A/N: Wow, it's been a hot minute since I updated this! To fans of this story, thank you so much for your patience. I was reading the previous chapters aloud to my husband today and he got such a kick out of it that we decided to continue the story. Without further ado, we (yes, he helped me with this one) present to you...

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: JFC

She might as well make the most of it.

"That was quite a performance," she complimented Filch honestly when it was over. Filch side-eyed her.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

Right. The memory modification.

"Just a bystander, passing through," she recovered easily. Something near her feet hissed.

"Aww." Noxanne reached down to pet Mrs. Norris, but the cat was having none of it. She hissed, her ears flat back, and swiped at Noxanne's hand, claws out. Noxanne grimaced and stood. "So, open mic?"

"Do whatever you want with him, he's in detention," Filch grunted indifferently as he scooped up his cat. Mrs. Norris purred in Filch's arms.

"Right." So far, Noxanne had learned that Dumbledore was off somewhere, Filch had a lovely singing voice and had somehow convinced several students to perform Rocky Horror with him, and someone named Mike was in detention. This was going well.

She headed into the Hog's Head Inn to see if there was a room available. Allegedly there was, but when she and the barman/landlord (who looked remarkably like Dumbledore, she thought) went to look inside, someone was in the process of stuffing his pulsating disco stick into someone else's strawberry russet royal zone. The elf who was attending the barman ran away screaming. She didn't blame him. The barman proceeded to whip Disco Stick over the head with his grubby cleaning rag. She didn't blame him, either.

She did politely avert her eyes while Royal Zone donned her cloak and scurried out, blushing to high heaven. Disco Stick followed soon after, throwing a handful of Sickles behind him as he ran.

Noxanne grimaced. "Right then," she said brightly. "How much for the room?"

Akumanox adjusted her dual pump while attempting to rock J.S.'s little chair with her foot. Why, oh why, did she ever think single motherhood was for her? Every time she looked away, even for a split second, the tiny baby would squall at the top of his lungs. He was as attention-seeking as… well, her.

Wet nursing for an adopted baby was actually the least challenging part of being a "mother", as far as she was concerned. Sometimes, she would hear a neighbor's child, or perhaps hallucinate that she heard a neighbor's child, and would have to go check it wasn't J.S. screeching. Keeps these days weren't as isolated as they used to be.

But she would not admit defeat. It wasn't as though Harry could nurse the baby, she reasoned, nor as though he knew where to buy formula or the right kind to buy for this fussy little guy's finicky digestive system.

Akumanox didn't know how long she had expected it to take for J.S. to get used to her, but this seemed like far too long. No matter how she held him or fed him or changed him or bathed him- especially bathed him- the bastard assbaby seemed to deem it unacceptable. One would think that as an angel, things would be different. One would be wrong. He would scream and cry until Akumanox had the good sense to cast that one spell that put him to bed.

Yet she would not admit defeat, especially not to an emo sixteen-year-old boy, especially when that boy was the child's rightful father. She would help this baby, damn it, help him to grow up knowing love and safety. She would sacrifice her own hobbies (such as they were) (even though there was really no good reason he couldn't be a part of them when he got older) (logic is not a friend of a martyr). She would sacrifice her own livelihood, her own health, to ensure J.S. knew just how much she loved him. After all, what was love, if not sacrifice?

As she started singing J.S. to sleep, to the tune of Sublime's classic "Date Rape" (for she was determined that any child raised by her would have impeccable taste in music), there was something approximating a knock at what you might call the door.

"It's open," she called, and as she waved a silvery wing, it indeed became so.

"Never gonna get used to that," quipped the pudgy Eurasian girl standing in the arch where the "door" used to be. "Er, salutations. I am but a simple messenger, appearing to you on behalf of one Draydarius 'Doragon'-"

"Dray- How do you know that name?" Akumanox demanded, drawing herself up to her full height of about 5'6" while holding the flanges of her pump in place. It did not, alas, look quite as intimidating as she might hope.

J.S. wailed.

"Excellent," chirped the simple messenger, completely unfazed, "then you are indeed the true Akumanox. You see, it's about his daughter."

"Daughter?" Akumanox echoed, her feathers becoming more ruffled by the moment. "Dray hasn't got a daughter."

"Of course he does!"

The simple messenger's relentless cheerfulness was beginning to grate on Akumanox, not to mention the fact that J.S., sensing that he still wasn't the center of attention, was wailing progressively louder and louder.

"No." Akumanox ruled testily. "He doesn't."

The simple messenger ignored this. She gestured to the tiny baby in his tiny chair and said, "If you like, I can help you-"

"I assure you, I am perfectly capable of handling a single child," growled Akumanox through gritted teeth.

"As you say. It just seems you have your hands full."

Akumanox didn't reply. J.S. continued wailing.

"Oh, and that daughter your brother may or may not have is here with me, too." The simple messenger stepped aside to reveal a child just old enough to walk on its own.

"How do you do," said the child, as if reciting words she had been encouraged to memorize. "I am Joanice Fredna Cullen of the Enjeru Clan."

"JFC," Akumanox muttered.

"Yes, Auntie!" Joanice Fredna Cullen looked thoroughly pleased. "I'm here to stay with you! Daddy wanted me to."

"How nice," said Akumanox in a voice that suggested she didn't think it was very nice at all.

"I'll be on my way then," the simple messenger dismissed herself, and before Akumanox could stop her or ask for more information, the simple messenger was out of sight and the "door" back in place.

Joanice Fredna Cullen toddled towards J.S. and peered down at him. "Cute!" she exclaimed. J.S, pleased to be the center of attention again, cooed happily at her. She cooed happily back.

Just outside the "door," Qina was silently congratulating herself on a job well done. Getting in contact with the youngest of the adult Cullen-Hart siblings had been a chore, mostly because when Qina tried to ask about "Doragon", many folks responded with "Dora gone where?" Eventually, someone suggested she try Mexico, and, for lack of a better lead, that's exactly what she did.

In Mexico, Draydarius "Doragon" Cullen-Hart was under deep cover as- you know what, it doesn't actually matter. The point is that Qina the Simple Messenger had convinced him, in a mix of broken Spanish and slightly less broken Japanese, that his sister (she chose not to specify which one) had asked that Joanice Fredna Cullen be delivered to the Dark Moon Keep for a visit with her auntie.

Draydarius or Doragon or whatever his name was- and it was, Qina thought, an exceedingly stupid name- had absolutely melted at the suggestion that his beloved older sister held no grudge against him, and was more than happy to sign off on a visit between niece and auntie.

Surely Akumanox, who had been so eager to take on one bundle of joy, would consider a second bundle twice the joy. That was how Noxanne had explained it to her, and Qina, being only a Simple Messenger, saw no reason to disagree. Now it was time for her other duty: House-sitting the Bright Sun Shed and peering into Noxanne's opal ball to see what shenanigans had ensued whilst Qina was running this most delightful of errands.

After casting a nice Scourgify, Noxanne settled into her room for the night. Or perhaps the weekend. She hadn't decided yet. She knew that once Qina saw what the hell was going on here, she, Noxanne, would have some explaining to do. Hoping to pre-empt this, she scrawled a short, simple message on the complimentary parchment:

Mistakes were made UwU

Qina snorted as she caught up the present and saw her friend's message. "One would think," she muttered, more to herself than truly in reply. In this case, one would be correct.

She penned a reply on a Post-It and stuck it to the opal ball. It would reach Noxanne faster and more efficiently than if she had tried to use an owl.

"Simple Messenger used Siren's Persuasion. It was super effective," Noxanne read aloud dryly, propping Spiffy Ora up against the wall. "Super."

With a sigh, she decided she had nothing better to do than go downstairs for a drink. Thankfully, the couple who had been using the room prior to Noxanne's rental had vacated the premises. The barman eyed her, looking as if he might say he knew her from somewhere, and she inwardly cursed herself (figuratively) for not having had the foresight to remove herself from the memory of the Hogsmeade denizens. Whatever the barman might think, he at least had the tact not to give voice to those thoughts. Or maybe she was simply being paranoid and he, having his own life to live, simply didn't care.

"Curaga on the rocks," she ordered wearily. The barman raised an eyebrow; Curaga was not exactly the cheapest drink on the menu. In fact, Noxanne had the distinct impression that prior to her sister's arrival in Scotland, Curaga hadn't even been on the menu.

"If you don't have it, firewhisky is fine," she added, not wishing to start a conflict or draw more attention to herself than she already had done.

Her hypothesis that the barman didn't care if he'd seen her before turned out to be wrong. "Seems your face grows clearer in one's mind by the hour," he said, almost managing to sound idle. "Seems your face grows clearer in one's memory than it ought to do."

So she had wiped his memory after all, but had done as shoddy a job as his rag did of wiping the glasses. "It's wearing off, then," she said, not bothering to try sounding idle.

"Aye. If you don't make yourself scarce, there may soon be a reckoning."

She pursed her lips as she remembered exactly how she had gently persuaded the students to ask her to leave.

"Nothing to be done about that," she resigned herself. Indeed, there were bigger concerns afoot.

Harry paced the Shrieking Shack angrily. He had been pacing his dorm room angrily before, but had been convinced that it was time for a change of scenery. His elf, Kreacher, had been persuaded- okay, ordered- to make the space livable and had risen to the occasion with gusto. He had indeed made the Shrieking Shack great again, or as great as it had ever really been. He had even created a special space for himself and was doing his best to stay out of Harry's way.

"Hail Merlin, pure of blood," he murmured reverently to the window- no, to the wall.

Harry chose to ignore the elf. He had other things on his mind. For instance, why hadn't he heard back from Akumanox by now? His son must be nearly three months old, old enough to smile at him, perhaps, if even he recognized Harry as his father. What if Akumanox had supplanted him, well and truly, as James Sirius's father figure? Had that been her goal all along? How could he be sure, if she wouldn't at least let him see his baby boy?

And what would he say to Sevy, when- if- they ever met up again?