(A/N: This chapter pretty much takes us off the Consequences map, timeline-wise... though it's still the basis for this story, not to mention well-written and fun, so don't quit reading it!)

Harry arched his back, stiff from bending too long over his trunk. He had nearly all his clothes packed, though, except the ones Mrs. Weasley had washed for him...

A knock sounded on his door.

"Come in!"

Sirius opened the door, arms full of folded clothing. "I believe this belongs to you, sir."

"Yeah, thanks." Harry took the clothes from his godfather and dumped them into his trunk, ruining the careful folding job.

"Harry," mock-scolded Sirius. "Molly spent a long time on that."

"They get wrinkled when you wear them anyway," argued Harry. "Or you can just wave your wand and take the wrinkles out..." He stopped. "Oops."

"It's all right," said Sirius with a smile that only looked a little forced. "You don't have to stop talking about magic around me, Harry. Hell, if you did that, we'd never have anything to talk about around here at all."

Harry nodded, looking at the floor. It is not all right. I'm so stupid. Open mouth, insert foot.

"I have some news, too." Harry heard the bed creak as Sirius sat on it. "We're going to have a full house out at the cottage. Aletha – Madam Freeman to you – and Meghan are coming along with you and me and Remus and Emmeline and Hermione."

Now Harry looked up. "Why?"

Sirius shrugged. "They're claiming it's for Meghan's sake, so she doesn't have to stay here with just her mother and a lot of other adults, but actually I think they want me to have a Healer around, just in case that curse had some kind of delayed effect."

"Is there even going to be room?"

"We'll manage. Hermione was going to be in the living room anyway, so we'll just add two more beds there for Aletha and Meghan."

"What about Emmeline?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Do you really have to ask?"

Oh. Harry felt himself flushing. Open mouth, insert other foot.

"But hey, you'll be back in your own bed tonight, right?"

"Yeah." Harry found a smile somewhere – it even felt real. No matter how crazy the world seemed to be, there was still some comfort in the idea of his own room, his own bed...

For one odd instant, two images danced before his eyes. One was his room at the cottage, the room he'd been so excited about as a six-year-old and still enjoyed coming home to, and the other...

Two twin beds, one under the double windows, one on a neighboring wall. A huge bookshelf, two chests of drawers, and a desk beside each bed, which doubled as a nightstand. The blankets on the beds looked handmade, like Mrs. Weasley's sweaters, and Gryffindor pennants and Quidditch posters covered the walls. The floor was almost totally concealed by a layer of clothing, books, parchments, and other random detritus.

Harry blinked and shook his head. That looked like a nice room, certainly, but it wasn't his. He'd never shared a bedroom with anyone, except his dorm at Hogwarts. His room at home was his and no one else's.

"Knock, knock," said Sirius, tapping lightly on Harry's skull. "Anyone home?"

"Cut that out." Harry slapped his godfather's hand away. "I was just thinking."

"Alert the Daily Prophet, somebody. Harry Potter was thinking."

"Shut up."

Ginny knocked on the open door. "Hi, Harry, hi, Sirius," she said. "I was just coming up to see if you needed any help, Harry. Plus, I brought these." She displayed three odd socks. "Mum found them in with Ron's. It looks like her sock-sorting spell isn't what it used to be."

"I'll be on my way, then," said Sirius, standing up and giving Harry a significant look. "That door stays open," he added, before walking through it.

"What was that about?" asked Ginny, frowning.

"I think he thinks I like you," said Harry, accepting the socks. "You know, like like you."

"You mean like boyfriend-girlfriend like?"

"Yeah. That kind." Harry turned away to put the socks in his trunk.

Ginny's voice was almost too low for him to hear. "Do you?"

Harry froze. "Do I what?" he asked carefully.

"You know. Like me."

"You mean, do I like like you?" Very slowly, Harry turned around.

Ginny was staring at the floor, the little of her face Harry could see turning a lovely shade of vermillion. "Yeah."

"Well... do you like me?"

Ginny's head jerked up. "No fair! I asked you first!"

"I asked you second."

"That's not how it works!"

"How does it work?"

"I asked you first, you have to answer first!"

"What if I want you to answer first?"

"I don't want to answer first!"

"Neither do I!"

"Fine, I'll answer first," snapped Ginny. "Ruddy coward. Yes."

"Yes, you like me?"

"Yes, I like you. Happy now?"

"Yes, actually." Harry felt a rather stupid grin appearing on his face. "Because I like you too."

"Well, that's nice for you..." Ginny trailed off as the meaning of his words sank in. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Neither of them was ever sure who stepped forward first.

Sirius was heading for his own bedroom to finish up his packing, but Meghan Freeman found him first. "Excuse me, Mr. Black, but there's someone down in the kitchen who wants to see you."

"Thanks, Meghan. And call me Sirius."

"Yes, sir."

Sirius descended the staircase quietly, so as not to set off his mother. She's a shy little thing. But pretty. Takes after her mum.

"I was summoned?" he said, pushing open the kitchen door.

"Sirius–" Naomi was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes rimmed with red, a bruise on one cheekbone. "Sirius, I swear I didn't know about this beforehand. I swear I didn't know what they were going to do, or I would have told you, I swear!"

"I believe you," said Sirius, holding up his hand. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, that. I fell down."

Aletha, examining one of Naomi's arms, nodded absently. "If you say so. What happened here?"

She pressed her finger gently to a spot, but Naomi pulled away with a gasp of pain anyway. "That's – nothing. I don't know how it happened. It's almost healed anyway."

Aletha appeared to be about to say something, but didn't. "I can give you something for those," she said, getting up and going to the cupboard. "If you can wait about an hour. Can you?"

"I think so." Naomi closed her eyes, collecting her thoughts. "Yes. I'm not expected back at all tonight."

Sirius joined Aletha at the pantry. "Did you see something there?" he asked.

"I'll tell you upstairs," said Aletha quietly. "Here, make yourself useful. Carry these." She handed him an armload of bottles and bundles. "We'll be back in a little while," she said to Naomi.

The room she led him to was one Sirius hadn't thought anyone was using, but a cauldron sat in the middle of the floor with a fire under it, and there were shelves all around with a few potion bottles sitting on them.

"Your Professor Snape sometimes brews here," said Aletha over her shoulder, answering his unspoken question, as she set down the things she'd carried herself. "I'm just borrowing his working space. This doesn't take more than an hour, and I'll clean up again at the end of it. Hand me the banana seeds, please?"

Sirius played ingredient-finder for a few minutes, amusing himself by trying to anticipate Aletha's next request. He'd never been interested in potions much before, but somehow it was different when the person bending over the cauldron was not Snivellus Snape, but an attractive woman who kept sneaking looks at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"You asked about Naomi," Aletha said when the first round of ingredients was in the cauldron, simmering together.

"Wha – oh. Right."

"She might genuinely have fallen down to get that bruise on her face. But no way of falling that I ever heard of puts bruises shaped like someone's fingers around your arms. And they were not almost healed. They were as fresh as the one on her face."

Sirius needed only an instant to put this together. "You think someone hurt her," he said. "Someone beat her up."

"More specific even than that. You wouldn't know if she's seeing anyone? I know she used to be with Mr. Lupin, but that's long since over..."

Sirius shook his head. "I don't think she's with anyone right now."

Aletha shrugged. "It could have been a one-time thing. But that's the way most women come by injuries like hers."

"From boyfriends?"

"Boyfriends or husbands."

"Is that why you're separated?"

No sooner had the words come out of Sirius' mouth than he wanted to take them back. Aletha stiffened as if someone had Petrified her.

Nice, muttered a voice at the back of his head. She's probably going to slap you. And if she doesn't, you're going to wish she had.

"No," said Aletha softly, but extremely intensely. "My husband never raised his hand to me in his life. Not that way." She suddenly grinned. "If he had, I would have hit him right back. I've played Beater in my day."

"Hey, me too! Back at Hogwarts, and sometimes in pick-up games nowadays... but we never had any girl Beaters when I was playing. It was always boys."

"I was the first in ten years when I played."

"Well, I hope I can play with you sometime."

Aletha's smile was distinctly naughty. "Do you, now?"

Get out now, advised the voice. She'll just twist anything else you say until your face gets so hot you think you're a phoenix.

"Er, Naomi's all by herself," said Sirius, looking at the door. "It's kind of rude to leave her that way. Excuse me?"

Aletha stirred the potion, still smiling. "Of course. See you in a while."

"Right. See you."

Sirius made his escape. Once outside the room, he tried to figure out if Aletha's attitude shook him up more than it turned him on, or vice versa.

Cut that out, now, said the voice sharply. She's married with a daughter. Find your own woman.

Sirius rolled his eyes. Great, now I have an inner chaperone...

He made his way back down to the basement, where Molly Weasley had made tea for herself and Naomi. It didn't take her long to add a third mug to the proceedings.

"It was Lucius Malfoy who set it up," said Naomi. "You know about Diggory, right? The Polyjuice wore off and all?"

Sirius nodded. "He's been under Imperius nearly a year."

"It was Malfoy's Imperius. But there's something odd, Sirius. That curse was not supposed to drain your magic."

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"Well, what was it supposed to do?"

Naomi took a gulp of tea. "They've found a curse that acts like the Dementor's Kiss," she said softly. "It was supposed to suck your soul out."

Molly rescued Sirius' mug just in time, as it fell from his suddenly nerveless hands. The voice in the back of his head swore softly.

"Mum!" Ron appeared on the stairs. "Mum, come quick! Hermione's ill!"

Molly left the kitchen at a run. Sirius remained where he was, willing himself to remain upright and calm. He could have the heebie-jeebies later.

"How do you know?" he asked Naomi when he thought he could trust his voice not to shake.

Naomi stared at the tabletop. "Don't ask me that. I just do. The Dark Lord doesn't. He thinks Malfoy meant to do just what he did. He's really pleased. But Malfoy's mad because his spell didn't work right..."

Suddenly, everything fell into place for Sirius. "And he took it out on you," he said. "He took it out on you, didn't he? That's how you get your information – you're..." He couldn't say it. "You're with Malfoy."

"Not because I want to be," said Naomi defiantly, looking up. "You think I like it? I'd rather be honestly tortured. At least then I wouldn't have to pretend I liked it, part of the time."

"Part of the time?"

He could barely hear her. "Sometimes he doesn't want me to enjoy it."

Sirius didn't quite know what to say to this, but luckily didn't have to try, as Albus Dumbledore chose this moment to make his appearance in the kitchen. "Naomi," he said, smiling at her.

"Professor." Naomi nodded to him.

"Sirius, would you excuse us?"

"Of course." Sirius got up and headed for the stairs.

Might as well go check on Hermione. Just to see if she's all right.

Sirius shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

The room with Hermione in it wasn't hard to find, with Harry, Ginny, and Ron hovering around the door looking worried. "What's wrong?" Sirius asked them.

"Dunno," said Ron absently, obviously listening for sound from within the room. "We were just talking, looking at a book, when all of a sudden she looked scared, and then started saying how she couldn't remember, she couldn't remember, and then she grabbed her head and started crying and saying it hurt..."

The door opened. Aletha emerged. "She's going to be fine," she said soothingly. Ginny released a loud sigh, Harry gave a shaky chuckle, and Ron leaned against the hallway wall, eyes closed. "This may well be related to her parents' deaths. Translating emotional pain into physical is not unheard of by any means. I've given her a mild pain reliever, and she's asleep now, but she ought to be awake by dinnertime."

Thank God.

Sirius blinked, surprised. Why was the voice in his head sounding so relieved that Hermione was going to be all right?

If this keeps up, maybe I should get my head examined. I won't be much good if my magic comes back but I'm a split personality or something...

Sorry, said the voice, sounding contrite. I'll be good.

Sirius decided that, in this case, a little willful ignorance might be a good thing.

A young man of about sixteen was strolling through the London Zoo that afternoon. He was conspicuous only because few people of his age visited the Zoo alone, and this was not enough to make him stand out for more than a moment. Those few people who did notice him assumed he was there to meet a girlfriend, and smiled reminiscently or shook their heads disapprovingly, according to their natures, before going about their business.

Certainly the young man was doing nothing unlawful. He hadn't sneaked in or tried to steal anything. He'd paid openly for the popcorn he was holding, and he was eating it himself, not throwing it to the animals.

No one noticed that he was occasionally sliding a kernel or two into the large backpack he was wearing.

This stuff is disgusting.

Fine. More for me.

That's not what I meant.

Draco Black shielded the part of his mind which was amused and slipped another few kernels of popcorn under the flap of the backpack. What did you mean, then?

It's... greasy.

What were you expecting?

I don't know. I've never been to one of these places.

Why am I not surprised?

Draco kept that thought to himself. Draco Malfoy didn't need to hear it, nor to know some of the more secret feelings Draco Black harbored for him.

He rolled his eyes as his mind took his thoughts and twisted them into things he'd never meant. I'm dirty-minded today, aren't I? Nothing like that. It's just that I don't think he'd take kindly to pity.

But pity was the main emotion Draco had felt once he had understood where Malfoy's life had taken him. The other boy had cunning, intelligence, even bravery, but all of them had been twisted and subjugated by something he called "sophistication" and Draco called "shameless propaganda".

But enough about him. Time to think about me. And more, about us, as in, the Pack.

Starting in the summer before his fourth year at Hogwarts, Danger had begun to teach him some of the tricks she'd learned over the years for manipulating dreams, after first warning him that if she saw any signs whatsoever that he was playing with anyone's dreams without their permission, she'd roast him from the inside out. Draco knew she wouldn't truly harm him – the Pack had kept to their long-ago promise, made to a small and frightened boy, that they would never hit him – but there were plenty of ways to make him sorry he'd misbehaved that wouldn't leave scars, physical or otherwise. He'd been good.

It was thanks to Danger's lessoning that Draco had been able to bring himself and Malfoy into a dream together, and to give Malfoy the ability to set his own dream afterwards. It had been very tempting to fiddle with it, to tweak things ever so slightly, but Draco had resisted, and was glad he had, since the dream had turned into a nightmare without the slightest help from him. It was even possible Malfoy was starting to see that joining the Death Eaters wouldn't be the smartest thing in the world to do.

It was also due to Danger's lessons that she'd been able to find him in his dreams, during the night just past. And she hadn't been alone.

Sitting down on a bench and taking the backpack off, he set it beside the popcorn box, opened the zip just far enough that Malfoy could get his little ferret head inside the greasy cardboard container, and shut his eyes to remember.

Draco amused himself first by creating a careful reproduction of his and Harry's bedroom at the Den, complete with the level of mess that only two almost-sixteen-year-old wizards could generate. Once he was satisfied that everything looked the way it should, he put on his favorite CD, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and lay down on his bed to listen.

Joseph had just refused the advances of Potiphar's wife when the music shut off. Draco rolled over to stare at the CD player. Was it broken? Things didn't just break without a reason in dreams.

Someone knocked on the door.

Draco's polite reflexes, plus his knowledge that nothing harmful could invade his dream, took over. "Come in!"

The door swung open. Moony stood in the hallway outside, looking in. "Nice work," he said. "You even replicated the smell."

Something Draco and Luna had often discussed was the inherent unfairness of things like emotions. They attacked boys and girls equally, from what Draco could discern, but girls were expected and allowed to let them show, the stronger the better. The only things it was acceptable for a boy to show strong emotion about were Quidditch, food, and his girlfriend. In olden days, there had been rituals to help show emotions in ways everyone could deal with, but most of those were gone now.

The Pack, founded during a time of heightened emotion and more aware of one another's feelings even than normal families, had created certain rituals of their own to help with this dilemma. Draco took advantage of one of these now, crossing the room to kneel at his Pack-father's feet and bowing his head. Moony laid his hand on the back of Draco's neck, the skin-to-skin contact sending alternating waves of warmth and chill down Draco's spine.

He was accepted. He belonged. He was Pack.

Moony took his hand away, then offered it to Draco to help him stand up. As he did, Draco realized with a slight shock that he was nearly as tall as Moony these days. "I'm glad to see you," he said, clearing off his desk chair by flicking his fingers. "Sit down?"

"You couldn't have created a clean version of your bedroom?" Moony stepped carefully from one island of carpet to the next.

"He probably doesn't remember what it looks like," said another voice from the door.

Mothers were an occasional exception to the rule about emotion, and there was no one here to see him anyway. Draco hugged Danger so tightly that she had to box his ears lightly to make him let her go. "I have to breathe, you know, fox," she scolded, reaching up to run her hand across his head.

"Hey, hey, watch it," protested Draco, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Harry doesn't mind when I do that."

"For Harry, it doesn't matter. His hair always looks like someone just did that to him. Mine shows it."

"It also shows when you spend hours combing it," put in Moony. "I'm beginning to think the mirror in your bathroom has your image permanently embedded in it."

"So I like to look nice. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. But there's a difference between liking to look nice and being vain."

"I am not vain!"

"Listen to us," said Danger, sitting down on Harry's bed. "We've been together all of fifteen seconds and we're already back to normal. Give us fifteen minutes and I bet we'd forget anything was wrong."

"And that we can't afford." Moony's tone had changed subtly. He was no longer the father, but the commander. "Report, please, Snow Fox."

The use of the formal phrase and his Animagus name told Draco this had just become an official matter. He straightened and began to describe his experiences, keeping the recital factual – this was not the time to go looking for sympathy. When he had finished, Moony and Danger filled him in with what they knew about the rest of the Pack that Hermione hadn't told him already.

Hermione herself arrived near the end of this report, looking frazzled. "It was harder to get away tonight," she reported, after she had hugged Moony gladly. "I think I'm starting to get assimilated. I'm forgetting things, and remembering ones out of her life instead of mine."

Getting Hermione a body of her own immediately went to top priority on their list of things to do. But how were they going to manage it? Danger and Moony, once they left here, would be in animal shape, safe from assimilation but unable to do anything in the human world. And Draco's original plan, of moving in with a fox and going his ways to find the Pack, wouldn't help Neenie any.

That was when a wicked thought occurred to him. Why should he be the one to move out of the human body?

"But can you manage it?" asked Moony when he described his plan. "Is Malfoy an Animagus?"

"No, but he's been a ferret before. Mad-Eye Moody turned him into one once. It wasn't for long, but it'll set a template."

"How are you going to get permission from the animal host?" asked Danger. "You can't communicate with something outside your own species when you're not in animal form."

"Dobby can do it for me. House-elves can talk to pet animals and vermin in the house. I don't think a ferret's too far from that."

"Some people keep ferrets for pets," added Hermione. "So you should be covered."

And I was, and it worked...

He looked down at his bag and unzipped it a little farther, not disturbing Malfoy, who was working his way deeper and deeper into the popcorn. The bag might look like a Muggle thing, but it had been magically expanded within, much like the Weasleys' car. Draco's Muggle and magical clothing, his bathroom kit, and his money, both varieties, fit inside with room to spare.

Good thing Gringotts keeps those forms around. For wizards or witches who had lost their keys, or couldn't be bothered to bring them, Gringotts Bank had magical forms for the withdrawal of money from vaults. If you wrote down the number of a vault you weren't entitled to draw money from, you would start to sneeze, and keep sneezing until you tore up the form or wrote the correct number. Owl Order forms were magically secure in the same fashion, to keep people from ordering things with someone else's gold.

Draco had been a little worried that his access to the Malfoy vault might have been revoked, and had a moment of panic when he couldn't recall the number, but the goblin on duty had supplied it to him when he'd asked, and his nose hadn't even itched when he'd inscribed the numbers on the form. Quickly he wrote out the amount he wanted – fifty Galleons, twenty in gold and thirty in Muggle money – and handed the form in.

Once that was done, he'd departed through the Leaky Cauldron and taken a bus to a shop where he'd bought himself a few changes of clothes, with Malfoy making snide comments from the backpack about Muggle clothing in general and the way it made him look in particular. Draco had been incredibly tempted to point out that the other boy was scorning his own body, but decided not to.

Then he'd headed for an animal shelter.

You're not leaving me here, had been the first thing out of Malfoy when he'd seen where they were. I've read about these places. They kill animals. You are NOT leaving me here!

You're right, I'm not. Will you please calm down?

You're not?

I'm not. In fact, I'm here for the opposite reason.

What?

To look into taking something away.

He had asked to see a calico cat, and the nice lady at the desk had brought one out for him. She was a pretty thing, a little ragged with living on the streets, but starting to fill out. He'd petted her, listened to her purr, asked about her health (no illnesses, up to date on her shots, and never had kittens), and decided she'd do. They were holding her at the shelter for him, until he came back later in the afternoon. He'd also had a look round, just in case, to see if they had any large black dogs at this shelter, and had spotted one who might fit the bill.

And after that, I came here... He checked his watch. And it's just about time.

He stood up and scooped Malfoy back into the bag, snickering as the ferret burped. Enjoying yourself?

Shut up.

Draco turned the popcorn box upside down and shook it. Nothing fell out. You owe me a pound, he said. That box was almost full.

You bought it with my money anyway.

Your family's money.

Whatever.

Draco made his way into the Zoo, looking for one particular exhibit. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty...

He stopped, suddenly feeling vaguely unsettled. Are you all right? he asked his passenger.

Fine. Why?

No reason. I just feel funny.

No surprise. You look funny too. Malfoy guffawed at his own humor. Draco rolled his eyes and continued on his way, the feeling diminishing, then vanishing altogether, and it wasn't long before he found the place he wanted.

Lions.

There were two or three females lying in the afternoon sun, but it was the male Draco was interested in. And the male who was interested in him, for that matter. The majestic creature got to his feet and sauntered down the exhibit, staring at Draco every step of the way.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lion," Draco said jauntily. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

Mr. Lion was now close enough that Draco could see his eyes. Instead of being cat-gold, they were the same clear blue that Draco's own had been rendered by the glamour charm he'd done before leaving Malfoy Manor.

"It'll be an even lovelier night. A nice night to go out for a walk, meet up with some old friends. I don't know about you, but I'm planning on heading out around eleven. And I might even stop by here first... but the Zoo's closed by then, isn't it? What a shame. I suppose I'll have to miss seeing you this evening, then."

The lion gave him a look which translated into "Show up or you're lunch."

Draco winked at him and turned away.

Now to find something to do for the rest of the day...

Do you like music?

Why?

Because I wondered if you wanted to take in a show or something. I can probably get tickets for a matinee at the half-price booth.

What kind of show?

A musical, most likely. Singing and dancing and an improbable story with a happy ending.

I don't mind music. I don't know much about it, though. I might have liked to learn...

Draco grinned to himself. Gotcha. Well, there's no better time to start than right now. I think I'll take you to Les Miserables.

That doesn't sound very happy. I thought you said they had happy endings.

They do. But the middles are usually pretty angst-filled.

Sounds like fun.

You have no idea.

Chatting surprisingly amiably, boy and ferret set off for the nearest Underground station.

(A/N: Geez, keeping everyone in is harder than I thought it would be... it's hard enough in my own world, when I only have my own characters to worry about... I'm glad this is going to be pretty short. This chapter may, possibly, mark the halfway point. It depends on how much farther I'm going to take one or two plot threads... but you'll understand when I get there.

This is the last daily update, though. On Monday, I have to start doing schoolwork. So please make it easier for me – review! Special hugs to anyone who can tell me some of the plot developments in Dealing with Danger from the clues in this story!)