Yes, the long(ish) awaited chapter 26 is here at last. It's for Norberta.

Strangely, writing fanfiction about Harry Potter does not mean I own it. Weird, right?

Everything Yaxley had said was true. There was licking. And there was plenty of it.

Instead of using a spell to clean the board after a Dark Arts lesson, Amycus would stand next to it and lick it clean. Harry didn't understand why he did that, as it probably lead to him getting chalk sprinkles in his throat. That did not sound particularly nice.

On top of that, Amycus wasn't the only one in his family who enjoyed using his mouth for recreation. In a Muggle Studies class, when Neville Longbottom disagreed with something she said, Alecto went over to him, grabbed one of his fingers, and bit it as hard as she could. Harry didn't know if it was an isolated incident or if she bit people on a regular basis, but he didn't want to find out.

Harry was glad he still received letters from Yaxley. They helped to take his mind off things, even if it was only to roll his eyes at Yaxley's love of fried chicken. The letter he had gotten most recently was filled with references to Yaxley's favorite snack.

Dear Harry I-Ate-Too-Much-Broccoli Potter,

I was looking through our old letters and I remembered you wanted a new middle name, and that was what I suggested. So from now on I'll be calling you Harrison I-Ate-Too-Much-Broccoli Potter. Hoping you don't mind.

If you want, I can threaten to poke Sirius with a stick repeatedly until he stops calling you James Junior. That is not a nice thing for him to do at all. I think we should make this right.

You'd have to tell me where your aunt lives so that I can visit her and her baby. I don't think you've ever said. The owl I use to write to you knows where you live, but it won't tell me. Damn birds.

Thank you, my boy, for giving me the idea to have a house-elf bring me fried chicken at night. I really love eating fried chicken at night. And Bellatrix has taken to going into Macnair's room at night instead of mine, so I don't have to worry about being interrupted as I savor my fried chicken.

Dolohov told me recently that I've started yodeling in my sleep. I don't believe him. I guess it's better than yelling at the Dark Lord, but who wants to yodel in their sleep?

I ordered a monkey from the pet store on Knockturn Alley, but they sent me a turkey instead. I yelled at them and asked them what part of them thought a turkey looked like a monkey. Long story short, I didn't get a monkey, and I'm now banned from purchasing anything there. Do you see now the lengths I go to for you, Harrison Potter?

I tried to tell you that Amycus was going to come to Hogwarts and lick things. Maybe you waited too long to open my letter. Oh, and Alecto has started biting people that displease her. If I were you, I'd stay on her good side. Maybe you could try bringing her some fried chicken. Then she'll bite that and not your flesh.

I don't know what to do about the licking, though. I wish I did, because Amycus likes to lick my fried chicken and I'm not okay with that.

I used to have a problem with Rowle and his constant snoring. Then I started putting him outside whenever he did it. When he found out, he requested a separate bedroom and got one. Maybe you could try that with the little weasel. I know he has another name, but I like nicknaming people and "little weasel" is a fun nickname.

I wish I could write more, but the house-elf just arrived with my fried chicken. You understand, of course, that fried chicken is very important to me and I don't like to keep it waiting.

Sincerely,

Your Yaxleyness

P.S. We've recruited a handful of students, but we've also been throwing all the Mudbloods into Azkaban. Speaking of Azkaban, I went there recently and asked a dementor to send its regards. It refused.

Harry thought this was very rude of the dementor.

Sighing at this display of poor manners, Harry pushed his Transfiguration essay to the side and unrolled some more parchment for a letter to Yaxley. Even Ron had grown annoyed at his habit of putting letters to Yaxley over his homework, but he no longer cared. Writing to Yaxley was much more rewarding.

To my Yaxleyness,

Why do you have all these names for me and all I have to pick from is Yaxley and Your Yaxleyness?

I already had Lupin poke Sirius with a stick and it didn't work. You'll have to do something else, like get him one of those muggle shock collars.

My aunt lives at 4 Privet Drive, or at least she did when I last saw her. I guess if you want current information you should ask her yourself.

The house-elves forgot my order. Damn them. But at least I got them back on track for this year.

Look, Yaxley. I'm trying to be patient with you, but you are aware that I was in my fifth year when you promised me that monkey. I am in my seventh year now, and frankly there's no excuse for that. If you're not going to get me a monkey, then I expect you to just be honest with me. I'm open with you, and I would appreciate the same courtesy in return.

I think you need to tell them to quit with the licking and biting, because that's unsanitary and they're going to make themselves sick. Then they'll get everyone in Hogwarts sick, and then we'll go to Hogsmeade and get the people there sick, and then there will be an epidemic going on just because Amycus likes to lick and Alecto likes to bite.

Really, Yaxley? Even the "little weasel" has more name options than you do!

I'll allow you to skip the letter and eat fried chicken if I can have some lemon pie before I write to you. You understand, of course, that if fried chicken can be that important to you, I need a special food as well.

I'm off to the kitchens to nick some before lunchtime. I might write again later, but I have a Transfiguration essay and you shouldn't be encouraging an innocent schoolboy such as myself to skive off assignments so that I can write you letters.

Yours,

Harry/Harrison/My dear boy/whatever else you want to call me.

P.S. Dementors really are rude. Don't take it personally.

Harry sent the letter before setting his essay aside and setting off for the kitchens. He wasn't actually going to have any lemon pie, but now the idea wouldn't let go of him. Perhaps extending a letter to Yaxley could wait, but Harry's attachment to his pie was growing to the extent of Yaxley's to fried chicken.

Lord Voldemort was not amused. He was married to Bellatrix, so he certainly should not have walked in on her asleep and entangled in the branches of a potted plant, muttering in her unconscious state about how she dearly loved the way its leaves enfolded her. At the same time, however, he was an immensely powerful Dark Lord and did not have time to break his wife's infatuation with her plant.

So Hermione was given this task.

Hermione approached it as she would any other of her best friend's questionable hobbies, by simply trying to talk her out of it without asking too many questions. But as soon as she stepped through the door, the first thing out of her mouth was, "Bellatrix, what are you doing?"

Bellatrix looked up as the plant shed a leaf into her hair. "We were just having a moment, Hermione."

Clearly this wouldn't work. "So. About that plant–"

"His name is Phil," Bellatrix interrupted.

"Okay. About Phil."

"He's my companion," Bellatrix said, pausing to rest her head on one of Phil's branches. "He's like you, but different. Perhaps he can't talk, but he still understands me."

Going into her therapist mode, Hermione questioned her best friend, "And why do you feel that Phil is able to understand you so well?"

"He just can. I think it's his branches. It feels like they protect me."

That much, Hermione thought, was true. Bellatrix did seem more relaxed since she'd begun her relationship with Phil. In truth, she didn't really want to deny her best friend that. But this companionship with the plant would only lead to the Dark Lord growing more and more displeased.

"Do you not feel the same way around your husband?"

At this, Bellatrix sat bolt upright. "What do you mean? Of course I do!"

"I don't think the Dark Lord would agree."

Bellatrix stood up from her perch on Phil's pot, brushing some dirt from her dress as she did so. "Does my sweet master need me?" she asked, her voice a clear indication of her worry. "Hermione, should I go to him?"

"That might be best." Hermione nodded.

Before her best friend had even finished her sentence, Bellatrix had charged out of the room, shrieking, "Don't despair, my precious Voldy-poo! I'm coming, darling!" as she left.

As the sound of her voice began to fade away, Hermione turned to Phil, who dropped another leaf when he saw her. "Looks like it's just you and me, Phil," she told the plant.

Hermione sighed. Two years of being best friends with Bellatrix Lestrange and she was beginning to talk to potted plants.

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