Evanna frowned as she went over the list for what seemed the umpteenth time. She had had no idea so many students at Hogwarts had been raised by muggle relatives, many of them because of parents who had lost their lives in the previous year. There were students from all houses represented, though there were fewer students being raised by someone other than their parents in the years younger than Evanna. Still, it was quite the list to go through, though at least Pyrites had been kind enough to mark the students whose Heads of House had made note of as acting strangely. Of course, Harry Potter was chief among those, but Evanna was surprised to notice her own roommate, Eva Blishwick, on the list.

"This will take forever," she grumbled to herself, sharpening a quill with gusto.

It had been over a week since Evanna had gone on the muggle date with Harry, and they had been out twice more, meeting at a little cart that served fried fish and chips. They were supposed to go out a third time, if she could get a handle on this damned list.

"You've never had fish and chips?" Harry had said, gaping at her as he poured vinegar over the chips.

"Newspaper is hardly considered proper dinnerware in Malfoy Manor," she admitted.

"I forget I have such a posh girlfriend," he teased. "I wonder-"

He had stopped then, as Evanna had smeared tartar sauce on his nose. She grinned thinking about it.

She nearly knocked over her inkwell when Narcissa barged in without warning. Her eyes flicked over Evanna, taking in the denim trousers she had decided to try wearing for the first time and sleeveless top that showed without a doubt that her left arm was unmarked. Her aunt-mother's lips pursed into a frown as she crossed the room to Evanna's wardrobe, pulling out formal black robes with flowing sleeves and a shifting serpentine pattern.

"Mother, what-"

"You need to change," Narcissa said.

"I have plans-"

"Not anymore," Narcissa said. "Your father is home."

For a moment, Evanna was thrown backwards into her childhood where those words meant bruises and cuts and curses and just for a moment she couldn't breathe… And then she remembered. That father was dead. Buried. Wiped away as though he had never existed and the world was better off for it.

And her real father was all the more dangerous.

Evanna took the robes from Narcissa and ducked behind her changing screen, shimmying out of her denims quickly.

"And? Is he…."

She wasn't quite sure what to ask. Well? Tired? Angry?

"Bella said that he was successful in his mission. He seems to be in a good mood," Narcissa said carefully. "He wants a full report of what you have been doing since he's been away."

Evanna stepped out from the changing screen and stood in front of her mirror. Her hair had grown out past her shoulders after the rough chop at the end of her third year. She had finally gained an inch or two in height, giving her more of the image she ought to have as the heir of the Dark Lord.

"Hand me that jar of Sleakeazy's, would you?" she said. Narcissa did so, also passing Evanna a comb. "What has Aunt Bella-Mother already told him?"

"As far as I can tell, he knows about your meeting with Pyrites," Narcissa said carefully as Evanna ran the hair potion through her curls. "I don't think Bella even realizes how much time you've been spending out of the Manor, though."

Evanna nodded, smoothing her hair into a high ponytail. She pulled the skirt of her robes down, studying the way that they flared at her knees. It occurred to her that she no longer looked like a child, not that she had ever really been one. She turned to Narcissa.

"Do I look like the Dark Lady?" she asked wryly.

"Be careful," Narcissa warned. "Please, Evanna. I know that you've got ideas in your head about what your place is in this war-"

"You worry too much, Mother," she said, giving Narcissa a kiss on the cheek. "He's in the study, I presume?"

"Yes, but-"

Evanna did not allow her once mother to finish her statement and instead swept from the room toward the study where her father waited on her. She took a moment to breath deeply through her nose, steeling her mind and burying any thoughts of Harry down, down, down, before knocking on the door.

"Enter," came her father's cold voice.

This time, he was not in a chair in front of the fire, but instead sitting behind the grand desk, much the same as Evanna had been not ten minutes before. She dipped her head briefly to him, refusing to betray an ounce of wrong doing she had done by acting more subservient than he had told her to be. He rose from the desk and opened his arms.

"Evanna," he said, a hint more of warmth in his voice. Evanna smiled herself and went into his embrace. The feel of his magic surrounding her was almost overwhelming enough that she nearly didn't notice the probing tendrils of magic in her mind. She thought of her meeting with Pyrites, of the Slytherins approaching her at the end of the year, of anything that her father would approve. When he drew back from her, he didn't exactly smile, but Evanna could tell that he was satisfied with what she had shown him. None of it was a lie, she reassured herself. Her father wanted the wizarding world to come out of hiding. He wanted magical children to be safe, to understand their place in the world.

"Father," she said. "How was the continent?"

"I went with the intention of making world leaders agree to neutrality as I fought against the British Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore's faction," he said. "Instead I gained allies who will join us in our crusade to free the magical world."

Evanna blinked. She knew from the history books that the first war had been largely left to the British Isles, that very few international wizards had seen the need to interfere in what they thought of as an internal conflict. But, if her father had succeeded in selling his cause to a more international army….

"And I have you to thank," he continued.

"Me? But-how-I-" Evanna swallowed hard. She wasn't sure yet if she was happy with these alliances, if it was a good or bad thing for their world. To be part of them….

The Dark Lord smirked a little and gestured for her to take a seat as he sat behind the desk again. She blinked away the image of half-moon glasses and icy cold eyes.

"Sometimes it is shrewd to reveal weakness, if it gives your opponent reason to connect with you," he said. "By revealing myself as a parent, our new allies were able to see past Dumbledore's lies and begin to envision a better future for our world."

Evanna's mind was spinning. "What does that mean? How many… how many allies have we gained?"

"Thus far, the Bulgarian, Greek, and Romanian Ministries have made formal alliances with us," her father said. "Albania is ready to give us what we want as well. Several others have agreed to neutrality, but I am positive that they will quickly join us as it becomes obvious who will win this war."

"Wow-that-wow," she said, still unable to fully process what this all may mean going forward.

"Luckily as I travel securing alliances, I have someone looking over my interests at home," her father said. "Your mother says you met with Argo Pyrites?"

"Yes, he has a plan for a school-"

Her father held up a hand. "I am well aware of Argo's ambitions. While I do believe it to be an… interesting project for you to work on, there are more pressing matters."

"I wouldn't think there would be any more pressing matter than the future of the Wizarding World," Evanna argued, "we lost so many magical Britons in the last war-"

"We need to rebuild our numbers, I am aware," her father said, leaning forward on the table, "but children ignorant of our world won't win this war. We need to recruit fighters."

Something deep in Evanna rebelled at that. War-war was ugly. It was why there were only three girls in her dorm room at Hogwarts, why there were so many orphans amongst her school mates. It was why the Slytherins had come to her at the end of the year, begging for their fathers to come home.

"There are quite a few of your followers in Azkaban right now," she said. "We already know how to break them out-"

"I," her father emphasized the word, "rescued my followers who were locked up in Azkaban because of their loyalty to me. But to rescue every subpar wizard who is caught-it would create a culture of mediocrity."

Evanna chewed her lip. "You would earn the loyalty of their children, bringing their fathers back home-"

"Their children should already be loyal to me," her father said darkly.

Evanna did her best not to show her nerves, not to give any hint of weakness. It had always been dangerous to show fear in front of Lucius; she would not show fear in front of the Dark Lord.

"But if we rescue them-give them one chance-we solve two problems," she pushed, "we reclaim fighters and they will be all the more loyal and eager to prove themselves-"

Her father suddenly brought a fist down on the desk and Evanna could not stop herself from jumping. His face had curled up into a snarl for the briefest of moments before he seemed to forcibly relax himself. Evanna remained tense, all too aware of her wand in the holster around her wrist, how quickly it could be in her hand, how much time she had to capitalize on the moment of surprise before her father ultimately took her down-

"I will not be breaking them out of Azkaban," he ground out slowly. "However, it would be wise for you to gain experience on the field before your mission."

Evanna blinked, the tension in her body not leaving for a second. "My-my mission?"

Her father smiled, cruelty edged in it. "I have not been teaching you this past year for you to completely sit out this war, Evanna. You will be given the opportunity to prove your power."

"But-but what mission?"

"Bring home these subpar soldiers and we will discuss it."

Her father gave her very specific parameters as to who she would be bringing, what she would be allowed to do, the Death Eaters she would have to leave behind. As Evanna finally left the study, she felt as though a pit had opened up in her stomach.

She was going to Azkaban. And somehow, she knew that would not be the most dangerous thing she would be doing in the near future.

Harry POV

The door to Grimmauld Place slammed, waking up the old portrait of Mrs. Black, who immediately started screaming filth for all to hear. Harry ignored it, even as he heard Remus, who was staying at Grimmauld Place before going out on another mission to the werewolf packs, trying to shut her up. Instead, he went on to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of pumpkin juice from the cabinet Sirius had placed a chilling charm on.

He popped off the cap just as Sirius walked in, still muttering curses about his mother. Harry took a large drink of pumpkin juice.

"Merlin, Prongslet, no need to get my dear old mum started just because one date went poorly," he said. Harry choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Who said I had a-"

"The amount of cologne you've been wearing just to 'explore muggle London'," his godfather put air quotes around the last, eyebrows waggling like a muggle cartoon. Harry felt his face burn and Sirius sniggered. "Trouble in paradise? Did your girl turn up her nose at your l'eau du phénix?"

Harry scowled at Sirius. Truthfully, Evanna had never shown up. He had waited at their usual spot until the owner of the little fish and chips stand had given Harry a free order of chips out of sympathy. He was torn between being irritated at the embarrassment or being worried about why exactly Evanna had stood him up.

"Harry, Sirius, Professor Dumbledore is still waiting in the parlor," Remus said, poking his head into the meeting.

"Dumbledore? Why?" Harry asked.

The scowl on Sirius' face matched Harry's feelings exactly. Once, Harry had found Evanna's insistence that Dumbledore was manipulating him to be crazy, if not a bit insulting as well. But then he had been told the prophecy, right as he was reeling from Sirius' 'death', and everything that had been revealed in the aftermath.

"Don't make that face, Padfoot, he is still the leader of the Order," Remus said. "We still need him. It wouldn't be a bad idea to regain some goodwill there."

"I agreed to be the man's bloody Defense teacher, what more does he want?" Sirius said, hands flinging around in his frustration.

"He wants to speak with Harry," Remus said. It sounded as if he had said just that many times. "He's been asking for over a week-"

"What does he want with me?" Harry said before Sirius could say anything.

"He says he needs help with a staffing issue," Remus said.

"He wouldn't give me the Prefect position but he wants me to be a professor?" Harry said dryly.

"Not quite."

The trio turned as one to see that the Headmaster had evidently become tired of waiting in the parlor. Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder, so tight it was almost painful. Harry had not been so close to the Headmaster since he had destroyed his office and been told of his role in the war. The Headmaster looked older now, his wrinkles deeper, his hair less shiny silver and more dull grey. Even his robes were a boring olive green color, lacking their usual bright prints and lurid colors. Harry's eyes lingered on the Headmaster's hand, blackened and shriveled as though it was dead attached to his arm. Harry looked back up at Dumbledore's face; the old man had clearly noticed him looking and hid his hand in his robes.

"This was not part of our agreement, Dumbledore," Sirius said, something of Padfoot's growl in his voice.

"I would not be here if it was not imperative to Harry's training, Sirius," the Headmaster said. "Currently, I find myself unable to convince an old friend to return to his post at Hogwarts. I believe Harry may be able to help with that. Will you come with me to hire a new Potions master, Harry?"

The entire day had been irksome and confusing, and this was only adding to it. Sirius pulled Harry so he was standing in front of him, both hands on Harry's shoulders.

"You don't have to do anything he wants, Harry," he said in a low voice. "Dumbledore's problems are not your responsibility."

Harry glanced over Sirius' shoulder and for just a moment, he saw a flash of desperation flicker over Dumbledore's face. He remembered in first year, Dumbledore seeming to be larger than life, a father or a grandfather figure who believed in him. Now, Harry knew that had been an illusion, that the professor who had seemed to hate him was likely the one most concerned for his well-being. And that was apparently now being replaced. It was a chess game larger than one he, Ron, and Hermione had fought their way across five years before.

Harry found himself wanting to know what Dumbledore's strategy was.

"What the hell," he said. "Let's go."