Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

Once again, long bastard of a chapter. Transitional more than anything else, but it does address several of the issues that need some attention.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Irrevocably Changed

"Your magic feels less powerful," was the first thing Draco announced the next morning.

Harry dropped his spoon into his porridge, and hissed at Draco around a mouthful of it. Several of the Slytherins had turned to look at them: Blaise with that bemused look he affected since Harry had learned Draco was in love with him, Millicent with smug satisfaction, Pansy with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and Montague with the sullenness he showed towards anyone who wasn't Pansy.

"It is not!" Harry hissed, when he'd finally managed to swallow. "I gave up part of the magic I took from the Headmaster. Nothing else." He started eating again, to show how little stock he put in Draco's ridiculous suppositions.

"But it feels less powerful," Draco persisted, with that special emphasis he usually only gave to judgments in which his empathy was involved somehow.

Harry gave him a dark look. "I know that your gift doesn't let you sense that," he whispered.

Draco shrugged at him. "You've nearly intoxicated me since you took the magic from Dumbledore," he said. "And now I can think with a bit of a clearer head. That's all I'm saying."

"Thank Merlin for that," Millicent muttered. "Does that mean that we'll get a bit fewer of the lovelorn looks and sighs and mutters about 'Harry darling?'"

Draco's face turned nearly the color of a ripe apple. "I have never called Harry that," he said.

"Yes, you have," said Blaise helpfully. "Usually in dreams, that's true, and not when you're awake, but you have. At least you don't have to share a room with him," he added to Millicent. "Bloody disgusting, it is."

"I do not!" Draco howled.

Harry winked at Millicent, thanking her for distracting Draco from the subject he'd been trying to talk about. Unfortunately for him, Draco caught the wink, and pinned him with a deadly glare.

"You're sure that you only gave up the magic that you took from Dumbledore?" he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. Besides, I don't see why everyone thinks it's such a large sacrifice. The magic is doing Millicent's mother more good than it ever was just sitting around inside me. And I can siphon off Dumbledore, or someone else, again if I ever want more." He was beginning to realize that that was a large part of the reason Dumbledore feared him. Harry could take magic from another person, and in that case, the other wizard or witch was permanently weakened. Harry truly could have drained Dumbledore down into a Squib or worse if he wished.

Just like Lily warned me I could, right before she tried to cast the phoenix web on me again.

Harry shook his head, and set the memories aside. They wouldn't do him any good, and he wasn't about to start casually draining other people. Besides, Draco had gone back to the interrogation.

"Millicent's mother?"

Millicent wore a broad smile. "Harry saved my mother's life last night," she announced. "My little sister Marian is my mother's magical heir, but you know what it means when a baby is a magical heir: the sympathy between child and parent doesn't last that long, and there's almost no chance of her regaining the sympathy later in life." Heads nodded around the Slytherin table. "Mother gave her magic to Marian, and Harry gave some of his magic to my mother, so that she could continue living." She bit into her toast and didn't look up as whispers ran around the table.

Harry rolled his eyes when awed and shocked and disbelieving glances came his way. Why the hell is this such a big deal? Wouldn't most people take the chance to save a life if they could? I'm just lucky that I have the power to do something about it when the chance comes up.

"Why did you choose Dumbledore's power to give up?" Draco whispered to him.

Harry shrugged. "It was nearest the surface, and it was Light, so it wouldn't hurt Mrs. Bulstrode or Marian."

Draco nodded, then joined the staring. Harry shrugged once more and started eating his porridge. He'd become better at dealing with stares in the days since the Second Task, when it became clear that they wouldn't stop any time soon. Harry thought they would have to stop at some point, though. The Daily Prophet would start carrying stories that people thought more interesting. People would start realizing that killing someone was not something they should honor him for.

I may be living in a mad world at the moment, but it will steady itself.

"Mr. Potter. A word with you, please?"

Harry wasn't surprised that Draco stayed at his side as he turned around. After all, he'd hardly had good things happen to him when he was alone with Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in the past, except for Remus.

Karkaroff, who'd taken over the Defense classes gradually during the last week, stood surveying him expectantly for a moment, as though he already thought Harry should know what he wanted to talk about. His fingers played with his left sleeve. Harry didn't have to see the arm to know what rested there: the Dark Mark. Karkaroff had been a Death Eater.

I seem to be surrounded by them.

"I wanted to reassure you," Karkaroff blurted suddenly, "that I'm not going to do the same things Mulciber did."

Harry couldn't help snorting as he raised his eyes to the professor's face. "I should hope not, sir," he said. "One Death Eater cursing the professors and opening holes in the wards is enough."

Karkaroff flinched, then nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, that's it exactly," he whispered. "I—I would not do anything like that. I repented of being a Death Eater in the end, which is why I've been Headmaster of Durmstrang and not in Azkaban or Obscuratio, the German prison. I know that you have no reason to believe me, but—"

"I believe you because you're free," Harry interrupted him. "You would hardly go running back to Voldemort now, I think."

Karkaroff flinched again, though this time Harry knew it was from the pronunciation of the Dark Lord's name. "Yes," he whispered. "I—but it is more than that. I want it to be more than that." He paused, visibly gathering his courage. Harry studied him, and wondered that he'd never noticed the man's fear before. He had always seemed large and blustering, and he was a competent, if monotonous, teacher who betrayed little of his emotions in his class. Of course, Harry hadn't had any reason to pay him much attention before this. "I want you to know that you can trust me as more than just someone who ran because he was frightened."

"Liar," said Draco, so quietly that Harry didn't think Karkaroff heard. He looked at Draco, but he just shook his head, so Harry resigned himself to waiting for the explanation.

"I want—I want to become something more than that," said Karkaroff, and gave a gusty sigh. Harry wrinkled his nose. Has he been drinking? Smoking? His breath smells foul. "I want to become part of the fight against my Lord, if he—if he returns." He swallowed, and his voice cracked on the words. "Do you understand?" He was obviously appealing to Harry now, eyes wide. "A true fighter, not a neutral. I want you to know that you don't have to distrust me just because I bear the Dark Mark."

Harry studied him in silence for a moment. He could grasp what Karkaroff was saying, though the man's trembling nervousness made Harry wonder how much his promise would really hold up in battle. At least Peter, who'd also been a Death Eater with a cowardly reputation, had proven to be much stronger than Harry had thought he was.

More than that, though, he wondered something else.

"Why aren't you telling this to Headmaster Dumbledore, sir?" he asked. "Or Professor McGonagall? They're the ones who are in charge of strategy and planning for the War. They're the ones who fought in the first war against Voldemort. They're the ones you'd need to convince."

Karkaroff gave a hysterical little laugh. "They are not the ones who killed one of my former comrades," he said, his accent becoming steadily thicker. "And they are not one of the two wizards setting Dark magic on fire across Europe right now."

Harry swallowed, slowly. He had not realized that the Dark singing he'd heard under the lake could be heard by other people.

So Voldemort is one…and I am the other.

"You think that you need to convince me," he said, and Karkaroff nodded at once.

"I am a coward," he said, voice marginally calmer. "I admit that. I tried to trade the names of other—of Death Eaters for my freedom. I admit that. But I want to change things, now that I know it is not just bad dreams that my Lord is returned. I want to fight at your side. But, to do that, I know that you might distrust me at first, so I must soothe your distrust."

Harry sighed. He didn't think that anything would actually test Karkaroff as much as the stress of battle, and he had no idea how long it might be before he and Voldemort actually clashed in open war.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, unsure of whether he would have thought of Karkaroff at all if the man hadn't pressed his presence into Harry's mind. "Thank you for telling me."

Karkaroff nodded at him, and then turned away to spell the board clean for the next class. Harry walked out the door, frowning and wondering what was stranger: that Karkaroff should have approached him at all, or that there might be people out there beyond Britain watching his every move. To have his actions tested on the stage of Hogwarts, or Britain, was frightening enough.

"He's a liar," Draco whispered.

"You said that," Harry murmured, recalled to himself. "About which part?"

"He did run because he was frightened," said Draco. "He ran from several battles, including one that happened not long before the night you brought down—You-Know-Who." Harry hissed at him to keep his voice down, and Draco paused to roll his eyes at him. "You know that people will have to find out about you being the Boy-Who-Lived someday, Harry. My parents already know," he added, as if that were supposed to help.

"Your parents are special cases. Now, tell me more about Karkaroff."

"He was captured crouching in a dark hole and shaking in his boots," said Draco. "And soaked in piss, apparently. And that wasn't the first time. He was actually captured by the Aurors once before his trial, but they let him go because they couldn't believe how pitiful he was. He's a wet rag, and though you might get some good use out of him if you twist him, you'll mostly get water."

Harry shrugged and worked his way over to the wall so that a couple Ravenclaw sixth-years could pass. They sneered at him, but there was fear behind their eyes. Without much surprise, Harry recognized Gorgon and Jones, the bullies who used to torment Luna. "I don't know if I'll make much use of him at all, but thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

"Hey, Potter!"

Harry looked slowly over his shoulder. Gorgon was standing slightly apart from Jones, his wand in his hand. Harry remembered the duel they'd had earlier that year over the Hound with the surname of Gorgon, and braced his legs.

Gorgon didn't attack, though. He just sneered again, and said, "I suppose that you think you're all high and mighty now, bullying the Headmaster."

Harry winced. Skeeter's articles, if no one else's, had played that angle up. "I didn't bully the Headmaster," he said. "He was compelling people. I just wanted him to stop, and he did when I showed him I was serious."

Gorgon came a step forward. "And now what? What are you going to do for an encore? Drain more people?" He waved one hand in front of himself as Jones laughed. "Here's my magic. Come and take it, if you think you can defeat me."

Harry looked past the mocking words, studying Gorgon's face. It was convulsed with laughter, but the laughter had a desperate edge to it.

He's afraid. I'm not surprised. If I can feed on anyone's magic, why would they think I'd limit myself to Dumbledore?

That just made Harry weary. He shook his head. "I don't have a reason to, Gorgon," he said.

"You're giving him a reason, you fool."

Harry jumped slightly, and then recognized Cho standing behind Gorgon with her hands on her hips. Jones was gaping at her. Gorgon turned around and sneered at her in turn.

"What do you know? You've read the articles. What makes you think that we won't be his next—"

"Because he only does that when he's angry," Cho said. "Really angry." She looked at Harry. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly, trying to work out why she was defending him.

"There," said Cho, to Gorgon. "I trust Harry. I don't have any reason not to trust him. He saved my life." She flicked her head, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. "And until I see him drain someone he's not angry at, then I won't consider him a danger to me." She smiled at Harry. "Is the lesson that you're teaching still scheduled for tonight after dinner, Harry?"

"Um, yes," said Harry, and heard Draco give a possessive little growl beside him that was probably inspired by Cho's smile.

"Good," said Cho. "Cedric and I will be there, and I'll drag Marietta away from her books if I have to. She's not going to learn any more Charms that way. They're already overflowing from her ears as it is." She smiled once more at Harry, and then turned and strode up the hall. Gorgon and Jones stood there and looked like fools in her wake.

Harry tugged on Draco's arm and got him walking again. He still looked murderous.

"She has a boyfriend," Harry whispered. "She and Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff, went to the Yule Ball together, and they're officially dating now. Relax."

"She just looks at you too intently," Draco whispered back. "They always look at you too intently, Harry."

Harry couldn't help chuckling, even if the sound was sharp and bitten-off. "Welcome to my entire life at the moment, Draco."

Draco tugged on his arm, stopping him. Harry turned and waited patiently as Draco studied him. Harry's skin still crawled when he did that, but he was learning to get used to it. Draco saw things about him that no one else would, things that Harry allowed him to see, and so it was silly to object to these moments of silent scrutiny.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" Draco said at last. "Not just when someone makes baseless accusations at you, like Gorgon and Jones, but when someone calls attention to you in any way."

"Yes," said Harry. "And now, come on. We're going to be late for dinner if we don't hurry."

He tugged at Draco's hand, but Draco held him still. "I'll try not to do that anymore, then," he whispered. "Now that I really know." He gave Harry a quick hug and pulled away. "Sorry for this morning."

It took Harry a moment to work out that he was talking about calling the Slytherin table's attention to Harry's diminished magic. "You don't need to apologize," he said. "Really, Draco."

"Hush, I want to," Draco responded, and got him moving again. Harry eyed him sideways, and then shook his head.

Sometimes, Draco Malfoy, you are very strange.

Dinner was never a quiet affair for Harry anymore, because of the post owls.

There had been the streams of Howlers after Skeeter's article and the others about the Triwizard Tournament came out: some of them scolding him for taking the spotlight from the true Champions, believing he was really Connor's jealous younger brother, but most of them upset that Harry had dared to go against the Headmaster. Harry had listened to them and hadn't flinched, not really. It was no more than he expected. Dumbledore's reputation was still too bright in most of the wizarding world for Harry to destroy him without darkening his own.

Unless you used the accusations of child abuse…

Harry swallowed and put the thought away. If he had his way, no one would ever learn about that who didn't already know. Ever.

There had been the letters congratulating him for defeating Death Eaters or rescuing Moody or standing up for his beliefs, gushing, praising things that Harry pushed aside and buried his head in his arms over when Millicent or Pansy read them aloud in high, girlish voices. Harry couldn't understand why people wrote the damn things. At least the Howlers were understandable, if embarrassing. These…these people didn't know him, and sometimes they asked for incomprehensible things, like for him to write back and tell them how he became so wise. Harry so far hadn't answered a single letter. The mere thought of doing so set shame burning on his cheeks, because there was no way that he could give them what they wanted. What they wanted was impossible. They'd created some illusion who didn't exist.

Draco carefully gathered all those letters and put them away. Harry refused to ask what he did with them.

But dinner tonight was different, and actually useful, because Harry received three letters he'd been waiting for. The first came on the leg of a gray owl that Harry had already learned to recognize as one of St. Mungo's preferred messengers. He extended bits of his pudding to the owl in thanks while he read the letter.

March 1st, 1995

Dear Mr. Potter:

As you requested, we have begun tests on the patients we believed to have been tortured into insanity by the Cruciatus or other similar curses during the first war with You-Know-Who. We have discovered anomalies in the minds of several. As Mulciber was an Imperius Curse specialist, we believe that he may have adapted and modified the spell to outlast not just his death, but the passage of time and most efforts to relieve the spell with Finite Incantatem.

We have, however, managed to heal two witches who were victims of Mulciber's last recorded attack before his capture by the Aurors in late 1981. We believe that their lesser length of time spent under the spell has something to do with our success, but we eventually hope to apply the technique to the minds of other sufferers. A Finite Incantatem cast cooperatively, through the means of a Light ritual, provided the means we sought.

I am grateful beyond words for your suggestion to us that we look into the minds of some of Mulciber's victims. While some are indeed insane, that others might come back to themselves is a gift.

Sincerely,

Miriam Strout

Head Healer

Janus Thickey Ward.

Harry couldn't help smiling as he ruffled the owl's feathers one more time and borrowed a sheet of parchment from Pansy to scribble an enthusiastic reply to Healer Strout. The owl took wing the moment he finished binding the letter, as if eager to be away from the table. Of course, Harry considered, that might have something to do with the large, elegant black bird bearing towards him.

This owl landed and refused to take any refreshment, eying Harry haughtily as she extended her leg. Harry knew better than to pet her feathers, either. This was Narcissa's new owl, Regina, and she had made it quite clear that she only tolerated delivering messages to Hogwarts. Nor did she like the food, the company of other owls, people touching her, people remarking on her, or people asking her if a reply was expected. She would wait for a reply if she was expected to take one, and spent most of her time twisting her head around and glaring at every other student at the Slytherin table with large orange eyes. She did not look at Harry himself, as if he were beneath her contempt.

Harry unfolded the letter curiously; he had a notion why Narcissa might be writing to him, but he had hardly expected any new news on this front.

Dear Harry:

I wish to know if you have any time free this weekend. I have been to most of the easily accessible Black houses by now, and the wards have permitted me free passage into all of them. I believe that Regulus may be somewhere nearby, self-aware enough to have recognized me and lowered the wards of his own free will. Our best chance for finding his body is, I believe, Wayhouse, a small place used as a private summer home by my cousin Arcturus Black in the early part of this century. I have found signs of Regulus's presence there, though I have not been able to sense the presence of any human flesh or blood.

Please write back. The tapestry in Grimmauld Place reassures me that Regulus is still alive, and he may yet need our help.

Yours in grace,

Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry didn't need to write a long reply to this one, either, only a formal statement of his consent, and Regina hopped off and into the air with it inside a minute. The offended wriggle of her tail showed that she thought the reading and reply had taken rather too long for her delicate sensibilities.

The third letter didn't ride with an owl, but with a gyrfalcon. She landed right beside Harry's plate and commenced to eat half his pudding before he could remove the letter from her leg. He paused when he saw the formal crest on it: rising sun and stars.

Salutations, Mr. Potter.

I suppose that you think it has taken me a very great time to get back to you, especially as I spoke of contacting your Dark allies at Christmas. However, I did not wish to write to you again until I had a substantial victory to report, and here it is: Dolores Umbridge is on the verge of losing her position as the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

No Dark spells were used. None were needed. I merely made sure to expose Madam Umbridge's insufficiencies in the right places and to the right people, and even her allies began to abandon her in disgust. I anticipate having her out of the Ministry in no more than two months at the most. They may shuffle her to another position first, but she no longer has any substantial power.

Now, on to the meat of this letter, which I promised you when first we met in the Forbidden Forest. I, Tybalt Starrise, elder son of Alba Starrise and Tiberius Griffinsnest, joined partner of John Smythe-Blyton, plight my loyalty and my faith to you, in Merlin's name, under the Light, unto the Light unending.

I should warn you that you must not expect the allegiance of the rest of my family to come with me. My brother Pharos is our uncle's heir, and is wary of doing anything that might upset him. At the moment, pledging allegiance or help to someone who is in any way a Dark wizard would upset him.

My uncle…Augustus Starrise hates what he cannot control. That includes me, and it is the reason that he accepted Pharos as heir. He is barred from participation in politics until this October. Then I fear that he will make trouble for you again, unless I can bring him around in the meantime. I will try, but I am not sure if I can manage to do so. Most of our so-called discussions wind up as shouting matches.

I want from you, Lord-who-will-not-be-called-so, assurance that the assistance of Light wizards does not disgust you, and that you will not require us to give up our principles if we fight beside you. I am not and never can be of the Dark.

You may think that you had fooled me completely that day in the Forest, but you did not. I went along with you, Harry Potter, out of curiosity, agreement with you about the disgusting nature of people like Madam Umbridge, and eagerness to see what would happen next. I see with clear eyes, and so does my John, and both of us are waiting to see what you will do next.

Yours under the Light,

Tybalt Starrise.

Harry raised his eyebrows when he was done, and wrote a slightly longer reply this time, though he had to shove the greedy gyrfalcon's head aside to do so.

Dear Mr. Starrise:

I will not require you to give up your principles if you fight beside me. Nor am I disgusted with Light wizards, though between Headmaster Dumbledore and wizards like the former Minister, I have known little good from them. If you pledge me loyalty and allegiance, I will do the same for you.

I am sorry to hear about your uncle, and am hesitant to cause any family quarrels. Will it damage you irreparably in his eyes to hear that you have written me, fought beside me, promised me your help? If the answer to any of those questions is yes, I will understand if you break off this alliance.

I am gratified to hear that you were not taken in by my manipulations. One always wants one's allies to be intelligent.

I am at your disposal for the answering of questions.

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter.

Harry signed with a flourish, bound the letter to the gyrfalcon's leg, and forcefully pushed her away from his plate. She gave him a hurt look and bounded aloft. Heads craned back to watch her go, then turned to look at Harry.

Harry was glad enough to stand, clear his throat, and hurry on to the lesson he had promised to give for students of all the Houses after dinner.

"Harry!"

Harry had been concentrating on ignoring the stares as he walked with Draco to the abandoned classroom designated for that evening's lesson, but he turned around at this voice. "Connor!" he said, and felt a smile sweep his face of the kind he hadn't given since his brother took the Slicing Curse. "Finally out of the hospital wing?"

"Yes." Connor winced slightly as he walked towards Harry, but he was walking again, and his gaze was free of the delirium that had overtaken him for nearly a week when the Slicing Curse, the Imperius Curse, and the healing potions that Madam Pomfrey had given him had reacted together. "And ready to attend this lesson tonight." He cocked his head stubbornly at Harry.

"We're not going to be doing any spells," said Harry. He didn't want to do something active that Connor couldn't participate in because of his wounds. "Just pureblood history tonight."

Connor uttered a long-suffering sigh. "If I must."

"You're damn lucky to be able to sit in on it at all, Potter," Draco said, voice low and vicious. "Most people who have as much knowledge as Harry does don't just spread it around to all and sundry."

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, especially when he saw Connor struggling to maintain, and then maintaining, his calm. "Don't mind him, please," he told Connor. "He's just pissy when he thinks someone else is getting more than his fair share of my attention."

"I am not," Draco began.

"Yes, you are," said Connor, relaxed again, and giving a smile that was dangerously near a smirk. "Harry told me that you declared your love for him. Congratulations. I told him you would be mad not to be in love with him by now." He paused significantly. "Of course, you should still be careful, Malfoy. With all the foot-stomping and face-flushing go on right now, someone might think you're acting a bit like a girl."

Draco drew his wand. Connor grinned and reached for his.

"Stop it, the both of you," said Harry, not looking forward to being trapped in a small room with them for the next few hours. "Connor, stop teasing Draco. Draco, stop acting as though Connor is going to do something to hurt me at any moment. He's my brother, of course he's going to tease us about this." He rolled his eyes and moved on down the hall, feeling like a parent scolding two unruly children.

"Harry," Draco said softly, catching up with him, "he really hurt you last year."

"And I've forgiven him for it," said Harry. "And other people for worse things." He didn't have to speak Lucius's name for Draco to know it was hanging there in the air between them. "So leave off, all right?"

Draco nodded, subdued, and stepped into the room beside him. A good number of students were already there, Harry saw, including some who hadn't come the other times. Millicent sat in one of the front desks, swinging her legs, her gaze calm and inquisitive. Blaise lounged in a chair in the second row, with one arm around Ginny Weasley, who seemed caught between enjoyment at his actions and annoyance at the way Blaise was eyeing Ron—or maybe at the way Ron was watching them, Harry didn't know. A few Durmstrang students sat beside Blaise, their expressions cautious. Hermione and Zacharias were in the third row, where they usually sat, but arguing in low, furious voices. Cho grinned and waved from the back of the room, where Cedric was massaging her shoulders.

"History lesson tonight," Harry announced, and ignored the chorus of groans that resulted. "Anyone who doesn't like that is welcome to leave."

No one did. Luna did say from the back of the room, though, her voice soft and sweet, "Are you going to tell us the story of Rowena and Salazar?"

Harry smiled at her, and ignored Draco's exasperated sound. Some things, Draco was just going to have to get used to. Harry knew of no other way of soothing his jealousy than by actions like letting Draco touch him where no one else was allowed. Words certainly didn't work. "I don't know that story well enough to tell it, Luna."

"Too bad," said Luna, sounding dreamy. "It is a very pretty story. They had words about Muggleborns, but Rowena also put a blanket over Salazar one night when he had fallen asleep from studying too hard, and he did the same for her. The chairs remember."

The rest of the room seemed to want to fall into an embarrassed silence after that, but Harry started talking instead. "I'm going to tell a story that I do know, though I suppose you might call it a legend and not history. How many of you know what happened to divide Light and Dark wizards in Merlin's time?"

A few foreheads wrinkled, and one or two hands rose, wavering, and dropped. Harry nodded. He had suspected that most people would know stories much nearer to them in history—taking the feud as coming from Gryffindor's and Slytherin's struggles, for example, or from the Declaration of the first truly historical Dark Lord not long before the founding of Hogwarts.

"I read about this in a book that my godfather fetched for me out of his private collection." He didn't say Sirius's name. It was still hard to do so, and he wanted a storytelling voice, not one wavering and cracking with emotion. "Merlin was a force for unity among wizardkind, the most powerful Lord that anyone had ever seen—or ever has, really. He himself knew and used both Light and Dark magic, and he was probably the one who established some of the definitions of them. For that, wizards and witches honored him.

"He had two children—though the legend didn't say if they were adopted children, or relatives of his, or actual daughters, or just witches whom he knew and cherished. He thought that he would teach both of them all his knowledge, so that they could be the leaders among wizards and witches when he at last passed. But while he did so, the two sisters were convinced that he had not done so. Partly that was Merlin's fault, since he was a Seer of the future and couldn't tell them the truth about things like prophecies, which made them believe he was always keeping secrets. But partly that was the sisters' fault, because they let the promised position of leadership go to their heads, and they wanted more and more, knowledge of spells that didn't exist and gifts that Merlin didn't possess and control of magical creatures that weren't theirs to bind." Harry felt his voice waver on that last, in spite of himself. It made him far angrier than it had the first time he read the story.

He paused to study the faces of his audience. Hermione's voice had grown a little louder, but otherwise, everyone was absorbed in the tale. Someone muttered something about this being loads better than Professor Binns, and a murmur of agreeable laughter ran around the room.

Harry smiled and continued talking. "When Merlin died, his daughters were with him, and he believed they would go from his deathbed out to lead the people. What happened was that they declared war on each other, in full sight of all the wizards and witches who had come to see Merlin pass. They used all the magic they knew. They were both such powerful Ladies that they destroyed each other almost at once. But each, when she saw that she was dying, worked a mighty enchantment, a spell whose name has been forgotten because it was too dangerous to keep alive.

"That spell bound their hatred and their cause and their magic into the watching wizards and witches, making everyone their magical heirs, in a way. However, because the two sisters were equal in strength, the enchantments ripped their power, which was the sum of all power, in half, and one set of wizards and witches was infused with Light principles and spells, the other with Dark principles and spells."

"I never heard of anything like that," said Padma Patil, her brow slightly wrinkled as she leaned forward. "That would mean—that would mean that most of the divisions between us are just the product of jealousy and hatred, and that we're just acting out a feud centuries old." She sounded uncertain, even disgusted, but her voice gained strength as she continued. "The differences between Light and Dark wizards are greater than that."

"Oh, yes, now," Harry agreed, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Hermione's hisses at Zacharias. "But that is what the story claimed was their origin. And it doesn't pretend to explain everything like the way that Light and Dark families handle themselves in battle. It does say, though, why so many attempts at reconciliation have failed. The sisters couldn't forgive each other, and they sent their hatred through their spells. Even when someone does make a motion, on one side or the other, to give up a grudge or make a marriage across magical lines, it doesn't matter. The hatred just suffers a little interruption, and goes right on affecting people in more subtle ways, such as making them think the people who forgive grudges are weak, or turn their backs on the newly married couple."

He could see by the looks on most people's faces that he'd displeased them greatly with that story. Harry shrugged. "I don't know if I should believe it myself," he offered. "I like it because it suggests that wizards are all the same, really, and the differences between us aren't unconquerable. If everyone could give up their grudges at once, perhaps we could break the spell."

Privately, Harry thought that the story probably wasn't true, or that he couldn't afford to believe it if it was. If nothing else, it might give him too much hope.

"What about you?" That was Neville, his face flushing as people looked at him, but his courage firm as he held Harry's eye. "Do you think that you could break the spell? Do you think you're strong enough?"

Harry blinked, and shifted uncomfortably as gazes turned towards him, again. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think so. Those sisters were the strongest Ladies who ever existed, if the story is right, Merlin's heirs. I know my place. I'm nowhere near that powerful."

"I don't know if power matters so much as determination," said Millicent. "And when you are determined, Harry, you can do nearly anything." She turned towards the class. "Harry saved my mother's life last night, when she gave her magic to my newborn sister and Harry gave part of his magic to her."

Hermione's head whipped around, and she was the first one to ask a question. "What does that mean, Harry? Does that mean that she's not a witch now? Or is she a truly powerful one, like you?"

Harry could see that new thought taking fire in the eyes around him. Most people had been frightened at the thought that he might absorb their magic. They hadn't thought it was possible for him to give it back.

"I gave her enough to bring her back up to average levels," said Harry firmly. "I used some—some of the magic I'd taken from the Headmaster." He swallowed against the way their looks sharpened. "She is a witch, but not connected to me in any way. I surrendered that magic, not lent it. I made it part of her."

Millicent grinned at him. And Harry realized, too late, as the murmurs raced around the room, that she'd probably done this on purpose, to make people notice and realize what he'd done.

He wondered, then, if his position among the students had irrevocably changed, so that no matter what he did, it would be impossible to hide himself again.

"No, Zacharias!"

Harry jerked his head around. Hermione was on her feet, hands planted on her hips, her face an angry red.

"No, I haven't been dating Krum, and no, I don't know why he chose me for his hostage, and no, I don't care for you to tell me yet again that there must be something between me and Krum because of it! You're not being rational or intelligent about this, you prat!" Her hand connected with Zacharias's cheek in a ringing slap, and she marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harry sat in silence as the snickers began, sorry for Hermione and Zacharias, but relieved that no one was staring at him now. Maybe not so irrevocably changed, after all. People will always find something else to focus on.

"It's smaller than I imagined," Harry breathed, looking around Wayhouse.

And it was—certainly smaller than Grimmauld Place. But it was more intensely magical. Harry could feel the staircases themselves thrumming with latent power, both Light and Dark. The walls, made of a smooth, polished silvery wood that he didn't recognize, and without a splinter or knot when he ran his hand across them, sang a bass note that was calmer than most of the wild singing he'd heard of late. The rooms had ceilings barely high enough to clear Narcissa's head, and were almost all rounded at the corners, formed like chambers in a hollow tree. Objects were everywhere, ordinary ones strewn carelessly among magical artifacts.

"It's beautiful," Harry told Narcissa, as they entered a room with a large table in the middle, scattered with books. It had no other furniture, so Harry didn't know if it was meant as a reading room, or if someone had carted the books in and left them here. "Did you spend any time here when you were a child?"

Narcissa smiled a bit, and reached out to touch one of the walls. Harry blinked as her finger vanished to the first knuckle, before the wall spat it out again. "A few summers, or parts of summers. We usually wound up leaving early. Wayhouse has a—unique sense of humor. Rather like Cousin Arcturus," she added dryly, as if reminded of something. "If it had really wanted to reject us, then it wouldn't have mattered if Regulus lowered the wards. We still wouldn't have been able to get in."

Harry nodded, and turned his attention to the books as Narcissa cast a few more sensing spells, trying to find any trace of Regulus's body. He caught his breath when he saw the top one, and reached out to stroke it with a shaking hand. He understood why Narcissa had wanted him to see it.

The book looked like a journal, and on the front had a silvery sketch of a lion, highlighted here and there with twinkling points Harry thought were meant to represent stars. That in itself wouldn't have been significant, but Harry knew what Regulus had been named after—the heart of the lion, a star blazing in the constellation Leo.

"Why do you think no one found this before us?" he whispered to Narcissa.

"I don't know," Narcissa admitted, looking up from what must have been yet another failed spell, judging by the expression on her face. "It was hidden in a small compartment at the foot of the stairs, but Bella—Bellatrix could have found it there. I did find signs that she'd been here, too, years ago, but that she left in haste. Perhaps she just didn't have time to search."

Harry nodded, and opened the book.

He faced a multitude of scraps of paper, as though Regulus or someone else had torn out many pages. There were two or three pages still loaded with shaky handwriting, though. Harry bent over and, squinting, managed to read them.

May 1st, 1981

Oh, Merlin, am I really going to do this? I think I am, or what was all that planning about? But V. doesn't know I know about L. That won't last long.

L. Why did I pick that one? Because I don't know where the others are, of course. Stupid question.

Going to the c. shouldn't take much more than three days. Have to take someone else. Can't trust anyone. Suppose I'll take R., then. There's no one to miss him.

S. got in trouble again last night. P. helped him—but I don't know if it was helped him get in trouble, or helped him get out of it. I wish I could dare trust them. They're the most competent out of all of us. I wish there was something I could say that wouldn't get me killed on hearing of it.

May 5th, 1981

I meant to go to the c. last night. Had the perfect opportunity. Got R. drunk and everything.

And then I couldn't do it. I looked at R., and then S. came in and said V. wanted me for something, and my courage fled. That's always been my problem, lack of courage. Wish I were more like Sir. He had the courage to cast our parents away, everything about the fucking Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Would that I could do the same.

June 21st, 1981

Still haven't gone to c. I have to go soon. V. still doesn't know I know about L., but that can't last long. And now there's some muttering about a prophecy. P. has apparently suggested that the Potters have something to do with it, or the Longbottoms. I know that I should despise him, hate him. He's betraying Sir. and his friends. So why can't I shake the feeling that he's among the best of us? Except maybe S.

Certainly better than me.

July 17th, 1981

Done. Done.

I couldn't take R. after all. My courage failed me. I took an M. and crossed to the c. Merlin, it was horrible. I wouldn't have gone at all if I'd known what it would cost. But I went, and I've got L.

It can't be long now. I only have a few days to live. I have to figure out how to destroy L., before V. starts noticing it's gone.

Merlin help me.

July 19th, 1981

No time. No time. V. found out, and they're coming for me. I have to take L. where I know it will be safe.

They're coming.

They're at the door. Just enough time to hide this.

If someone actually finds this and knows what the hell I'm talking about, then search for the others by the light of the fourth brightest one of us.

Harry took a shaky breath and leaned away from the journal. Narcissa met his eyes.

"You should take the journal with you," she said quietly. "Now that the wards are down, Bellatrix may be able to come here any time she wants, if she thinks of it."

Harry nodded, and slid the journal into his pocket. "The Death Eaters caught him here, then."

Narcissa nodded in turn. "I think they did. But I have no idea what he was talking about. Do you?"

Harry thought about it, but had to shake his head. He thought he knew who at least a few of the coded references in the diary must be to—P. had to be Peter—but R. could have had several identities, and the torn pages of the journal must be carrying the secret of the c. and the L. with them.

"And I can't find any trace of him here," Narcissa continued, the frustration breaking through her voice like sharp rocks through water. "Maybe they didn't place his body in Wayhouse. There may be places in Grimmauld that we haven't tried yet, or Silver-Mirror, or Cobley-by-the-Sea." She shut her eyes in thought a moment. "We might as well search, though."

And search they did, but turned up nothing. Harry passed through a room filled with maps and books, another with portraits that winked at him or leered or loudly demanded their tea, a room strung with delicately colored cobwebs on which silver spiders kept up a shining patrol, a nursery strewn with blocks and dolls and carved wooden and brass figurines, a bedchamber filled with small nasty things that darted out to bite his ankles and then went back to hiding under the bed, and numerous others, but could find nothing that would point to Regulus. Narcissa investigated the hiding places she knew, and also came up empty.

Narcissa clasped his hand before she Apparated them back to Hogwarts. "We will find him, Harry. We have come closer today than ever before. At least we know that he was in Wayhouse as late as July 1981."

Harry nodded. He was captured just a few days before Connor and I turned a year old. That's odd to think about.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, and, as they Apparated back, braced himself for a scolding from Draco for leaving him behind, though it was Draco's own fault that he hadn't woken up to repeated shakings and invitations to come along.

Minerva sat down, slowly and shakily, behind her desk, and rubbed one hand over her eyes. Both the tasks of readjusting the wards to take notice of her and keeping an eye on Albus Dumbledore were exhausting, and she was not truly sure which one was worse.

The wards were difficult to coax and persuade. Many of them were not really sentient, only devoted to their task of protecting the walls and windows and grounds of the school—protective spell piled on protective spell, until they became not just a compendium of defenses but a separate thing. The Founders had created most of them, and then Headmasters down the centuries, and Dumbledore had woven more. The ones that Dumbledore had created were particularly sulky when asked to notice her. If it were not for that first ward in the Great Hall, which tended to follow Minerva as a crawling snake of blue light, she thought she would have given up in discouragement.

And then there was Albus, constantly speaking of the first war and reminding her of what good the Light had done then, and was she really going to turn her back on the Light now, with Voldemort rising again? He tugged up so many memories that sometimes Minerva thought she had spent more time that day looking at them than the wards. And the hell of it was, some of what he said was right. The Light did have a part to play in the war, and it did need a strong leader, one who, if not unquestioned, at least had enough weight of reputation and trust from the people around him to get things done without waging a dozen arguments.

What he's blind to, Minerva thought, as she warmed herself a cup of tea and prepared to settle down to neglected marking, is that that leader can't be him anymore. I wonder if it could have been from the time he decided to bind Harry with a phoenix web.

The full truth of that had come out in the past two weeks, as well. Minerva swallowed sickness and bowed her head as she considered it.

Something soft and warm nudged her hand. Minerva blinked down, and saw the blue ward there. It crawled into her lap and curled up like a kitten, demanding to be patted with another push of its "head" against her hand. Ordinarily it protected the Gryffindor table, but now it seemed to have adopted her. Minerva smiled slightly and caressed the ward. A tingle like lightning ran up her arm.

"You will become the leader we need."

Minerva jerked her head up with a startled gasp. Someone was standing in the corner of her office, a cloaked and hooded figure. Minerva started to lift her wand from the desk, until she realized that the ward was curled up in her lap, still purring, and not deigning to notice the figure.

"Who are you?" Minerva hissed, smelling smoke and fire.

"My name is Acies," said the figure, in a deep, hoarse voice that Minerva couldn't be certain was a woman's, though her instinct was to say so. "I shall not give you my surname at the moment. It would cause problems. Suffice it to say that I can pass in and out of the Hogwarts wards, and I have been observing you and Harry, and I like what I see in both cases."

Minerva picked up her wand, ward be damned. "If you hurt anyone here—" she began.

"I do not want to," said Acies. "I came only to establish the beginning of a connection that we must have. I can see that."

"Are you a Seer, then?" Minerva asked, her annoyance rising. Merlin knows we do not need another Trelawney running about the grounds. Minerva despised Divination, mostly because its practitioners claimed so much for it that was not even possible.

"I can see around some corners that concern myself," said Acies. "Not all. This time, I wanted to see you. I have seen you. I will go now." She turned and walked through the wall.

Minerva stared hard, then rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn't seeing things. No, the figure was gone, and the wards in the stone, some of the first to be attuned to her, hummed on happily. Minerva picked up her cup of tea and took a sip without removing her eyes from the spot on the wall where Acies had vanished.

The beginning of a connection we must have.

You will become the leader we need.

Minerva almost wanted to believe the words, because there was something hopeful in them.

But anyone who could pass in and out of the wards was bound to cause trouble. Minerva was responsible for part of the safety of the school now, and she was ashamed enough about the part she had played in weakening the wards earlier in the year, even if that part had been unwitting.

She turned back to her students' essays, her lips pursing. Damn Seers and their superstitious nonsense! It's not enough to have to listen to Trelawney's babbling at the head table, now I have to do it in my own office…