave way as the body fell gracelessly to the pavement.

"I will kill every single member of that fucking group," the raven hissed as he reached the body. He kicked the hood, sending the severed head skittering into the gutter, then bent and frisked the cooling corpse, looking for identification, or some clue as to where the group was located. He found an animagus license, with the name Bernard Turtletaub inscribed on it. He also found a piece of parchment with an address written in Josephine Blishwick's handwriting.

With one final snarl at the corpse, Harrison returned to his father's side, relieved to see that his back had been healed. Blood replenishing potions had also been given to him by the local apothecary, and, other than a bit of disorientation on standing, Tom Riddle was good as new. The raven threw himself at his father, sobbing uncontrollably as the older man's arms wrapped tightly around him.

"It's all right, son," Tom murmured to his distraught child. "I'm fine now, thanks to these people." He looked into the crowd, marking each one of his saviors as he and Harrison pushed their way through and to their destination.


"Are you all right, Tom?" Bud Abbott asked worriedly.

"I am fine, thank you," Riddle replied, Harrison still clinging desperately to his father, trembling violently. Daragh Macdougall, seeing the distress in the teen, gently coaxed him to drink the calming draught he had on hand. A few minutes later, Harrison heaved a sigh as he finally relaxed.

"Thanks, Mr. Macdougall," he whispered, still gripping his father tightly.

"What can we do for you?" Bud asked softly, concern in his eyes for the pair.

"We've just come from touring the old Prophet building, and we'd like to set it up as living quarters for all the house elves not currently bound to families," Tom said, his hand buried deep in his son's hair. "It would be the perfect space to house them, and it would be a damn sight more comfortable for their purchase. We wish to disband all of the auction houses used for this purpose, since the elves are rarely cared for, or treated well in these circumstances."

"That's a really good idea," Macdougall said happily. "I know that those auction houses tend to overprice their 'merchandise', and it makes it difficult for anyone with limited means to obtain an elf. Do you have anyone in mind to oversee the management of it?"

"Not offhand," Tom replied a little reluctantly. "My son suggested it today. I was so excited for the idea that I didn't think of any long-term plans for it."

"We'll put a notice in the Quibbler, and see if we can get any good candidates that way," Bud said with a smile. "Now, exactly what would you like done?"