Forward:

For those of you who've never read any of our stories before; HI! I'm Miracle, and my husband is Ghost. Normally, we write these things together, but Ghost's mother is currently recovering from a difficult surgery so he's on the other side of the country taking care of his little sister. When the whole thing started, we decided to put our various ongoing fanfic projects on hold, and with our original novel currently undergoing beta-reading, I haven't had much to do on the writing front. So, when I've had the time, I've been plodding away at some solo things, and this is one of them.

This story represents a sort-of answer to one of the more common questions we got after Gemini Curse: what if the Ascended didn't interfere in the Chamber of Secrets incident and their world fell into the Dark Multiverse.

Now, you certainly don't need to have read that story for this to make sense, as I've removed most of the references to Gemini (with the exception of the Zodiac Runes). If anyone is a returning reader, consider this a tangentially connected AU story.

Now, enough talk from me. On with the story!

TALES FROM THE SHADOWED ABYSS

Harry Potter was not one for sitting on his ass when shit needed doing.

He stood flat-footed on the island of Azkaban and took a long shuddering breath. This was the fourth time he'd stared up at the enormous and utterly depressing building, the faint and whisp like forms of hundreds of Dementors flying around the crumbling black structure. With any luck, it would be the last. His cloak caught the frigid and bitter wind of the North Sea, flaring out to the side, the flapping of the heavy cloth barely audible over the crashing waves behind him. The same gale was blowing his rat's nest of black hair as well. He supposed he would look quite the sight to any casual onlooker. In fact, come to think of it, the image he conjured in his head wasn't all that different to those Assassin games Dudley played on his consol. He might not have daggers strapped to his wrists, but he did have something a thousand times better.

Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a short wand of pale willow wood, the hilt carved with thin lines. Harry wasn't sure if the markings were meant to be vines, cracks or lightning. The weapon had been incredibly damaged when he'd retrieved it from the wreckage of his parents' home in Godric's Hollow two months previously, less than three days after he'd returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after the end of his fourth year. He'd cleaned it up as well as possible, but he still couldn't decide.

He gripped the wand tightly in his hand and felt the Thunderbird tail feather within his mother's wand stir slightly. The thing was bloody temperamental, and while it tolerated him, respected his skill and determination, it did not like him.

He would succeed this time. He swore it.

Three times he'd attempted to break into Azkaban prison since Ginny Weasley had been condemned to rot in the place after her first year. Three times he'd tried to rescue her. This time, the fourth time, he would get it right.

Because this time, he had help.

"Is it working?" Daphne's voice whispered, soft honey-like tones echoing through his right ear from the flat stone earing currently pierced there. The small river stone was very awkward and weighty, about the size of Harry's thumb. But it was definitely worth it. For the small rune etched into its surface, linked it to an identical stone currently being worn by Daphne Greengrass some five-hundred kilometres away. The Gemini Rune it was called, one of the twelve Zodiac Runes, the most powerful runic symbols known to the Wizarding World.

He'd spent the last month cramming everything he could about Ancient Runes into his brain, and with every fragment he learned, the more he wished he'd taken Runes instead of fucking Divination his third-year. Discovering that Lily Potter had been a protégé at the subject, and that Harry himself had seemingly inherited her skill with languages, had been the final kick to the balls.

"Yep. Everything is green. I'm going in."

"Good luck."

Clenching his teeth against the cold, and thanking whatever god was up there somewhere that it wasn't raining, he started the trek up the steep barren slopes of the island. Towards the prison tower.

The first time Harry had tried to free Ginny, he hadn't made it more than five steps before the power of the Dementors had forced him back the way he'd come. He'd been so certain he could do it too. Sirius Black had managed it, after 12 years of imprisonment no less. Surely someone as skilled as Harry was, despite his age, could get in and get out with one witch who'd only been there for a few weeks? Boy had he been wrong. And that had been when half the Dementor force had already been moved away from the prison to search for Sirius.

Now? Over two years and hours and hours of Patronus training latter, Dementors did jack shit to him. It was the Auror guard he had to worry about.

Fortunately, as he'd learned on his second attempt to infiltrate the island, the Aurors weren't looking for people trying to break into Azkaban. They were watching for people trying to get out. And even that was a stretch, as the oppressive and wretched atmosphere had the exact same effect on the Aurors as it did on the prisoners, which meant they weren't very attentive.

Regardless, Harry wasn't taking any chances. He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak as he neared the prison entrance and draped the silvery cloth over himself. He kept walking, making sure to take very shallow breaths until he reached the weathered stone wall. He cast a glance at the gates, bared by cold iron and guarded by two Dementors. Either he was far enough away that they didn't notice him, or the stench of fear from within the building was enough to mask his own.

He edged along the wall until the monsters and guardhouse alike were out of sight, then traded his wand for his second advantage. It was a silver metal rod, about the length of a wand, etched with swirling black archaic symbols.

Daphne called it a stele – a tool used by goblins and Gringotts employed wizards to create the most powerful runic wards. Much more accurate and efficient at drawing than any wand. This was his grand prize. The payment he'd extracted from Fred and George in exchange for the Triwizard Tournament winnings he'd given them.

*Yeah… now's probably a good time to rewind slightly…

Two months previously…

Harry slammed the front door of Privet Drive closed, fuming, desperately holding back the curses – both magical and mundane – he wanted to scream at the world.

Voldemort was BACK! He'd seen it happen! He'd been standing right there! He'd fought the motherfucking snake-faced bastard in front of a dozen Death Eaters, all of whom he'd named for Fudge and Dumbledore both! And what did he get? Sent back to prison, just like always.

The letters he'd just received from Ron and Hermione… they were the last straw. 'Oh, we can't tell you what's going on Harry'. 'Dumbledore made us promise!' 'We're in a special location we can't talk about, but it's definitely boring'.

It was the biggest piece of bull-shit he'd ever been fed, and coming from him, that was saying something.

He turned back to the house with a scowl. No. Harry Potter did not sit on his ass. He was very good at brooding, and that was precisely what he'd spent the first three days of the holiday doing as he'd prepared the meals and did the laundry and trimmed the hedges as if nothing had happened. But the good thing about brooding was that it very easily led to planning. He'd learned that from Batman, and Harry had long ago realised that Batman – while not the sanest of role models – was not a bad person for a young wizard constantly being coerced to battle the forces of evil to emulate.

He stomped to the end of the driveway and held his wand point first into the air.

The now-familiar 'BANG!' of the Knight Bus ripped through the muggle street, and the three-story purple bus materialised in front of him.

"Hi Stan," Harry said, tossing the man a galleon as he boarded the purple monstrosity. He couldn't help casting a look back at the house as he stalked up the steps, and just caught sight of Aunt Petunia's head peeking through the curtains. He suppressed a laugh. The first time he'd summoned the Bus to Number 4, she'd fainted and had to be hauled back into the house by Dudley. Since then, she'd apparently found the bus incredibly fascinating, as every time he'd used it, she always watched for some reason.

"Ah 'Arry! What do I keep telling ya, it's just eleven sickles to ride you know…"

"And how many times do I have to tell you, the rest is my contribution to keeping this magnificent service of yours running."

Harry knew full well that none of the extra money he gave the man would end up going to the Bus. The freshly dry-cleaned coat Stan wore was a testament to that. But Harry had stopped carrying sickles and nuts after Daphne explained to him that his trust vault at Gringotts was self-replenishing. In other words, no matter how much money he took out, it would always restore itself to 3000 galleons in a month's time. It was, for all intents and purposes, an allowance.

"So, where ya head'n?" Stan asked.

Harry took a deep breath. He'd been putting this off for a very long time, but, really, what did he have to lose?

"Godric's Hollow please."

*That might not have been back far enough…

All right… where should we… Oh I know. This makes much more sense.

The night Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire…

Daphne Greengrass slipped into the Great Hall, two shadows following behind.

"Daph, this is insane. We shouldn't be here!" Tracey Davis hissed, short black hair framing a very pale face, eyes darting around the room.

"You didn't have to come," Daphne snapped back, straightening as she realised there was no one in the room. As she'd hoped, the Goblet of Fire had been left in its position in the centre of the room, completely forgotten amidst the shock of Harry Potter apparently cheating to get into the Tournament. Honestly, given the constant crap that happened to the kid, wouldn't it have made more surprising if he hadn't been involved in the tournament?

Her third accomplice was the last person anyone would expect. Strawberry blonde hair, and a face completely opposite of Tracey's, Susan Bones practically bounced towards the Goblet, waving her wand ahead of her as she did so. She stopped short a few paces away – where Dumbledore's age-line had stood – and a few seconds later, a string of runic letters in a perfect circle around the stone goblet revealed themselves, glowing with a faint blue light.

"You were right Daph," Susan said, smile stretched so wide it reached her eyes, "It was a localised ward scheme. That's why the Weasley Twins and their aging potion didn't work."

Daphne allowed herself a small smile of victory. She was the best student in their year at Ancient Runes. Better even than Granger – which was saying something. She loved runes. Found the idea that simple words could convey so much power to be utterly thrilling. She'd lost count of how many hours she'd lost studying the tiny squiggles of lost civilisations, trying to uncover their secrets. Her uncle, Franklin Greengrass, was attached to the New York district of Gringotts, and he'd lent her some of his high-level rune books when she'd asked. He'd even, breaking almost a dozen laws, showed her his stele. A device very carefully controlled and hidden from wizards by the Goblins, as per their agreement with the Clave. Even Daphne, with all the political knowledge burnt into her mind by endless lessons, didn't know what the mysterious 'Clave' was. Only that it was very, very secretive.

She stepped up beside Susan and scrutinised the ward line.

"Sanskrit," she said definitively, "It's a maths equation, designed to calculate the magical age of a person attempting to cross then accept or expel them."

"Then how did Potter get past it?" Susan asked, brows furrowed. Daphne and Susan, both heirs to powerful Pureblood houses, had gravitated to each other in the low population Rune class. Susan was nowhere near as good as Daphne was – Arithmancy was more her thing – but they worked reasonably well together, and she was good at thinking outside the box. A skill Daphne, sadly, lacked.

"I… I don't know. It's a relatively simple chain. You'd just need to change the variables to accept whatever age you were. But Potter doesn't study runes. Unless Granger did it for him, there's no way he'd know how to do that."

Daphne went down on a knee and drew her wand, then proceeded to do just as she'd explained.

"Scribo." The tip of her wand started glowing white, and she bent over a section of the writing.

t = (a + n 17)or(17 = a + n); f = (a + n 17)

"Where the value of 'a' equals the threshold age, and 'n' equals the age of the intruder. The inequality comes back true or false…" Daphne whispered. Then, with a single stroke of her wand, she changed the f variable to a t.

She stood up with a self-satisfied smirk and watched as the line of lettering flashed green, accepting her new parameters. Then, cool and confident, she stepped across the line without so much as a hesitation.

Tracey blanched.

"Was it really that easy?"

"No," Susan told her, rolling her eyes at Daphne. "She just makes everything runes look easy."

"Oh, it wasn't that hard," Daphne said, extinguishing the drawing spell on her wand then pointing it at the cup. "All you need to know is how to do maths in Sanskrit."

"Specialus Revelio!"

Her spell washed over the cup, revealing… nothing.

"Aren't you worried someone is going to catch us?" Tracey asked.

Daphne shrugged, though whether it was at the cup or her friend she wasn't sure.

"No. The names have already been drawn. Who's going to look at the cup after the names come out?"

Tracey acknowledged that logical answer. Susan, however, was frowning.

"I don't buy it. Even if Potter altered the runes like you did, then switched them back so no one would know, that still gives him the same chance as everyone else who put their names in. It doesn't explain why the cup picked him as a fourth champion."

"Agreed," Daphne said, trying another tactic. One of the spells Uncle Franklin had taught her.

"Variance Expellium!"

Once again, nothing happened.

"Bugger," she muttered, as Susan and Daphne stepped up beside her.

"What?"

"The cup doesn't run on runes, or any visible spells. It has to be enchanted from the inside." She bit her lip. "There's no way Potter fucked with this thing; Granger or another student either. Someone a lot smarter than any of us had to have done it."

Susan scratched her head.

"He's innocent?"

"Looks like," she muttered.

Tracey winced. "Poor dude. Binding magical contract and all. Guys fucked."

If Potter hadn't put his name in himself, someone else had done it to him. If she had to put her money on anyone, it would be Lucius Malfoy.

She shook herself, shrugged, then turned on her heel and walked back out of the rune circle. She wasn't going to learn anything else from the cup, much as she'd wanted too. At least she'd been right about the age line. So what if Potter got himself eaten by something? Maybe Draco would finally stop whining about him all the time.

However, she couldn't help keeping a close eye on Harry Potter as the weeks passed. His friends has almost entirely abandoned him (typical Gryffindors, honestly), and he'd practically vanished from the castle. Save classes, he was utterly invisible, the chaos of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang creating the perfect environment to disappear. The rare times outside lessons she managed to spot him were at meals. He ate quickly, quietly, didn't speak to anyone, and sat on the entire opposite side of the table from Ron and Hermione. She hadn't seen him this pissed since Ginny Weasley had been thrown in Azkaban for opening the Chamber of Secrets. Or, if you believed Potter, being mind-controlled by a dark-artifact given to her by Lucius Malfoy.

He'd stood atop the Gryffindor table the night after the first-year had been carted away in chains – an enormous silver sword in hand – and narrated to the entire school his investigation of the Heir of Slytherin, and how it had led him down into the Chamber to rescue Ginny, who had actually been the only thing preventing the spectre of fucking You-Know-Who from murdering every muggle-born in the school. Then, all because he'd destroyed the artifact in question and freed her, the Weasleys had no proof to fight against the Malfoy lawyers at her trial.

Daphne believed his story, if only because her father had been in the Wizengamot chamber when Fudge had demanded the girl speak Parseltongue to the court, and she'd broken down in tears unable to do so.

But right now… Potter looked like he might lash out at the first person who looked at him wrong. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should tell him her suspicions. Then she inwardly berated herself and reminded that annoying self-righteous streak of hers that it was none of her business.

Such arguments usually lasted a whole week before she repeated the cycle.

It took her a month before her guilt pushed her to act. The last straw was the article by Rita Skeeter, and seeing everyone – from all four houses – laugh their heads off at him.

She managed to corner the bugger after he fled the Great Hall, tracking him down the lake.

The rest, as they say, is history.

*There we go. That's more like it. Now, back to the fun part.

Now...

Harry stepped away from the wall of Azkaban, admiring his handy work. He was in no way an expert at drawing runes, but he'd been practicing this one with Daphne since he'd come up with this mad-cocked plan.

Sagittarius. The Zodiac Rune of Intangibility. Capable of shifting people or substances slightly out of phase with reality for very limited amounts of time.

As soon as the glyph was complete, he pressed a hand to the wall and pumped a tiny bit of magic into the rune. The symbol flashed white, and Harry stepped through the wall as if it was never there.

He emerged in a dark corridor, the dripping of water from the roof echoing ominously. Several large cells occupied by a few people in rags, camp-beds pushed against the wall, lined the inner circle of the tower, and Harry couldn't help shivering at the sight of them.

A part of him, the most Gryffindor part, the one that spoke in Ron's voice, screamed at him to help them.

A second voice, Hermione's, urged caution. Wizarding law may be full of pitfalls used to trap muggle-borns and the unsuspecting, but he honestly didn't know if these people were criminals or not.

A third voice, the part of him Daphne and Tracey had spent months trying to unlock from the depths of his mind, urged him to keep moving. This was the furthest he'd ever gotten. He had to find Ginny. Had to save her.

It was this new person, the one that listened to Daphne's honied voice that Harry had found himself more and more enraptured by since she'd helped him win the Triwizard Tournament, that he listened too. He turned away from the poor figures, and without once looking back, advanced deeper into the prison.

Two months ago…

As midnight bells tolled through the little town of Godric's Hollow, Harry stepped inside the destroyed house and suppressed a shiver.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong. They'd turned the place his parents died into a fucking monument. The house was exactly the same as he must have left it. Roof caved in, door blasted open, debris scattered in all directions.

He honestly wouldn't have been surprised if his parents' corpses had been left where they fell too.

Thankfully they hadn't.

Harry, an odd numbness settling over him, made his way through the house. It was smaller than Privet Drive… quaint, in a way that seemed to fit the town perfectly. The open-plan kitchen and dining room dominated the bottom floor, leaving little space for anything else. Upstairs contained only three rooms. A master bedroom Harry didn't have the courage to enter, a guest room where Padfoot or Moony had no doubt slept, and a small child's room, done up like a nursery. Inside, just like the rest of the house, was a destroyed crib; toys and shattered wood discarded all over the room.

And a black burnt patch on the floor.

Tears in his eyes, he knelt down and pressed a hand to the blackened carpet.

This was where his mother died. Where she'd sacrificed herself to save his life.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't matter. Not really. He's back, and nothing's changed."

His eyes caught on a short shaft of wood, too well carved to be debris, on the floor beneath the ruined cot. He grabbed the hilt with gentle hands, and pulled out a short, exquisite wand.

For a few moments, nothing happened. He felt no catch of magic, no rush of power or humming or resonance as he'd felt with other wands he'd used, and he thought perhaps he'd made a mistake. Then, the wand jumped in his hand, shooting a blast of hot white sparks.

Despite the shaking of his legs and the tears in his eyes, he spared himself a soft smile.

Another of the things Daphne had taught him, was how the trace worked. Magic could be tracked back to a person's wand, or it could be traced to a localised area. Not both. It was how most Pureblood families got past the rules. They lived in homes with plenty of magic anyway. In reality, it was a way of tracking accidental or illegal magic performed by muggle-borns, or people with something to hide. If he used a wand that wasn't his, in a place where people used lots of magic anyway, he'd be safe.

Sometime later, when he was all out of tears, he made his way down to the house Floo with his mother's wand in hand. Taking some of the left-over powder, and hoping it wasn't contaminated somehow, he lit the flames with an incendio, stepped in and shouted.

"Greengrass Manor."

He hated the Floo. Detested it. He closed his eyes and held his breath as the swirling hurtling motion of transport by fireplace threw him across the country, until, eventually he was spat out on a cold stone floor.

Ash clogged his throat and he heaved air in and out, trying to push himself upright.

A wand tip pressed against his neck.

He reacted.

He kicked with his feet behind him, catching his opponent's leg, who let out a grunt. Then he rolled forward in a rush like Sirius had taught him, and came to his feet, wand snapping up to face his attacker.

He was a tall man, blonde-haired, dressed in nothing but boxer-shorts, chest bare and hairy. His eyes were clouded with sleep, but his expression was fierce, and Harry realised internally that arriving via Floo unannounced in the middle of the night probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done.

"Dad, what's going on!?" Daphne's voice yelled, and seconds later, on a balcony above the room where Harry stood, the blonde Slytherin appeared. And she was wearing nothing but a very sheer nighty, a robe thrown hastily over the top. His blood instantly travelled south.

"Harry!"

Apparently, despite the soot and ash covering him, the state of his oversized and torn muggle clothes, and what had to be the worst hair he'd ever had, she recognised him instantly. He blamed the glasses.

"This is 'Harry'?" the man called, hostile expression fading into something akin to revulsion.

Daphne ran for the nearest set of stairs, and Harry finally realised he was standing in the middle of an enormous ballroom, complete with chandelier and stained-glass windows.

"Ritzy place you got here," Harry muttered as Daphne came running down the stairs. Then, seemingly without thinking, she placed herself between her father and Harry. He couldn't help smiling at that.

"Dad, stand down. He's my friend. I told him to come here if anything happened…"

Lord Greengrass lowered his wand, face now a full-on frown. Daphne relaxed, then spun around and pulled Harry into a soft hug despite the ash, which he returned gladly. Though, given his current… predicament, and the fact that her get-up left little to the imagination, he made sure only their upper-bodies pressed together.

She pulled back, then drew a handkerchief from her gown and started dabbing his face.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly, lips pursed in a frown of concern as she scrutinised him.

"Yeah… I just had to get out of there." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the letters from his friends. She took them and pocketed them without looking at them.

"Come on, I'll get you settled in a guest room. We can… we can talk about what to do tomorrow. Right now, you look beat."

He gave her a soft smile, then she started leading him away.

"Uh… Daphne, care to explain?!" her father demanded, seemingly dumbfounded at the turn of events.

"Tomorrow dad. Harry needs rest." And with that, she led him away, leaving her bewildered father behind her.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Now…

"Expecto Patronum!"

A heavy wave of white light burst from Lily Potter's wand, blasting two Dementors back up the stairs.

"Nice work. Now remember, second-tier security should be just around this next level. Don't go up the stairs! You'll flag the high detection wards. There's no way in hell I'd be able to walk you through something that complicated. I'm no Wardbinder."

He nodded, though obviously no one could see him, and advanced down the corridor. This level was for dangerous criminals condemned to solitary confinement. The urge to try and investigate the poor souls once again reared its ugly head, but Harry fought it back easily this time. Most of these people truly were here for heinous crimes. There was no denying that.

"Lumos."

Down the hallway he trekked, looking into each shadowed alcove for any sign of red hair. It didn't take him long to find her.

"Ginny?" He whispered, pressing against the cold iron bars of the tiny cell. A bundled figure wearing nothing but a baggy threadbare shirt was huddled on a patch of straw in the back corner that was supposed to be a bed. Her hair was as long as she was tall, and what had once been fiery golden-red had dulled to a dirty, matted muddy brown mess. Her skin was pale as snow, but even from here he could see the crust of dry blood and cuts and scars that hadn't been there when he'd seen her last.

Harry clenched his teeth, a very different urge rearing its head. A primal need to inflict pain on someone, anyone responsible for doing this. Not for the first time, he cursed the name Weasley.

After the trial…

"What do we do now?" Harry demanded, barely contained anger boiling beneath his skin as he was marched back through the Floo into the Headmaster's office. Mr and Mrs Weasley followed behind. Percy, Ron, Fred and George were already waiting for them, standing with the two brothers he'd never met before. Bill and Charlie.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do," Dumbledore said simply, sitting down behind his desk and rubbing a hand across his forehead. "Mr Malfoy's case was iron-shod. With the Diary destroyed, there's no way to confirm Miss Weasley was being controlled, nor do we have any proof that it was he that gave her the Diary."

"But you have to do something!" Harry begged. "You're Albus Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore sighed and offered him a tired smile.

"While I admire your faith in me Harry; I cannot do the impossible."

Harry clenched his jaw and turned towards Molly and Arthur. Mr Weasley wore the same expression he'd had since Ginny had been taken from the hospital wing by the Aurors. A frozen expression of numbness. Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, had gone through more emotional onslaughts than the weather. She'd ranted and raged, cried and sobbed, screamed in fury… you name it, she'd done it in the past few days. But now… now she just seemed resigned.

"There has to be something…"

"I'm sorry Harry," Mrs Weasley whispered, tears streaming down her face. "But… But Ginny must take responsibility for what she's done. If that means… if that means a stay in Azkaban… then so be it."

Not believing his ears, he spun on the other Weasleys.

"You're just going to let this slide?!"

Ron gave an apathetic shrug and Percy didn't even flinch. Fred and George at least looked as mad as he felt, and Charlie and Bill had both seemingly fallen into the same expression of numbness as their father.

"Harry… I understand you're mad. I assure you, I will keep looking into this, but I fear any search would be in vain," Dumbledore said, "For now, I suggest you go and pack your trunk and prepare to return to the Dursley's for the summer."

Harry snorted. "Return to prison you mean." He marched towards the door, then cast a final look back at the room. Mrs Weasley was openly wailing now.

"I thought you guys were the perfect family… turns out I was imagining something that doesn't exist." Then he slammed the door in their faces, ignoring Mrs Weasley's wailing screams.

Now…

That had been when he'd finally put aside his – rather naïve, now that he understood life a little better – belief that real families were perfect, and that, if he found one, everything in his life would be better.

It was also the last time he'd ever trusted something Dumbledore said at face value. He supposed, looking back, he should have realised the type of person Ron was then. But he didn't. His anger had kept him from seeing the truth at the time, and then he was sent back to the Dursleys and distracted by Aunt Marge. He'd blown up his Aunt, gotten caught by Fudge, learned about Sirius Black, then tried to break into Azkaban the first time to rescue Ginny. The rest of that year was spent being hunted down by not-so serial killer Sirius Black, and with Hermione preoccupied with her time-travelling shenanigans, he'd clung to Ron.

The Triwizard tournament had been a harsh wakeup call. The last nail in the coffin of sweet and innocent Harry Potter.

Following Daphne's whispered instructions, he bypassed the locking spells on the door and slowly stepped inside, sticking the Lumos spell to the wall. He knelt down beside the bundle of rags and gently placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder. God she was tiny…

"Ginny?"

The red-head finally stirred, eyes fluttering open to reveal dull chocolate orbs, black bags beneath her irises.

"Wha…" She tried to speak, but it came out as an inaudible croak, which then turned into a fit of hacking coughs. Tiny droplets of blood splattered his hand.

Not good.

"Ginny… it's alright. It's me, Harry. I'm going to get you out of here."

He hooked his arms under her shoulders, and lifted her rake thin body with ease. If it weren't for the bag over her shoulders, he was certain he'd see ribs.

"Daphne," he muttered into the dark, "We've got a problem. Ginny's sick. She can barely open her eyes, let alone walk."

"Shit. You can't fight your way out of there with a girl in your arms."

"I know," he answered.

"Hey! Is someone there?!" A horse voice yelled. One of the prisoners. He needed to move.

"Har… Harry… u… came…" Ginny croaked, eyes fluttering closed, head rolling into his chest. There was barely any colour to her body at all, and Harry tucked a lock of her matted hair behind her ear.

"Aye! Let me out! I can help!" the voice yelled, louder this time. It was joined by another, then another, until the entire floor was in an uproar.

Oh for the love of fuck…

He pulled the invisibility cloak tightly around himself and Ginny, then rushed out of the cell and down the hallway he'd come.

"Daphne… do you remember how we got through the lake task…"

A few days before the Yule Ball…

Harry stood in the prefect's bathroom, trying very hard not to be self-conscious as he pulled his robes over his head.

It was the dead of night, long after curfew, and Daphne – after sending the Egg to her father – had determined that the screeching golden pain in the ass needed to be opened underwater. Harry hadn't liked the idea of cheating, until Daphne pointed out that the very idea of 'cheating' was ultimately subjective to the person cheated. Given that, in this case, he didn't care about cheating Dumbledore or the Ministry, he'd followed through with her plan. As neither of them wished to dive into the lake in the middle of winter, Daphne's mother had given them the password for the prefect's bathroom, and Harry had snuck down to the dungeons with his invisibility cloak to retrieve the Slytherin girl. If someone had told him he'd be exposing his most precious secret to a Slytherin a year ago? He'd have told them to jump of the Astronomy Tower. Now? He'd barely thought about it.

What he was thinking about, was the fact that Daphne – confident, cunning and gorgeous Daphne – had just thrown off her robes to reveal a swimsuit that left very little to the imagination.

She jumped into the enormous bath without looking at him, then emerged like a mermaid from the bubbly water, blonde hair billowing out along the surface. Her cheeks were flushed, though he couldn't tell if that was from the heat or her actions, and a cheeky smile plastered on her face – so maybe it was the later.

Not to be outdone, and reasonably confident in his appearance given all the exercise he did, he grabbed the egg and slid into the water himself.

"Ready?"

He nodded, and they sunk beneath the water together.

Fifteen minutes later, after listening to the recording several times, Daphne and Harry remained seated next to each other in the bathtub. Most of the bubbles were now gone, but deciphering the riddle at least served as a way to distract his mind from Daphne's curves – very evident given their current state. He was just really glad they were now above the water.

"You don't think they'll actually take hostages, do you?" He asked.

"I'd count on it. It's exactly the sort of thing you'd expect from a game like this. It'll be one of your friends or family most likely… someone you'd sorely miss."

Harry ran a hand through his wet hair.

"Well, I don't have any family. None I'd care enough about anyway. That leaves friends. Ron still won't talk to me, and that ship sailed a while ago. Most of Gryffindor like me again now, but that's only because I won the dragon task, not because they're my friends. Neville's a friend, but only recently… I suppose Hermione could be it, but we're still on shaky ground so maybe not."

He bit his lip.

"If I had to bet, it'll probably be you. Or maybe Tracey, but I'd guess you. You're about the only friend I've got left that I trust."

Daphne blushed, and Harry looked away, embarrassed. A soft hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he turned back around to find his face only a few inches from hers.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I… I'm not good at making friends. You really trust me?"

He swallowed.

"Definitely."

She sucked in a breath, and a soft twinkle appeared in her crystal blue eyes. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. Chaste yet lingering, giving him just enough time to memorise the taste of her before she pulled away, face as red as a tomato.

A spark ripped through his brain.

"Daph… did you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

She sat back in the water, shock sliding across her face, and Harry thought he'd made a horrible mistake. Then she smiled and leaned into his side.

"I'd love to. But I'll have to clear it with my father first. He's… well, he's traditional like that. Going to something like the Yule Ball together, with you of all people… it would cause a stir. But he'll say yes if I ask right."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, before Daphne spoke up again.

"You do have dress-robes, don't you?"

Harry winced.

"I'll have to get some at Hogsmeade."

And then, Harry realised he'd made a very, very big mistake. Because Daphne's face lit up with the most Slytherin expression he'd ever seen on her face.

"Oh I'm going to have sooooo much fun with you. We'll need black with a hazel hem to match the eyes… hmm, and maybe lined with the standard protection enchantments, can't be too careful… oh, and maybe a rune scheme for anti-theft…" She trailed off, smiling sliding into an expression of deep thought.

"What?"

"I think I know how to get us through the Second Task."

Now…

Daphne landed softly on Azkaban island via portkey, and immediately flattened herself against the windswept stone as alarms shrieked through the air. Why was she doing this!? It was the most un-Slytherin thing anyone had ever done! The answer of course, like so many of the things she'd done the past year, could be boiled down to one single truth.

Harry Potter's bloody, infectious smile.

Shivering beneath her winter coat, she pulled a pre-made mallenium rune-stone from her pocket and placed it on the ground. Then, carefully, she drew her wand and pointed it at the stone.

Cut into the smooth glossy object – which, while looking like rock, was actually a type of metal – was another of the Zodiac Runes. This time the Cancer Rune. A rune designed to drastically amplify the single next spell a person cast.

This was their back up plan.

After the Yule Ball, Daphne had made sure to keep a single ward-stone she'd created on her person at all times. It was simple and to the point. A broadcaster. A giant beacon pointing out her location at any given time. Harry had kept the receiver, and, when she'd indeed been abducted for the task, Harry had used the Cancer Rune and the resulting very overpowered Accio Charm to summon her directly from the bottom of the lake. She'd had serious rope burn on her foot by the time she reached the surface, but the looks on everyone's faces – student and teacher alike – when Harry Potter, the youngest champion, finished the Second Task without getting wet were sooo worth it.

"Expecto Patronum!" She shouted, letting the memory of her and Harry dancing at the Yule Ball flood her mind, directing the spell into the rune. The glyph pulsed once, twice, three times.

Then, it exploded outwards with enough force to blast Daphne – lying on her stomach – up into the air, flipping her over twice before she crashed back to the ground, her shoulder snapping as she hit rock. She screamed in abject terror as pain burst through her arm and she grabbed the rock with her good hand, desperately trying not to slip off the island. She gained her footing and pulled herself back up, and only then – shoulder burning – did she lookup.

A wall of white power crashed across the entire island, blasting Dementors away by the hundreds. Instantly, the feeling of depression engulfing the prison lessened considerably.

Panting with effort, she pulled herself to her knees, drawing her return portkey from within her robes.

That was the Dementors dealt with for a few minutes. Harry just needed to evade the Aurors – and the reinforcements no doubt on their way.

"Whoever you are, surrender now, and we won't kill you instantly!" A rough voice shouted from beyond the corner where Harry hid, heavy breathing with an unconscious Ginny Weasley in his arms.

He'd felt the pearly white light of hope pulse through the prison. Daphne's Rune had worked. But it would only last for a few minutes. He needed to bolt. Now.

He'd made it to the first level before the Aurors had caught him. By now, they'd barricaded themselves between him and the main entrance. Harry had tried to go through the wall again, but the alarms had triggered some sort of security, and the stele couldn't find purchase on the stone for some reason.

Duelling two Aurors on his own wouldn't be too hard. Thanks to Malfoy and the other lords of the Wizengamot, the Auror force was a shadow of what it had once been. But with Ginny, a resistant wand, and a time limit? Even with all the skill and training he'd done for the Tournament, he did not like those odds

Cursing under his breath, he lowered Ginny to the ground and leant her back against the wall.

Then, clenching his jaw, he spun into the walkway beyond.

"Depulso!"

The banishing charm, Sirius had taught him, was very useful when fighting multiple opponents. It was very difficult to shield against, and was forbidden by international duelling convention, so few thought to use it in a fight. The spell had saved his life in the maze, and it did the same here.

Two stunners later, the Aurors were unconscious on the ground, and Harry, having retrieved his charge, was running through the door to freedom.

The night of the Yule Ball…

"Wait, you have no idea what's in your family vault?" Daphne asked, aghast, as she and Harry spun around the dance floor. There were over a dozen other pairs on the floor with them, but she could tell they were the ones gathering the most attentive looks. Looks of utter confusion. From every house. She had spotted Malfoy a little earlier, and it looked as though he might have had an aneurism. Ron Weasley looked little better, face so red one could be mistaken for thinking him a furnace ready to burst.

She couldn't blame them. Even she was having a hard time believing she was dancing around the Great Hall with Harry Potter, Gryffindor's golden boy and Triwizard champion, on her arm.

"Nope. I've only ever been allowed into my trust vault."

Harry twirled her around, and Daphne's gorgeous crimson dress swirled around her ankles.

"I suppose that makes sense…" she muttered; brows furrowed. "You'd need someone with permission to let you in. No parents… who's your magical guardian?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Probably Sirius if I had to guess."

All colour vanished from Daphne's face, and it was only years of training with her mother and sister that saved her from missing her steps.

"Sirius… Sirius Black! The madman criminal who broke into the castle last year!"

Harry chuckled softly to himself.

"Yeah, him. Madman? Yes. Criminal? Nah. Guy's a puppy dog at heart."

Daphne's jaw fell open. What?

"Remind me to tell you the whole story later. It involves time-turning, the grim, my firebolt, werewolves, a really smart cat, and a group of pranksters from 20 years ago."

She shook herself and turned her attention back to the original topic. She'd get answers about that later.

"Ok… Family vault… so you've never seen the thing… you've never gotten an audit report from Gringotts?"

Harry frowned. "I've never gotten any mail from Gringotts. What's an audit?"

Alarm bells started ringing in Daphne's brain.

"It's a list of your available assets. Gringotts should, at least, be sending you a copy of your trust vault statement if it's in your name. If you're the only name on the family vault, you should get that one too, even if you can't use it until you're seventeen."

Harry's frown deepened even further.

"That doesn't sound right then."

"No. It doesn't."

"What should I do?"

"Send a letter to Gringotts; fast. If something is wrong with your mail, you need to know."

Harry fell silent for the rest of the dance, and once the song finished playing, she pulled him out of the dancing couples and over to Tracey and the Weasley Twins, who were standing around the punch table.

"Ah! If it isn't the dashing fourth champion and his Slytherin princess!" Fred exclaimed. Daphne, noticing from his loose posture and carefree expression the tells of someone who had consumed alcohol, scanned Weasley's person. Sure enough, she spotted a flask poking out of his pocket.

"Don't hold out on me," she snapped at him, gesturing to the flask. Weasley looked shocked for a second as Tracey laughed, but handed over the flask with little to say.

"Say, Fred, George," Harry began. His gaze was fixed at the head table. Specifically, on Albus Dumbledore.

"You guys have a vault at Gringotts for the money you make from your joke stuff, right? That's how you hide it from your mum?" The twins shared a concerned look.

"Yeah… but how'd you know about that?" George asked, voice low.

"Hermione figured it out," Harry said, not really paying attention. "You get audits for your vault? Even if there's not a lot in there?"

George looked thoroughly flummoxed, so Fred answered him.

"Yeah…" Harry turned away from the headmaster to look Daphne dead in the eye.

"Fancy sneaking out of the castle and taking a trip to London with me?"

Daphne's heart fluttered in her chest, gaze fixed on that… that smile. Merlin, she was so totally damned to hell.

"It's a date."

Over Harry's shoulder, Tracey winked at her, then took a long sip of punch, smirking the whole time.

About a week later…

Dressed in her most business-like robes, Daphne led Harry into Gringotts after taking the Knight Bus from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley. Once inside the enormous marble building, she glided towards a specific teller on the right side of the room.

"Mister Snaptooth," Daphne declared, standing straight-backed and jaw clenched, "May you roll in the blood of your enemies for all eternity." The wizened old goblin looked up sharply at the sound of her voice and shot her a toothy grin.

"And may your vaults be ever overflowing with riches, Miss Greengrass. How may I be of service today?"

Daphne gestured to Harry, who gave an awkward wave.

"My friend here, Mr Harry Potter, has recently discovered that he hasn't been receiving his scheduled audits from Gringotts. If it's not overstepping my bounds, could you perhaps put us onto the right track in where he should direct his inquiry?"

Snaptooth's smile fell, replaced by a look of concern.

"One moment, Miss Greengrass. I will find the Potter accounts manager for you myself." The goblin stepped back from his teller and disappeared behind the marble benches.

"Wow. I've never seen someone handle Goblins that well," Harry remarked, giving her a small clap. Daphne blushed.

"Comes with the territory," she said awkwardly, "my father is a rather high-profile lawyer, so he knows more about Goblin culture than most wizards. I've known Snaptooth since I was a girl."

They stood in silence for a while as other wizards and goblins had conversations around them, until Snaptooth returned with another Goblin; this one considerably younger, and far more ugly.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "Griphook! Good to see you again."

Griphook grunted.

"And you, Mr Potter. Snaptooth says you haven't been receiving your audits? Impossible. I sent the last one only two weeks ago."

Daphne tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't like this. First the Goblet of Fire? Now someone interfering with Harry's money at Gringotts?

"I haven't received anything, um, master goblin," Harry said, shaking his head. "I didn't even know I was supposed to be getting anything before Daphne mentioned it."

Snaptooth and Griphook shared two very worried glances, and starting talking rapidly in the goblin language. Louder and louder their argument rose, until, eventually, the goblins at the nearby stations stopped their work to watch them.

After five minutes of shouting, both goblins stalked away from the teller and straight towards the wall behind them. A goblin-sized passageway formed from the marble, and the two Goblins marched inside and each grabbed a wicked looking double-headed battle-axe hanging from the wall.

"I think this might be bigger than we thought," Daphne murmured. Harry swallowed, then took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

Now…

Harry was staggering and sweating something fierce by the time he reached the place where Daphne was waiting for them. In the distance, they could hear the cracks of at least a dozen wizards simultaneously Apparating onto the island.

"Come on!" she shouted, grabbing his arm. Then she removed her portkey, took one look at the returning onslaught of Dementors, and activated the necklace.

A hook wrapped itself behind Harry's navel, and he was jerked back into a tunnel of rainbow light, falling and flying at the same time.

A few seconds later, it was over, and Harry, Daphne and Ginny touched down a few metres from the ward lines surrounding Greengrass Manor.

The ancestral home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass was atop the fells of Cumbria's Lake District, obscured from muggle detection by what appeared to be a sheer cliff drop into a pristine lake below. In fact, the sprawling manor house was built into the mountainside, and had been a reward given to the family by Henry Tudor for saving the life of his future bride, Elizabeth of York.

"Quickly!" Daphne called, waving her wand towards the cliffside. "We don't know if they can track the portkey signature!"

As she said the words, the manor seemed to grow out of thin air, an enormous hedge and steel fence appearing at the cliff's edge. The gate swung open and Daphne rushed over the ward-line, Harry not far behind. Only for a magical shield to form and bounce he and Ginny backwards onto the turf.

"What was that?!" Harry exclaimed. Daphne started heavy breathing.

"I don't know!"

She reached across the ward and grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him through. But his arm couldn't cross.

"The war-wards must be active," Daphne realised, looking down the cliffside towards the manor entrance. "but why… Azkaban. An alert must have gone out and Dad activated the barriers when he noticed I wasn't home."

She cursed under her breath.

"What do we do?"

"Only a Greengrass can enter…"

She stopped, eyes widening. Then she swallowed and stuck her wand into the transparent shield.

"Dad's going to kill me for this… Harry, you have to ask me to marry you."

"WHAT?!" He asked, jaw falling slack.

"Just do it! I can't let you through the wards until you're connected to House Greengrass somehow."

Harry glanced down to the red-head in his arms.

"What about Ginny?"

Daphne froze, hopping from foot to foot.

"Um, um, um… come on. Think Daphne think!" She grabbed a strand of her hair in hand and yanked it.

"You saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Then she owes you a life debt, which should count, I hope. I don't know. It's the best I've got. Quick!"

Harry froze for five seconds, then a crack tore through the forest a short distance away.

"Daphne Greengrass, will you marry me?"

Not how'd he thought he'd ever end up saying those words.

"Yes! Now come one!" she pleaded. Her wand glowed white for a second, then a ripple passed through the shield. More cracks, and voices started yelling behind him. Oh hell…

He jumped through the ward… and slid through the barrier like water, Ginny still in his arms. His feet his earth, and Daphne was waving her wand again. The gate vanished, consumed by the hedge just as two heads appeared beyond.

All sound outside the grounds vanished, replaced by the soft singing of birds, and Harry fell to his knees, taking in several rapid breaths. Daphne sank down beside him and looked into his eyes, face flushed and body shaking.

Harry looked into her eyes, then down at the girl in his arms.

"We did it," he whispered.

"Holy… we did that!" Daphne exclaimed, face cracking into a brilliant smile. "We just jailbreaked someone out of the most secure prison this side of the Atlantic!"

An owl flew through the enchanted barrier, bearing straight for the house. Daphne winced.

"That… will be the Ministry registrar," she said, "congratulating my father on our betrothal."

Harry swallowed, and Daphne looked down at her shoes.

"So, um, do I get to call you babe now?" Harry asked awkwardly. Daphne shot him a murderous look.

"Ever call me that Potter, and I'll show you how good I am at the Cockblocker Curse. Got that?"

Now it was Harry's turn to wince.

"Yes… fiancé."

And with that, they both cracked up laughing.

There you all go. Whatcha think? You guys want a part II? I'm thinking maybe a full dark spin. Something I've never done before, so that could be fun.

Also, on a slightly related note, who else is super pumped for this Skyrim style Hogwarts RPG game? I saw the trailer a couple days ago, and I have to say, I really, really hope they put some decent effort into the different subjects you can learn and not just the standard DADA and Charms. Fingers crossed it isn't a total crapshoot like Square's Avengers game. Boy was that a disappointment.