Here is the current poll for the Muggleborns name:

Morgan (or Morganna)- 6

Allegra (Italian for Joyous)- 9

Allegra Morgan

Rosetta- 2

Lydia- 2

Lydia Rose

I do not own Harry Potter. I really, really wish that I did, but I do not. The only character I own, is in the poll right above me. Please choose a name. The poll will only be open for two more chapters.

No, she would not allow Draco's father to get them disowned from her birth House. Because that was what all this boiled down to, this attitude displayed by Draco was instilled in him by his father, if they were disowned, it would Lucius's fault.

She pursed her lips in thought before reaching for a piece of parchment and quill.

She would meet with Severus, and they would work out a schedule where she could come to Hogwarts and start correcting her sons attitude.

It was clear that she couldn't wait for the Yule season.

"Ah, Lady Malfoy, you wanted to speak with me?" Severus asked, looking up as she swept into his office. He had gotten her letter requesting a parents meeting with him two days ago, and had sent back a reply when he was available, and invited her to come at whichever time or date suited her best. Clearly, she chose to come today. He stood politely and gestured towards the seat in front of him, waiting to sit back down until she herself was seated.

"Yes, Professor, I did. It's about Draco, and his attitude." She said.

"Did you wish to clarify some points in my letter reporting his attitude?" He asked, he honestly did not know why she was here about it. He knew full well about Sirius' ultimatum to her, that if Draco didn't shape up, they would both be disowned from the Black Family. But, that didn't explain why she was here.

She shook her head slightly. "No. I wanted to set up times when I could come and begin his lessons. I fear that I don't have the time to wait until the Yule holidays, not with what I read in your report and in his letter to me."

"Ah." Severus said, before getting up to rifle through his cabinet for Draco's file. Minerva and Albus had master copies of every students file, but the Heads of House had a copy of their own students, that, when updates, also updated the master copy. "Here is his schedule." He said, pulling the parchment out and examining it for a moment before handing it over. Included was class times, and study group (that he made all his Snakes attend) times. As well as meals. It even included his current detention schedule. Once she decided on when to come and tutor him, he could add those dates and times to the schedule, and those would be times that he could not receive detention.

Draco's copy of the schedule would also update once this master copy was updated, saving him the time of having to chase him down, or send a prefect with a note letting him know. If he had questions, like where or why, the boy could come find him.

She grimaced when seeing the detentions, but didn't say anything. Her son earned every single one of those detentions. "I think during dinner and after would be best. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He has no detentions at those times."

"Very well." He nodded and added the chosen time periods to the schedule, simply leaving it as 'private tutoring'.

Bill walked into his supervisors office warily. Ever since his mother saw him covered in dried blood and cuts after that Inferi job, he had been dreading being called in to his office. She had not been happy with the goblins when she found out that he was hurt during his job, and they hadn't even bothered to heal him, and she was even less pleased when Bill wouldn't let her heal the small cuts and bruises either.

She was even less pleased when she found out it was goblin warrior tradition and healing them on his own could actually get him in trouble, and make him lose respect within the bank.

In fact, he would not have been at all surprised if she sent a Howler to his boss... he dreaded to even think about her reaction if he had been stupid enough to tell her just what he had been doing when he got these injuries.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" He asked, nervous. His mother hadn't gotten him in trouble, had she?

He was given an unreadable look, one that made him gulp lightly. "Yes... but first, I got a... letter the other day, from one Molly Weasley." He raised an eyebrow and watched in interest as the human deflated in front of him, going pale.

"I'm sorry about that, sir. I told her that I was alright, and to leave it alone..." Bill tried to say, horrified that his mother had done that. Didn't she know that if the Goblins took enough offence to that, that he could be fired?! Granted, he was good at his job, but that only protected him so much.

His manager only quirked a goblin's equivalent to a smirk. "That is not why I called you here. You should, however, have another word with your mother about that." He said, and Bill grimaced before nodding his agreement. "I called you in here, to let you know that the Blacks were very pleased with your handling of the body retrieval and Inferi disposal. The both of you, will be getting a commission for the job, paid by the Black Family, of 2,000 extra Galleons. It should already be in your vault, that is all."

And just like that, Bill was dismissed to go back to work.

Outside in the hall, he blinked in shock, wondering briefly what just happened.

Harry yawned while he walked down the corridor, broom in hand. Wood had, thankfully, kept to McGonagall's rules and hadn't gotten them up before the sun even started to rise, but he still kept them out there for a long time when he finally got them out there. To make matters worse, it had been raining just as hard this morning as it had been for the past few weeks. The last week when he and Severus had gone out to pick ingredients had been the first dry night they had had in a long time.

Because of the rain, there had been a rash of colds for several weeks, leaving Madam Pomfrey and Severus busy making and passing out Pepperup potions. Percy had ended up forcing Ginny into going to her for one when she started becoming too pale for his liking. Red-heads and Pepperup potions did not mix well...

(Hagrid's pumpkins were enjoying the weather though, they had swollen to an even larger size than they already were.)

All this led to Harry now being drenched and covered in mud (after Fred and George started a mid-air mud fight when Wood turned his back for a few minutes, despite the fact they'd seen the new Slytherin team practicing, and reported back on the speed of their brooms), walking back to the Tower before Severus found him and made him drink a Pepperup. His godfather seemed to think he could get easily sick.

(Although, he supposed that considering the nutritional potions he was still on... not to mention the whole thing with the attack at the courthouse...)

Harry blinked when he saw Nearly Headless Nick, looking very preoccupied and muttering under his breath while staring out a window. "... don't fulfill their requirements... half an inch, if that..."

"Nick? Is everything alright?" He asked, concerned.

Nick jumped (suddenly floated) several feet into the air in shock. His head wobbled dangerously as he did. He wore his usual plumed hat on long curly hair, and his usual tunic with its ruff. Luckily it concealed his partially severed head. "Oh, hello young Potter. You look troubled." He folded the letter Harry saw in his hand and tucked it away into a pocket.

"So do you, Nick. Everything alright?" He asked again.

"Ah," Nick waved a hand airily. "I am alright, it's not important. It's not as though I really wanted to join... thought I would apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'-" In spite of his light and casual tone, Harry could hear the bitterness in his voice and see it on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," He suddenly went off, pulling the letter back out, "That getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?" Harry blinked, trying to think back on what he'd read about the Headless Hunt.

"Oh- yes," Harry said after a moment once he realized that he was probably supposed to reply, and agree. He was going to continue, to point out that he was going to have a hard time participating in anything within the Hunt, since his head was still mostly on his shoulders.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, it would have saved me much pain. However-" Nick shook the letter open roughly and read furiously:

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as 'Horseback Head-Juggling' and 'Head Polo'. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements.

With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."

He said this with every bit of sarcasm and bitterness that Harry would have expected to hear from his Uncle Severus.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most would consider that good and beheaded, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore." He ranted as he roughly stuffed the letter away again.

Harry decided not to mention that 'beheaded' did mean that the head was completely separated (he got bored in the library one time while hiding from Dudley, and the dictionary was the only thing within reach so that he didn't have to leave his hiding spot). He also wondered how long Nick had that nickname for the properly beheaded ghost.

"So- what's bothering you? Anything I can do?" Nick asked after a moment, far calmer sounding.

Harry blinked before responding. "No, not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly-" He was cut off by a high-pitched mewling from near his feet. When he looked down, he sucked in a breath and quickly glanced at his muddy clothes, eyes widening before his magic reacted and he found himself clean and dry.

Just in time, too, as where Mrs. Norris was, Filch was never far behind. This was proven correct when Argus Filch suddenly burst through the tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking around wildly for the rule-breaker.

There was a thick, tartan scarf around his head, and his nose was unusually purple. Harry glanced at Nick warily, wondering what was wrong with Filch, but the ghost only shook his head.

"Filth!" Filch shouted, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy footprints that Harry hadn't thought to make vanish. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!" He snarled.

Harry waved gloomily to Nick, and followed Filch back downstairs, not even bothering to protest with the man. He already looked like he wanted to kill something (or someone). Luckily, he had already cleaned himself off, so the number of muddy footprints wasn't being doubled.

He'd never been inside Filch's office before, it was a place students (except for the Twins it seemed sometimes) tried to avoid. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. Harry idly wondered if he wouldn't be in a better mood if he got some more light in here. A faint smell of fish lingered in the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls, containing details of every pupil Filch had ever punished, even those who were no longer students.

Fred and George Weasley had a drawer to themselves, while Harry noticed with amusement that the Marauders had an entire cabinet all to themselves.

A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Something that would be the first thing Harry would be taking care of when he was older and in a position to claim his birthright within the school.

He still wasn't sure just how much he was going to reveal, though. The Potter Family had kept all of that as a carefully guarded secret for generations for a reason, after all. Gold-diggers, being part of the main reason.

Filch retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer after grabbing a quill from a pot on his desk. "Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies... frog brains... rat intestines... I've had enough of it... make an example... yes..." Harry had no idea what he was rambling on about.

"Name... Harry Potter. Crime..."

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry said, eyes wide. How on earth was the man this angry over some mud on the floors? The House-elves were in charge of keeping everything clean, anyway. It wasn't like he was even needed here. Something else that he would need to ask Severus about.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour of scrubbing!" Filch shouted, nose dripping. Harry just stared at him. No, he didn't want to create extra work for the House-elves, but at the same time, keeping the castle clean was their job. They happened to like their jobs, too.

He also didn't appreciate being called 'boy'. It reminded him way too much about the Dursleys. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any way to get out of this before Filch finished writing.

"Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . ." Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited in disbelief at what was happening. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle. "PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him. Harry simply sat there, blinking dumbly at what just happened.

Harry didn't like Peeves much, the poltergeist was a menace and only the Bloody Baron was able to somewhat control him. However, he was grateful for the timing. Hopefully, though, he didn't cause too much destruction, and whatever fell wasn't old and valuable.

(This castle, and the old and valuable things decorating it, did belong to Harry after all.)

Harry considered just leaving, but figured that Filch would probably report him or something, if he didn't just outright chase him down to deliver his (undeserved) punishment. That would only bring more trouble than it was worth, really. So, he stayed. After a moment, he glanced at the Marauders cabinet again and narrowed his eyes. A moment later, the drawers had opened and all the contents inside were floating out and inside his expandable pouch (they were technically family heirlooms). He simply smirked and sat down on the moth-eaten chair next to the desk.

There was only one thing on the desk besides the disciplinary form: a large, glossy purple envelope with silver lettering. After glancing at the door to make sure Filch wasn't back yet, he picked it up to read it.

Kwikspell:

A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.

Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork?

There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"

Frowning, he thumbed through the contents. He knew from Severus, that Filch was a Squib, so why was he reading this? Kwikspell wasn't going to give him the ability to suddenly use magic. He made a mental note to speak with Ted about this course.

He was just reading "Lesson one: Holding your wand (some useful tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told him that Filch was coming back. (Those tips were actually pretty good, so maybe there was something real about it?). Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, he threw it back on the desk just as Filch opened the door.

He looked oddly triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he said to Mrs. Norris, gleefully. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-" His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which Harry realized was lying too far away from where he'd picked it up from.

Oops.

Filch's face went brick red, which was almost as impressive as when Uncle Vernon did it. Harry braced himself for the tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched the envelope, and threw it into a drawer. "Have you- did you read-?" He sputtered.

Thinking quickly, Harry lied. "No."

Filch's hands were twisting together. "If I thought you'd read my private... not that it's mine... for a friend. Be that as it may, however-" He cleared his throat. Harry, though, was staring at him in alarm. The last time he'd seen somebody this angry, he'd gotten a belt to his back. Filch's eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his cheeks, and his tartan scarf wasn't helping his appearance any.

"Very well... go. And don't breathe a word. Not that- however, if you didn't read- go now, I have to write up Peeves' report. Go." Harry didn't stick around to let him change his mind. He tore out of the office and back up stairs quickly.

He figured this had to be some kind of record, escaping from Filch's office unpunished.

"Harry! Harry, did it work?" Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet. It looked like it had been dropped from towards the ceiling. "I persuaded Peeves to crash it right above Filch's office." He said, eagerly. "I thought it might distract him."

"That was you?" Harry asked, gratefully. He also made a mental note to find out what exactly a 'vanishing cabinet' was, and how much it would be to fix the thing. "Yeah, it worked. I didn't even get detention, thanks Nick." He was silent for a moment before he frowned. "Hey, was it just me, or was he in a worse mood than usual?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. He's got the flu and some third years 'accidentally' plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning. You should consider yourself lucky your magic acted how it did, and cleaned you off. If he wasn't in as foul a mood as he currently is, I could have convinced him that the mud had already been here before you walked by, actually..." Harry grimaced, but didn't say anything.

As they walked together, Harry noticed that Nick was still holding the letter from Sir Patrick. "I wish there was something I do to help you with the Hunt." Even though he was sure the only thing he could possibly do was find a way to finish the beheading, although he had no sure how to go about doing that since he was a ghost.

Nick suddenly stopped floating along, causing Harry to grimace and subconsciously cast a warming charm on himself when he walked through the Ghost. Walking through a ghost felt like being shoved under an icy shower. "But there is something you could do," said Nick, excited. "Harry- would I be asking too much- but no, you wouldn't want- the feast..."

"What is it?" Harry asked, confused.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," Nick said, drawing himself up, dignified.

"Oh." Harry said, of all the things he had been anticipating, this... wasn't one of them. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or upset. Why would you celebrate the day you died? "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course, oh and Mr. Longbottom as well- but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

"No," said Harry quickly, (Yes), "I'll see if I can come, I'll just need to ask my godfather about it. He likes to keep an eye on what I'm doing, since the attack on the courthouse... and he might have plans for us. Halloween and all." He explained, he just didn't explain which godfather he was talking about. Although he was pretty sure Nick knew, he'd been a ghost of Hogwarts for five hundred years, if he didn't know about Harry's ancestry... plus the ghosts were connected to Hogwarts in a way that not even the portraits were. He probably knew everything about Harry and Severus.

"Oh, of course, of course, ask him! Oh, Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And-" he hesitated, still looking excited- "if you can come, do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of, of course," Harry said. Although he felt like it would be a wasted effort, and Nick should turn his attention to something that suited him more. What did ghosts even do? Besides doing their jobs as Hogwarts ghosts, of course. They were in charge of patrolling, keeping an eye out for intruders, helping to search the castle when needed, and helping lost students find their way back to where they should be.

Nick beamed. He couldn't make himself say anything.

"Good news." Barchoke said when he came into Sirius' room. He bit his lip when he saw the black silk bag sitting carefully on the nightstand. Beside it, was a list of those qualified to perform the funeral rites.

Sirius only blinked at him, putting his quill down. The family business he'd needed to attend to was long since taken care of, he'd been occupying himself with reading up on laws or drawing since then. Or writing letters to Andromeda and Narcissa.

"Grimmauld is finally cleansed, the objects inside purified, and the contractors have gotten started with the renovations." They had been in and out for weeks going over building plans with Sirius. "The other properties have been looked over and cleansed where needed, and they have all been declared fit to live in."

Sirius grinned a little. "That's good, at least Harry and I have somewhere to live now." Although they were definetely going to be visiting the main Potter properties at some point.

"Have you decided which property you will be using?"

"Yes, Black Manor. I'm actually thinking about selling Grimmauld." He frowned. "We'll see how things go, I guess." He said with a shrug.

"Grimmauld has been in the family for many years, close to two centuries now. Are you sure you would want to sell it?" Barchoke asked with a frown.

Sirius laughed humorlessly. "Have you met my parents?"

Barchoke decided not to comment, the man had a point, the only redeeming quality that house probably held for the Black Lord were the memories of himself and young Regulus growing up there. Even those memories were probably tainted by the knowledge he now had of what became of his precious baby brother. On his seventeenth birthday, Sirius had come to him about options for removing Regulus from his parents custody and living with him instead.

Before his brother ended up taking the Mark, as Sirius knew Regulus was close to doing, even then.

Unfortunately, by the time paperwork and politics was sorted through, it was too late to prevent Regulus from joining the Death Eaters.

"I'll draw up paperwork, just in case you do decide to sell." Was all he said before changing the subject to the Family accounts statements. They may have already been sorted through, but he was going to take advantage of having the Lord Black in the building and unable to go anywhere, to go over the weekly summaries in person, rather than having to send them by owl. Going over them in person the first time was more efficient, anyway.

"A deathday party?" Hermione said, excited. Harry had finally reached the common room, and joined her and Ron after he showered and changed. He may have cleaned himself off magically and used a warming charm earlier, but nothing could warm you up quite like a warm shower. Especially since he didn't have access to warm water growing up. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those- it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron asked. He was only halfway through his Potions homework and was not in a good mood. "Sounds dead depressing to me..." Harry nodded his agreement.

"Here, let me write Sirius and I'll help you with that." He offered, much to Ron's relief.

"Didn't you just visit him earlier this morning?" Hermione asked, looking up from her Defense essay (Severus had started handing them out after Potions classes, and Professor McGonagall made it clear that she expected them to be done and handed into the sixth year in charge of their study group within the week of receiving it.)

Harry shrugged and looked around the common room while he explained. It was still pouring outside, and the sky was still dark and depressing, but inside it was bright and cheerful. As usual in the Gryffindor common room. The fire was flickering cheerfully as well, and students sat around talking, doing homework, reading, or experimenting to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander.

Guess who.

Fred 'rescued' the brilliant, orange fire lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and now it was smouldering gently on a table surrounded by curious Gryffindors. A quick glance showed that Percy wasn't here, he knew from Ron that the studious (and surprisingly mischevious) Weasley had shown a love for animals that rivaled Charlie's, now that his natural personality was having a chance to show itself again (he was, however, planning on going into law last Harry heard). He would not be happy when he heard about this.

Harry was just telling Ron, Hermione, and now Neville about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly went flying, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly around the room. Percy happened to come into the room right then. The sight of Percy yelling himself hoarse at Fred and George, the display of tangerine stars coming from the salamander, and its escape into the fire, then the following explosions, made Harry forget all about Filch and the Kwikspell envelope. He even almost forgot about writing to Sirius about it and the deathday party invitation.

He would speak with Severus about it the next morning, though.

For now, he would get his homework done and enjoy the rest of the evening with his friends.