Joe's Note: After careful consideration, I've decided Illyria is going to have two similar but subtly different personas: one for public and one for private. Because of the nature of her resurrection, she will retain more of Luna than the canon Illyria kept of Fred - including Luna's infatuation with Harry - and will treat Harry accordingly. But around other people, especially those who challenge her… watch out.
Dedications & Thanks: To Nicholas, Alexander, Howard, Alonsis2, Connor, MJ, Daniel, Christopher, Fablesrogue, Morgan, Janne, Eric, DireSquirrel, Joseph, Jason, mpop, RileyWestfall, bloodylord, Luke, Zachary, Marc, Ziryo, Elliot, Crusifikz70, Timothy, Leigh, Chris, George, Koby, Ken, Dimitria, William, Invernos, Paul, Pat, Joel, Kentucky Fried Dragon, Warren, Mitch, and Jess for sponsoring me on , and making it easier for me to spend more of my time writing.

June 18, 1996
The Ministry Atrium
London, Greater London, England, United Kingdom

"Everybody stand down!" Dumbledore's voice boomed in the Atrium and the assembled aurors and other Ministry personnel looked around at each other, trying to decide whether or not to obey someone who was generally respect but currently on the wanted list himself. "Voldemort was here this evening, and she fought him to a standstill even as she dispatched his followers. You cannot win this. Now stand down, or Cornelius will pay for your folly."

One wild, tawny head of hair was visible as it cut through the crowd. "Move aside, move aside." A scarred man pushed through to the center, eyes quickly flicking from where Illyria was still holding Fudge in the air to Dumbledore. "You believe she is what she says she is?" Dumbledore paused for a second and then nodded. "Good enough for me. Men, wands down!"

Harry gave a little sigh of relief as the wands leveled at Illyria and he were pointed elsewhere. As much fun as watching them try to take on a woman who could shrug off Killing Curses could be, he really didn't want to be involved in the mass slaughter of aurors or something in that vein. "Scrimgeour!" Fudge's legs kicked uselessly, his face growing darker and darker. "A little help!"

A hand came down hard on Harry's shoulder and he looked to his left, raising one eyebrow curiously at the 'Scrimgeour' that Fudge was beseeching. "Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office. I don't need to ask who you are." Gesturing toward Illyria, he grimaced. "Can you do something about her? I'd like to avoid any further bloodshed tonight."

"Well, I can try. I'm her… Qwa'ha Xahn… not her keeper. If you want to get technical, I can't 'make' her do anything that she doesn't actually want to do." Harry was slowly becoming more comfortable with the unusual term, as well as the concept it represented. Stepping forward, he rested his hands on Illyria's shoulder and tried to figure out how to communicate with her non-verbally. Think loudly, perhaps? 'Illyria?' A vague feeling of assent brushed against his mind. 'Can you please put him down? This may have been your way before, but these days, killing the leader of a nation just gets you sent to jail.'

After a moment of pause, Illyria's hand lowered a few centimeters and Fudge got closer to the floor. 'No creation of humans could contain me unless I wished it.'

'Part of being your Qwa'ha Xahn is that I'm supposed to teach you how to survive in this world, right? I'm your guide to humanity?' Illyria's head inclined slightly and Harry's hands squeezed her shoulders. Idly, he found himself marveling in his sudden ability to engage in human - or near enough - contact. It wasn't something he'd ever been terribly comfortable with, after having grown up in a house where the only touch he received was a punch or a slap. But with Illyria, it felt both natural and desirable to be in contact with her. 'Then please, listen to me and put him down. The public will rise up when they realize he lied about Voldemort for the last year and throw him out of office. It'll give us another defeat to celebrate, if you want.'

Another few seconds passed in silence and then Illyria slowly lowered Fudge back down to the floor. "You owe your continued existence to the fact that my Qwa'ha Xahn is more benevolent than I. Even after you attempted to destroy him, he argued for your life. Remember that." After looking around, she turned and grabbed Harry's hand before tugging him back through the crowd. "I grow bored with this place. I wish to return to the shell's place of education."

Fudge sputtered, rubbing his throat with one hand as he stumbled after them. "You can't just leave! You murdered three people… you attacked me! Scrimgeour! Dumbledore! Stop her!"

"Cornelius, as much as I detest the notion of lethal force, I believe the public return of Voldemort is an issue that outweighs the death of three of his followers. There are many, many things that need to be done. Let us deal with them first and then - if you still feel the need to - we can explore the potential of taking action against Illyria." Dumbledore moved to intercept them, holding out a wooly sock. "Harry, Illyria. This portkey is programmed to return you to my office. Just take hold and you'll be on your way."

Given that Illyria had stated her desire to do as much, Harry didn't even think before reaching out to grab the proffered sock. There was the telltale tug behind his navel as the portkey activated and then he was being whisked away from the Atrium. He fared no better upon landing than he had during any of his previous encounters with magical transportation and tumbled to the floor of Dumbledore's office, pulling Illyria down on top of him in the process. More than a little exhausted by the events of the day, Harry found himself content to lie there and stare up at the ceiling for a while.

His respite wasn't to last, though. All too soon, Harry's inaction allowed his mind to begin rehashing the events of the evening. His friends, hurt. Sirius, dead. The Lestranges, likewise, one of them to seal the agreement between himself and Illyria. Idly, Harry found himself wondering where Bellatrix's skull had gotten to. Illyria had presented it to him just before Voldemort arrived, meaning he'd been the last one in possession of it. Given that he was neither laying on something lumpy nor was Illyria crushing something hard into his front, though, Harry was fairly certain that was no longer the case. Had he dropped it when he'd grabbed Illyria's shoulders, or had it been lost before then?

Harry shook his head. He needed something to keep his brain busy. Something better than pondering the location of a skull, that was. And since he still had plenty of questions regarding his new lot in life… "How did this happen?" Illyria raised her head from where she'd been resting it on his chest, spearing Harry with her icy gaze. "I mean… you said Luna was planning this, including me being your guide. How did you come to be inside her? What happened to Luna? What exactly does being a Qwa'ha Xahn mean for me?"

"Like your minister, you have many questions but do not give me adequate time to answer any of them. You will cease that habit immediately." Illyria pushed off of his chest as she rose into a sitting position, straddling his hips as she tucked her wand behind her ear. "You are exhibiting denial, one of the stages of loss. You wish to continue as if your godfather is not dead, therefore you seek to occupy yourself with other things. I find myself torn: I do not wish to have an ignorant guide, but the shell's memories of her father indicate this is an unhealthy behavior." She stared down at him contemplatively for a moment before sighing. "I shall allow you this distraction for now. The shell…"

"Luna."

"As I said, the shell…"

Harry shook his head. "No. Luna. Her name was Luna." Illyria's eyes narrowed and he held up his hand. "You can't refer to her as 'the shell'. People are going to be uncomfortable enough around you as it is, and things like this will make it worse. And it's weird to hear you calling one of my friends something like that. So I'm asking you not to." Illyria's glare softened a little but she didn't look entirely convinced and so Harry decided to try a different avenue of attack with the Old One. "Luna gave herself to you, didn't she? Can't you honor the sacrifice that brought you back into the world?"

A soft sigh escaped from Illyria's lips but she nodded in assent. "Very well. Luna was exposed to my sarcophagus at a very young age when her mother brought it home to study, unaware of its true nature. Through it, I formed a bond with her and began preparing her for the day when she would become my host. Her mother conducted an ill-advised experiment in hopes of deepening her understanding of my sarcophagus and paid with her life, at which point it was transported to the place you call the Department of Mysteries. I have spent the last five years there, waiting for the day when Luna would return and release me." She gestured down at her body. "What you see before you now is the result of Luna fulfilling her destiny."

"So Luna knew what she was doing?" Illyria nodded again, and Harry stared up at the Old One as he thought about that. If Luna had gone willingly to her death to complete some sort of destiny she had… she was a far better person than he was. He wasn't leaving this world until he was dragged kicking and screaming off the mortal plane, presumably by Voldemort. "So she's gone? And… did it hurt?"

Illyria tilted her head to the side. "It hurt her to some degree, but I tried to make the process as pleasant as possible given her cooperation. It… reminded her of the way her body felt sometimes when she was in your presence." Harry felt his own face warming a bit at that; evidently the feelings that had driven Luna to desire him as her replacement's guide weren't as platonic as he'd assumed. If that was the case, though… why hadn't Luna said anything? Knowing someone else out there liked him - someone he was marginally closer to and who understood him better - might have prevented his train wreck of a relationship with Cho Chang. "While I consumed all that she was during my resurrection, sparks remain. Memories. Fragments of who she was. Strangely, while this form requires neither sleep nor nourishment, I find myself strongly desiring… sticky toffee pudding." Her head slowly straightened before tilting to the other side. "Bring me some, Harry."

The wand behind the ear combined with the sudden non-sequitur almost made Harry forget anything had changed. Then his eyes drifted back past the wand to one of the blue streaks in Luna's blond hair before wandering down to the rather unusual outfit that she was wearing, and he was rather rudely reminded that while she apparently retained 'sparks' of his friend, Illyria was not in fact Luna. "As much as I'd like to, I think Dumbledore wants us to wait for him here. And on top of that… well, that's a literal problem. You're on top of me and so I can't go much of anywhere at the moment."

Illyria looked down at herself, as if noticing for the first time how they were positioned. "I see. This is what most people would consider an intimate position, isn't it?" Harry nodded, blushing again. "And yet I took it instinctively instead of something that would be more appropriate. Hmm. Perhaps I've been influenced by Luna more than I previously believed. Then again, given our bond, it isn't entirely inappropriate."

Was it her transformation into an Old One, Harry mused, or what Illyria had revealed about Luna that was making him think about the blonde in brand new ways? As much as he'd like to think it was the latter because it was the far less shallow option, the fact that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off Illyria's body made him fairly certain it was the former. Granted the unusual, multicolored catsuit she was wearing showed off the curves of her acquired body far better than Luna's Hogwarts uniform did, but Harry had seen her in casual clothing outside of class, too. He found it hard to believe that he could have missed how feminine and… downright gorgeous… Luna was, but evidently he had. And strangely enough, her new blue-tinged look didn't make him any less drawn to her…

"There is still one question from your initial barrage that I have yet to answer." Illyria's voice brought an end to Harry's inspection of her body, which was probably a good thing for his sake if there was enough of Luna left to get annoyed the way most girls did when a boy was too obvious about staring at them. "My Qwa'ha Xahn. You are my… guide, through whom I learn about this foreign world I have stepped into. A translator, between your kind and myself. Occasionally my defender, because there will be specific types of magic that I alone am vulnerable to. And yet while you are my guide, translator, and guard… you are also more. You are someone I will come to when I feel the need to share my thoughts and someone I will share my vast knowledge with. You will to attend to all of my needs, and in return I will elevate you over all others. My kind… we did not procreate as you do and had no concept of 'relationships'. Accordingly, the memories I have inherited from Luna are hard to reconcile with my own knowledge, but I believe the magical bond closest to the one we now share would be… marriage. It was not a selection that was undertaken lightly in my day, and the sarcophagus made the same clear to Luna before she resurrected me."

Harry's eyes went very wide at that as he stared up at Illyria in disbelief. He'd only been out on a single date - which had ended disastrously - and kissed a girl once. Now he was sorta-married to a demon who was possessing the body of one of his friends? And said friend had knowingly chosen him to fill this role for her? "I, uh, take it you're the 'till death us do part' type?"

A tiny snort of laughter escaped Illyria, another very human mannerism Harry wasn't expecting from a demonic God-King. "You are making jokes. Humor is a normal and acceptable human coping mechanism according to the psychology books Luna read while attempting to come to terms with her impending death, therefore I will allow it. But to answer your question… yes. You will be my Qwa'ha Xahn until the day you die, which will likely be a long time from now once I deal with the one you are prophecy-bound to."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Harry furrowed his brow as he eyed Illyria. "Aren't you the one who compared my emotions to animal guts? Why would you want to be in a relationship with me?" Never mind the fact that he wasn't even sixteen yet, making him far too young to be married. Or that he'd been hoping to pick the person he'd spend the rest of his life with. Both of which - while very much important to him - were unlikely to change Illyria's mind.

"What?" Her own eyes widening, Illyria recoiled a bit, making Harry bite his lip to avoid groaning as she shifted atop him. "I was merely comparing the bond between us to the types of bonds that you might be familiar with. According to Luna's memories, a wizarding marriage ceremony forges a bond very much like the one between us." Pausing, she adopted a more contemplative expression. "On the other hand, formalizing our connection in the eyes of the wizarding world would have many benefits for us."

Harry blinked a few times before shrugging. So much for that plan. And he had to admit, he was kinda curious what an Old One might find beneficial about a walk down the aisle. "Oh?"

Nodding, Illyria began ticking points off on her fingers. "You would be emancipated, which would allow you to use magic as you wished. You would then be allowed to learn to apparate, giving you freedom of movement. You would have full access to the holdings of your families, and be able to assume your role as their heads. You-"

"Families?"

"You… ah yes, Luna remembers you being quite ignorant of your own kind." Without even having to draw her wand, Illyria somehow managed to get the tip to emit a stream of smoke that formed into a map of South West England. "The Potters intermarried heavily with other magical families in the county of Cornwall; most of these families are extant solely through the one remaining branch of the Potters… in other words, you. According to Luna's research, you stand to inherit the headship of at least four families: the Potters, the Boscawens, the Rashleighs, and the Tremaynes. Any wealth or property those families control will fall to you at that point."

As he tried to wrap his mind around that, Harry found his mind drifting to Justin Finch-Fletchley… or rather his last name. A number of men in the House of Lords had hyphenated names, presumably indicating that they were descended from two important families. If he was the heir to a minimum of four… "Does that mean I'm going to become Harry Potter-Boscawen-Rashleigh-Tremayne?"

Illyria's lip curled in disgust. "Even if that is legally permissible, I would prefer you not. That would in turn make me Illyria Potter-Boscawen-Rashleigh-Tremayne, which is positively repugnant. No, you will remain Harry Potter and I will become… perhaps Illyria Rashleigh, if there are no better names hiding in your ancestry. If Luna's information is correct, the House of Rashleigh's holdings account for almost four percent of all the land in Cornwall. While substantially less than my former territory, it will suffice… for now. Additionally, the title of Lady Potter is a responsibility that I believe best suited for someone who has the desire to fulfill social obligations that are, quite frankly, beneath me."

"Illyria Rashleigh sounds… nice." Harry personally thought the surname in question sounded like something cruel children might nickname a girl with a skin condition, but he wasn't stupid enough to argue with… wait. A Lady Potter who was not in fact Illyria? Did that mean what he thought it meant? "…you'd let me marry another woman someday? Is that even legal?"

Illyria nodded as she waved her hand, dismissing the floating map she'd created. "To answer your questions, yes and somewhat. Only wizards who are the sole possible heir to multiple houses can have multiple wives, and then only if they can comfortably support said wives and any children that might come of those relationships. You meet both criteria; you could theoretically marry at least three other women based on what we know of your family tree." Three other wives? But… outside of Luna - who didn't really count because she was now a part of Illyria - Harry really only knew two other women, and thought of both of them as sisters. How on Earth was he supposed to… "Actually, it would please me to see such a thing come to pass. You are a very powerful individual, even disregarding those factors introduced by the one you are prophecy-bound to. Properly guided toward certain desirable individuals, you could potentially create magnificent offspring indeed. Magnificent offspring who could continue to serve me even after you no longer can."

While her decidedly eugenics-esque plans for his future were definite something he wanted to discuss, there was something even more important to Harry buried in her words: a second reference to a prophecy. Was she talking about 'the prophecy', as in the one he'd gone after tonight? Or was there another that involved him, that he knew nothing about? Before Harry could ask her for details, though, the fireplace flared green and Dumbledore stepped out into his office. "Harry. Illyria. Am I interrupting something?"

"No, of course not." Harry gave a mental nudge and Illyria slid off of him, rising to her feet and pulling Harry upright after her. "Illyria was just telling me that I'm prophecy-bound. Which I'm guessing has something to do with the prophecy the Death Eaters wanted tonight. Oh, and that Luna has been planning to become an Old One for years now and wanted me to become her Qwa'ha Xahn. But I think we can discuss that a bit later, after we have a nice long talk about the prophecy." Dumbledore's face was almost as pale as his hair. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you know something about it?"

Dumbledore ignored him, reaching forward and grabbing Harry's head between both hands. "It can't be. The prophecy… 'and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'… it's not possible." Releasing Harry, he stumbled away toward his desk and dropped into his chair, muttering over and over about the impossibility of something.

Oh yes, Dumbledore definitely knew something about it. Harry stalked forward, slamming his hands down on Dumbledore's desk. "What's going on? If there's a prophecy about me, I want to know! Voldemort knows, the Death Eaters knew, even Illyria knows more about this than I do! Tell me!"

"I do indeed know about the prophecy in question… or at least I did." Dumbledore continued to look shaken, staring at Harry in apprehension. "I thought I knew a great many things about the situation, but it would appear that I was wrong." Flicking his wand, he transfigured a piece of parchment into a mirror and offered it to Harry.

While the streak of bright blue in his jet black hair or the way his eyes had shifted from his mother's green to a shade of teal should have been what caught and kept his attention, there was something even more important that had changed since the last time Harry had looked at himself in the mirror.

His scar was gone.

June 18, 1996
Malfoy Manor
Amesbury, Wiltshire, England, United Kingdom

Closing the issue of Vogue that she'd just finished leafing through, Narcissa Malfoy stared at the woman on the cover for a moment before shaking her head in disgust. Perhaps it was time to rethink the use of her advertising budget, she mused, because it didn't really make sense to advertise her plus size clothing line in a magazine that was scaring her potential customers away using Kate Moss's unrealistic standards of beauty. Especially when it was running her thirty-two hundred galleons per page per issue. Then the nexus of the manor's wards reached out and informed her that a certain someone was apparating onto the property, and Narcissa smirked as she tucked her magazine away under one of the sofa's many pillows. This ought to be amusing.

Narcissa leaned back against the sofa, counting the seconds between each slammed door as her husband made his way through the house. My my, she mused, someone was certainly in a foul mood. Then the doors to the sitting room burst open as Lucius stalked in, his hair whipping wildly around his bruised face. Throwing himself down into a nearby armchair, he leaned his head back and groaned loudly as he let his cane drop to the floor. Silence reigned for a few seconds, and then Narcissa snickered. "Please tell me that the teenaged half-blood at least had some help kicking your arse tonight?"

"I'm glad to hear that you find your husband's pain so amusing." Straightening up in his chair, Lucius reached over and grabbed the bottle of Blishen's Firewhiskey sitting on the table next to him, shooting Narcissa a glare as he unscrewed the top. "At least I walked away from it. Potter's new pet killed your sister and both brothers-in-law tonight."

…Potter had a dragon? Or possibly a nundu? As much as she enjoyed mocking her husband and his 'associates', they were reasonably competent adult wizards. Her sister… well, Bellatrix had been weakened and her mind further addled by Azkaban, but any of the three Lestranges should have been more than a match for a fifth year wizard. Narcissa waited, watching as her husband poured some firewhiskey into a glass and began sipping it, only to sigh loudly when Lucius declined to provide any further information. "If you're waiting for me to start wailing and gnashing my teeth before declaring that I'll avenge my sister's death or some such, you're going to be sorely disappointed. Bellatrix was insane even before she went to Azkaban; I'm not surprised that someone finally put the rabid bitch down. If someone had killed Andy… well, that'd be another story entirely. Now, would you like to tell me what happened or should I turn in for the night and catch it in the Daily Prophet?"

Draining his glass, Lucius slammed it down onto the table beside him. "Potter managed to get my niece possessed by an Old One." Narcissa's jaw dropped; she could honestly admit she hadn't seen that plot twist coming. "I'm not sure how, to be honest, because she was still herself when I saw her in the Hall of Prophecy. But…" Grabbing the bottle of Blishen's, Lucius poured another glass and drained half of it in one go. "When the Dark Lord summoned me to the Atrium, Bellatrix was already dead. Decapitated. The Old One struck Rabastan so hard that he flew across all the way across the room. He died when he hit the wall, I think. Then she grabbed Rodolphus by the ankle and used him to club me before stepping on his head, crushing it. I waited until she was engaged with the Dark Lord and then fled."

"I… see." Narcissa stared at her husband contemplatively for almost a minute before coming to a decision and rising to her feet. "In that case, I believe it's time for us to go our separate ways." Lucius's eyes widened, but she just waved her hand and kept speaking. "Don't worry, the separation will be easy. I don't want anything from you; I've got a vault of my own and a small apartment near Diagon Alley that I can move into. I'm the one who bought Lulu in the first place, so I hope you won't object to her coming with me. You'll still have three elves to take care of the manor, after all. Once Draco returns home from Hogwarts, I'll come over for dinner and we can see how he feels about the separation; we should do our best to respect his wishes when it come to custody, I think. He'll be more accepting of it - and less resentful of us - that way."

"…what are you talking about, Narcissa?"

Taking two steps forward, Narcissa reached out and patted Lucius on the head condescendingly. "This was a marriage of convenience for both of us and, well, you're no longer convenient." Reaching down, she pressed her thumb against one of the bruises on his face, making him hiss in pain. "Potter… has an Old One, Lucius. An. Old. One. You've tied yourself to a Dark Lord who is incredibly, impossibly screwed. If you try and leave? He'll kill you. If you stay by his side? You'll be torn apart by… just out of curiosity, do you know who took over Lovegood's body?"

Lucius glared up at Narcissa, batting her hand away from his face before answering. "Illyria."

Try as she might, Narcissa couldn't manage to contain her slightly hysterical peals of laughter. "Oh. So you're not just facing an Old One, you're facing the God-King. I don't think there's an even remotely sophisticated way to say this so… you're fucked, Lucius. You, the Dark Lord, and everyone else who follows him. You're all fucked." Turning away, she took a few steps toward the door before pausing and twirling around to face her husband, gesturing at herself with both hands. "Me? I'm a Slytherin through and through, darling, and that means I know to get while the getting's good. So I'm getting. Give me an hour or so to pack all my things, and then I'll be out of your hair. Which could really use some help right now, you know. You're a mess." Turning her back on her husband once more, Narcissa resumed her trek toward the doorway… and freedom. "Oh, and don't owl me, I'll owl you."