"If you keep staring at me from back there, you'll manage nothing more than catching a cold." Harry called over his shoulder from his position on a stone bench near the Black Lake – it was a simple thing carved from ordinary granite and afforded him a lovely view. There was even a convenient rock for him to place his feet upon and relax.

It had been one of his rare moments of solitude in these past weeks – following the incident with Draco and the other boys that had ambushed him outside of the Duelling Club building, he'd rarely had more than five minutes to himself when they weren't all in classes. While he loved his friends dearly, there were times when he preferred the company of his own thoughts – and those moments had become increasingly infrequent.

He'd sensed the boy lingering a few metres away and knew who it was without having to turn to glance over his shoulder – he'd always been able to recognise the tell-tale feel of his own Family Magic.

Cai Griffin approached the bench slowly, the frigid grass beneath his boots crunching despite the fact it was well past noon – though it meant little, being that Hogwarts was located in the Highlands of Scotland.

"I didn't want to disturb you." Cai said, slowly settling in at his side, his blue-black hair wafting about his face freely in the gentle breeze. Unlike his own, Cai's hair wasn't long enough to tie back – instead, the young Griffin heir allowed the tips of it to float around his high cheekbones without a care in the world. It would drive Harry mad in this weather.

"You're not – not really." Harry sighed, turning his gaze back to the lazy waves that gently lapped at the edge of the Black Lake – the water was dark today, much closer to its namesake than he'd seen it in a long time. Sometimes he wondered at just what lurked beneath the surface – he'd read that there was a colony of Merpeople, and Remus had told them in class that Grindylows prowled the shallows occasionally, and everyone knew of the Giant Squid. "What can I do for you?" He asked, eventually, pulling his cloak around him a little tighter.

"Nothing – I simply wanted to make sure that you were safe." Cai replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "It's why I came to Hogwarts."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "While I appreciate that – don't you remember what I told you back at Arpton? I don't want a guard."

Cai inclined his head slowly and pursed his lips – Harry thought he looked amused, despite his words. "I remember – I also remember you getting your arse kicked by six Slytherins not long ago."

He blew out a breath and narrowed his eyes at the older Ravenclaw at his side, though he could fault him for his concern – as loathe as he was to admit it, he had the worst luck of anyone he knew. "I recall giving as good as I got." He muttered, stubbornly turning his eyes back to the lake just as the Giant Squid broke the surface with one of its large tentacles.

Cai snorted quietly at his side, a faint chuckle reaching Harry's ears. "Would my lord like to chalk that up to skill or luck?"

"A bit of both?" Harry asked before he could stop himself, quirking a brow at the boy beside him. Together, the two of them grinned, and Harry was thankful for the lightening of the conversation – too often, he felt like Cai Griffin looked to him as his future liege lord, and not the boy that Harry was trying, and failing at, to be.

Harry was thirteen – something that Sirius excelled in reminding him of – and while he knew that it would only be a few years more until he came into his lands and title, he still felt wholly unprepared and not more than a little inadequate.

Ever since his first visit to Rosestone and Arpton, Harry had thrown himself into the history of his family – his discovery of the countless journals and diaries of the long-dead members of his house had, while exciting to read, reminded him that at the end of the day, he was alone.

In another life, it would have been decades until he took over from his father – perhaps even a century. He would have been able to build up to the responsibilities expected of him – not have them thrust upon his shoulders.

Cai was different to him – beside him was a boy that, while the only son and heir of Lord Griffin, could essentially do as he wished until such a time as his father deemed it fit. Cai would be able to take a more gradual approach to his responsibilities, and perhaps even enjoy some of his youth before even that.

That wasn't to say that Harry hadn't enjoyed his time in the years since he had truly discovered what it meant to be the last Potter – he treasured the small adventures Sirius had taken him and Neville on around Blackwall when they were little; the nights camping under the stars had been his favourite, but there was always something.

With the passing of Arcturus – Harry had to resist the urge to reach for the pendant that hung from his neck at the thought of the man – he even treasured the memories of learning politics at such a young age with the man.

At the time, Harry had despised the lessons – they felt too grown up for him at four. He'd wanted to run around and play with Padfoot, or chase after Lispy, or fly his broom above the Blackwall Gardens – Merlin, he'd have preferred to climb the Whomping Willow they had at Blackwall than memorise the sigils of all the different houses. Now… now he missed them.

He missed the imposing figure of Arcturus, sat in his chair holding that small pointer stick he used to direct Harry's eyes to various sigils, and the deep, baritone voice that had him recite what was expected of him in a hundred different scenarios.

"It's quiet today." Cai said after a moment, pulling Harry from his spiralling thoughts. He blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the school behind them – above the many towers, he could spot the tiny white speck of Hedwig banking along the currents of air with some of the other Familiars. "Peaceful, even."

"Well, you've just gone and jinxed it." Harry muttered, crossing his legs at the ankles atop the stone before the bench. "Don't think I've been attacked by a dragon yet, so I've probably got that to look forward to now."

Cai snorted at his side. "Has it always been like this? At Hogwarts, I mean – there always seems to be… something with you."

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Not to begin with – my first year was actually pretty pleasant, if you discount the Mountain Troll. In my defence, that was my own stupid fault."

"I'm afraid I know more about your second year than your first." Cai shrugged, pulling his own cloak a little tighter about himself. "Though I heard mentions of a Mountain Troll and something about you ending the year in the hospital?"

"Yeah," Harry began slowly, shifting in his seat awkwardly. "The Mountain Troll was after a friend of mine – you know her, Hermione Granger. I just happened to be wandering the corridor at the time – she'd… been on her own, and I think the Troll either smelled her, or must've heard her. I tried to buy her a little time to escape." He shrugged, wiggling the heel of his boot against a clump of moss on the top of the stone he was using as a footrest.

"Good plan." Cai said, his voice dry and sarcastic. "My father was about ready to call the Banners and take you from the school when we heard – Black be damned."

"Ah, Sirius isn't so bad – I just have the worst luck for getting into trouble. He does his best." Harry chuckled, resting his head against the back of the bench behind him – he was glad he'd tied his hair up earlier, thankful for the small bit of padding the knot offered between his skull and the bench. "Merlin knows how your father would react if you got yourself into trouble."

Cai scoffed, rolling his eyes, though he grinned all the same. "Burn Hogwarts to the ground, I imagine."

"I can imagine that, actually." Harry chuckled, darting his eyes up to the sky and taking a deep breath – the clouds, while dull and grey, were still strangely relaxing to look at. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered the loss of his broom. "I've only met him once, but he seemed nice."

"I couldn't ask for a better father." Cai replied, and Harry didn't need to look at the boy beside him to know that he was smiling fondly – his magic thrummed with the affection he felt for his father, and for a moment, it made Harry feel a little dizzy. "I'm thankful that he let me come to the school."

"You said your mother came here, right? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"No, it's fine." Cai said, waving a hand dismissively as Harry lifted his head and turned to look at him. Cai's eyes took on a faraway look, and a faint, private smile ghosted over his lips as he looked toward the mountains on the far side of the lake. "She was a Muggle-Born."

"Not a Morgen?" Harry asked, frowning.

Cai snorted. "Gods, no. She didn't know my father was a Morgen until they were married." He said, rolling his eyes. "Came as a bit of a surprise to her – I think she was more surprised at the castle than that, though."

It was Harry's turn to snort. He still struggled to wrap his mind around both Arpton and Rosestone, and they were both his. "How'd they meet? I wasn't aware Lord Griffin attended Hogwarts."

"He didn't, actually." Cai answered, wiping a hand down his face slowly. "He was visiting with his father – they met after she graduated. Bumped into each other some place down south – literally. The way he tells it, he was smitten from the moment she looked at him."

"And what did she think of him?" Harry found himself asking with a grin – a grin that disappeared the moment the smile on Cai's lips fell away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, it's fine – you couldn't have known." Cai sighed, shrugging a single shoulder. "She died a few years ago. She had the memory sickness – I heard some people here call it Dementia. By the end, she didn't know who I was."

"I'm sorry – that must have been awful."

"It was what it was. I honour her in my memories, and I like to think she's with the Gods now, even if she didn't believe in them – I hope to meet her again someday. Though not too soon." Cai chuckled, though there was no humour in it.

Harry pressed his lips together tightly and felt his jaw clench – he couldn't imagine how awful it must have been for the boy at his side. He couldn't, not even in his most horrific nightmares imagine the thought of his mother forgetting who he was – not recognising him when he walked into a room or forgetting his name entirely.

Then again, sometimes Harry struggled to imagine what it must be like to even have a mother. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that the more people Harry met, the more people he met that could relate to his loss in some way or another.

Remus had no parents – both had been killed during his time at Hogwarts, and he had no extended family. The Marauders had filled that void; a void that had threatened to swallow his favourite and only uncle whole with the death of his father and the betrayal of the rat.

Sirius, he knew, had despised his parents and mourned the loss of his brother long before Regulus died – Arcturus, and Harry's own grandparents had become his family. While Harry considered himself just as much a Black as he was a Potter, the opposite was true for Sirius. Charlus and Dorea had, from everything he'd heard over the years from both Sirius and Arcturus, treated Sirius as if he were their own – and now they were dead.

Harry had once caught sight of Sirius entering the Potter Crypts on his own when he was younger – something that had surprised him; Brandon had told him in no uncertain terms that it was only the family that were permitted to enter – even now, Harry wasn't sure if it was some kind of magic, or is it was an ingrained, unwritten rule among the denizens of the castle. Either way, Sirius had entered on his own, and hadn't returned for hours.

He'd known where Sirius had gone, of course – there were only two tombs down there that Sirius could have paid his respects to; his parents, and his grandparents. Harry had once stood before the imposing figure of his grandfather atop his tomb, and even now, he could remember the intimidating stone eyes of Charlus staring down at him. He'd have liked to have known him, and Dorea.

From what he could tell, Sirius hadn't visited either tomb on his own since – every now and then, Sirius would visit his parents with him, but Harry always had the sense that it was more for his benefit than Sirius's own. He imagined it was much easier to put some closure on grief when you were an adult – if Sirius could even be considered that.

Even Neville had suffered his own losses – the two of them were the last officially recognised orphans of Voldemort's war. While Harry had been witness to his mother's murder – he could thank the Dementors for giving him that particular memory – Neville was forced to grow up with the knowledge that, while his parents were still alive, they were no longer sane. Neither could recognise their son, and neither could do much more than scream, yell, and thrash in their beds – restrained only by the ties around their wrists and the magic of those that cared for them. For all intents and purposes, Neville was just as much an orphan as he was.

"I'm sure she'd be proud of you." Harry offered, looking to Cai.

"I like to think so too." The older boy smiled, and after a moment of quiet between the two of them, in which Harry thought they found some small comfort in each other, in their memories of those they'd lost, added, "On a happier note, though, I hear your classes are going well – one of the top students in your year?"

"Since I began attending." Harry shrugged, arching his brow slowly. "Hermione and I alternate in our classes, usually – Daphne too."

"And you like this way of learning?"

Harry frowned at that. "It's the only way I know." He replied, his head tipping to the side as he thought about it. "I can't imagine learning any other way."

"It's… strange. For me, I mean." Cai admitted with some apparent reluctance, shifting side to side in his seat on the bench. "I'd never experienced a classroom before coming here. It's… busy."

Harry genuinely laughed at that, realising he hadn't considered it from Cai's perspective. "I'm sorry – I don't mean to laugh." He said, still chuckling, despite himself. "I assume you're used to private tutors, or learning from your father?"

"Aye." Cai huffed, stretching his long legs out. "It feels like some topics are glossed over while others are explored in detail. How am I supposed to form an opinion on something that is only spoken of for five minutes, or as a segue to something else? It's maddening."

"Taken a lot of books out of the library then, I take it?"

"More than a few." Cai huffed again, sinking into the fur-lined collar of his cloak, the lower half of his face entirely disappearing.

"I actually know what it's like – I thought the same in my first year. I got so used to Remus teaching me before Hogwarts. If I had a question, I'd ask it. If I found a particular thing interesting, we explored it." Harry shrugged, smiling fondly as the memories danced before his eyes. "You'll get used to it, but I imagine you'll always be taking books out – I know I still do."

"I've noticed – you seem to have made yourself quite the little nook in there; you and your friends, I mean."

Harry shrugged and adjusted his feet once again, wincing as he shifted his weight – his arse had long-since lost all feeling. "It's a quiet place. Found it over the Christmas break in first year, when Sirius and Arcturus were called to The Great Council." He paused, pursing his lips as he glanced over his shoulder once again and looked to the school. "It was a good place to avoid people last year."

"I can imagine." Cai nodded, slowly. "I remember hearing about the whole thing – my father attended, obviously, but we're just Vassals, not one of the Great Houses."

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you were? If the Griffins had beaten the Potters and not the other way around?" Harry found himself asking, looking at Cai curiously. He winced at the shocked expression that appeared on the young Griffin's face – he'd just asked him a question that could put Cai and his entire family at risk of breaking fealty, depending on how one interpreted it. "I'm sorry – I don't mean to imply you're disloyal or anything!" He added, hurriedly.

"I… I'm not sure how to respond." Cai said after a time, shuffling in his seat uncomfortably. Harry cursed himself under his breath.

"I was just… curious. There… aren't many in the school that I can talk about my family with – you know, with certain things."

Cai nodded slowly, his eyes flickering around them – there were no trees within any reasonable distance to overhear their conversation, and Harry couldn't sense anyone on this part of the grounds beside himself and Cai, not even his friends, who he could feel squirrelled away in the direction of the Great Hall.

"I imagine it can be difficult – having friends that you have to keep that part of yourself hidden from." Cai said, scratching his chin slowly. "Though to answer the question… I don't think there was ever any chance of us overcoming House Potter. We're not leaders."

Harry rolled his eyes and felt his shoulders sag – it was probably as good an answer as he was ever likely to get. "I'd hardly call myself a leader." He muttered, feeling his face scrunch up.

"No? Your friends follow you, do they not? Are you not a Potter?"

"I wouldn't say they follow me – cursed with my bad luck as a result of knowing me, perhaps."

It was Cai's turn to roll his eyes, though Harry saw the smirk on his face all the same. "That may be true – but like it or not, one day you'll lead, and I'll follow. It's the way of things."

"I'm sure I'll hate it."

"All good leaders do, I think." Cai said, flashing him a quick grin. "Besides, I'll get to tell you that I told you so."

"Funny." Harry replied, rolling his eyes, and gently elbowing the boy in the arm, though his mouth twitched in amusement. "You ever wonder what it's going to be like? After all of this, I mean."

"Much the same, I imagine." Cai shrugged again, tipping his head to the side, and gazing at the lake. "Fewer people, I hope. I miss the quiet of home."

"Quieter than Arpton?" Harry asked, cocking a brow. "I never thought quiet was the word I'd use to describe it."

Cai laughed, his shoulders trembling beneath his thick cloak. "No, I imagine you wouldn't. Have you ever seen The Rose Tower?" Harry shook his head. "It sits beside the Amdale. The castle itself is fairly quiet, but there's a harbour in the town just below the castle – I used to love watching the ships come in."

"I've never been on one." Harry shrugged. It was true – he hadn't ever been on a ship. Oh, he'd flown about on a broom his entire life, but not once had he set foot on the deck of a boat outside of the small, tiny things they used to ferry the first years across the Black Lake on their first night at the castle. Maybe after he graduated, he'd drag Sirius, Amelia, Remus, and the Tonks' on a cruise somewhere for a week or two.

"Really?" Cai blinked, though after a moment he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I suppose it makes sense though – House Black has never lived anywhere close to the sea, and never much cared for river-boats. Perhaps it's the Morgen in me." Cai grinned at last, offering Harry a playful wink that had him rolling his eyes but laughing all the same.

"Has anyone given you problems with that, by the way? I know Earhart gets grief being a Veela."

"No, there's no need to go declaring war on anyone's family on my account, Lord Potter." Cai snorted. "Most have been quite accepting, though I suspect it's because most Ravenclaw's have never heard of us. I seem to have found quite the friend in Earhart, actually – a wonderful conversationalist."

"She seems nice. I see her down with Hagrid quite a bit."

"Likes her animals, that one. Pretty sure she snuck a Niffler into the tower last week – I think I saw one of the sneaky bastards running off with a girl's earrings."

"And you didn't catch it?" Harry found himself asking, looking at the boy curiously.

"The girl those earrings belonged to is rather unpleasant, so I felt no rush. Besides, if it wasn't Earhart that brought the creature into the tower, I imagine it could only have been the Lovegood girl."

"Why did you say it like that?" Harry frowned, sitting up finally.

"Like what?" Cai asked, seemingly genuinely confused.

"You seem to have an opinion on House Lovegood – I'd hear it."

Cai sighed, sitting up and straightening his back as Harry stared at him. Harry wouldn't tolerate a single disparaging word about the sweet girl – in his opinion, there should be more people like Luna in the world.

"I have no ill opinion of House Lovegood, not Luna Lovegood – it's… her father." Cai answered after a tense moment, and Harry found himself relaxing slightly. "He… is not thought well of."

"For passing over his birthright." Harry hummed, nodding his head slowly in understanding. He'd heard the opinions of those around Arpton whenever House Lovegood were mentioned – it was rare enough, but every now and then he would overhear one of the denizens of the castle whispering about some gossip or another.

"For shirking his duty." Cai spat, surprisingly heated in his tone. Harry gave him a pointed look before allowing him a moment to gather himself. "You know as well as I the responsibility that comes with being an heir of a house. That someone could just… dismiss it so casually? I couldn't imagine doing the same."

"I wanted to be a Black for a long time." Harry admitted after a brief moment of silence, broken only by the whispering of the gentle wind, and the steady lapping of the nearby waves. "It's not the same thing, but I can sympathise."

"I'm sorry – you what?" Cai managed, twisting in his seat to stare at Harry. He raised his eyebrows, more amused than admonishing, though Cai realised his mistake all the same. As much as Harry liked Cai Griffin, and, after he'd gotten over his stupid jealousy of the boy, they were not on as familiar terms as he was with his friends. At the end of the day, both of them were well aware of what would occur in just a few short years. "Sorry, Lord." Cai mumbled, his eyes briefly darting to the stone of the bench between them.

"I was raised by them – what do you expect? For all intents and purposes, Sirius is as much my father as James Potter." Harry shrugged, unapologetically. "Besides, Arcturus set me straight on that account pretty quickly."

"I can imagine." Cai snorted. "He was a legend even at The Rose Tower – we were all surprised when they swore to you."

"Not as surprised as I was when I learned what it meant." Harry huffed. "Besides, we've gotten off track – you're to treat Luna Lovegood and her father with the respect that they're owed." Harry said, shaking his head.

"Of course."

Harry sighed, his eyes drifting to the mountains across the lake – huge things covered in a deep grey with caps of brilliant white. He could feel the life thrumming within it even now. "I should get back to the castle – Hermione's likely to skin me as it is."

"Only Granger? I'm sure I saw Greengrass with a flaying knife yesterday."

"That's not funny – she could very well have one of those." Harry muttered, getting to his feet and ignoring the primal, ice cold fear that spread throughout his body at the thought of Daphne flaying him alive. "She's already pissed with me for getting jumped by Draco and his boys. Won't be hearing the end of that until I'm sixty. Like it was my fault."

Cai stood with him, grinning. "She is rather intimidating."

"That's not the bloody half of it." Harry scoffed. "You should see what she can do with a stick."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Probably for the best." He mumbled, brushing the leg of his trousers idly. "I appreciate the company and the conversation – it was nice getting to know you a little better." He said, inclining his head politely to the Griffin heir.

"An honour, Lord." Cai replied, holding a hand to his chest as he bowed slightly at the waist. He smiled and moved past him, beginning his ascent to the school and back to his friends.


Harry concentrated as hard as he could, his eyes trained on the wispy, white light that floated from the tip of his wand, dancing in the air currents of the classroom – all around him were his friends; Hermione to his right, the tip of her thumb pinched between her teeth in nervousness, Daphne and Tracey on his left, the two girls holding onto one another with wide eyes and white-knuckled grips, and Neville, who was standing before him, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously.

Images flitted across his vision – memories and dreams that blended into one another seamlessly, warping his reality; and yet, he never lost sight of those arrayed around him. In the corner of his vision, there was a flash of pale green light followed by the faintest whisper of familiar words.

"Harry… Harry you are so loved… So loved. Harry, Mumma loves you. Dada loves you. Harry be safe… be strong… be fierce!"

They were the ghosts of his mind, he knew, but as the words whispered past his ear, his arm began to tremble – it was a small thing to begin with, a muscle spasm of his wrist, another by his shoulder, and then another, and another.

He clenched his jaw, willing the trembling in his arm to cease – in a bid of desperation, he used his free hand to steady his arm. His lips pressed together tightly, and he pushed as much magic into the spell as he possibly could.

The bright tip of his wand flared, and Neville staggered back a step, a hand darting up to shield his eyes from the blinding intensity before him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry's arm dropped suddenly at the harsh voice that screamed in his ear, and fell backwards, his chest heaving and eyes darting this way and that. He looked everywhere in the room for the source of the sound – he looked to the left and saw nothing but the closed windows, their wooden shutters blocking out the fading sunlight of the day, and when he looked to his right, there was nothing but the cold stone of the classroom wall, and the simple, ordinary door to the room.

Hermione was immediately at his side, her hair tucked behind one ear, and the rest of it falling forward to tickle his nose as she leaned over him, her hands hoisting his shoulders up as best she could. He reached out and snatched her forearm with his left right hand, his wand clattering to the floorboards beneath him as he did so, forgotten.

She halted immediately, her eyes peering into his own – she must have thought he looked wild. He knew he thought he did. His breathing was ragged, and the side of his chest hurt; the others were around him a heartbeat later, a crowd of concerned faces and wide eyes – Neville squeezed his thigh in what he thought was a reassuring gesture.

"Come on Harry, let's get you up." Came the solid voice of Remus from behind him – Hermione looked up at the voice, and Harry felt his eyes dart to her throat. The faintest hint of the necklace she wore peeking through the collar of her shirt – he focused on that, rather than the lingering, dying scream of the bravest woman he would ever know.

He had tried not to think about it – tried not to give it much thought since the lessons had begun. He had thought that perhaps the memory of his parents would help form his Patronus Charm – their memory giving form to something to shield himself against those… those creatures that had dredged up such awful memories.

Despite that, though, there was a certain strength he felt whenever he recalled those words – he had heard them for the first time in his dream with his mother after the Basilisk. A dream, he had recently concluded, that was nothing more than the desperate hallucinations of his exhausted mind.

Oh, there were similarities, but to compare the woman he danced with to the one he could now remember standing to face Voldemort was like comparing a pond to an ocean – there had been such a strength to the real woman that no imagination could capture.

The green light flashed in the corner of his eye again, and his body went rigid.

"Woah, steady there!" Remus murmured, gently stepping into his vision – he was dressed in a casual suit, well made, and bereft of the sigil of House Black; at Hogwarts, he was the head of the Defence department, not the Steward for House Black. "Talk to me, Harry – what's wrong?"

The mention of his name helped bring the world into focus for a brief moment – his jaw twitched, but he couldn't open his jaw. He looked frantically to Hermione; his fingers still curled around her wrist. She placed her free hand over his own and began tracing her thumb back and forth across the back of his knuckles.

"Hollow." He managed, eventually – his voice was rough and hoarse, even to his ears. "Godric's… Hollow."

Remus sucked in a breath, and his face became pale for a moment – Harry could hear the strangled gasp of Daphne, but he didn't turn to face her. Neville cursed by his feet.

"Tracey, I need you to go and get a bar of chocolate out of my desk – now, if you would." Remus said, and immediately, Harry caught a blur of black hair dart past Remus's shoulder and the thudding footfalls of Tracey as she raced to the stairs at the far end of the room. "Harry, I need you to focus on me now, is that alright?"

Harry nodded and slipped his hand from Hermione's wrist to the fingers that were stroking his knuckles – he breathed a little easier as their fingers entwined, and she folded her legs beneath her.

There was a beat of silence as he closed his eyes – he could hear Tracey opening and closing the draws in Remus's desk – and nodded.

"That's good – come on, let's get you somewhere comfier than the floor." Remus murmured, hooking an arm beneath Harry's free one and easily pulled him to his feet. Harry swayed for a moment, his legs not quite deciding if they would support the rest of his body, but eventually they stilled.

Just as he felt some of his strength returning, Tracey reappeared, barrelling down the classroom with a deep purple wrapper held in her fingers like a trophy – her eyes darted to his own, and he forced the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards in a grateful smile. She smiled back and puffed a loose strand of hair from her face with a huff. "Here you go," She said, handing Remus the bar. "One plain Honeydukes."

Remus took the bar quickly and ripped it open with deft fingers. "I need you to eat this – it'll make you feel better." He said, handing the bar to him. The heady aroma of the chocolate reached his nose as he accepted the bar and brought it up to his mouth – already he could feel his mind beginning to clear of the haunting thunder that had followed in the wake of the spell, and the distant groaning of the house at Godric's Hollow that had barely been left standing.

Harry shoved the first square into his mouth and broke it off with a resounding crunch that he thought could have been heard all the way to the Gryffindor Tower. He exhaled as his pulse slowed, the adrenaline leaving his system, and instead leaving behind aching muscles and a sore arse.

He had visited the home of his early childhood when he'd had his parents moved to Arpton's crypts – the structure of the house had been left as a reminder of the closing days of the war, and despite the spells and protections surrounding it, all bought and paid for by Arcturus Black, people had still found little ways to leave their messages and respects around the property.

Back then, he'd barely been ten – at most. He'd only just truly discovered the enormity of the legacy that had been placed upon his shoulders, and while he knew intellectually, what had happened to his parents and his home, it hadn't quite sunk in. Not until he had been forced to remember that night.

There had been bouquets of flowers, cards addressed to his parents, and to himself. Murals had appeared, painted crudely on nearby walls with candles flickering beneath them – a memorial for those that had given their lives for so many.

But Harry knew the truth.

They hadn't given their lives for men, women, and children they didn't know. They hadn't thrown themselves before Voldemort for the sake of strangers. They'd done it for him.

His father, he knew, had been dead by the time Voldemort had appeared at the threshold of his nursery – sprawled in the front room. Yet his mother still had the strength and the bravery to place herself between the creature in the dark robe with crimson eyes, and his wooden crib – she had dared to look Voldemort in the eye and draw her wand.

And then, she had died.

For him.

Harry swallowed and glanced up at the ceiling, the dark wooden beams looking impossibly dark in the low light. It had been something he'd been considering for a while – ever since the fucking Dementors.

He had thought himself about to die, plummeting to the Quidditch Pitch, despite all of those silvery creatures racing about the clouds. Even in the safe grip of both Hermione and Remus, he could still feel the impossibly cold fingers of the Dementors wrapped around his shoulders, and the disgusting, mottled, corrupted appearance of what he could see within the dark cowls of its billowing robes.

It had taken everything in him to throw each of those punches, to kick and claw his defiance – he would never be helpless again; he hadn't been helpless. He had pushed his magic into each one of those punches in a way he never had before, and each strike had felt like a thunderclap of power, that even now left him a little shaken.

On the train, he had fired spells at the creature, and it hadn't flinched, but that first punch of his had rocked its jaw. That small victory had buoyed him as the two of them had broken through the clouds – it hadn't been enough, of course, but that was why he had ended up in this classroom with his friends and Remus.

He stumbled forward, toward one of the many tables and chairs that the six of them had moved to the side of the room earlier, Hermione at his side, still clutching his hand tightly with both of hers, and Remus at his side, guiding him gently. Behind him, he could hear Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, all three shuffling along in his wake – the conversation with Cai on the previous Sunday rose in his mind, and he had to fight the urge to laugh deliriously.

Leader, indeed.

He snorted instead, and suddenly found his lungs full of Dairy Milk Chocolate. He coughed and hacked up what he could, his breaths wheezy and more than a little pained as he fell against the table behind him. Remus patted his back and rubbed slow, affectionate circles until he managed to pull himself together. Hermione hopped up on the table beside him, her legs kicking back and forth slowly as she pulled his hand into her lap and as he looked to her, he saw how she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.

"I'm alright." He croaked, eventually, spitting out a bit of chocolate that he'd managed to cough up. "It just went down the wrong hole."

"You damn-near collapsed, Potter." Daphne scoffed. "'Alright' my arse!" She added, throwing her hands up in the air before running her fingertips through the loose bun that she had chosen to wear her hair in. Strands hung loosely about her face and ears, though he noted she made no effort to fix them.

Tracey, always by her side, had her fingers pressed against her lips anxiously – like Daphne, her hair had been tied into a high ponytail, but like the other Slytherin, entire strands and clumps had come loose from where she had obviously been running her fingers through it.

Neville, annoyingly, looked the most put together of them all, he suspected – even Remus looked more stressed than the Longbottom heir, which felt like an achievement all of its own.

"Did I manage it?" He asked, eventually, his eyes sweeping those before him. Tracey scoffed, and wiped her hands down her face as she turned around, muttering something about Gryffindors, while Neville snorted and fought to hide his laugh.

"Harry!" Hermione snapped, yanking his arm – he winced as it jolted against the socket of his shoulder. "You just about collapsed, looking manic, and the first thing you ask us is if you managed a bloody spell?" She demanded, her voice rising in pitch the longer she spoke.

"That was the whole bloody point, wasn't it? Why we're here?"

"Not at the expense of sending you into a full-blown panic attack!"

"I didn't have a-"

"Yes you did." Daphne and Remus said as one, and Harry immediately snapped his jaw shut and glared at the two, both of them looking unapologetic.

"Or, at the very least, something gave you the biggest fright I've ever seen." Remus shrugged after a moment of continued glare. "Dementors?" He asked after a moment, and Harry nodded reluctantly.

"Demen-" Tracey began, frowning, before stopping herself and looking about the room. "There aren't any Dementors in here… are there?" She said, looking around the room with a renewed sense of urgency as the thought crossed her mind.

Remus snorted and glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin. "No, no Dementors here, but I suspect, our Harry here, was using the thought of his parents to channel the Patronus."

Harry looked away awkwardly and found his feet kicking. He felt like a little boy again under that stare – that bloody stare that had always been levelled at him when he'd tried to climb up on Woopy's worktop to get at the cookies he kept in that tin of his. "Maybe." He admitted with an awkward cough, one last bit of chocolate in the back of his throat making itself known. "Fine, yes, I was thinking of my parents again, damn it – it worked for Neville!" He snapped, throwing his free arm up in the direction of his best friend.

"And you're not Neville." Remus gently reminded him. "What works for Neville won't necessarily work for you. The thought of your parents is powerful, but it's got too much else attached to it, especially after what you'd told Sirius and I when you woke up, hm?"

Harry fought the urge to pout – he knew he was right, obviously, and Harry hated that he was. He knew better. After all, it had been Remus that had told him to try something new on this last attempt at the spell, and yet…

He couldn't resist the idea that the thought of his parents protecting him against these stupid, horrible, fucking things didn't sound perfect. For his entire life, he had built up an idea of what his parents had been like, who they were. Once he'd begun to attend Hogwarts, that image had changed, but the foundation of it all had been his very real desire to have them with him.

And the Dementors had brought all of that back. Harry still didn't know why his father had never returned to Arpton, nor why his parents had sought to hide from Voldemort in Godric's Hollow. But he did know that they gave their lives to protect him – to fight off the monster that came for him without a care for themselves.

Didn't that sound exactly like the kind of thing the spell did? Protect him from the monsters?

He tossed the half-eaten bar of chocolate onto the desk beside him and wiped his hand down his face tiredly. "I just…" He sighed, feeling the aches and pains renew themselves all over again and he fought the urge to groan into the base of his balm.

"I know." Remus whispered, pulling him forward and against his chest. Remus felt solid, warm, and secure – even if he did smell a little of dog. "I know." He heard Remus whisper into his hair. "But you have to try something else next time – if something doesn't work, we move on to the next thing. Don't torture yourself like this."

"Fine." Harry muttered, swinging his feet as Remus released him. He looked up at the curious, sympathetic faces of those around him. "Feeling a little out of the loop?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"A litt- hey!" Tracey cried, rubbing her side, and glaring at Daphne who wasn't bothering to look at her. "That hurt!"

"Well, don't be nosey." Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "It's no business of ours what the Dementors made Harry see, neither is it any of our business to know what he uses for the spell." She added, turning those piercing blue eyes back at him.

"I, uh – I don't mind telling you." He murmured, glancing at Remus, who stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. Remus smiled and nodded his head – he knew he'd support him no matter what he did.

Neville took up position on Harry's left, hopping onto the desk in one fluid motion, while Hermione inched closer on his right until their thighs were tightly pressed against one another – she lay her head on his shoulder, and he could feel the heat that blossomed on his face. Daphne and Tracey remained before him – Daphne had her hands clasped before her, and Tracey shifted from foot to foot, her arms tucked under her chest.

The room was silent for a moment, and Harry frowned – now that he wanted to tell them, something that he'd actually gone down to the lake on the weekend to think on, until Cai had followed in his shadow, he struggled to form the damned words.

"I-" He began, his voice hitching uncomfortably. "I can remember the night that… well, that night."

"Gods." Neville muttered, burying his face into his hands, and resting his elbows on his knees.

Daphne and Tracey both paled when he looked at them, and he smiled sadly at them. Hermione sniffled quietly. "It's… not pleasant, obviously." He added, almost as an afterthought. He jolted and winced when Hermione jabbed him with her finger in the ribs.

"Can we do anything?" Daphne asked, looking between himself and Remus, wide-eyed. "To help?"

"Nothing I know of." Remus shrugged, sadly. "Sirius and I have been helping as best we can – Andromeda too."

"Sorry I didn't tell you…" Harry began, pursing his lips as his eyes dropped ever so slightly. He felt like a poor imitation of himself at that moment. There was plenty that he kept from each of his friends – that he had to keep hidden.

And yet, he couldn't help but feel like he should have confided in them sooner, like he had with Sirius, Remus, and Andromeda. They were his friends, and they could help – but he hadn't wanted to appear as affected by the Dementors as he had been. It felt like no matter what progress he made with the tragedies of his life, he always took one step forward and two steps back.

"No, you've got nothing to apologise for." Hermione said; that same stubborn tone to her voice that she reserved for when she was going to give him an earful and remind him that he was being stupid. He quite enjoyed it, actually.

He glanced down at her, though she continued to glare at the floorboards between Daphne and Tracey's feet. "You have enough on your mind at the best of times as it is – I won't hear you trying to apologise for something like this."

"But-"

"She's right, you know." Neville said from the other side of him, and Harry almost broke his neck at the speed he turned to look at his best friend. "I'm serious – I'd probably still not have said anything if it were me."

Harry nodded – Neville rarely spoke of the pains he felt with his own parents. What little he did speak of them, he spoke to Harry, and Harry alone; he doubted even Augusta heard anything of them.

"We've got you Harry – through thick and thin." Tracey said, her voice strong and resolute, and when he looked at her, she even awarded him a small, private grin. "We're Varagnir."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Neville groaned at his side, throwing his head back dramatically. "I really regret suggesting that – especially if you're going to butcher the pronunciation each time you say it!"

"I'm saying it like you told me to say it; Varagnir – see?"

"No, it's Vargarnir!"

"That's what I'm saying!"

And just like that, everything returned to normal. The tension in the room was washed away by the normal, bantering back and forth between Neville and Tracey. He glanced to his side, turning out the voices of Neville and Tracey's bickering and looked to Hermione.

Her eyes were still on the floorboards, so he wiggled a finger free from the hand she continued to absently stroke with the pads of her thumbs, and gently poked her thigh. "You okay?" He whispered as she glanced up at him through her eyelashes.

"I should be asking you that." She huffed, quietly. "I'm just…" She sighed, her voice trailing off. "It's just so unfair."

"You don't have to tell me twice." He grunted. "I'd be happy enough with a quiet year at school at this point."

"This is hardly the time for one of your jokes." Hermione groused, pinching the back of his hand lightly. "I'm serious – you shouldn't have to remember something awful like that. I couldn't imagine going through half the things you have."

"And the other half you've been right beside me." He whispered with a quick grin. That earned him another pinch. "I'm serious too – remember that chasm beneath the castle? You were pretty brave there – and that Golem. Let's not forget you figuring out it was a Basilisk last year, and not me losing my mind."

"Shut up." She huffed, hiding her face in the material of his school doublet, which had turned a pleasant crimson. He chuckled and turned his eyes back to the squabbling Neville and Tracey, who were still at it, and had somehow managed to lure both Remus and Daphne into it.

"I mean it," He whispered, one last time as he leaned down as close to her as he could while still keeping his eyes on the rest of them. "You're the bravest person I know, Hermione."


A few hours later, he sat in the alcove of a window, his feet propped up against the far wall and crossed at the ankles. The window was tall, and simple, unadorned glass with three handles to allow some small breeze to flow into the corridor on the seventh floor – they were all shut, of course – it was the middle of winter, and nobody wanted to be any colder than they already were.

The sun had long-since set, and in its place, the pale, silver-white of the moon hung in the sky. It wasn't a full moon, thankfully, but still, its pale light danced along the surface of the lake far below him, and for a brief moment, the Giant Squid broke the surface as it often did, its mighty tentacle silhouetted against the surface of the lake.

He reached out his right index finger and idly dragged it along the cool pane of glass next to his knees, tapping on it in a faint rhythm as he hummed to himself. He couldn't remember when he'd begun to hum, but it was a slow, mournful, and haunting tune he'd heard sung around Arpton.

It briefly reminded him of home, and he wondered what everyone at Arpton would be doing – would they be dancing in the hall? Or quietly huddling together around the hearths for warmth? He closed his eyes and continued humming as he laid his head against the pane of cool glass, quickly picturing himself among them, as well as Sirius, Amelia, Remus, Susan, and his friends.

"What's that? I don't recognise the song." Hermione asked, peering around the edge of the alcove from her spot on the floor, her book tucked into her lap, and her cloak pooled beneath her to protect her from the coldness of the flagstone beneath her. "It's not Muggle, is it?"

"No." He breathed, opening his eyes, and smiling down at her. "I heard it from a few people that work my family home."

"Rosestone?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

He shook his own, slowly. "Arpton – the one that Sirius gave me the portrait of for my birthday."

"What's it like?" She asked, closing her book, and spinning on the floor and pinning him with her full attention. "It didn't look like anything I've seen before. It looks like something out of history, really."

He snorted and laid his head back against the smooth brick behind him, his eyes fluttering closed for half a second before they returned to the face of Hermione, so curious, so earnest. In the back of his mind, he could feel the magic that protected those lands stirring – he would have to be careful.

"It's… home. I don't think there's any other place that I'd feel quite as safe in. There's this river, and the castle sits on a bit of land that splits the water in two just before the cliff-edge. When you look up at the castle from the fields below, there are two huge waterfalls on either side of it."

"It sounds lovely." Hermione sighed; a far-way look in her eyes as she no doubt imagined it. "How do you get to it if there's a river either side?"

"That's its strongest defence!" Harry grinned, kicking his feet off the wall and spinning on the alcove seat to look at Hermione properly – he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between his legs. He quickly swept his gaze up and down the corridor, making sure the two of them were alone. "You see, the water moves too quickly for anyone to cross it if it were under attack, and the outer wall is embedded directly into the rock of the cliff. There's no room to get anyone onto the same bit of land that the castle sits on. Anyone trying would be thrown over the edge of the waterfall."

"So… there's a bridge then." Hermione reasoned, cocking an eyebrow at him fondly. "You could have just said as much, you know."

He waved a hand dismissively. "It's not just a bridge, though – the bridge in and of itself is a deterrent to anyone attacking the front gate too. It's only wide enough to move two carts down it, side by side, and it's long. If I had an army, I wouldn't want to cross it."

"You know a lot about its defences." She noted, one corner of her mouth twitching up slightly.

Harry felt the magic stir just beneath his skin, and he fought the urge to scowl – not at Hermione, but at the magic keeping this side of him from her. He hated only being able to share half of himself with one of his most treasured friends – especially when she held nothing back herself.

"I have to – I might have to defend it one day. Rosestone too." He answered slowly, and with a shrug. "Or anyone that comes after me might."

"You make it sound like you could go to war."

"Possibly… It's…" He grimaced as the magic halted the words coming from his mouth. His face relaxed after a moment, and the uncomfortable feeling slowly ebbed away. "It's complicated – maybe one day I'll be able to tell you. I… I can't right now."

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "The magic that Sirius mentioned on your birthday?"

"Something like that, yeah." He murmured, wiping his hands down his face. "What is it you're reading?" He asked, blowing out a breath of air.

Hermione accepted the change of topic with an enthusiastic grin. Normally, there would have been question after question, her curiosity far too… well, curious, to allow her to let it be, but there was some unwritten rule among the five of them – there were some things they just couldn't talk about.

He'd shared what he could with Neville and Daphne over the years, enough for them to have put together the pieces themselves, and there was information out there, he knew, if one simply knew where to look. Myths, legends, rumour… some more accurate than others, but the original grain of truth was there for those willing to look hard enough.

But he couldn't do that with Hermione and Tracey. Both were incredibly intelligent girls, even if he did have a weakness for a certain curly-haired Gryffindor with brown eyes and ink-stained fingers. Tracey came from a regular family, no vast quantities of wealth gathered up over generations – just two hard-working parents that have saved up every Knut they could to pay her tuition for Hogwarts. To the best of his knowledge, Tracey's family didn't have any oaths to any Lord or Lady – as much as he trusted them, the Family Magic didn't. Until it did, or Harry found some way around it, there was nothing he could do.

Hermione was a similar problem, only, she was a Muggle-Born. She was a rarity among their people – someone with no magical heritage at all, and, as much as he hated to admit it, a complete unknown. People from Tracey's way of life could be predictable – most would leap at the first opportunity to be acknowledged by a Lord or Lady; their lives could change overnight if they were raised in status.

Muggle-Born weren't so predictable – oh, he could probably guess half a dozen ways that Hermione might react to any given thing he did, but she hadn't grown up in their world like the rest of their little group had. Harry had nothing against Muggles; apparently he had a Muggle Aunt out there somewhere, but they had their own society, their own rules, their own ideas on how the world should be.

Their world was older, far older, and sometimes, that didn't sit well with Muggle-Born. As far as his Family Magic was concerned, that was enough to prevent him from sharing himself with the girl sat grinning up at him until he could find a way around that too.

"I'm sorry," He apologised, grimacing as Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Zoned out for a moment."

"Honestly, you can be just as bad as Neville sometimes."

Harry scoffed but said nothing – this time, he rolled his eyes.

"I said that I'm reading a book on applications of elemental magics. This particular book is about Fire Elementals."

"My father was one, apparently." He smiled, inching down from the alcove, and shuffling over to sit next to Hermione against the wall. "You're not cold, are you? You know, with the stone?" He asked, pointing to the bare knees, the hem of her skirt stretching from having been tucked under her legs when she'd originally sat down.

She blushed as he looked at her, though he wasn't sure why. "No, I'm… I'm okay, thank you. The cloak's enough."

"If you're sure." He said slowly, though he quickly tugged the doublet, which was already loose from their scheduled session with Moony earlier, over his head and laid it over her knees regardless. His uniform had many more layers than her own. The cool air of the corridor caused the skin on the back of his arms to turn to gooseflesh as he quickly rolled the sleeves of his tunic up to his elbows. "Still, it's winter – just to be safe." He added with a grin, watching as she blushed a little more and cleared her throat.

"So, uh… your dad? He was an Elemental?"

"Apparently." Harry answered with a shrug as he leaned against the cool stone behind him. "My mother was one too, according to Hope – I mean, Professor Cantrill. Her element was Earth."

"Interesting – who told you that your Dad was an Elemental?"

"Sirius and Remus. Said he used some spells for pranks – there's even a few of them in the Compendium I got for my birthday. All the plans, and everything. Apparently he liked to cast Magefyre the most."

"I've read about that – I tried casting it at the start of the year, but I couldn't get it to work. I've been trying other spells since then, of course."

"Well, you do have a habit of setting people on fire…"

"Oh, that was one time!" She cried out, throwing her arms up. "And, it was the cloak, not the person!"

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything that I should know about?" Professor McGonagall's voice interrupted, his witty retort to Hermione dying in its infancy on his tongue. Harry's eyes doubled in size, and he got up so quickly from his spot on the floor, that he nearly tipped forward and landed on his face, if not for the steadying hand of the Deputy Headmistress.

"Professor!" He squeaked, and cleared his throat, wincing. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Indeed." She said, dryly. "That much is quite obvious, Mister Potter. I trust you're not up to any… mischief." The Professor said, pinning him with a particular look that he was sure she had levelled at the Marauders more than once.

"No, Professor, we were just-" Hermione began, having gotten to her feet as well, her book, cloak, and his doublet were all gathered into her hands, bundled together haphazardly before her.

"I'm sure you were." Professor McGonagall hummed with pursed lips. Harry couldn't be sure, and he fought the urge to lean closer and squint to check, but he could've sworn that her mouth twitched into a small smile. "Now," She began, turning to look at him fully – he straightened on instinct. "As requested, the Headmaster will see you now – even as ramshackle as you are." She added, sweeping her eyes up and down his uniform. He winced.

"Here, Harry – uh, thank you. You know, for-" Hermione stammered, gently thrusting his doublet out to him.

"It's alright – can you take it back to my room for me? It's going to be a pain to get it back on is all." Harry asked, slightly bashful despite himself and the intimidating stare of one of his favourite professors watching the two of them. "I'll be fine, really."

"If you're sure." Hermione said, slowly. "I'll see you afterwards, then."

Harry nodded and waved as Hermione wiggled her fingers as best she could, burdened as she was by her cloak, book, and his doublet, as she began to make her way down the corridor, back towards Gryffindor Tower. He turned to look at Professor McGonagall and swallowed nervously as she continued to stare at him with an unreadable look on her face.

"Come, Harry." She said at last, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Best not to keep Dumbledore waiting."

He nodded and hurried after her as she started off in the opposite direction as Hermione. After only a few moments, the two of them came to the statue guardian of Dumbledore's office, where Professor McGonagall gave the password, and only a heartbeat later, the two of them ascended into the antechamber outside of the Headmaster's office.

"Would you like me to remain throughout this meeting?" Professor McGonagall asked, looking to him over her shoulder – it was at that moment he realised that he was almost of equal height to the woman. "It wouldn't be uncommon for a student to request a meeting and want their Head of House present."

He shook his head. "No, no I'll be fine, Professor." He said, smiling as reassuringly as he could, even as he ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He'd had very few interactions with the Headmaster over the course of his schooling so far, and even that was more than the average student. Despite seeing the man at almost every meal like the rest of the students did, it was still Albus Dumbledore, vanquisher of Grindelwald, beyond the door.

"Very well." She said, rapping on the wooden door gently before easing it open and poking her head through. "Mister Potter to see you, Albus." He heard her say, though he couldn't hear the response. When her head retreated from the gap, she gave one final, encouraging nod with a small, private smile, and ushered him through the door.

The room was much as he remembered it, and all around him, portraits moved back and forth – the long dead heads of the school that had come and gone before even Dumbledore's time. On the far wall, in the largest frame of them all, was the curious gaze of the first Head of the school; Rowena Ravenclaw, peering down at him from her golden throne – that same one that Dumbledore used in the Great Hall.

"Ah, Harry." Dumbledore's voice greeted him, punctuated by the heavy thud of the door closing behind him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit – no more shenanigans, I would hope?" He asked, peering over the rim of his glasses.

Harry's lips quirked into a quick grin, despite himself. "No, Headmaster – I just… had some questions, and I thought you might be the best person to come to. If I'm keeping you up, or interrupting anything, I can…" He gestured to the door.

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense." The Headmaster smiled through his beard. "I see you've noticed the delightful Lady Ravenclaw."

Harry glanced back up at the portrait, offering it a polite bow. After everything they'd discovered the previous year, he'd have been lying to himself if he claimed to not be a little curious about the woman. In all honesty, he was surprised he hadn't noticed her portrait the last time he'd been in this very same room – though he had had more important things on his mind at the time.

"Her statue does her no justice." He said, smiling politely at the portrait. The portrait smiled, more amused than polite, and bowed her head in return. "It's no wonder Salazar thought so highly of her." That caused a reaction, even if it had only been a slight widening of her eyes.

"Indeed. Though something tells me that you're not here to look upon the first Headmistress. Come, have a seat – can I offer you a drink? Tea, perhaps?"

"No, but thank you, Headmaster." Harry said, sighing as he sunk into the chair before Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster nodded and sat back in his large chair, his fingers steepled before him.

"What troubles you?" He asked, and Harry fought back an amused snort.

That really was the question, wasn't it?

"In my first year, you told me that Voldemort was going to keep coming for me. Last year, there was a… memory of him in the diary that Ginny Weasley had. I spoke to Hagrid, when we were trying to work out it was Rhuxu attacking the students – Tom Riddle has an award for the school, and from what I've read in the library, he was Head Boy the following year."

"All true, yes." Dumbledore nodded; his voice soft in the quiet of the office.

"Well, I was just wondering, Headmaster… was he always an evil bastard?"

Of all the things that he expected to come from the Headmaster's mouth, laughter was the last thing he had expected. Oh, it wasn't the loud, belly grabbing kind of laughter that was common between Sirius and Remus – it was more complicated than that. There was genuine amusement in it, but also… sadness – and maybe regret.

"I don't think anyone has been as candid as you've just been in my presence in a good while. There's a lot to be said about those that speak their minds, I think." Harry blushed. "To answer your question… Yes, and no."

Harry frowned and scratched his forehead.

"You see, Tom Riddle was a complicated young boy even before he attended Hogwarts. He was intelligent, powerful, cunning, and so incredibly charismatic. As he became older, those traits only became more obvious – no matter what he set his mind to, he would go on to do great things." Dumbledore sighed. "Do I know the specific moment in which he ceased to be Tom Riddle? Alas, I do not. Perhaps he never really was Tom Riddle. It has been my experience that people are often complicated and very seldom fit into a single category."

"Like Grindelwald?" Harry asked before he could stop himself – he fought the urge to clamp a hand over his mouth.

Dumbledore didn't say anything for a long moment, before eventually nodding and smiling sadly. "Like Grindelwald." Dumbledore sighed. "He too was much like Tom – the two men held many of the same traits; powerful in their own rights, and able to rally thousands to their causes."

"But Voldemort didn't have thousands." Harry frowned. "There were only a few hundred at most – it's why the Ministry didn't take more action… right?"

The Headmaster cocked a brow and gently laid his hands on the arms of his chair. "That we know of – many, many espoused the same beliefs of Tom, even to this day. If I may, why are you asking these questions? While I am led to believe that you have almost as much of a curious mind as the young Miss Granger, I doubt these questions have originated from nowhere."

Harry chuckled, but there was little humour in it, though he appreciated Dumbledore's attempt, as poor as it was, to lighten the mood of the conversation. "You told me last year, at the end, that you think I'm a Mage, like Tom."

"I did."

"Do you think there's any chance I could end up like him?"

"Oh Harry," Dumbledore sighed, leaning forward, and resting his arms against his desk, the tip of his long white beard tucked against his chest. "You are as likely as to be the next Tom Riddle as I am to turn into a frog."

Harry smiled, despite himself. "It's just-"

"The similarities between the two of you. I see you've been looking in the Alumni Archives." Dumbledore finished for him, smiling sadly. "Yes – on the surface, the two of you do seem to be similar, but answer me this, Harry…"

Harry shifted in his seat and looked the Headmaster in the eye.

"Say you discovered a long forgotten spell – what would you do with it? Would you keep that knowledge for yourself, or would you share that knowledge freely?"

"I'd share it, obviously." He frowned, confused.

"And there is the fundamental difference. You wish to see those around you thrive – you don't seek to horde power for yourself."

"But that's hardly comparable to half the stuff Voldemort did!"

"No, but I suspect that's how it could have begun." Dumbledore sighed. "Power is like a vacuum – you must always acquire more. I suspect you know this far better than myself, hm?"

Harry grimaced, thinking once again of the lands and title that he would be inheriting in only a few years. "I do that to ensure my family line after me. To make sure they're safe and secure."

"Indeed. That is the difference, Harry. You have all the makings of a great man, my boy. Believe me, I've seen many walk these halls." Dumbledore winked over his glasses conspiratorially, and Harry found himself blushing under the praise.

"I'll do my best to live up to your opinion of me." Harry mumbled, a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Still… The thought of Voldemort has been-" he paused, trying to think of the right word. "-troubling me."

"May I offer some advice?"

"That's what I was hoping for." Harry admitted with a puff of air, his shoulders slumping.

"There may come a time in your life where you find yourself standing across from Tom – until that day, he is the problem of others. In the meantime, spend your days with friends. Train and hone your magic, sharpen your mind, and most importantly… live. For if there's a day beyond the threat of Voldemort, I would hope that you would be able to enjoy it to its fullest."

"I…" Harry sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I understand, Headmaster. Sirius and Remus have been telling me the same thing. It's just…"

"You are the kind of person who prefers to tackle problems head-on. I was the same, in my youth. Apparently it's what one calls, 'being a Gryffindor', I'm afraid."

Harry grinned, though he didn't feel much better about his visit. He'd been hoping for some answers that would help him deal with Voldemort sooner rather than later – even if he had to take the matter all the way to The Council, but it seemed Dumbledore's advice was much the same as he'd been hearing since that first day of summer. Enjoy your childhood.

Easy to say when there wasn't the lingering threat of the most infamous wizard since Grindelwald wanted you dead in some way or another. For all Harry knew, Fenrir Greyback was after him on Voldemort's orders. The sightings of Greyback were becoming far too frequent, and far too local for Harry's liking for it to be anything else. The monster was all half the school could talk about these days.

Harry got to his feet, fighting the urge to groan at the tightness he felt in his lower back – the chairs in Dumbledore's office were some of the most uncomfortable he'd used in a long time. The stone benches along the lake were more comfortable.

"I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Headmaster." Harry said, bowing politely. It was mid-bow when Harry noticed the familiar book sat beside a small tower of thick volumes, some had familiar markings on them, while others didn't. One in particular stood out among the crowd – it was the stamp of the Hogwarts Library. "You still have the Diary?" He asked, frowning, as he straightened.

"Indeed – a personal project of mine to try and understand it. After all, if there are any other artefacts of its like out in the world, it would be good not to have to rely on a nearby Basilisk Fang, hm?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Harry blushed, ignoring the chuckle from the old wizard. Harry turned to leave, though just as he reached the steps that lead to the lower end of the office, where all of the portraits hung, Harry paused, turning on the spot. "Sorry, Headmaster – there was one last thing. I asked Remus about it earlier in private, but he told me I should ask you…"

"Of course." Dumbledore nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "If I can help, I will."

"What does Avada Kedavra mean?"