Harry Potter and the Butcher of Hogsmeade

by Yagr of Nar

Harry's schooling gets derailed. Dumbledore's manipulations cause great dissatisfaction among his allies. Lucius Malfoy goes on trial. And Snape is forced to act as a babysitter.

12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Snape sat on a low stone wall next to a quaint country road. He had apparated all three people: himself, Remus and Harry - as well as their meagre luggage, and he was feeling very drained of energy. To Harry, their departure from the school had seemed especially exciting, since they had purposefully avoided the front entrance, leaving the building instead by a back way accessed through a long, secret corridor that branched off from the dungeons and travelled underground for quite some way. They had used an apparation point which was heavily overgrown, completely unmarked, and on the opposite side of the castle from the familiar one on the Hogsmeade path. Once the three of them had appeared next to the quaint roadway, Snape's shoulders had slumped and he had walked wordlessly to the low wall, where he sat as though exhausted. Harry watched the man, thinking how odd it was to see Snape sitting at all, especially when he was not maintaining a perfectly erect posture. Snape sat on the wall deflatedly, elbows on knees, barely able to hold his head up. "Mister Lupin," he called, "do you know this place?"

Remus was standing precisely in the center of the roadway, facing directly away from where Snape sat. "No, I can't say that I do," he admitted.

"Would it help if I pointed out that you are facing precisely the wrong way?" Snape said with some exasperation.

"Oh. Yes. Certainly, it would," Remus replied genially enough, and turned around... and continued to turn around until he was facing directly away from Snape once again. "No, sorry, don't recognize this in the least," he said lightly.

"Mister Lupin," Snape persisted. "Can you please turn to face me?"

"Right away," Remus replied easily. But when he turned to face the wall on which Snape sat, he had to cover his eyes with one hand, thumb pressing hard into one eye, index finger pressing hard into the other. He took long, slow, deep breaths, his shoulders hunching around his head protectively.

When Snape spoke then, his voice had a calming, soothing quality that Harry had never heard from the man. The sound was nearly hypnotic, and implied a great, deep patience. "Think, Lupin. This is merely the place where you are now. You stand here right now, offering no one any harm. Nothing from the past is here today. Just you. Standing here, right now, offering no one any harm. And this is merely the place where you are. You are not looking for anything. You are not pursuing anyone. You simply stand here, in this place where you are right now. Feel your feet on the ground. You are not pursuing anyone. Feel the air around you. You are not looking for anything. You are simply here. Right now. Think, Lupin." The soothing litany went on for some time as Remus struggled to gain control of himself. Harry, baffled at his own absentmindedness, kept expecting to see the Hogwarts castle around him. He would look around the open area, admire the pleasant surroundings, remember the excitement of escaping the castle before the Ministry could arrive, then focus on Snape or Remus for a moment and feel surprise at not being back in the castle again. The repeated effect was disorienting, and was making him rather seasick.

In a voice filled with pain, Remus said, "I do know what this place is."

"Then you know what magic is doing this to you," Snape intoned gently. "That charm is many years old, and has had no reason to exist for nearly that long. It is unravelling, losing its potency. That is how I was able to think of this place at all, and find its location after some effort. But you were close to the place and to the people, and to the events surrounding the charm. You are more affected than most. Which is wrong. You are their friend. You have their son. If anyone should be granted admission, it is you. Feel the ground beneath your feet. Feel the air surrounding you. This is just the place you are now. And you should be welcome. Think, Lupin."

For a long while, Remus stood trembling, listening to Snape. As the minutes passed, he seemed to relax. Then he began to weep. He staggered off of the road, but before he could reach the wall, he collapsed onto the grassy ground and cried in great, wracking sobs. Harry felt awful. Remus was clearly suffering, but there was nothing the boy could think of that might help. He stood there, feeling useless, and - after the weeping had continued for a while - starting to feel rather embarrassed, although there was no one around to watch.

As Remus began to gain control over his sobbing, his breath came in halting hitches. He tried to open his eyes, but he had not yet regained enough self control for that. His sobs resumed, and in a hopeless wail, he cried, "James! Lily.... James!"

Harry's jaw dropped. What had Snape said? 'You have their son?' He looked over the wall into the overgrown yard beyond, but couldn't seem to focus on it. He blinked and tried again. He could clearly see a tree, or a patch of grass, but when he tried to take in the entire scene, it wouldn't resolve, remaining a confusing blur. Could this be the place in which his parents had lived... and died?

Snape's sneer was back. "Oh, thank you, Lupin. While one of us remained ignorant, we retained a guide through some of the tatters of the old Fidelius. Now, he'll be more deeply affected than either of us, since he has been searching for this place - symbolically at least - since he was a baby." He watched Lupin struggling to gain control of himself for a while. "There is nothing to be done but to confront the conundrum directly, then. Can you stand?"

Remus pushed himself to hands and knees and shook his head. "I don't... I will be able to. Give me a moment." Several false starts later, the werewolf rose to his feet and stared hopelessly across the low wall. "I can't see it," he said wonderingly. "There's a blur where something should be, but..." he trailed off, gazing blankly at the yard only a few feet away from his eyes.

"Try focusing on one thing," Harry said quietly, walking to the man's side. "Pick out a tree or something. It gets easier."

Seeing Harry standing there solemnly, offering him advice, seemed to make Remus feel a lot better. "I'll try that," he said, but first he looked back at the roadway behind them. "There's not much traffic out here, is there?"

"I don't know who cast your Fidelius charm," Snape said with quiet respect, "but it was monstrously effective. Development has ignored this entire area. People take other routes to avoid this road. No one lives out this way. It is the place that time forgot."

"The plants didn't forget to grow," Remus said, sounding much more cheerful. "It's a jungle in there. Is there a way in?"

Snape pointed at the wall. Less than ten feet away, there was a small gate.

"Oh. Right," Remus replied, face flushing. "Not such a good start, is it? I hope I don't break my nose walking into the house I fail to notice."

"Walk slowly," Snape warned. "That result is more likely than you may believe."

The walk to the house was extremely weird for Harry. He felt that he should recognize this place, felt somehow that he should know it, should remember the pivotal event of his young life. But he could not recall anything about his life here. Nevertheless, the charm that had protected this place by directing people's attention elsewhere was exercising its full effect upon him. He was, effectively, blind. The surrounding vegetation was a blur. He tried closing his eyes, but he was still disoriented, not sure whether he had turned or gone straight, or how many steps he had taken. "Professor!" he shouted, "How Did Hagrid Get Me Out Of Here!?"

"No need to shout, boy, I'm right next to you," Snape replied quietly. "But you do ask a good question. Hagrid is a half-giant. I presume that his nature protects him from some of the effects, but it is a mystery."

"And my Mom and Dad!" Harry said, still too loud for the potions professor's comfort. "How did they get their bodies out?"

"Lupin!" Snape demanded. "Was there ever a funeral for James and Lily?"

Remus scowled. Being in this yard had made it difficult to concentrate on anything. "There were services, of course. The person who should most have been there couldn't be, since he was being accused of causing their deaths, but..."

"You know what I'm asking, Wolf," Snape snarled. "Were there caskets? Did you see the bodies?"

"Caskets... yes," Remus mumbled, fighting to concentrate. "But bodies? No. The caskets were closed. Someone's request. We never saw... never saw them."

"Remus!" Harry shouted. "Are they still in there?"

"Doesn't make sense," Remus said shaking his head, trying to clear it. "There was a murder investigation. They would have needed... them. The victims, that is..."

"No." Snape stated coldly. "There was a betrayal investigation. Everyone knew that the Potters had been murdered. Everyone knew who did it. There was only the question of who had revealed their location to the murderer. So there was an investigation into their betrayal. Never into their murder. So far as we know..."

"Mom! Dad!" Harry screamed and dashed deeper into the yard, searching for the home in which his parents had been killed, and in which their bodies might still lie. There was a sudden, blinding pain in his forehead. Harry had the time to think, 'Voldemort got me after all,' and then there was nothing.

Harry awoke in a wide, soft bed. There was some kind of wrapping on his head, like a bandage, so he assumed he was in the hospital wing. How had he injured himself? Quiddich? No, that didn't seem right. He smiled as he saw Professor Snape walk into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming liquid. Had Snape brought him soup? How unlikely... and how nice.

The potions professor sat on a stool at the side of Harry's bed and reached out to loosen the bandage around the boy's forehead. He drew a hot cloth out of the bowl he had brought and began gently washing the scrapes on Harry's face.

"Hi, Professor," Harry said weakly.

Snape scowled back at him. "Your remarkable luck holds, Potter. You attempted to decapitate yourself. Instead, you suffered some scrapes. These will hurt, but if they are properly cleaned, they will not fester. You may not even have any more facial scars." He applied the hot washcloth to Harry's face. It did hurt. "That was very stupid. Running blind into an area that had already produced confusion and disorientation..." He sighed. "You know what you did. Remember that it was stupid, and please don't ever do anything like it again."

Harry lay back and allowed the professor to clean his wounds. "What did I hit?"

"There were so many potential obstacles that it is amazing you got as far as you did. You found the house for us, actually. You ran directly into the front porch."

"Oh," Harry said in a tiny voice. Then concern for his friends overcame his embarrassment. "How are you... and Remus... um... doing? I mean..."

"The longer we stay here, the more able we are to function. You lost a lot of time lying here, but so long as you take it very slowly, and move carefully once you get up, I'm sure you'll be able to treat this place as a normal home very soon. And you should be able to treat it so - it is, actually, your house."

"Mine..." Harry looked around the bedroom. While what he could see did not suggest the opulence of a Malfoy Manor, when compared to the Dursley's home, it was luxurious. The room was large, with wooden paneling covering half of each wall. The windows were wide and showed a broad expanse of very ill-tended yard basking in the late-afternoon sun. "How long have I been here?"

"Several hours. I debated taking you back to Hogwarts for medical attention, but after a rather frightening bit immediately after your injury, you seemed to be sleeping normally. If you had stayed asleep much longer, I would have taken you, anyway."

"Glad you didn't," Harry said, trying to sit up. A heavy throbbing in his head forced him back down immediately.

"I told you your headlong rush was stupid," Snape scolded. "Had you been playing quiddich, your assault on the porch would doubtless have been called a foul."

Harry lay back until the worst of the pain went away. "Professor, please tell me. Were my parents...?"

"We found no bodies. I believe that the closed-casket funeral ceremony Lupin recalls was held that way because there was no immediate family in attendance, rather than due to any more sinister reasons."

"But this is where it happened. Voldemort... and my parents, I mean."

"Yes. A secluded place known as Godric's Hollow. Once a part of an immense estate - as was most of the land in England at one time. This small piece was not set aside for growing crops or raising livestock, however. It was meant, I believe, to be gradually developed with houses much like this one. Your parents took advantage of this house being the first to be built here to establish their secluded hideaway. There were other settlers here at one time, as well. Officially, Godric's Hollow is considered a 'Hamlet,' so there must have been enough residents living here at some time to have made them worth counting. Then, someone cast an unbelievably powerful Fidelius charm, and the world forgot this place ever existed."

"Does everyone have... uh... the kind of reactions we had? Confusion... blindness... feelings of dread?"

"Everyone suffers something, I would guess," Snape said distractedly, inspecting the cuts on Harry's face once again. "But most people would not notice it happening to them because they would simply turn away and ignore this place. I shudder to think of how the erstwhile residents of the area reacted. They may have simply forgotten that they had homes here. I would hope that they were able to wander away safely and continue their lives elsewhere. By contrast, the three of us approached this particular dwelling directly, with deliberate intent to come onto the property. And since we all had some history with the people who were originally intended to be the beneficiaries of the Fidelius' protection, we all suffered more visceral symptoms than most people would. Or so I believe. I am not about to test the hypothesis by inviting guests."

"Then... what will we do?"

"You will read, I will attempt to gain some intelligence regarding our enemies' movements, Lupin will do... whatever he can, I suppose. What is important now is that you're in a safe place, where no one is likely to think of looking. If anyone does look, and manages to find this place, I can only hope they take the same approach to entering the grounds as you did. It will make deciding what to do with an interloper much easier if we are allowed to contemplate them as they lay unconscious for several hours. Now, rest."

Snape collected his washcloth and bowl and left Harry lying there, wishing the ache in his head would go away.

--- --- ---

Days passed quickly at Hogwarts following Harry's departure. Dumbledore found Snape's note, informing him of the potions professor's departure to "search for ingredients," and the fact that he was taking Remus Lupin and Harry Potter along with him. The Headmaster understood the reason for Snape's swift departure, but strongly disagreed with his decision to take the others along. Albus had fully intended for Potter to remain at Hogwarts through the summer, through the next term, and through whatever time was necessary until Voldemort could be defeated. He hoped that Snape realized what a tremendous amount of power resided in that one small boy. Underestimating his potential could lead to disaster.

Dumbledore also met with several inspection teams from the Ministry of Magic. He was invariably courteous, but somehow, none of the teams left with what they had come for.

On Thursday morning, a group of aurors called on the Headmaster at the castle. They did not have to search for the man, or solve the puzzle of Dumbledore's office password, since they found him waiting for them at the front door. The team's leader, Bjorst Binner, approached the Headmaster and introduced himself and his team. He then consulted his clipboard and began asking after those people he most wanted to see.

"We would especially like to speak with one of your employees, Headmaster. A new hire, I believe. His name is Aaron Sepal."

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. "Well... I can certainly show you his Department. Herbology, that is... greenhouses and the like. All out of doors... except for the portion contained within the confines of the greenhouses themselves, of course. Would you care to have a look at them?"

Auror Binner was too sharp to miss the re-direction that the Headmaster had introduced. "I would like to speak with Mister... or is it Professor? Sepal, please."

"Oh, yes. Professor, it is," Dumbledore beamed. "He will be teaching come the beginning of next term. His assistant is here. In the Department... helping out for summer."

"And this assistant is?"

"A student. Sixth year come the beginning of the term, and quite gifted in the field of Herbology. Hogwarts has one of the finest collections of plants in the entire world. It is really something to see. And our summer assistant... Mister Longbottom... is quite the effective guide to our plants."

Binner scowled as he checked something on his clipboard. "I had thought that Mister - Potter - was your summer help for your garden work."

"Oh. Yes. Well... that was earlier. Now, we have engaged Mister Longbottom. Would you care to see what he is doing?"

"I would care," Binner repeated icily, "to interview Mis... that is, Professor Sepal. Please."

"Oh. I see," Dumbledore said and stared back at the auror with a watery gaze. After a long moment of silence, he concluded, "But Professor Sepal is not on campus, you understand."

"No, I do not understand. I came here specifically to see him. I had understood that he would be on campus, especially since he is so new to the staff and must have much to do in order to get ready for next term."

"Ah," Dumbledore with a sage nod of understanding. "But you see... teachers do not necessarily have to be on campus in order to prepare their... lesson plans and such."

"Right," Binner said acidly, his mouth set in a hard line. "Will Professor Sepal be back on campus today?"

"I can't really say," Dumbledore replied easily. "I'm not sure what his plans are... until next term, of course." He smiled at Binner, oblivious to the auror's growing impatience. "You are a young man, Mister Binner. And I have been in service at Hogwarts for a very long time. I would have thought I would remember you from your years of schooling, but... perhaps I am becoming too old to recall everyone... I cannot seem to place you."

"I took my instruction at Durmstrang." Binner's voice, which had been delivering the most flatly unaccented English Dumbledore had ever heard, changed dramatically as he pronounced the name of his old school. The strong Germanic accent could not have been imitated in such an effortlessly natural manner, even by an experienced actor.

"That is no doubt why you were chosen for this particular investigation," Dumbledore said. "No... prejudices to interfere with your... ah... clear observation. Excellent choice."

"Or, my name happened to be next on the duty roster," Binner countered, his English once again studiously free from regional influences. "Which I believe is more likely. The Aurors are constantly busy, Headmaster. We have little time to shuffle officers around to gain doubtful advantages such as the one you suggest. So. I cannot count on meeting Professor Sepal today. But if I am here for a little longer, I improve my chances of encountering him on his possible return to the school, is that right?"

"Quite right," Dumbledore looked delighted, as though Binner had properly answered a question in class. "Can I offer you a place to wait?"

"No, thank you," Binner demurred sourly. "It would be more productive if I could speak with some other members of your staff. We are still awaiting replies to a number of our owls, Headmaster, and the messages our owls carried were quite emphatic in their request for an immediate reply. Your deputy, Assistant Headmistress... ahh..." He searched his clipboard for a name. "McGonagall,. May I speak with her?"

"Certainly. She is in Egypt, I believe."

"Which is it, Professor?" Binner snapped. "Can I speak with her or is she in Egypt?"

"I'm sure she would be very willing to speak with you, Mister Binner, if you could simply go to where she is now. I believe that currently, she is travelling in Egypt. On the beach."

"The beach." Binner was plainly disgusted, now.

"The beach... various beaches, really, all around the world... are very popular with our staff during their free time," Dumbledore explained, clearly emphasizing the phrase 'free time.' "During the term, our staff is very busy at all times, and no one has much chance to get out of doors. And... as you know... in winter, here... it snows. No, the beach calls strongly to those of our staff who are able to take vacations."

"So your deputy is in Egypt. What about the staff member with the longest service record?" Another check of the clipboard. "Professor Binns."

"Professor Binns has been... deceased... for some time. He always shows up for classes. And he is a truly tireless lecturer. But, when classes are not in session... ah.... neither... is he. And, as he is a ghost, when he is not here, he could be... anywhere."

"Right," Binner snorted. "No Deputy, No Binns. Flitwick?"

"South of France, I believe."

"Beach?"

"Yes... I think so."

"Trelawney?"

"Spain, if she is following the itinerary she mentioned to me."

"Beach?"

"Oh, almost certainly."

"Hagrid?"

"He is here."

"Beach?"

"No, Mister Binner. Here. On campus. Near the paddocks in which some of our magical creatures are kept. You may speak with Mister Hagrid. I am sure he would be glad to see you. Allow me to show you the way."

Binner was so startled at finding a staff member present, he said nothing until Dumbledore had walked completely past him and halfway down the stairs. "Wait!" he called. Dumbledore turned slowly. "Before we go out to pasture, I would like to speak with another staff member first. Where is Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore looked at Binner as though the auror were a small boy who had been caught stealing cookies. "I believe that Professor Snape has already communicated with your office regarding his expected movements during the weeks remaining before term begins. He is searching for potion ingredients. I believe he is in Brazil right now, though I could be mistaken."

"Brazil. On the beach?" Binner said sarcastically.

"Oh, no," Dumbledore said with convincing sincerity. "I believe his first stop was to be with the Amazonian Headhunters. Unless he was planning on making some of his more dangerous searches first."

"Very cute," Binner spat. "Listen, Headmaster, you can't protect everyone forever."

"Nor do I need to, young man," Dumbledore said crisply, eyes boring sharply into the auror's own. "Your vaguely threatening hints are unprofessional in the extreme."

"Are they?" Binner countered, matching the Headmaster's glare. "Then let me make them a lot less vague. You have two employees here who are collaborators with He Who Must Not Be Named. We are going to expose them, try them, convict them and send them to Azkaban."

Binner's fierce stare faltered when Dumbledore smiled gently. "Not only unprofessional, but immature and ultimately futile," the Headmaster said quietly. "Rather than representing the ideals of proper investigation and impartial service to your country, you have declared a vendetta against two individuals - based on no evidence whatsoever. And foolishly, you spoke out within the hearing of your colleagues who accompany you. They will be my witnesses. You know that Severus Snape has been fully pardoned. And all you seem to know about Aaron Sepal is what you read in the newspapers. I will be speaking to Mister Baskerville today. I am sure that the next time an assignment involving Hogwarts comes up, your name will... not... be next on the duty roster."

"What?" Binner demanded, outraged. "I tell you the God's honest truth and you offer to call the Captain? Talk about weak threats! I am here specifically to capture a pair of Death Eaters..."

"Enough!"

Later, talking about it amongst themselves, the aurors in Binner's group all agreed that for an instant, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had seemed to tower above them, blocking out the sun and making the ground itself shake as thunder voiced his single word of command. But in the next instant, as the white haired old man stood before them, normal sized and quiet, he was even more frightening. He had refused to allow Auror Binner to stay on campus. He had welcomed the rest of them to continue whatever they had intended to do, but Binner was no longer welcome. He had made this insistence stick, somehow. Later, Binner would claim that it was simply because the two targets were not available, but the rest of the group wasn't so sure. In any case, Binner had ordered his entire inspection team to follow him off campus and back to headquarters to file a report. When the group had arrived at headquarters, Auror Binner was called away, and the rest of the team was left to file their report without him.

There were other inspection teams sent to Hogwarts in the following weeks. But Bjorst Binner was never included in any of them.

--- --- ---

The summer seemed fleeting in France, as well. Draco never lost the feeling that his free time was being wasted while he remained stuck at home without even a floo connection to provide minimal social contact. But Narcissa's fury could not last long. As angry as she had been with her son - and as thoughtless as she had believed his actions to be - she soon found herself ready to trust him with some freedom once again.

Narcissa had tried her best to provide a safe haven for her child, protected from the vengeful Ministry, the demanding Death Eaters, his father's many enemies, and even that intolerably nosy school Headmaster. (Dumbledore was supposed to be immensely powerful, and many members of Lucius' Organization were in awe of him, but Narcissa suspected that his real strength lay in his tenacious prying into everyone else's business, even as he had tried to spy on her, once Lucius was in jail.) But keeping a boy safe and keeping him happy were sometimes two mutually exclusive goals. What she had accomplished over this summer was to nearly drive her son insane, making him feel as imprisoned as his father was. It was a situation that couldn't last, and after Draco had been grounded for long enough to realize that stupid actions could indeed bring serious consequences - even for him - Narcissa decided to let him out of the house under his own supervision.

At first, Draco was allowed only a few hours outside at a time. Narcissa had to congratulate her boy on ingenuity - he found a way to travel to Paris on a very limited budget. She, personally would not have wanted to take the 'bus' into which so many muggles could be crammed at one time. But if Draco could stand it, then more power to him. He still had no money to shop, which was difficult for him. But that was going to be a constant fact of his life until he could find a way to earn a new fortune to replace the one the Ministry had robbed his family of. So Narcissa let Draco go to Paris, speak French with the locals and hang around the sophisticated places he could not afford to patronize. He felt better, he returned home after each trip by the time Narcissa had designated as his curfew, and in so doing, he made great progress in regaining her trust.

The first real test of their new understanding came when Draco pointed out an advertisement to his mother. A comedy troupe of British wizards, known as the Fudgesicles, were coming to perform in Paris. Narcissa found the group's efforts sophomoric - Fudge satirized himself, the comedians hardly needed to stretch very far to find humor in what the Minister did - but she also knew that the sheer silliness of many of the Fudgesicles' routines had won them a wide following among young people throughout Europe. The Paris concert would doubtless be filled with people Draco's age, gathered to laugh and have a good time. She could hardly say no. Draco would need to leave early in the day to catch public transportation to the show, and there would be no convenient late bus returning on a direct route. Unless she wanted to allow him to fly his broomstick to Paris, she wouldn't see him until early the next morning. She did consider allowing Draco to fly, but she finally had to insist that her son leave his broomstick at home. She had heard dire tales of dealings with French bureaucracy, and she really didn't want to have to respond to a complaint by the Gallic equivalent of the Ministry's Misuse of Magic Department.

With a fatalistic shrug, Draco accepted the restriction, and on the morning before the Fudgesicles' show, he left home wearing muggle clothing, waving goodbye to his mother and walking toward the bus stop. As soon as he was out of sight of the house, he began sprinting toward a different stop altogether. If he concentrated, and put out the effort to catch the earliest bus to the Chunnel, he could be in Diagon Alley before the morning was out, and back home before his mother noticed he was late.

It took several more francs than he had estimated, and a connecting ride on the Knight Bus, but Draco met his goal, striding triumphantly onto Diagon Alley just before noon. He made his way directly to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, shoved the door open wide and strode purposefully into the shop.

There, out on the floor with strands of licorice in their hands, stood the twins. From what Snape had told him - while the Professor was betraying his adventure to Narcissa - Draco knew that he would have only a short time before Dumbledore's detection devices began to register his presence in London. But he also knew that - since he was going to offer to do the twins a favor in return for a clue as to what was going on between them, Snape, Lupin and Potter - they would be eager to accommodate him. Their warehouse was the perfect place to stay safe from being detected and to negotiate business. He checked the counter. Yes, the obstinate bitch that tended the shop for the twins was on duty. Perfect. He walked to within inches of the twins and with quiet intensity demanded, "Hide me."

"What?" both twins replied in near unison.

"Hide. Me." Draco demanded fiercely.

George looked at Fred, a slow smile spreading across his face. Fred returned the look and the grin. "If you insist," Fred said as both twins sharply flicked the strands of licorice they held. The candies immediately extended themselves to many times their original length.

WhhhhhickAP! ShhhhhhckUP! The licorice cut through the air, snapping hard against Draco's sides.

"Ow!" Malfoy shouted. "What in bleeding Hell are you doing?"

"As you requested," Fred explained genially.

"You're doing us a favor," George said with apparent gratitude.

"Allowing us to demonstrate our new Test Product."

"Weasley's Whips!"

"The Licorice that Licks You!"

SwwwwwwwwIP! HisssssssssAK! The licorice flew once again, giving Draco two more sharp snaps.

"Stop That!" Malfoy demanded.

"Oh, don't be like that, Draco," Fred pleaded mournfully.

"That's only four swats," George whined. "A good hiding takes at least a hundred."

"I don't need a good hiding!" Draco snarled furiously. "I have come for sanctuary. Asylum. Protection. Not to be beaten with candy ropes!"

"Licorice Whips," Fred corrected. "And I thought you knew what you were asking for when you came in here."

"We were holding the Whips when you asked to be hided," George said, nose in the air, clearly offended by Draco's unsportsmanlike attitude.

"What do you think, by the way?" Fred asked eagerly. "We could have 'em out by New Year's Eve."

"I think they're ridiculous!" Draco sputtered. "Who are they meant to appeal to, the joker with the sadistic sweet tooth?"

George sighed heavily. "That's what everyone has said."

"Not everyone," Fred argued. "I said they're too expensive."

"They've got to be expensive!" George yelled back. "We have to put all that candy in when we make them! It's hiding all that material so that the whip looks like a little tiny treat that's so clever!"

"No one wants that much licorice all at one time," Fred said soothingly.

"Someone does," George grumbled. "And this is the most portable package it could be put in."

"Fred? George? I need to get out of the sight of the scrying devices of the world. Now." The twins turned to see Draco tapping his foot in impatience, a frustrated scowl on his face.

"Have you committed a crime?" Fred wondered, rubbing his hands in eager anticipation of a good story.

"No," Draco said with obvious irritation. "I am trying to stay out of the direct view of..." he glanced around the shop. The counter person was still the only other occupant. "A.D.," he finished ominously.

"Good lord," George exclaimed, hand over his heart. "Draco Malfoy is hiding from the entire Common Era."

"There have been an awful lot of Annos since the advent of our Domini," Fred announced in carnival barker style. "Which ones are giving you trouble? Is it the Vikings of the eight hundreds?"

"The Romans!" George suggested. "It's always the Romans."

"The witch hunters of the twelve hundreds?"

"Or the witch hunters of the Thirteens? They were even worse!"

Draco stared at the pair in genuine bafflement. "What?"

"Anno Domini?" Fred prompted.

"Year of our Lord?" George added helpfully.

"You're both mental," Draco said in disgust. "The bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts has a set of Scrye Bars set to sound the alarm whenever I venture out in public. I was on the Knight Bus just now, and I had hoped that the Bus would confuse the things..."

"The Bus would confuse just about anything," George said with genuine sympathy.

"Or anyone... especially its riders," Fred reminded him helpfully.

"Well, I'm not ON the Bus now, am I?" Draco sneered. "I need to get somewhere safe... or get out of here altogether. Quickly."

"Office?" Fred asked.

"Warehouse," Draco insisted.

"Right," George nodded, stepping forward and putting his arms around Draco.

"Hold down the store for us, will you, Charlotte?" Fred called to the girl at the counter.

"Always have done," she replied cheerfully. "You two are hopeless at it."

With a raucous bang, the three young men disappeared.

--- --- ---

As Draco Malfoy and the Weasley twins appeared within the shadowy confines of the twins' warehouse, they all took a step back from one another and spent a moment straightening their clothes and generally getting their composure back. Apparation, no matter how often or how routinely it was performed, always brought a slight sense of unease to the traveller, and many habitual apparators were in the habit of checking to see that all of their limbs were still in place once their journey was finished. And for many young men, the close, tightly-held embrace that was necessary for apparating with another person was a cause for self-consciousness and embarrassment. Once the required checking and straightening was done, the twins turned to their guest with expectant grins.

"We've done our part."

"You're hidden. And well."

"In our warehouse, as you asked."

"We apparated you.

"Now it's your part."

"Tell us please -"

"Why did we do it?"

Malfoy smirked back at the pair. "You did it for the best of reasons: enlightened self-interest. You know perfectly well that the only reason I would come back here is if I were willing to do you a favor in order to gain a new piece of information in our little game regarding what's going on between you and a number of very unlikely co-conspirators. And I know that the only reason that you would make a condition under which I had to do you a favor is that you think I can do something for you that you want done. So. I want to know more, you want me to do something in return. I come here, agree to the deal and we both profit. Right?"

Fred gave George a look of pleased surprise. "Damn. He's good."

George nodded back like a haggling merchant getting close to an acceptable deal. "He has the explanation spot on, that's certain."

They both spun on their heels to face Draco. "How did you know our warehouse would be safe for you?"

Draco returned their probing stares with a smug look. "I figured it out. From observation, and from what Snape said." As the twins displayed their confusion, Draco became more insistent. "Yes, I did see him after I was here with you, but he had no idea how much he was giving away.

The twins studied Draco appreciatively. "Figured it out."

"And with so little to go on."

"Except what I had said when I brought him here the first time."

"You weren't very explicit, though, were you?"

"No... no I wasn't. No disrespect intended. He did very well on his own."

"Welllll... Snape helped."

"But not intentionally. And that's an even better trick."

"Getting Snape to help without his meaning to?"

"Absolutely. Congratulations, Mister Malfoy."

Draco sighed, reminding himself that he could afford to be patient now. He was safe from Dumbledore's scrying, and the twins were being no more irritating than usual. "So what is it you want me to do."

For a moment, astoundingly, the twins were speechless. When Fred finally ventured a comment, he was very cautious. Draco noticed that both twins kept their hands in front of them, as though they might have to defend themselves quickly. "I guess it's no secret that a lot of people..." Fred glanced at George, and their synchronized shrugs clearly telegraphed, 'including us' ... "A lot of people have had you pegged as a junior Death Eater in training for a long... well... since first year at least."

"Funny thing about that, is..." George hesitantly added, "... if you're going to do anything for us... it rather depends on your attitude toward the Death Eaters in general."

"And Voldemort in particular," Fred concluded.

"Just so we know where we all stand," George said, reaching very slowly into his robe and drawing forth a small device, "I'd like to put this on a convenient crate here."

Draco looked at the fragile metal wheel precariously balanced on its delicate glass stand and laughed out loud. "Weasley," he scoffed. "My father has schooled me in techniques designed to frustrate professional interrogators using veritaserum. Do you really think a sneakoscope will tell you anything useful as you're questioning me?"

"Not if you're really trying to screw us over," George admitted.

"But we don't need a sneakoscope to detect that," Fred grinned.

"For that, we have our noses."

"In a business like ours, you get a lot of jokers who think it would be funny to put one over on the proprietors of the joke shop."

"But for every one who has gotten away with a prank on us..."

"...there's a hundred who've been caught and dealt with."

"Not to say that some don't get us good from time to time."

"Like the bloke who paid us in exploding coins."

"But for the most part..." George laid his finger against the side of his nose and nodded assuredly. "We sniff 'em out long before they have a chance to harm us."

"So the 'scope is just... a sign of trust. Between friends."

Fred's smile seemed genuine, but Draco knew that with the twins, you could never really tell. Paradoxically, that was what made them, for Gryffs, particularly tolerable. Their outlandishness led to mischief rather than self-importance. Their lives had been dedicated to fun, not the stodgy rules-worship that cursed the majority of their House. More importantly, through all of their clowning, a definite intelligence was clearly in evidence in both of them. Draco decided it was worth taking a chance, since he had come so far already, and trusting these two with a taste of how he really felt. "All right, Weasley - your sneakoscope is acceptable. But I want quid pro quo. I tell you my disposition vis á vis the Death Eaters, you tell me your relationship with Professor Snape. Deal?"

The twins immediately agreed, and Draco grinned. "Because of your family, boys, I will bet that this is the first time anyone has spoken to you seriously about what makes the Opposition work. This may take a while."

Fred and George looked like kids buying their first tickets to a movie matinee. Wide-eyed and excited, they summoned chairs for all three of them. Draco pushed his behind him and remained standing, waiting for his audience to get comfortable. "First of all, you may be surprised to learn that being a part of the Opposition is not merely an 'Are You In Or Are You Out' question. I can tell you without disturbing your 'scope in the least that I am not a Death Eater. I can show you my arm..." He dragged his sleeve up. "... and there is no Dark Mark. But I still have nothing but contempt for the Fudge government. And Dumbledore's love for muggles, mudbloods, half-giants, werewolves, squibs and other inferior creatures is disgusting."

"Come on, Draco, the werewolf is with us," George chided.

"Actually, he's with Snape more than he's with us," Fred corrected.

"So if Snape can accept the man..."

Draco shrugged. "I have no love for werewolves. Maybe Snape discovered something I don't know about. Maybe Lupin is all right after all. That's not the important part, anyway."

"What is the important part?"

"Voldemort's philosophy. His official pronouncements, anyway. I'll admit, no one knows what he really thinks or feels. He's a political leader, he has a lot of constituents to appeal to. But the 'official' line is very simple: Wizards are better than muggles. We have magic. They don't. We're better. Do muggles sometimes breed a magic user? Yes. And I'll bet that if you checked far enough back in any mudblood's family tree, you'd find a wizard had sneaked in there, leaving his superior quality to show up in a later generation. More to the point: wizard families breed wizard children. When wizard families give birth to a child without magical talent, it's weird. It's a tragedy. It's certainly an uncommon enough occurrence that we don't even provide a place in our society for squibs. About the only thing we can do when one turns up is to give it to someone like Dumbledore. And even he can't find a decent place for the squibs of the world. He gets Filch, and can do no better than putting the hateful creature to work fixing and cleaning up after the rest of us. But squibs are the rare exceptions. When wizards have children, those children have magic. And the families with the longest pure wizard bloodlines behind them are the strongest. You two, for example. Your family may have abandoned wizard traditions, but your bloodlines go 'way back, both sides. The two of you... the way you make these..." Draco thought quickly, rejected his first dozen impressions of what to call the twins' merchandise, and finally settled on "... products. It's astounding. Very creative. Not the way your father used his magic - nor the way his father used his magic, for that matter. You two may have caught the golden ring as far as magical talent goes in this generation of your family. But none of your siblings are squibs. And there are a lot of you. My father is another example. Long bloodline, wicked strong magic. And even..." he forced himself to say it, though his voice dripped with acid as he did. "... even Harry Potter. Triwizard tournament, youngest seeker in years, on and on. But once again, the truth is obvious. Long bloodline, powerful wizard."

"Um... Draco?" Fred interrupted politely, his hand in the air as though he were in class. "Who is - magically - the most powerful in your class at Hogwarts?"

Draco scowled menacingly, but answered as honestly as he could. "Harry Potter. There. I said it. Satisfied?"

"No, I don't think that's right," George mused. "I would nominate Hermione Granger."

The twins listened for Malfoy's teeth to grind, but he surprised them by accepting the comment with equanimity. "There's a good lesson there," he explained. "If Granger were a pureblood, I would bet she'd be a Death Eater herself. She embodies another one of Voldemort's principles: hard work. Granger is not powerful; she works hard. She reads, studies, takes good notes, listens well... she's a little like a monkey learning to write. If she pays attention really well, and works non-stop day after day, she will eventually learn to make the letters. But just as the monkey will forever lack the humanity to create great poetry, Granger will forever lack the heritage to create great magic."

"Well, that's harsh," Fred said.

"Makes me want to go practice spells. She outdoes me easily," George agreed.

"Because she works hard," Draco preached. "Voldemort believes in working hard. And not whining. And in self-discipline. And it works. He nearly won the last war. And do you know how few Death Eaters there really were?

"No," both twins admitted.

"Fewer than a division of aurors," Draco said smugly. "And they seemed to be everywhere. A quick strike in London; a sabotage up north; a blitz in Ireland; a surprise attack in Wales. Nobody could stop them. No one could predict where they would show up next. Do you think that was easy? No. It took discipline. And hard work. And powerful magic from powerful wizards. It was only when Voldemort himself was... hurt... by his attack on Potter... that the Organization failed. They didn't have the leader to hold them together, to give them the direction, the purpose, they needed."

"Sounds undisciplined to me," Fred said innocently.

"Like they didn't work hard enough," George chimed in.

Draco sighed. He pulled his chair close and dropped into it heavily. "Well, that's the ticket, isn't it?" he said dispiritedly. "Voldemort's basic premises are sound, really - you can't argue against them. Wizards are better than muggles. Hard work is better than sloth. Self-discipline is the only kind that really matters. Great. So what do they do with it? The Lestranges go to Azkaban. My father goes to jail - the government might kill him. And where's Voldemort? Where's the jailbreak that saves my father's life? Where's the attack on the Ministry that pulls the loyal Death Eaters out of the care of the dementors? The Organization can't... or won't... do it from the bottom up, and Voldemort doesn't give a shite."

Neither Fred nor George had any reply to that. They both checked their sneakoscope. It remained motionless. Draco was telling one version of what he currently believed to be the truth. But the Weasleys' well-tested noses agreed with the 'scope. Draco had just insulted the Death Eaters, in a major way, and had meant it.

"So that's me and the Death Eaters," Draco rambled as he realized his hosts had nothing to say. "Still invited, I suppose... but no interest in joining. If they can't even keep their best member out of the hands of the executioner, why bother with them?"

"Ummm... Draco?" Fred ventured after Draco had fallen silent and remained so for quite some time. "Will you ever... you know... visit the leader yourself?"

Draco snorted in bitter laughter. "I was supposed to have been taken to meet the man by my father. Now? I don't know. I have a feeling that Crabbe or Goyle will find some way to get me to a meeting. But If Crabbe and Goyle are the standard representatives of the Organization for my generation, I don't want to belong. All right, boys: quid pro quo. You tell me, now."

Fred and George exchanged a look which seemed to say, 'Go ahead.' George turned back to their guest and said, "You have talked a lot about Voldemort, tonight. Snape and Lupin and I are helping to train Harry Potter to kill him."

Draco's face worked hard for a moment, trying to accommodate several different expressions of disbelief. Finally, he simply cried out, "Snape?"

"Oh, yes," Fred assured him. "And Voldemort almost expects it of the man - he set Snape up as a double agent in Hogwarts. It's Snape's job to play both sides. If he doesn't... well, he doesn't want Voldemort to be angry with him."

"That's our relationship to Snape."

"We're training an assassin together."

"And the boy's showing real promise."

"That's what we want your help with."

"If you're going to do us a favor..."

"... what we want is for you to take," Fred held out a small, rubbery cube. "One of these to your meeting with Voldemort."

"But only if your meeting includes someone else besides Voldemort."

"Such as Crabbe or Goyle."

"Especially if it's Crabbe AND Goyle."

"Even better if there's a really big group of new recruits."

"Because it would be best if you could set this thing off in Voldemort's headquarters while you were meeting with people of your own age - without Voldemort even being present."

"You put it out of sight, almost anywhere - stick it to the bottom of a chair like used gum."

"Then you point it toward your chosen beneficiary and trigger the timer."

"After the allotted delay time, the cube will go off - it's one of our standard prank items - and whoever you have chosen as the target will grow a Rainbow Beard."

"As long as a Dwarf's beard - down to the belt buckle long."

"And in every color from red through yellow to violet."

"Including blue and green."

"In real hair - 80 chance of it growing back after it gets shaved off."

"And then, the cube will seem to disappear."

"It will seem to have been used up in the act of casting the spell. It does its damage, gives the victim a beautiful multicolor faceful of hair, then it's history."

"But it leaves something behind."

"A patented Weasley brand Extensible Ear."

Draco stared at the twins in horror. "You want me to go into a Death Eater meeting, and take in a cheap practical joke... that turns into a spy device!? You're daft. You're mad. You're..."

"Draco, think a bit. I'm not asking you to take this into a meeting with your father and the Lestranges... I'm asking you to take this to a meeting with Crabbe and Goyle... and whoever else is going to be interested in joining the Death Eater movement any more. Who is that going to be? Parkinson? Lurker? Really, it'll be like going to the... the Slytherin common room! You'll go in with your friends, the joke will go off - and it sounds like Crabbe could really use a Rainbow Beard, don't you think? Then you'll leave. You don't have to go back... you're not really interested in joining, anyway. And we get our Extensible Ear placed right were we need it. If it gets traced back to anyone, it comes straight back to us!"

Draco stared at them, calculating his chances of making such an outrageous plan work. "No."

The twins' shoulders fell in disappointment. They searched for something to say, some argument that would make Draco reconsider. Before they could think of anything, Draco made his own suggestion.

"Just give me an Ear," he said seriously. "I can't guarantee that I'll even get the chance to go to a meeting. I can't say for sure that I'll have a chance to plant the thing even if I do. But if I'm going to take the chance of bugging Voldemort's meeting room, I'd rather do it without calling attention to myself by setting off practical jokes."

"The beard prank is a distraction, though, Malfoy," George pointed out. "It'll take everyone's mind off of serious matters and make 'em concentrate on how stupid Crabbe looks in a waist length rainbow. And it might make the whole group throw you out sooner. Get you away from the scene of the crime and out of danger of retribution."

"And it might just make them kill me outright," Draco sneered. "I think I have a better idea of the general mood and mindset of such meetings than either of you two do. No. If I take anything, I take an Ear. Only. No beard, rainbow or otherwise."

"I think you're making a mistake," Fred tried once more.

"I think there's a good chance I'll never even get the invitation," Draco snapped.

The twins spent the next half hour teaching Draco how to set up and activate the Extensible Ear.

--- --- ---

One place in which the summer did not seem to be passing quickly was in prison. Lucius Malfoy had raged against the restrictions that were placed upon him, which included supervision and observation of his every movement - even his meetings with his legal representatives. Lucius' lawyers had protested strongly, pointing out that in Great Britain, every accused person was allowed private consultation with his solicitors, but to no avail. Lucius Malfoy had been declared a danger to himself and others, even without his wand, even in a jail cell, even in solitary confinement. He would be watched carefully, and anyone who paid a visit to the accused while he remained in custody would be required to surrender his wand, submit to a thorough search, and agree to have his conversation monitored.

Privately, Lucius was glad that his confinement was solitary. His contempt for the common criminals that passed through the Ministry's justice system was enormous. He had nearly resigned himself to eventually being sentenced to Azkaban, and while he feared the effects of the dementors, he was confident that he would, at least, not be forced to endure the disgusting company of the prison's general population. If he were to be driven insane by the chilling power of the prison's guards, at least he would be alone.

The opening motions in the Malfoy murder-treason trial were held in August, to remarkably little fanfare. The popular press had essentially convicted Malfoy already, and had no patience for the plodding process of preparing for trial. Thus, the courtroom was quiet and uncrowded when Lucius, several solicitors and his barrister arrived for the first stage of the proceedings.

Lucius' barrister began the process with a motion for dismissal of several special circumstances regarding the case.

"While we intend to prove that my client is innocent of all charges..." the barrister suddenly fell silent at the sound of a gavel.

"Leave that for the opening statements. Get on with your motion." The judge snapped.

"Certainly, M'Lord. My apologies." Here, the barrister adopted the time-honored tradition of speaking of himself as though he were the accused. "But you will agree that - whatever the eventual decision of this court regarding me - my immediate family have not been charged, arrested, or even accused of any crime. It is therefore an odious burden for my family to bear: to be unable to use their home, under the provisions of the State's Special Order dated June 16th of this year that declares all of my property subject to seizure pending the results of this trial. My family cannot so much as place a stick of wood on the fire, since such usage would violate the Special Order and make them subject to onerous criminal penalties. I find it unacceptable that two innocent people - a child and his mother, neither of whom have been connected to any of the charges leveled against me - would be turned out of their home and denied the most basic of its comforts. This, without my having been convicted; due to an order issued before this trial had even proceeded to its most initial stages! Furthermore, I find it contrary to logic and basic decency that my fate should so heavily penalize that of my family, and only because of a law enacted to protect the delicate sensibilities of the monarchy: I speak of Standard Statute number one hundred thirty one thousand, three hundred thirteen, section M - which makes such seizures of property possible. We are living in the current age, M'Lord, in which Ministry has supplanted Monarchy as the rulers of our nation, and in which my family has real needs which must be addressed by the most basic consideration of allowing them to live in their homes and use that which is, by rights, their own. Please discontinue the provisions of the Special Order of June 16th, and declare such order null and void. The formal request is contained in the text of this document. Thank you, M'Lord." The barrister presented the formal motion appeal document to the court clerk.

The judge sniffed, unimpressed. "State?"

The opposing barrister rose and presented a document of his own to the clerk. "The State has a counter motion, M'Lord. We wish for the Court to dismiss all motions against the Special Order of June 16th. That Special Order was issued because of the special nature of this case. We are not accusing Lucius Malfoy of insulting the King, or of expressing an opinion contrary to that of the current government. We are accusing him of attacking our nation at its very roots. An example, to illustrate our concerns: a man who commits an assault injures the person he attacks. But the damage from an assault cannot be counted in terms of broken bones and hospital bills alone. It must also be counted in the loss of time at work, in the loss of ability to perform domestic duties, and in the fear and anger suffered by his family. This man is accused of crimes - including murder and performance of unforgivable curses - that have assaulted our entire nation. Through his actions, he has attempted to injure every person in this country; not only those he has killed, or tortured, but everyone who believes in and follows our laws and customs. The accused is believed by the State to be dangerous to the entire population, M'Lord. And, as we know from thousands of years of experience, treason such as that of which the accused is accused cannot be committed without support. Which in this case, is provided, in part, by his total wealth, which is inclusive of his property, his extensive business holdings, and his money, as represented by cash and securities. The Special Order is necessary both to provide compensation to the accused's victims and to prevent others from utilizing his resources to commit further crimes. "

The gavel sounded once. The judge seemed bored. "Special Order of June 16th stands. If there are no other pre-trial motions? Good. Accused will report for opening statements in this trial Thursday next. Court is adjourned!" With a final bang of the gavel, the judge stood and stalked from the room.

The barrister for the defense shrugged slightly. No one on the defense team had expected any decision other than the one that was handed down. Wordlessly, Lucius allowed himself to be led back to his cell.

--- --- ---

Studying books in the confines of his parents'... now, apparently, his own... house in Godric's Hollow could only go on for so long. Harry could practice formal greetings and the phrasing of diplomatic answers to difficult questions with Remus; and Snape was a strict judge of his learning, testing him with rapid-fire questions on everything from precedence of speakers at a Wizengamut meeting to the history of the last war against Voldemort. And though the questions became increasingly tougher, Harry was more and more successful, both at answering the specific inquiries correctly, and at understanding the underlying principles involved. But Harry knew that at least some of his apparent progress was an illusion. He had become so comfortable in the company of these two men that it was increasingly easy for him to think quickly and clearly when either of them posed a question or a challenge for him. It was time to introduce a new element, a different face to which he would have to respond.

It was time to go to France.

It was quickly decided that Snape would take Harry, without Lupin coming along. Remus' presence tended to boost the boy's confidence, giving him a sort of security blanket that Harry could not afford to become dependent upon. For some reason, Snape insisted that Tuesday morning was the best time to go, so on the Tuesday following their decision, Harry and Snape apparated to the neighborhood of small, quaint houses in which Narcissa Black now made her home.

The entire section of town into which they appeared was a revelation to Harry. He was familiar with muggle neighborhoods, such as Little Whinging, where his aunt and uncle lived. And indeed, this quiet collection of homes looked very much like that one, except for the variations in architecture and landscaping which really made only a superficial difference. Harry also had experience with the Burrow, which was very isolated from everyone else, wizard and muggle alike, and Hogsmeade, which was a completely wizarding village, without any muggles at all. Even in London, Diagon Alley had been completely divorced from the muggle portion of the city, and entirely unknown even to those muggles who lived and worked around its entrance.

But this neighborhood was mixed. Whatever the French equivalent of the British Ministry was, its philosophy must have been much the same. Magic was not to be exposed to muggle view here any more than it was at home. Wizards were not allowed to add animated statues to their landscaping, keep hippogryffs in their yards or festoon their homes with floating lamps. But as soon as Harry saw the street on which the Blacks now lived, he knew beyond a doubt that this place was home to both magical and muggle families - and that somehow, they managed to live together in apparent harmony - even if maintaining that harmony came at the cost of one segment of the population keeping its identity secret from the rest.

Harry, himself, wondered how he had come to such sudden conclusions, and how he could be so certain of what he had decided about this place. There was remarkably little evidence to go on. How could he be sure that the residents of this place got on well with one another? Admittedly, there were none of the scars one would expect to result from neighbors battling each other in house to house fighting. The homes were neat, tidy and peaceful. But it was more than intact walls and well-kept yards that made him so sure that he was right. It was a feeling he got, as though he could absorb information about the locale by breathing in its atmosphere. The boy decided that he would remember to investigate this phenomenon later. For the moment, Harry was satisfied to accept that he liked that neighborhood immediately.

Snape and Harry appeared in an undeveloped area between the back yards of two oppositely facing rows of houses. At home, Harry would have called such a feature a 'greenbelt.' But there, the ground would have been mostly covered with grass with a few shrubs near the edges. Here, there were enough trees to effectively disguise the arrival of a pair of apparators. The two of them walked out to the street, and strolled down the sidewalk toward the Blacks' house. Harry had been advised to wear muggle clothing, but Snape was in full robes. Glancing around to be sure they weren't being observed, Harry quietly asked, "Sir? Won't your mode of dress draw some attention in this environment?"

Snape consciously maintained his expression, as perfectly neutral as he possibly could, but beneath his impassive exterior, he was exulting. At that moment, Harry Potter was as different from the boy he had been in first year as a young man ever is from the boy he once was. The caution he exercised in checking his surroundings before speaking was tremendously different from the impulsiveness that had characterized the lad Snape had first met. His use of such a quiet tone contrasted sharply with his once-habitual loudmouthed comments. His phrasing: 'mode of dress,' and 'in this environment' especially, bespoke not only an improved vocabulary and grammar, but an improved understanding of what it was to get to the heart of what one wished to say, and express it succinctly. "Not at all," he said calmly. "If anyone gets near enough to notice, be sure you address me as 'Monsignor.' If anyone becomes curious, we will claim to speak only English." Only a slight curve at the corner of Snape's mouth gave any evidence that his instructions were part of a private joke.

"I do only speak English," Harry admitted.

"That bodes ill for you, then," Snape said curtly. "The members of the Wizengamut hail from everywhere on Earth, and while they all speak English, most of them have also taken the trouble to learn each others' languages as well. It is a sign of respect. However, you sell yourself unduly short when you admit to having only one language. You also speak and understand Parceltongue, a talent that quite a few wizards have wished they possessed over the centuries."

"Wizengamut?" Harry repeated with wonder.

"Of course," Snape chastised. "With what you are planning, did you think you would never have to deal with them? As soon as your efforts become known to the public, you will be closely observed by that body. Soon thereafter, you will be contacted, and possibly challenged. You will have to be ready." Without giving Harry a chance to respond to this, Snape turned onto the pathway that led to Narcissa's door. He knocked and was admitted immediately. He nodded in greeting and stepped aside for Harry to enter.

Harry blinked, trying to adjust to the dim light inside after walking through the bright morning air. He glanced to his side to see their hostess, once again dressed in a long black dress which, though a different garment from the last he had seen her wearing, still exposed a great deal of breast and thigh. He reminded himself firmly that this was Draco Malfoy's mother, and that helped negate the effect of her flawless skin and graceful movements as she closed the door behind her guests. As she turned to face them, Harry focused immediately on her eyes, and with a warm smile, said, "Good morning, Ms. Black. Thank you for having us."

It was obvious from her expression that she had already been studying Harry as he approached the house. "Good recovery," she acknowledged. "What were you thinking about while you were coming up the walkway?"

"The Wizengamut," he replied easily, but offered no further explanation.

"Good thing," she said in a hard tone. "If you take your scheme as far as you should, you will be dealing with them soon enough."

"I know," he admitted, and Snape could see the ghost of the old, insufferable Potter raising its ugly head once again. He felt much better when the boy continued with, "Do you have any suggestions that might help me?"

"Plenty," she stated firmly, then asked Severus, "Could you give us some privacy for a while?" Snape raised an eyebrow, and Narcissa scowled at him. "I'm not going to seduce him... or kill him. And you know that. You brought him here for my help. Get out of here and let me work."

Snape nodded wordlessly and strode off to another room. Apparently, he knew this house. Harry filed the bit of information away, and realized that he was currently filing so many bits of so much information in such quick succession that he no longer knew what was important and what was trivial any more. He wanted to ask Narcissa about that - about how she, as one of the wizard world's most famous hostesses, kept her information organized. But in order to do that, he had to have some control over the conversation. Before Narcissa could say anything, he asked her, "Does this neighborhood have wizards and witches other than you and Draco living in it?"

Narcissa grinned at that. "You don't really want to know, do you?" she countered.

Harry tried to communicate his genuine concern as honestly as he could, leaving his expression unguarded, and trying to keep his hands from fluttering about distractlingly as he spoke. "Actually, I do. When Professor Snape and I apparated into your neighborhood, I... sensed... other wizards here. As though they lived here, permanently. And that... somehow... you and the muggles had found some way to exist alongside each other. That, maybe, Draco could carry his broomstick out and no one would look at him twice..."

Until he had given the example of Draco and the broomstick, Narcissa had paid little attention to Harry's story. She interrupted his last statement with a question of her own. "Have you been watching us, Harry?"

The inquiry took him aback. "No. No, Ma'm, I haven't," he insisted.

"You got awfully close to the truth for a guess, then," Narcissa teased. Seeing that Harry was merely confused by the teasing, she explained, "Draco has carried his broomstick out of the house several times - although he hasn't flown it down the street. He is out today, at a club for wizards, flying. He will be carrying his broomstick home this afternoon, and if past experience is any guide, none of the muggles will think there is anything strange about that."

"Is it..." Harry began, and wondered if his question would be improper. Almost immediately, he decided that he was here to learn exactly how to tell that sort of thing. He continued with his question, "Is it good to live here?"

Narcissa wasn't going to let such a vague question stand. "How do you mean?" she asked politely, but with a hint of impatience, as though there were a number of ways that such an inquiry could be offensive.

Harry hadn't been thinking of asking whether this small house compared to Malfoy Manor, or whether living as the Blacks compared to the social activity of being the Malfoys. With an earnest expression, he tried to clarify what he had meant. "There are wizards as well as muggles here, living together... for the most part ignoring each other, I guess. I was raised by muggles, and I've lived at Hogwarts. This is different. I had never imagined a place like this. I thought everything was either Hogsmeade, with no muggles; or Little Whinging, with no wizards. So I wondered: is it... good? Is it pleasant? Would you consider staying here? Would you recommend it to anyone else? Do you know any of the other wizards in the neighborhood?"

"That's a great many questions, young man," Narcissa scolded in mock seriousness. To her relief, she saw that Harry understood her teasing this time, and that he smiled at her gentle rebuke. She had begun to worry that the boy was too stiff-necked to understand sarcasm or irony. That would have been a tremendous obstacle to overcome. Since he seemed loose enough to understand when he was being teased, he would be a lot easier to work with. "Our situation when we moved here was quite dire," she explained. "I had no idea whether the Ministry would pursue us, or whether our attempt to go underground would meet with any success. In keeping with those doubts, we stayed very much to ourselves - which is an attitude much more understood and tolerated on the Continent than it is in England. Back at home, I might have expected the Welcome Wagon, or some such community-sponsored effort, to make an official greeting. And the other residents of the neighborhood might well have showed up, curious to know the particulars of their new neighbors. Nothing of the sort happened here. Does the fact that wizards and muggles share the neighborhood have something to do with everyone's respect for our privacy? I don't know. That would be an interesting question to pursue, once we have become a little more settled in to this new place. But for now, neither Draco nor I have introduced ourselves to our neighbors - wizard or muggle."

Harry was astounded. Not so much at the substance of what Narcissa had said, but because he had asked a rather personal question of an adult - and he had gotten an answer. An answer which didn't try to gloss over the Malfoys' difficulties, and which admitted that Harry himself might have been on to something with his own earlier questions. Elated by his apparent success so far, he asked outright for advice. "I have been learning a lot, lately, thanks to Professor Snape and Remus Lupin. It seems like too much to remember, most of the time. I wondered if you could tell me: when you're a hostess for famous people at really big parties... how do you remember who they all are?"

Narcissa laughed out loud, and Harry was amazed at how pretty the sound was. She really sounded relaxed and amused, not sarcastic or derisive at all. "I can tell you've learned a few things from the way you asked that," she told him. "Famous people are frequently insecure, and - more often than you might think - they are very self-conscious. Remembering who they are is a very important first step in preventing a pleasant evening from turning into a disaster."

Narcissa described some simple mnemonics she had used to keep elusive names in mind, and after that she and Harry discussed many particulars of social functions, from the formal (the easiest, Narcissa claimed, since one had rules to follow and people knew what to expect) to the casual (the most difficult, in Narcissa's opinion, since people had to be encouraged to relax sufficiently to actually be casual).

After a couple of hours had passed in that way, Narcissa stopped her lecturing about some of the formal aspects of wizard society and studied her student for a long moment. Just as Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable under the scrutiny, she asked, "Is there something... particularly... fascinating on my forehead?"

Harry realized that almost any answer he could give could be construed as an insult. He couldn't decide what poor choice might be the best thing to say. He finally just blurted out, "Not especially, no. Why do you ask?"

Narcissa laughed again. Harry liked the sound a lot. "Because the last time I saw you, I felt like you were trying to climb into my dress. Today, your eyes have been fixed on something right between my eyebrows."

"No," Harry replied simply. "On your eyes, actually. You know you're attractive, you don't need me to remind you of that... especially by ogling you while you're trying to help me. Your eyes are as beautiful as the rest of you, and it makes a lot more sense to stay focused on them while we're talking. It helps me to get the most out of what you're saying."

"Harry, that's very sweet," Narcissa said with a gentle smile. "Though it does sound like you've been practicing... Have you found a girlfriend yet? Have you been trying out sweet things to say to her?"

Harry responded to Narcissa's smile with a calculating look. "Last time I saw you, you were much more concerned with my experiencing sex than in having an emotional relationship."

"With good reason," Narcissa assured him. "A young man under stress needs as much stability as possible in as many facets of his life as he can secure them. You, in particular, have had some of the most basic stabilizers removed from your life. Your parents are dead. You can no longer trust the Headmaster of your school, who was an important father substitute for many years. You have not been able to recruit your best friends into your current efforts - for very good reasons. Your stability, in short, is in jeopardy. Having a satisfying sex life can give a measure of confidence to a young man that nothing else in the world can give. If it helps you learn how to say sweet things, then all the better. But my concern is a valid one. And my question still stands, though I'll put it more bluntly this time. Have you been having sex with anyone?"

Harry felt a number of things as Narcissa questioned him. He knew he was embarrassed, but he didn't feel his face flushing hot. He was very self-conscious, but he did not look away. He was intimidated by the experienced, worldly woman facing him, but he answered her as confidently as he could. "Let us presume for a moment that the answer to your question is yes. You know the kinds of things that can go wrong when a couple plays that way... especially with my luck. I'm sure you're familiar with a few of my more public misfortunes, but I doubt that you realize just what a lightning rod for disaster I really am... have been all my life. So let's just say that I 'got lucky,' and spent a wonderful, stress-relieving evening or two losing my virginity. But let's also be realistic and say that the rest of my luck stays as bad as ever. Here are some of the concerns we... or at least I... will have to deal with - over and above Voldemort, Dumbledore and Fudge. How will I avoid worrying that I have made my lover pregnant? And why should I put myself into a position of having to worry about that? Why should I have to treat the conception of my first child as a problem rather than something joyful? What shall we do with the pregnant girl when she joins me during the crucial public relations segment of my campaign? What will we do with the baby? I won't have time to be even a part-time father - the baby's mother will be left with all of the work of raising our child. And how will we protect the two of them when my enemies decide to strike at me where I am most vulnerable? Will my 'consort' be hidden away in a bunker somewhere? Will my son or daughter be disguised when going out to play? Oh... but I'm getting ahead of myself. Before the pregnant girlfriend becomes public knowledge - long before the birth of my child, I'll be needing the attentions of a very specialized mediwitch; someone who understands sexually transmitted diseases particularly well. Syphilitic monarchs are a staple of history, but having the champion of the New Age collapse from AIDS before he is able to defeat his most outstanding enemies is completely unacceptable. And speaking of unacceptable: who do you imagine I have been having sex with? Someone well-educated, whose family is a staple of wizard society? Someone over the legal age of consent, which would make her older than I am myself? Someone with the kind of poise and confidence in public that would enable her sanity to withstand the kind of media pressure I'll be under... if I'm successful? Or that would allow her to deal with my death and get on with her own life if I'm not? Who do you think that might be, Ms. Black? Let me tell you an interesting story. The youngest child of Arthur Weasley - his only daughter, Ginny - came on to me very strongly last time I visited the Weasley home. Of course, her parents were there, and I had only a limited time to stay. But she made no secret of the fact that she wanted to date me. If I had wanted nothing more than someone to stick it into, I could have had her asking 'please' for it. Now, Ms. Black, tell me your impression. Is Ginny Weasley the kind of girlfriend you had in mind when you suggested I should go and get laid?"

Narcissa had to admit that the Weasley girl was not what she had in mind.

"Then think of this. When Ginny sat next to me, made suggestive comments to me, walked with me and put her arm around me - I was completely flummoxed. It's not that I don't understand the mechanics of sex. It's actually that I wanted to tell Ginny 'No' - in a way that wouldn't insult her or make it impossible for us to be friends any more. It's certainly not that I don't like her. I love all of the Weasleys at least a little bit. Molly is like a mother to me. I love her a lot. Ron's my best friend. And Ginny is brave, tough and resilient. And pretty. But she's inappropriate, and even if I did have sex with her, I wouldn't be able to stay with her, and I think you can see why. And seriously, I think that if I did have sex with her and then dumped her, I'd have a bigger problem with my 'focus' and my 'stability' than if I had stayed celibate. And I would have lost a friend and possibly put her in danger from anyone who hated me enough to try to hurt me though people who were close to me. And if Ginny Weasley, my long-time friend whose family I love, can make me feel all flummoxed with no more than a suggestive comment... think of what an educated, adult sophisticate would do to me."

Narcissa was impressed by the maturity of Harry's explanation, although there was still something puzzling about it. He was a teenaged boy, and for a young man of that age to turn down a potential sexual liaison such as the Weasley girl had offered was extraordinarily strange. In her kindliest, most sympathetic voice, she asked, "Harry? Do you prefer boys, dear?"

Harry glared back at her in disgust. "No, I do not prefer boys. When I said Ginny was pretty, I meant it. Pretty, sexy, desirable, hot... if I weren't the Boy Who Lived, I'd probably already be worried about whether she was pregnant. Actually, if you want an insight into what I do prefer, you should go back to Hogwarts and look up a Ravenclaw by the name of Cho Chang. She's great. And smart. And a fantastic quiddich player."

"Well?" Narcissa prompted with a sly smile.

"I tried," Harry said bitterly. "She was Cedric Diggory's girlfriend. I represent her lover's death. Every time we were alone together, she cried. It was not pleasant." Harry could see that Narcissa was looking at him a little differently, now. Perhaps having a bad experience, such as he had gone through with Cho, counted at least a little toward making up for the lack of the kind of experience she thought he should have. "So let's just say 'Forget it,' to the whole idea of finding me a girlfriend, all right? I don't need someone I'll have to get rid of soon. I don't need someone pregnant with my child. I certainly don't need venereal disease. And I will need someone publically acceptable if I am successful with this ambition you're helping me with. People like their leaders married, I understand."

Narcissa regarded Harry with a great deal of sympathy. The boy had already resigned himself to a 'state marriage' to someone whose acceptability as a public figure would be more important than her attraction for... or to... him. She leaned close to him and began to tell a story she knew about the wife of the former Minister of Magic. They were both laughing when Draco walked in, broomstick over one shoulder.

At the sound of the door, Narcissa merely looked up, surprised that so much time had passed, but Harry smiled broadly and stood with his hand out. "Hello, Draco," he said smoothly. "Good to see you."

Draco's heart cried out to insult this twit, to challenge him, to drive the intruder from his home. But the young Malfoy could see his mother looking at him expectantly, and he knew that Potter was - hard as this may have been to believe - key to Snape's plans... which included assassinating the Dark Lord Voldemort. If the insufferable Gryff could be the weapon that struck such a powerful blow, if he could be the tool to advance the plans of Severus Snape, and destroy the bastard who had failed to help Lucius despite owing so much to the elder Malfoy, then Draco would force himself to tolerate the hateful presence of the Boy Who Lived. With a shudder, hardly believing that he was actually doing it, Draco reached out and shook Potter's hand. Visibly laboring to force out the word, he croaked, "Potter," and could say no more.

Harry's smile did not dim in the least. "Your mother and I were just..."

"Ah, ah," Narcissa cut him off, wagging a warning finger. "You don't share everything, Harry. Some things remain private."

Draco wanted to scream. 'What things? Why private? My mother and you were just... WHAT?' But he knew a Narcissa lesson when he saw one. This was obviously an exercise in self control. His mother had most likely interrupted when she had because whatever she and Potter had been doing was so innocuous. Forcing himself to relax and pasting an unconvincing smile onto his face, Draco murmured, "Sorry to have interrupted, then."

"Not at all," Harry picked up the conversation smoothly. "We were quite finished, anyway."

Draco could barely contain himself. 'Finished with what?' he wanted to shout, but instead concentrated on presenting an unruffled exterior. He knew that his mother would be critiquing his performance as soon as they were alone again. Draco was so focused on trying to control his appearance, he nearly missed what Potter was saying.

"...seems you've been out flying. Where can you go around here that could give you the opportunity to fly?"

Draco was so upset by having his own home invaded by Potter that his mind went temporarily, but very completely, blank. Flying? What was the puny git talking about? Oh... right. My broom, here on my shoulder. I'm still holding it. I was at the Club... yes, that's it. Flying at the Club. Draco had nearly marshalled enough of a coherent thought to form an answer when Snape walked into the room, and Draco's mind switched from blank to overdrive. Here were the key players in the plot that he had been begging the Weasleys to reveal. To buy some more time, Draco switched into automatically polite mode. He wouldn't have to waste effort on thinking as he made a standard greeting. "Pardon me, Potter. Professor Snape! Good to see you. I hope you are well."

"Well enough," Snape drawled. "But I believe you were talking about flying."

'Damn,' though Draco. 'He's distracting me from asking about him and what he's been doing.' But Draco was determined to switch the focus back to his guests as quickly as possible. "I was down at the local Club that sponsors the local Xenophon Coursing. They have a good course - but the obstacles are all shut down for... practice. It would require too much effort to keep them all active non-stop."

"Are you familiar with Xenophon Coursing, Harry?" Narcissa asked sweetly.

"Not at all," Harry replied with a grateful smile. "What sort of obstacles are there, Draco? And what do you mean, 'Active?' Is it all magical, or are there mekanix involved?"

Draco nearly bit his tongue to prevent his natural response from spilling out. What a perfect chance to berate this low-born ignoramus! The central sport of wizard society; the quiddich of the aristocracy; and this ill-cultured lout didn't even know of its existence. 'He doesn't even have the excuse of being ignorant of sport in general,' Draco thought bitterly. 'He plays quiddich. He should know.' But Harry stood there, waiting politely for an explanation, and both adults were watching Draco, judging his performance. Despairing of ever getting to ask Snape anything, Draco began to explain. "Xenophon is a cross-country race on brooms..."

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was still lecturing. Harry was clearly enjoying the story, and Malfoy had no difficulty identifying the hungry look in Potter's eyes. The Boy Who Lived really wanted to get out onto a working Xenophon course. Draco kept trying to cut his own story short, anxious to ask Snape about his recent activities, but the potions professor kept prompting Draco with requests for further details about the aristocratic sport, and not wanting to offend, Draco explained... and explained... and explained some more. Once Draco had finished his discourse, and was about to change the subject to something he was interested in, Potter grinned broadly and said, "I'd like to go with you some time. I could bring my broom, we could fly together... or, more likely, against each other. You and I had some good contests as opposing seekers. Maybe we would be a good match on the Course, as well."

Draco chewed the inside of his mouth to keep from blurting out his natural response to that. 'Good contests, my arse,' he thought sourly. 'Only good for you because you won them all.' Instead, he adopted an apologetic look and rather sorrowfully said, "Harry... it's a Club. It's by and for the upper crust. I mean... it would be rather awkward to show up with your broom, and without a membership." Draco's heart warmed as he saw Harry's face fall.

"Draco," Narcissa interjected sweetly, "isn't there a Public Day coming up soon?"

Draco's heart froze. His mother's threat was clear. He would tell Potter about the next available Public Day or she would tell the boy that today had been just such an event. There was nothing to do but put the best possible face on his defeat. "Why, yes, I believe there is," he said with a smile, as though just remembering the possibility himself. "Why don't you come round Tuesday next, and we'll take a flight over the course. The obstacles will be inactive, but the course is quite extensive, and you will have a chance to see the features, even though they will be shut down."

"Thanks, Draco, I'd really like that," Harry smiled. The very sight of that beaming face made Draco furious. It was as though Potter couldn't help but be grotesquely irritating, even when he was trying to show gratitude.

"You know," Narcissa added with a sly smile, "since Harry is heir to the Potter fortune, maybe we ought to look into getting him a membership."

Draco's voice failed him. "The what?" he whispered.

Narcissa's voice was very dry. "He's rich, Draco. The Potter fortune is quite extensive, and at least a portion of it has been managed by Gringotts for the past decade and a half. Even the pile that just sat and drew interest is still fairly sizable."

Struggling to engage his voice once again, Draco sputtered and choked out, "But... Club memberships cost thousands of galleons..."

Harry shrugged. "What? Do they want it in gold? I could go to Gringotts and put it in a sack, I suppose..."

"What would even be better," Narcissa suggested, "is for you to contact a Club closer to where you're living. The Club based in Dublin... or the one in Edinburgh... are both very prestigious, and either one would be more convenient for you to get to for the occasional flight."

Harry was obviously far too excited by this prospect. Snape knew he needed to throw some cold water on his enthusiasm before it got out of control. "You will not be joining any Clubs just yet, boy. You have serious business to attend to before you will have that much time for play."

Draco saw his chance to finally steer the conversation in the way he wanted it to go. "What serious bus..." But his mother smoothly overrode him.

"Why not, Severus? Joining will take almost no time... Harry will be accepted on name recognition alone, so long as he has the fees ready. Any Club would be glad to have him. In Britain especially, the Boy Who Lived would be a coup for any Club. And if Harry holds a Club membership, he would providing the more conservative citizens one more sign that he is the kind of man they can trust."

Snape's voice dripped with scorn. "He would need an address. Or shall we simply list 'In Hiding' as our general delivery guidelines for owl post? Or perhaps the membership committee would be impressed with our boy's family home in Little Whinging."

"You could list Hogwarts," Harry suggested innocently. "I was there all summer, and when I go back for next term..."

"You must be joking," Snape interrupted coldly. "You cannot afford to place yourself within reach of the Headmaster of that school. Not now - not until you have accomplished much of your larger plan. You will definitely not be returning to Hogwarts for your sixth year."

Draco savored the look of disappointment and loss on Potter's face. He wished he could photograph it and save the moment forever. To make the occasion perfect, he only wished that Snape would talk more about his 'larger plan.' But Draco's expression changed to one of worry and dismay at Snape's next comment.

"I won't be returning to Hogwarts either. Now that the Headmaster has openly placed an active Death Eater on staff, and drawn the wrath of the Ministry down on to the campus... again... there's no way I could report for work at the beginning of the term and avoid the aurors, the interrogation, the veritaserum, and the resulting disaster. The official report will have to list me as 'missing in Brazil while searching for Bambaroot,' or some such romantic fiction."

Narcissa nodded, completely understanding the necessity for Snape's decision. But her mind was still occupied with the advantages Harry could gain by a simple tie to upper class tradition such as an association with a Xenophon Club would give him. "Severus, why don't you submit an application for Club membership in Harry's name, and list Hogwarts as his address, even if he's not going back to school?" Narcissa said thoughtfully. "He wouldn't have to actually be there, after all... once he's a member, it's not as though they'll be sending him any mail - with the exception of the quarterly newsletter, which no one reads, anyway. And the issue that will go out immediately after Harry joins will most likely be filled with some variation on 'Boy Who Lived Now Part Of Our Club,' anyway. But I'm telling you they won't care where he's staying. Harry is a celebrity, and our Clubs... even the best of them... desperately need an infusion of interest, simply to hold on to the members they have, especially of late. They have gone shopping for entertainers and entrepreneurs - new money in every case - just to have some kind of novelty conversation piece around the banquet tables. Harry Potter? Drop the word he's interested, and the Clubs will be competing for him."

"We are hardly in a position to allow the volume of communication such competition requires," Snape grumbled.

"Then go to Dublin... or London - or wherever is convenient for you. Sign him up, get his name on the roll. Give him that bit of upper class caché that is so easy to obtain... and that will make such a difference when people look at him a few months from now."

"You plead your case passionately," Snape observed archly.

"Because I am in a position to know how seriously people can take these things. Do it, Severus. It will pay off for you in the end."

"I have asked for your advice. I suppose I would be foolish to ignore it," Snape admitted grudgingly. "Mister Potter, do you think that an investment of several thousand galleons in a Club membership might be wise?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry agreed eagerly. "It sounds great."

"You would have little time to go flying about the Club courses, you realize," Snape sneered.

"For now," Harry replied confidently. "Later, I'll either have the chance... or I'll be dead. Either way, the galleons couldn't be spent any more wisely."

"Very well. I'll find out what we need to do to make you a part of Club culture," Snape said. "For now, we must leave here. We have taken up a great deal of our hosts' time, and we have much to do at home.

"Right," Harry reluctantly agreed. He turned to Draco. "See you next Tuesday, then?"

Draco suppressed a shudder. "Certainly. Get here early morning and we'll go down for warm-ups before flying the course."

Harry very deliberately looked Narcissa directly in the eyes. "Thank you so much for my lesson. And for having me here. I really appreciate it."

"You're making tremendous progress, Harry," she purred in response. She leaned close to him. "The next thing you have to work on..." her voice dropped to a near whisper. "...is not to be so obvious."

Harry flushed with embarrassment, but as Narcissa leaned back, he kept his eyes focused directly on hers. "I'm glad you think I am making progress. If I am, it's because you're a good teacher. And I've had the best help from Professor Snape and Remus. You've all been great."

Snape gathered Harry close to him, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy. "Good day, Draco. Narcissa." With a bang, they were gone.

As soon as they had disappeared, Draco said with amazement, "Why in God's name does he dress like that?"

His mother raised an eyebrow and disbelievingly said, "I beg your pardon."

"His robes are never anything but standard issue blacks, but his muggle clothes... did you see what he had on? Scruffy, ill-fitting, old... he has thousands of galleons to join any one of the world's most prestigious Clubs, and he dresses like poverty's little brother."

"I don't know," Narcissa said dismissively. "Why don't you ask him next Tuesday when you go flying together?"

Draco ignored the jibe, and countered with a question of his own. "What was all that, Mother? Snape and Potter... not returning to Hogwarts... you?"

"Professor Snape and I are trying our best to help raise young Potter into proper society."

"Why!?"

"Because that is where he belongs. Harry's heritage includes a long line of wizard blood. And the Potter money is very, very old money."

"So is ours," Draco snapped back defensively.

"Not anymore," Narcissa pointed out, and waited for the import of that to sink in. "So you had better cultivate the proper friendships, Draco. Mister Potter could well be an important stepping stone to help you return to the society you have lost."