Disclaimer: I only own the plot, the concept, any places and original characters you don't recognize, the aliases, and any articles/pieces of writing that the characters 'authored' in the course of this story.

Chapter Four: Bolero of Mars

Mars is bright, an eerie connotation that conflict is brewing just on the horizon, on the verge of being unleashed. It is hard to believe that such a small planet is such an influential force on us Earth-bound creatures. The chariots of war are coming, romancing the blood in us, the instinctive trait to fight that we were all born with. It is useless to deny this fact, no matter how civilized and cultured we consider ourselves. There are just some people that truly take in the fires of Mars into their blood, capturing the resplendent glory and overwhelming tragic sorrow of war and battle, and turning it into their unyielding strength.
And it is those individuals that do so who are the most dangerous people of them all.

(…in the London Mirror)
The Apathetic Concept: How Chivalry is More Than Just Figuratively Dead

This happens to me so many times a day that I found it to be far from funny, though as I'm now writing this, my dear friend Harrison Evans is now laughing at me. Well, he's a fault, too, so he better pay attention. I doubt that he will, he's writing out another article, but one could hope that some sense would somehow pound itself into his little head.

What I'm talking about is, of course, getting the door slammed in your face. It's obvious that the person in front of you knows that you are there – they might even be talking to you as your walking. However, they make no attempt to keep the door open for you. They let it fly back. Sure, it isn't a big deal in general. But it does show how the world has changed in so many ways as years pass us by, particular in the facets of what is polite and acceptable towards each other.

It is widely quoted that chivalry is dead. The once widely held code of honor, originating among the knights of the European Medieval Period, has seemed to vanish in the minds of the more current generations. In those long gone times, it was believed that manners and etiquette were a sign of intelligence, wealth, and worldliness. A sense of decorum was maintained in nearly all aspects of social interaction, particularly between men and women. A similar system, called bushido, was established in Japan in their Feudal Era among the samurai warrior class. These social mandates demanded that the individual be considerate of others, hold respect for elders and authority, a high treatment of women, and above all, a sense of duty.

Of course, times and people change. Gradually, the importance of decorum has decreased over the years, despite attempts to keep it alive, until it eventually has become even a rarity among the more noble and wealthier people in the world. To be put bluntly, it is seen as rather arrogant nowadays to show much consideration, such as excusing oneself or even saying please. Another striking aspect of today's lifestyle is how we apologize. For every little mistake that we make, we say "sorry". But it's come to the point where it is so natural to us that we don't even mean it anymore. The word comes out of our mouth before the actual consciousness of the error has even come to mind. It hardly is worth anything anymore.

It doesn't help that popular culture is a complete contrast to this way of thinking. How can anyone expect the youth of today to learn basic lessons of politeness from what they see and hear everyday. They are assaulted with images of men acting tough and getting into fights as well as having more than a dozen women on top of them wearing clothing that barely covers the bare essentials. Money is the thing that must be possessed so that they could have the best stereos and cars, etc., and it doesn't matter what they do to get it. Profanity is seen as something to be included in every sentence, degrading terms used to imply some sort of sense of camaraderie amongst each other. What kind of example are we giving them? It certainly isn't helping matters.

So what should you expect from society in the future? Not much by way of manners, I assure you. It seems that chivalry is, in fact, dead. Is there hope that in someway, there is hope to counteract this blatant descent towards complete apathy towards each other? Who can really say?

But I will say this, though. If anyone calls me anything besides "Miss Crawford" or "Helena", then don't be surprised if I lapse in my decorum as a lady to slap you across the face.

---Helena Crawford

Outside one of London's most well known and popular hotels was a large crowd, screaming and talking, the bright flashes of cameras flashing each and every which way. They lined up down both sides of the street, kept behind erected barriers. This did not hinder some people from trying to get over them though, but they were contained by those people who were next to them. After all, it wouldn't be fair. Above them, the hotel stood like a gilded palace among the more gothic and simpler buildings that surrounded it. The stone was lighter, with decorative arches and turrets, the windows large and elaborate. Flags hung from poles high above the ground level, the colors contrasting with the shadows from the luminous streetlights. The expensive cars and limousines drove up to the front of the extravagant building, valets rushing to open doors and to help those 'golden' people step out into the eye of their adoring public.

It was in one particular car, a dark blue Rolls-Royce, which one Harry Potter and one Hermione Granger were currently sitting in. The young man was looking out the window in what could be called surprised amusement. The other…was the very definition of nerves, to put it mildly. As their car turned the corner, the crowd became more restless, heads craning out to see who was the next to join this gathering.

"Harry," Hermione muttered, her voice tight with anxiety. "We are going to get in so much trouble for this. What if we're recognized? Look at them all out there!" She pointed to the groups of photographers that overwhelmed the older gentleman that had stepped out of the car in front of them. "Those people aren't going to miss a chance like this to capture the ever elusive Harrison Evans and Helena Crawford on film. And knowing how large this charity event is, the photos are going to be in nearly ever newspaper in the country. And let's not forget the Internet." The girl looked over to her friend/co-conspirator with a cocked eyebrow. "While they may not have magic like wizards and witches, they do have one major advantage: communication. This is going to get all over the place in mere minutes."

Harry nodded solemnly, glancing out the window with some concern. "I do realize we're taking a big risk by doing this, especially since I know for a fact that Professor Dumbledore reads the muggle newspapers as well. It was lucky enough that Keyes managed to smuggle us a portkey to Diagon Alley to get outfitted and let us use his car. But we do have help." He then smirked, taking of his sunglasses. She leaned in towards him, to see what he was doing. Harry pressed a small black crescent moon symbol that was engraved in the silver arm of the glasses. The green colored glass flickered for a moment before resuming its normal color. Harry placed them back on his nose, shrugging while smiling crookedly, noting how his friend at blinked before looking at him oddly.

"What did you do?" she asked. "You look…different, somehow." Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I see. The glasses have an enchantment on them to disguise you." Hermione reached into her small bag, lying abandoned on the seat. After rummaging into it for a few moments, she pulled out the slim case that held her own pair. Carefully taking the gold and red glasses out, she asked, "I assume these can do the same?" She examined the arm of her own pair, finding the mark quickly. Soon enough, the red lenses flickered in the same fashion as Harry's just had before she put them on. Before Harry's eyes, the Hermione became different before his eyes. That is, until it just faded to a slight red aura of light that surrounded the Hermione he knew.

Harry nodded, smiling that she caught on so quickly. Though it was to be expected from Hermione, after all. She was the smartest witch in his year for a reason. "Right. If anyone looks at as, they wouldn't recognize us as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, but completely different people. Though we won't see the difference if we look at each other through these."

"I'm still nervous about this, Harry," she replied, before she paused, twisting her expression slightly. "Harrison. I have to get used to that. Harrison. Not that it makes much difference, but someone might catch on. I'd rather be on the safe side since we aren't exactly protected by magical wards here."

He nodded, "You do have a point, Helena. We'll just have be extremely careful, that's all. And I doubt it will be as bad as you think it is." He stretched, watching their driver as they slowly made their way up the street. " We did do as much research as we possibly could considering the small amount of medical material about leukemia in the Hogwarts Library…as I was informed so many times…"

"Be quiet!" She sniffed in disdain, scowling at his grin. "I find it rather insulting on the school's part. Honestly, they should have this information available to us! Just because muggle diseases aren't as prevalent among wizards, doesn't mean that they should only have five outdated books on the subject! If it wasn't for that laptop, we'd be done for!"

He nodded in agreement, but was soon distracted as the car pulled to a complete stop. The driver gave them a significant look before the door was opened by a young (and very curious) valet. Already, in the shadows of the vehicle, he could see the blatant excitement emblazoned on each and every face outside. "Well, let's do this," he proclaimed with a sigh, sliding himself out of the car, stopping to help Hermione out.

The wild cheering hit him like a wave. And if it weren't for the sunglasses, he was sure that he would've been made blind by the flashing bulbs of cameras.

It was a crowning moment. For at this time, the two opinion writers, who were considered to be among the most influential people in England (and whose popularity was growing abroad as well), made their first public appearance. And though the public was expecting them to be somewhat different than what they appeared to be, they liked what they saw.

In the papers the next day and circulating the World Wide Web the next day were pictures of celebrities on the red carpet of that event, especially of two individuals. One was of a thin pale young man with messy dark hair streaked with green and sunglasses shielding his eyes, looking comfortable and confident, a scheming smirk on his face. He wore a dark coat over a simple white dress shirt and slacks. The other was of a mature looking young woman that wore her light brown hair up in a French braid and a pair of red sunglasses perched on her nose. She wore a knee-length dress in deep dark red that exuded class and completely suited her figure.

It was a pity to those poor muggle photographers. It didn't take long for some schmuck from the wizarding newspapers to grab one of the better photos and take the credit.

Thus, Harrison Evans and Helena Crawford were introduced to the world that eagerly was waiting to see its rising stars.

And the world liked what they read. And liked what they saw.

"To tell you the truth, I think we did pretty well."

"I hate to admit it, but you were right. And it was actually fun. Now we just have to see how everyone else reacts."

The pair walked into the Great Hall, bypassing the now usual crowd that surrounded Ron to sit down in the empty seats near Lavender and Parvati, that latter seeming to be enthralled in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. It wasn't soon after that Ron joined them, greeting them jovially before starting to eat, a couple of girls coming over to talk to him. Or as Harry preferred to call it – prattle. They tried a few times to engage him in conversation, but he just gave an indifferent nod to answer. Hermione was glaring daggers at the giggling airheads and if he could predict what would happen next from the steely glint in her eyes, Ron would be soon occupying a small box six feet under in a very small plot of land. And his gravestone would probably be engraved with some far from flattering epithet. He snorted into his pumpkin juice when Hermione pushed some awestruck Hufflepuff girl aside after the said girl's hands nearly smacked her face for the fifteenth time with her wild and excited hand movements.

"Look, Lav! Can you believe it? They got pictures from some charity thing in London…for some muggle disease or something." Parvati's voice interrupted, drawing his and Hermione's attention. The Indian girl leaned over to show the front page of the newspaper to her friend across from her.

"Why would I care about some–," Lavender began before stopping abruptly, her eyes widening and the fork laden with scrambled egg clattering onto her plate. "Who is that god of a man?!" Hermione rolled her eyes at the other girl's behavior, apparently used to it. They were probably talking about some of the celebrities at that event. After meeting them in person, he had to admit that it wasn't such a big deal or anything. Harry shrugged in return before spooning some of the warm porridge that the house elves had made to warm and wake up the students for the day. It was a gift sent from heaven in his opinion, considering that they had made it back to Hogwarts near four o'clock in the morning.

"That god," Parvati squealed, "is the Harrison Evans!"

Harry nearly choked on the porridge.

"That writer? Oh. My. GOD!"

"I KNOW! And guess what?!"

"What?" Lavender asked breathlessly.

"HE'S SINGLE!" eliciting two high-pitched screams of delight.

Shocked green eyes looked over at the two girls, who were gazing at the picture as if it was a priceless treasure. They can't be serious, he thought dazedly. But judging from the way they were practically worshipping the paper, he had to face the facts: that daymare, as he dubbed it, that he had in Knockturn Alley was coming true. Looking across from him, he saw Hermione struggling not to laugh. He gave her a questioning look, to which she just discreetly pointed at his face. Harry made a face back at her, not seeing the humor, causing her to bite her lip to hold back her peels of laughter. That Hufflepuff girl became curious at the small commotion that Lavender and Parvati were causing looked over and soon joined them in their apparent admiration.

It wasn't long before the group of girls was now surrounding the paper, girlish exclamations soon pervading the conversation. And then the word spread across the Great Hall – as gossip tended to do in schools – and papers were soon being torn open and even more girls were talking. To their credit, the boys of the Hogwarts population looked utterly confused or in some cases, like Ron (and Malfoy as well, judging from the pissed off look), jealous. Hermione tugging on the sleeve of his robes, motioning him to the exit, drew his attention. Feeling as if he were in a strange dream, he stood up and followed her out of the Hall.

This was completely and totally unexpected. He was a serious writer, with ambition and a purpose! And that purpose did not include being some kind of idol for teenage girls!

"Hermione? Exactly how many girls just pledged their undying love for me in there?"

"From what I could hear, about sixty. Though I heard quite a few sighs and saw many adoring eyes as well."

"Kill me now. I don't care how, just do it."

In the 'exciting' class that was Advanced NEWT Charms, Harry was not really paying attention to the lesson. Most of it was theory, torn out of a rather mind-numbing textbook written by a man who probably bored himself if Harry was to go by the picture. Edgar Blatts was slumped over in his tiny little picture, head leaning into the palm of his hand, his eyes completely unfocused and unkempt hair looking as though Edgar had been electrocuted. That was how many of the students, including himself and Flitwick, felt. Hermione alone looked somewhat – alive – but it was more because of the fact that she was writing her next article. And she was still making fun of him about the whole thing at breakfast.

He personally didn't want to keep thinking about that.

As for Harry himself, on top of the short lines of notes that he had written during the lesson, was another piece of parchment. It was folded and crinkled many times, largely because he kept it in his pocket most of the time. The tip of his quill tapped against the surface, its black feather brushing his chin as his thoughts and schemes whirled around at a rapid speed through his mind.

The deal between the two of them was simple. If Harry could think of a few people, preferably among those in the Advanced NEWTs, then she would consider it. They would discuss and then decide. If they could write, had an opinion, were willing, and could keep a secret, then they were a possibility. The choice to include more was still tentative. If one word got out, then it could all be over. Dumbledore would shut down on their literary careers, restricting them, and probably putting more focus on them. Or, he could 'ask' them to write in support of the Order, whereas Harrison Evans and Helena Crawford had been more or less neutral in their articles pertaining to the war raging through the wizarding world: blasting the Ministry, Order, and Voldemort equally.

And besides, he wasn't going to let someone manipulate him again. Nor was he going to help them manipulate the others either. The strings were going to be pulled by him now and that wasn't going to change.

As of yet, he had quite a few names, largely from outside of Gryffindor house. Though it was a confirmed fact that Hermione and himself were the only two with consistent Advanced classes (most had one or two, the rest just NEWT level), it was more of an equalizing measure. He wanted people who thought differently, with views that weren't exactly the same as his or Hermione's but individual, who underwent other kinds of influences. Ones that largely did not stand out too much or reveal too much of themselves would be a plus, but he was being flexible in this case. After a while, he had eliminated the Ravenclaw candidate to either Padma Patil or Lisa Turpin. He was leaning towards Lisa, a quiet girl who he didn't know much about other than an impressive treatise on the use of Transfiguration in the medical field. And Padma seemed to be constantly around Ron lately. Out of Hufflepuff, one Jason Connolly seemed to be the best. Most of the Hufflepuffs stuck together, but they didn't appear to include Connolly on this. It may possibly have to do with the fact that when that kid debated, he didn't give up on his view and defended his point with biting fact and passion. The argument between himself, Hermione, and Jason in Charms about the legal use of the dangers and benefits of anesthesia spells had lasted nearly all period.

The candidate from Slytherin…and that's where he encountered a very large problem. Harry bit his lip in dismay at the utter failure of it, though if one were to glance at him, he would look completely perplexed at the lesson. He was perplexed, he would admit that, but not about that subject. There were only three Slytherins in the Advanced NEWT classes. He didn't trust Sally-Anne Perks, a sneaky girl who seemed to always be stealing answers from those next to her. The same standard went to Gunther Moon, whose apparent crush on Susan Bones was just as apparently returned in disgust.

As for the last person, they did fit the structure. They demanded that their opinion be heard about everything and didn't seem to care about the fact that others might not share the same view. Granted, they could use a lot of improvement in defending their point, but there was promise. They could write adequately. They had few friends, as mindless followers hanging on your every word just to advance politically did not count in that category. Also, they had experience in the ways of the wizarding world and definitely was exposed to…different influences.

The problem was that said person was Draco Malfoy. And Harry Potter would never ask Malfoy to join him in this escapade. They hated each other and Malfoy's personality in general was absolutely repelling. It'd be a veritable suicide attempt. Key word there being 'attempt', as he couldn't imagine Malfoy pulling off a simple murder without botching it up in some way.

Well, if it ever came down to it (Merlin forbid), there was only one surefire solution. It was a solution that would probably be disapproved by Hermione, but would doubtlessly work flawlessly. And it would be something that the slimy Slytherin would understand quite well.

Blackmail. Pure and simple blackmail.

And though he wouldn't admit it out loud, the very idea itself on his own sounded fun. But that was a completely different thing altogether. He let out a soft sigh, a smirk forming on his face. Maybe he had spent just too much time in Voldemort's mind. The sadistic, evil megalomaniac was rubbing off on him.

Which was a wholly scary thing and that too was a completely different thing altogether.

(in Times Magazine)
Harrison Evans…Superstar?
The Unbelievable Becomes Reality

Hello. This article is about Harrison Evans. You may have heard of him lately, in the newspapers, on the news programs, on a couple of opinion websites, on debate and political shows, various late shows hosted by comedians, etc. You may have seen him on the cover of several magazines at a heavily featured charity event in London hosted by media mogul Clarence Morgan-Bates. Strangely, you also may have heard his name accompanied by sighs and maybe, if I may so utter, giggling. He's become a household name in most parts of Europe and even other parts of the world are beginning to know, and amazingly in most cases, respect him and his opinions.

Well, I can't really do anything about that, can I? And yes, you are now speaking (metaphorically, as literally you are in fact, reading) to Harrison Evans. Yes, the one that they are all talking about. Should you feel joy? An intense feeling of euphoria at the onset of reading a genuine article written by Harrison Evans to you, the fantastic and loyal readers?

Of course not, there are many more things to get excited over than little ole me. And it isn't like this is going to be the last article I'm going to write. Oh, I'm continuing, until either someone slips a straightjacket on me or the carpal tunnel will. I'm hoping for the former people, as carpal tunnel does sound quite painful. A nod of respect to all those that has had it or is experiencing it, we all feel your pain.

You don't know how weird this all is, actually. Or maybe you do, I don't know that. I'm just a teenager and I'm being spoken about with the same amount of reverence that the likes of such notables as the Prime Minister and United Nations ambassadors possess. If I were normal, I would probably be more worried about my grades at school and getting a hot girlfriend. Not that I'm not worrying about that, I assure you that I am a red-blooded teenage male. But who in their right mind would imagine that a lowly person such as I would achieve such fame? I certainly didn't. It's strange to have people know your name. And it's wildly different. Usually, I've just been known for getting into bizarre situations or into a couple of fights in the typical high-school rivalries. I haven't yet decided whether I like it or not, since I'm generally unused to this kind of attention. Most of the time, my praise fluctuates between small awe and condescension.

I've promised myself I would never let it go to my head. My ego maintains that I have the tenacity to tough it out and maintain being the strange and opinionated person I have been, whether it's about the state of the world security to social commentary to grapefruit. And you can trust my ego – as my pride wouldn't allow me to yield to defeat.

…That isn't comforting, is it? Well, I've tried. If I failed utterly…then I yield. Deal with it.

Thankfully, I get no special treatment around here at school. I try to keep it quiet. I've had some experience with fame at the local level – one tends to achieve notoriety when you and your friend crash the car of the dad of your said friend into a tree right on school property when unsuccessfully trying to sojourn to the facility itself. Needless to say, we were probably put in the history books (of the school), along with the incredible tirade my friend received when his mother found out. I can't imagine it here. The good news about all this is that I haven't gotten into trouble lately. I assure that this is an amazing feet. Rather than making my professors proud, they are instead wondering if I'm sick or something…or if I'm planning something. May my innocence be maintained?

My point is this: luck exists and apparently I have a lot of it. But that doesn't mean it lasts (I have experience in that department). Anyone can become well known if they tried. It doesn't have to be about writing, but other things that you can be good at.

Now that is out of the way, I have this to ask. For all those single people out there looking for a boyfriend, you should know these little tidbits. One, I am underage. The marriage proposals can wait until after I reach the legal limit. And two, please don't send large pictures of yourself naked on them. It's just common courtesy.

­---Harrison Evans

"Potter, stay after class," McGonagall said gently after class ended. Hermione gave him a wary look before continuing off behind him, tucking a certain folded piece of parchment into the pockets of her robes. Malfoy also gave him a distrustful look, though Harry doubted it was one out of concern for him. More likely out of curiosity, wanting to see exactly why he had been called up, if he had gotten into trouble and if he was going to be punished.

And that situation was doubtful, since he hadn't gotten into any trouble (if one discounted the usual Snape behavior, as that had become a rather normal routine for the Gryffindor). It was amazing in and of itself. Harry Potter had lasted a full two and a half weeks without even stepping a toe out of line.

Snape was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, arms raised in the air in ecstatic rapture, wearing a flowing white robe that was billowing in the wind. "It's a miracle!" he was proclaiming. "A Potter that hasn't gotten in trouble or attempted to get himself killed in over two weeks! I have become a believer!" He dropped to his knees, tears running down his cheeks in rivulets, announcing to the full population of Hogwarts, "There is a higher power! I will become a benevolent soul! No more shall I wear black and torment innocent children! My mission in life now is promote peace, happiness, and above all LOVE!"

Yeah. Right. Maybe something was wrong with him.

Ignoring his wild imaginings, however amusing they were, to standing in front of the stern Transfiguration professor's desk. He gave her an inquisitive glance; taking in the almost maternal look she gave him. She probably thought he was still sensitive about Sirius' death. Oh, he was still hurting from that. Considerably so. But he was healing, albeit slowly and in a very unconventional fashion. She paused, as if not knowing how to phrase what she wanted to tell him, before it became evident that she was going to just say it as it was. Which he considered a good thing. He couldn't imagine McGonagall making flowery small talk.

"The Headmaster would like to speak to you right now. You'll be excused from your next class."

Let the games begin.