Authors Note: Rotten Writer here again with the end of Second Year. WHOOOO!

Hasn't been nearly as long a time coming as it kinda feels like but still been a fun adventure thus far.

So, yeah, this chapter is just the final wrap up started in the previous chapter and weighted in at about 16,500 words, give or take a few. If this had been added to the previous chapter as was the original plan we'd have been looking at a chapter in the 27,000 word count range. Yikes, that's a lot. So, in the end I'm glad I decided to break it up as I did. Next chapter will be the start of Part Three of Soul Scars and we're going to diverge even more away from canon in some respects while still keeping a few other aspects. For example, Dementors. Gotta haves me some Dementors in Year Three cause I'm looking forward to some fun times there.

Other than that, things are gonna get weird, fast.

I had a few reviews wonder why the girls didn't share the new scars with Harry and I'm sorry, I gotta point out, just because I didn't expressly mention the scars didn't mean they didn't HAVE the scars. Make sense? In the last chapter you only saw Daphne and Susan and both girls were as covered up as they always were in those portions of the chapter where they were physically present. So therefore I didn't expressly mention the scars across their chests and arms simply because they weren't uncovered at any time during the chapter. But they do HAVE them and we're going to see some reaction to that coming up. Some things might seem a little out of left field, but I promise it's all there building toward future events and such in the upcoming years.

I've already begun working on year three and with any luck I'll have the next chapter up as per my original schedule outlined at the beginning of this whole thing.

One last quick thing. I've got a strangely shaped chunk of text in there, trust me, you'll know it when you see it. Now there's some sections that just have X's instead of regular letters. (like so XXXX XXXXXX etc.) Now, in my writing program that I use, those sections were blacked out like they'd been gone over with a marker. The intent was to make it look as if sections of the text were missing, either damaged or obscured in some way. This didn't transfer over so I improvised. Apologies if it looks a little odd.

Disclaimer: I still owns nothings. Please no with the suing. *hides*

Moving on! Chapter 28 of Soul Scars

Soul Scars Part Two:

Darkness Within

by,

Rtnwriter

"Director?"

Croaker looked up from the smoothly polished surface of his desk to see Mink and Sable both standing in front of him. He couldn't see their expressions, but even through the charms masking Sable's voice, he could hear the questioning tone.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to drift off like that, you were saying?"

Sable and Mink glanced at each other but said nothing and turned their attention back to the Director as Sable continued with his report.

"Our contact inside Hogwarts; codename, Dirk, confirmed a rather fantastic story. The fabled Chamber of Secrets has now been confirmed to be real. The perpetrator was, apparently, a first year student that was being controlled through means of a cursed artifact, something that used to belong to the Dark Lord himself."

Croaker sat up straighter in his seat, his previous thoughts banished to a corner of his mind as he focused his entire attention on the report his subordinate was giving.

"White King and White Rook were attacked by this student in the Charms corridor and White Rook was taken into the Chamber. White King got the Weasley twins to inform the staff and the DMLE but the King went after the Rook, personally, and during the confrontation fought, and killed the beast supposedly left in the Chamber by Slytherin himself."

"What was this beast?"

"A Basilisk. An extremely old and therefore extremely large Basilisk. Dirk claimed to infiltrate a pensieve memory of the battle and estimates the creature at nearly seventy feet in length."

"Sweet Circe," Croaker blurted out before he could stop himself. "How did White King handle that creature? There's no spell a second year student could possibly cast that would do any kind of significant damage to something like that."

"It appears that White King didn't use a spell, not for the kill, at least. He shot off a Reductor at one point that I think would top any scale we might have to measure it, and in the process destroyed his wand. Subject Whiskers' Phoenix intervened, bringing the sorting hat with it and White King and the hat had a bit of a discussion. The contents of that conversation are presently unknown."

"Understood," Croaker said, motioning for Sable to continue.

"Somehow, White King pulled a sword from within the hat, the name Godric Gryffindor is etched into the blade, according to Dirk."

"Gryffindor's sword has been missing for centuries," Croaker mused thoughtfully. "Either it's been within the hat all this time or that artifact has greater powers than we thought if it was able to pull the sword from wherever it was hidden."

"Quite, Director. White King used the sword to kill the Basilisk, getting significantly injured in the process. Fang impaled through his arm and a slash across his chest that is by no means small. White King was incapacitated for three days after the confrontation but is apparently in full health with a few unusual effects detailed in the report before you."

Croaker nodded, already flipping through the folder that had appeared on his desk as Sable continued their report.

"There was some conversation with individuals including the perpetrators father, the perpetrator herself, a Miss Luna Lovegood. There was a Senior Auror and an Auror Cadet, the Minister of Magic, Whiskers and Subject Feline. Subjects Red Queen, White Rook, and White Bishop were also present during this conversation."

"And Subject White Queen was still petrified during this incident, correct?" Croaker asked to which the cloaked Sable nodded silently. "All right, continue."

"The adults all watched memories submitted by White King and White Rook of the confrontation, during which time Malfoy Senior entered the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. White King tricked Malfoy into freeing his house elf who then tossed Malfoy across the Wing after he attempted to curse White King."

Croaker couldn't help but chuckle at that one and motioned for Sable to keep going.

"During the rest of the conversation everyone left save Red Queen, White King, Rook, and Bishop, as well as Whiskers and Feline. At this point, Whiskers finally informed White King of the prophecy we know exists in regards to White King and Black King."

"He finally let the boy know? I'm honestly surprised he did that. Whiskers doesn't like to part with information."

"Dirk feels that Whiskers' guilt over White King's abuse at the hands of his relatives may have motivated his sudden… verbosity… In any case, White King and most of those closest to him now know of the Prophecies existence, if not the exact wording. We feel it likely the Longbottom boy and White Queen will be informed as early as this evening, possibly by tomorrow morning."

"Longbottom…" Croaker cut in. "What's the word on the status between Longbottom and White King?"

"The two swore Oaths tying themselves and their Houses together just after the Christmas Break, that was in an earlier report from Dirk. The nature of the Oath… well it ties them much closer together than a typical House alliance Oath would. They're very close, and quite devoted to each other."

"Good. White King is going to need all the allies he can get. Future reports will have Longbottom designated as Subject White Knight."

"Understood, Director."

"Is that it for the report from Hogwarts?"

"Nearly. Red Queen intends to take White King to Diagon Alley today in order to replace his wand. Based on his medical report though… I'm not sure that'll be possible. Hence why I've asked Mink to join us."

"Mink?" Croaker asked, turning his attention to the other, until now, silent figure sitting across from his desk.

"With the Soul Bond between the subjects solidified to its present state, and with that feather embedded in White Kings arm, there's no telling what that will do to his magic. No one has ever overpowered a wand to the extent that White King did. I highly doubt that he'll find a wand that will be able to handle the power he could pump through it, and in a combat situation… well, I can't believe that he'll be able to limit his power enough to not do it again. That'll make any wand a potential danger to him."

"You're thinking a different focus will be needed?"

Mink shrugged.

"I honestly couldn't say, Director. But I intend to have one of my people as a fly on the wall when he gets there. I'm quite curious to see what Wands will decide."

"Very good. Keep me updated. With their bond, plus the request we received from Subject Feline… I think it might be getting close to a face to face with the subjects. Sable, you may go. Mink, I need you to stay behind."

"Good day, Director," said Sable as they turned and strode from the office. Moments later it was just Mink and Croaker left in the office and the two stared at each other, deep cowls completely covering both their faces.

"Director?" Mink asked after the silence had finally stretched into its fifth minute.

Croaker reached over and pulled open a small drawer on the right hand side of his desk from which he withdrew a single sheet of parchment.

Holding it up he pretended to read from the sheet. In truth he'd memorized what it said long ago and was using the act of 'reading' as an excuse to observe Mink where they stood across from him.

The Hydra will XXXX

XXXX strong and imXXXtal

The beast of one aXX many must stand united

XXXXXXX and broXXX, the sword will fight

XXarred and determined, XXXXXXXX will save

Scarred and damXXXX, the shield will protect

Scarred and loyXX, the faithful will heal

XXX sword will XXeak

Knowledge wiXXXXXXX

The shield XXXXXXXatter

The faiXXXXXXXXll suffer

Death will come for XXX

Croaker set the sheet down on the desk. Throughout the reading Mink hadn't moved so much as a centimeter. They gave nothing away, much as an Unspeakable was supposed to, but in that moment Croaker found it more irritating than he ever had.

"Director?"

"What did I just read, Mink?" he asked.

"The information that I brought to you on The Hydra that you asked me for."

"That is not all of it."

"I am aware, Director. When I found it, a single sheet of parchment in the Archives, the bottom portion of the page had been burned. What I gave you was all that I was able to transcribe from the original."

"Did I ask you to bring me a transcribed copy of the information?" he demanded, his own charms unable to keep out the anger in his masked voice as he stood and leaned over the desk toward Mink who flinched at the sudden motion.

"No, Director. However, Archive rules require no original documentation is ever to be removed."

"Unless at the direction of the Director," Croaker finished the unspoken portion of the sentence and slowly sank back into his seat. "Perhaps… perhaps I am partially at fault here. I asked for the materials, not a copy of the materials. Bring me the original, immediately, then I want you to go back another two centuries and continue looking for any reference. You are to speak of this to absolutely no one, am I understood?"

"Yes, Director. I understand completely."

"Dismissed."

Mink didn't flee from the office, but they moved just a bit faster than normal, close enough that Croaker could amuse himself with the thought that Mink was sent scurrying from his office in terror. No idea if it was true or not. But it amused him. And he felt that he could use all the amusement he could find to help whether the coming years.

#####

Harry stared into the old man's wide, pale eyes with a growing sense of trepidation. Mister Ollivander never seemed to blink as he studied Harry's brightly glowing emerald gaze with an intense curiosity that had him quickly fidgeting nervously.

"Holly and Phoenix feather," Ollivander said, suddenly, as he turned away from Harry and moved around behind the counter in his dusty, cramped little shop. "Eleven inches, nice and supple. How is your wand treating you these days, Lord Potter?"

Harry winced as those pale eyes turned back toward him, his fidgeting getting worse. "Umm… actually, my wand was… well it kind of… blew up."

When he woke that morning, Harry hadn't thought much of his missing wand. He got up, his mind occupied by the fact that Hermione and Neville would be back with them that night. He was thrilled, practically euphoric, at the thought that both his friend, and his bond mate would soon be put to rights.

When Amelia showed up, however, to escort him off the grounds, he suddenly found himself feeling apprehensive. Would the old wand maker be angry with him? Would he not agree to sell him a new wand, since he obviously didn't take good enough care of his first wand? And what if he didn't? How would Harry be able to stay in school without a wand?

"It… blew up?" Ollivander asked, bringing Harry back to the present.

"Y-yes, Sir," he said.

"And just how did that happen?"

"I… I tried to Reductor a thousand-year-old Basilisk. I knew it would be resistant to magical damage, so I overpowered the curse as much as I could."

Ollivander blinked. "How large was the curse, after it left your wand, would you say?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not entirely certain, exactly. It sent me flying and I didn't really get a very good look at it." He looked over at Amelia where she stood near the door to the shop.

"In the memory I viewed, it appeared to be approximately three feet across."

Ollivander blinked again. "Yes… well… that certainly would do the job. That much power…" He trailed off, brow furrowed in thought. With a flick of his wand the Tape measure that Harry remembered from his previous visit floated over and started measuring him again.

"It is somewhat unusual for a wizard to need a new wand so young, Lord Potter," Ollivander said as he moved amongst the shelves, pulling box after box, which he brought back and stacked on the counter. "Enough," he told the tape measure in an exasperated tone of voice and it suddenly fell to the floor, once again completely inert.

"Many witches and wizards find, as they grow, that they are not the same person as they used to be when they were younger, and the wand that once suited them perfectly may no longer be such a good fit anymore. However, at your age, that is rarely the case."

He was still flitting about with a speed that belied his age but came to an abrupt halt, staring once again at Harry with those disconcerting eyes.

"Considering how powerful that curse was, I sincerely doubt that it no longer suited you anymore, and you were quite the tricky customer before."

"So this might take a while?" Harry asked as, behind him, Amelia was already settling herself into the spindly little chair against the wall to wait.

"Quite possibly, Lord Potter. Quite possibly. I feel I must also take this opportunity to point out that, if you think you are likely to have need to overpower curses like that in the future, then any wand you use is unlikely to hold up for long. Wands simply cannot stand up to that much power. You might find yourself with another wand exploding on you in the future as you will only continue to grow more powerful, for at least another few years before you reach your full maturity."

"But… what else can I do?" Harry asked. "I have to have a wand for school, at the least."

"I would hesitate to mention at the moment , Lord Potter. Let us first determine if there is a wand that is suitable for you.

With that said, the old man opened one of the many boxes on the counter and held out a wand toward Harry, handle first. "Ten and three quarter inches, oak, with a dragon heartstring core, nice and whippy."

Stepping forward, Harry reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle.

He then promptly dropped it, leaping back away from the wand with a strangled cry.

"Harry!" Amelia shouted as she leapt to her feet and strode quickly over to him. He jumped when she put a hand on his shoulder and she quickly lifted them both, palms out in front of her.

"Woah, Harry, it's just me," she said in a soothing voice. His eyes were wild, chest heaving as he drew in great gulps of air, and his hands trembled violently.

In short, he was terrified.

"What the hell was that?" he snapped, whipping around to face Ollivander as he pointed to the simple, unassuming looking wand where it now lay on the floor of the shop.

"Well, well, well," Ollivander muttered. "How curious… how very curious…"

Harry and Amelia exchanged a confused look as the old wizard summoned the wand to his hand and placed it back into its box, all the while still muttering, "Cutious… curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry with an almost overwhelming sense of deja vu, "but what's curious?"

"Your reaction to that wand, Lord Potter. Tell me, what made you react that way?"

Harry frowned, finally calming down and thought carefully about how to answer that question. "It… as soon as I touched it I felt something… dangerous…" His brow furrowed even more.

"It was like… have you ever been somewhere, and felt like you were being watched? Even though you know that you're alone, that no one is there? And then, the longer it goes on, the more your imagination starts playing with you. You think you see something moving out of the corner of your eye. You start to hear scratching noises, or even whispers in the dark or somewhere just out of sight. Then, you suddenly know, you know that something, something awful, and vicious, with a maw filled with razor sharp teeth is standing right behind you and you spin around, but there's nothing there."

"Then you feel its breath on the back of your neck."

By the time he finished he had his arms wrapped around himself and Amelia and Ollivander were both openly gaping at him.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and his whole body shook slightly as he let it out before his eyes focused back on the old wand maker.

"It felt like that," he said, "but all in an instant."

They were silent for nearly a minute longer before Ollivander breathed out a quiet, "My word."

He seemed to shake himself a moment later and eyed the stacks of boxes on the counter before him with a critical eye before he started rapidly pulling boxes out of the stacks, firmly setting each one aside as soon as he had them in hand.

"There will be no dragon heartstrings for you, Lord Potter," he said. "And if you know anyone who has a dragon heartstring core in their wands, I would highly recommend that you never touch them."

Harry nodded and gave a weak chuckle. "Noted," he said.

Ollivander quirked a small smile before he selected and held out another wand. Eleven and a half inches, ash, with unicorn tail hairs, a bit stiff."

Harry eyed the wand, warily, as if he expected it to suddenly bite him. Slowly, he reached for the wand and gingerly wrapped the scarred fingers of his right hand around the handle.

Amelia realized that she was holding her breath and forced herself to exhale when Harry didn't immediately freak out after his skin came into contact with the smoothly polished handle of the wand. Instead, he held it for a handful of seconds before he shook his head, firmly, and set the wand on the counter, absently scrubbing his hand on the leg of his trousers, as if trying to wipe away something dirty.

"No," he said. "No, that one doesn't feel good."

Ollivander arched one bushy silver eyebrow at him but simply nodded and put the wand back in its box. "Very well," he said, as he opened a third box. "Try this one. Nine inches, cherry and phoenix feather, nice and flexible."

Harry grasped the wand and a moment later all three of them cried out in shock as the wand burst into flames in his hand. He dropped it in surprise and they watched as, within seconds, the wand had been reduced to ash, leaving a gleaming red and gold feather, along with a few scorch marks, behind on the shops floor.

"I'm sorry," Harry almost immediately blurted out.

"That is quite all right, my Lord," Ollivander hastened to reassure him, even though he still appeared stunned. "I am quite positive that you did not do it on purpose. Though, I am afraid that does leave us with a bit of a conundrum."

"What might that be?" Amelia asked while Ollivander summoned the feather into his hand and gently dusted off the ash that lightly coated it.

"It appears that none of my wands will work for Lord Potter. Dragon heartstrings react rather violently to him. Unicorn hairs feel… tainted?" he asked, looking toward Harry who nodded rapidly. He really did not like how the unicorn tail wand had felt in his hand, like something oily was creeping across his skin. "And obviously, I do not want to risk any more of my phoenix feather wands in case this reaction was not a one time event."

He fell silent as he studied Harry again, his eyes almost gleaming in the duly lit shop.

"That glow, in your eyes, Lord Potter," he said, finally. "That was missing last time you were here, was it not?"

"Umm… yeah, that's a… a recent development, you might say."

The old wand smith pursed his lips thoughtfully even as his aged brow furrowed into a deep frown. He appeared to be muttering to himself as he thought for several moments, leaning casually against the counter in front of him. "Would you show me your right hand, Lord Potter?" he asked, suddenly, and Harry blinked in surprise before he glanced at Amelia.

She only shrugged, as confused as he was, but motioned him toward the old man anyway.

Approaching, carefully, Harry held out his hand, and very nearly jumped out of his skin when long, spindly fingers wrap tightly, but not painfully, about his wrist, pulling him forward half a step even as his hand was turned over so that his palm faced up toward the ceiling.

Ollivander bent low over his hand, looking carefully at the dozens of new scars that dotted his fingers and his palm, until he pushed up the sleeve of Harry's robe and shirt, just enough to see the dark colored scar at his wrist.

"These scars, they happened when your wand was destroyed?" he asked, absently.

"Yes, Sir," Harry muttered, contemplating yanking his hand back but he forced himself to remain still.

"What happened to the feather?"

"What?"

"The feather, Lord Potter. The magical core of your wand, a phoenix feather donated by Fawkes, Headmaster Dumbledore's familiar. What happened to it?"

At that Harry glanced desperately at Amelia again. He really wasn't sure what he could, or even should say.

"Mister Ollivander," Amelia cut in, stepping forward to gently pry the old mans fingers from around Harry's wrist. "I'll tell you what happened, but I would like your word that you won't say anything to anyone about it unless given permission by Lord Potter, and no one else, not even me."

He turned his eyes to her, his curiosity well and truly stirred up and quickly drew his own wand. "I swear by my life and magic to not speak to anyone of what I am about to learn from Lord Harry James Potter and Regent Amelia Susan Bones unless given leave directly by Lord Potter himself, so I say, so mote it be."

Harry and Amelia both blinked at the flash of light that signaled his Oath going into effect and Amelia frowned. "The Oath is appreciated, though unnecessary, your word would have been sufficient."

Ollivander shrugged. "I have never seen these kinds of reactions in anyone before. I did not wish to risk the chance that my word would be insufficient for you to be willing to explain to me what happened."

Quickly, Amelia explained to him how the feather was embedded in his arm and what it was doing, acting as a part of his circulatory system. By the time she'd finished he was nearly bouncing in place.

"Lord Potter, would you be willing to indulge me in a small experiment?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before speaking, "What kind of experiment?"

"A simple lumos charm, nothing dramatic, I assure you."

After thinking it over for a moment, he shrugged and nodded and Ollivander nearly cackled with glee as he dove under the counter and came up with a simple wand, free of any embellishments or decorations made of a smooth dark wood with a fine grain. He handed it over and Harry, for the fourth time, hesitantly reached out and grasped the handle of the wand, almost cringing as he waited for… something to happen.

When nothing did, he straightened up, almost imperceptibly and stared at the wand in his hand with a rather confused expression on his face. "Huh?" he muttered, carefully studying the length of wood in his hand.

"Lord Potter?"

He looked up for a moment before glancing down again. "I don't feel anything," he admitted. "No warmth or tingling or anything. It… it just feels like a piece of wood."

"Please, Lord Potter, indulge me if you would. Like when you would overpower your spells, draw on your magic, push it down your arm as if you were trying to channel it into your wand, though not too much, and just cast a simple lumos, please."

With a sigh, not really sure what the point was with a wand that he really didn't feel any connection to, whatsoever, he complied with the request. He took a slow minute to carefully draw on his magic, reaching for that well of power and pulling slowly at it, coaxing it along and down the length of wood in his hand until he felt it warm just slightly before he murmured a quiet, "Lumos."

Instantly the tip of the wand lit up with a small, but steady light. It wasn't nearly as bright as a lumos he would cast with his first wand, but it worked. A moment later he whispered the counter charm, 'nox' and the light went out.

When he looked up he blinked in surprise and actually took a step back. Ollivander was practically vibrating, leaning far over the counter with his face far closer to Harry than he'd expected when he first looked up at the old man and it was making him decidedly uncomfortable.

"If I may, Lord Potter?" Ollivander asked, holding his hand out for the wand.

Bemused, Harry handed it over as Ollivander continued talking.

"All of the various wand cores that I keep in my store, Lord Potter, are each stored in separate containers and not allowed to interact with each other after they have been treated so that they may serve as cores. Do you know why that is?"

Harry shook his head, mutely.

"Because after each core is treated through a process known only to my family, they become quite volatile when exposed to other, similarly treated cores. There is a reaction that forces me to keep each item separate until they are ready to be placed within a wand blank. You, unless I miss my guess, should never need a wand again."

"But I can't go to school without a wand!" Harry protested. "I can't do magic without a wand."

"Lord Potter, you just did magic, without a wand."

"… What?"

Without saying anything else Ollivander took the wand he was holding in both hands and with a quick flexing of his arms, snapped it in half, before handing the two halves to Harry.

He took them and examined each before looking up again. "They're empty?" he asked, before looking back at the hollow channel that ran through the center of the wand.

"Yes, Lord Potter. That, is a wand blank. A wand that I have yet to place a core inside of. You already have a wand core. Therefore there is no wand you will ever be able to use while that feather is still embedded in your arm. Your magic, channeled through that feather, will react negatively to the cores in any other wand."

Harry gaped at the old man for a moment before turning to stare at Amelia who had a thoughtful expression on her face.

She did a small double take when she realized that Harry was staring at her and gave him a sheepish seeming smile. "I hadn't really thought too much about it, but I'll admit, the idea that maybe the core would still act as a core while in your arm did occur to me at one point yesterday. I just didn't know how we might try it or test for it. But the fact that you cast a lumos with a hollow piece of wood seems like a pretty good indicator."

"B-but… God dammit! Seriously, can't anything in my life ever be simple?" he almost whined with a plaintive look at her and she came forward to pull him into a careful hug.

"Look at it this way, kiddo. It's an advantage that could be really helpful in the future."

"How?"

"Well, first of all, you'll never drop your wand and be without a weapon."

"Wand movements are a part of classes though, without a wand I can't demonstrate I know the spell, properly, and-"

"Slow down, Harry," she interrupted, pulling back and holding him out at arms length with her hands on his shoulders. "Look, right now you're not even one-hundred percent certain that's what you can do here. I think you'll need a little experimentation to nail it down for sure. And as for wand movements, well…" She trailed off, thinking fast for a moment before she smirked at him. "How about this…"

As Harry listened to her plan, he couldn't help but smile. It was simple and straightforward, and while it'd probably be odd and take some getting used to, it would also just as likely work. They quickly made arrangements with Ollivander, purchasing what they needed to and Harry, gratefully, started for the door when Ollivander called out from behind them.

"Umm… Lord Potter? Madam Bones?"

They turned, each looking at him questioningly when he glanced to his right and down at the counter.

"Would either of you happen to know why there is a sword on my counter?"

#####

"Well? How does it feel?"

Harry shrugged, studying the length of holly in his hand. It looked like his old wand, but it clearly was not his old wand, even taking into account that he knew that wand had been destroyed, the piece of wood in his hands just didn't have the same feel to it.

"I think it'll take some getting used to," he admitted before he carefully flicked his wrist, letting the charms in his new wand holster pull the piece of wood up his sleeve with a loud click. He'd been more than a little upset when he'd discovered his previous holster, a gift from Amelia, had been irreparably damaged when his wand exploded, but she'd assured him that she wasn't at all upset with him for it and had promptly purchased a new one along with the wand blank she'd talked Ollivander into selling.

It was her solution to Harry's class issue. After trying a lumos with nothing in his hand, producing a small ball of light that floated over his palm, it was pretty clear he really didn't need a wand. But as he'd said, demonstrating wand movements was a part of his exams. At least with an empty blank he could practice the movements and demonstrate them in class, and since the wood was the same type as his wand had been, he found it a bit easier to cast his spells through the blank, though Ollivander had made it very clear to them that he would not be able to use it as he would use a normal wand. Any excessive spell casting would burn up the wood.

Still, it would help, for now, to hide the fact that he could perform magic without the use of a wand, a skill that might prove itself to be a useful ability to keep hidden from any potential, or current, enemies. If they didn't know he could do it, Amelia had told him, they wouldn't know to prevent him from trying.

"What am I supposed to do about this?" he asked, pointing to the Sword of Gryffindor where he'd wrapped it in some canvas cloth, supplied by Ollivander, before they left the shop. "How did it get on the counter back there, anyway?"

"I've no earthly idea, Harry," she said with a sigh, studying the bundle carefully herself over her plate of shepherds pie. "We're heading to Gringotts after we're done with lunch though, so we can ask them. It is a goblin made sword, after all. I'm sure they'll be able to tell us something about it.

Harry grunted at that and finished his food before he pulled a muggle notepad from an inside pocket of his robes and a pen and flipped open the pad, turning pages as he went until he reached what looked like a list of items and started scribbling a few notes down.

"What's that you're working on, if you don't mind my asking?" Amelia asked between bites of her lunch. "If it's anything related to House Potter business you know you have no obligation to tell me, and some things you won't actually be able to say to me since we're not actually related by blood."

"Yeah, I got a run down on House Secrets and such from Neville just after we swore our Oaths. No this is just some more questions I wanted to ask Dumbledore when I get a chance."

She hummed at that in a non committal sort of way, taping her fork on her plate lightly for a moment before she set it down and slid the plate aside. "How are you feeling about that whole situation, anyway?" she asked, studying him carefully to try to gauge his reaction.

His brow furrowed as he frowned, but she didn't see the light in his eyes getting any brighter in the dimly lit interior of the Leaky Cauldron, so she didn't figure he was particularly pissed, at the moment at least.

"I'm not honestly sure," he admitted after thinking about it. "On the one hand, the fact that he owned up to making some pretty grievous mistakes is a good thing, I think. But on the other hand, I still have some questions that I don't know if I'm going to like the answers to, really."

"Like what?"

"The Stone, last year."

She arched a brow at him and leaned back in her seat, picking up her water and taking a sip as she observed him, waiting silently for him to continue.

"Since he brought up this… prophecy," he hissed, leaning in and lowering his voice as he did so, "I can't help thinking that he might have been… I don't know, testing me, or something?"

"Testing you how?"

"Well, did he really not know that Quirrell was possessed? If he didn't, how? He's supposed to be extremely knowledgeable, shouldn't he have noticed something? And then there were some questionable actions he took too throughout the year. Like when the troll got in on Halloween, he told all the students to return to their common rooms. Except the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dorms are both in the dungeons, exactly where Quirrell had just screamed the troll was located. Why send them right in the path of where they thought a dangerous creature was supposed to be located?

"And then there was those security measures around the Stone. A bunch of first year students got through them, relatively easily. Yeah, Neville got hurt with that nasty cut on his arm, but the rest of us all got through it basically unscathed up until the end. And you and the Aurors ripped through them all with no problems whatsoever. And these were supposed to stop a powerful dark lord or other dark wizard that was trying to steal the Stone?"

He shook his head. "No, it all seems a little too convenient to me. I feel like he's got this idea in his head that cause I'm supposedly part of this… this thing, that he was testing me to see how I'd do, or maybe how I'd react? I'm really not sure."

The more he talked the deeper and deeper grew the furrow of Amelia's own brow.

"Sweet baby Maeve," she muttered. "I didn't think of it like that. I was just thinking he behaved incredibly stupidly, but we all know Dumbledore isn't that stupid."

"It's still possible he simply made some mistakes, or a series of them, but I don't know," he said again, shooting her a grin. "It feels like too many coincidences to me."

"And enough coincidences is indicative of a pattern," she added with a smile of her own. "Glad to hear you're listening to me, kiddo." She glanced at her watch and pushed back her chair as she stood. "Come on, let's get this meeting with the goblins done and get you back to school. We'll worry about it then when we can actually go sit down with the whiskered one and put your questions to him, see what he says. It doesn't do us any good wondering without any further information."

Harry nodded and jumped up himself, eager to get through the rest of their errands so he could get back to the school for when they revived Hermione and Neville.

"And don't forget that," she added, pointing to the wrapped sword on the chair next to him. He flushed slightly since he had been about to walk off without it and picked it up, carefully tucking the weapon under one arm as she lead him through the pub and back into the Alley toward Gringotts.

#####

"When are we going to tell him?" Susan asked, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She and Daphne were standing in one of two private rooms in the school's Hospital Wing. Each room included a small bathroom. They'd nearly begged Madam Pomfrey to allow them to use the loo so they could inspect their newest scars without worrying about any of their dorm mates walking in on them. Daphne was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, her eyes directed at her shoes, while Susan stood in front of the sink, her robes, shirt, and tie discarded, leaving her in just her skirt and bra as she examined the long slash of a scar that crossed her torso.

"I don't know," Daphne muttered. "I was thinking we might be able to talk to him this summer, finally let it all out but… with these new scars… you know he'll get down on himself for them. He already still blames himself for the scars from the abuse and those were in no way his fault. But these? These aren't his fault either but they are the result of actions that he took and you know him, he'll blame himself completely."

"But we've made it clear to him that we're not letting him push us away. He can't close off the bond anymore, and we're closer there than ever before. With our right hands, we're going to need to keep a permanent glamour on our hands from now on just to keep him from seeing the scars from his wand blowing up."

"I know, Susan. I know, but I honestly don't know what else to do. You know he's going to be pissed no matter what, but pissed and blaming himself at the same time? He might know we won't just let him push us away, but that doesn't mean he won't try."

Susan sighed and nodded, still staring at the scar for a few moments longer before turning attention to the two circular marks on her right bicep that showed where the fang had pierced Harry's arm.

"Dammit, I want to be pissed at him!" she suddenly burst out, causing Daphne to jump in surprise and her head shot up to look at her bond mate. "He's a boy, he might hate his scars but it's different for us, girls, isn't it." It wasn't a question. "I… I want to be angry at him for doing this to us but I can't because we haven't told him what happens to us when he get's hurt. And what if-" Susan stopped talking, clamping her lips shut and, out of habit, pulled the long braid she'd made of her hair over her left shoulder, tugging on it absently.

Daphne frowned. "Why are you worried?" she asked. "And don't try to deny it, you know I can feel it."

Susan nervously shifted her feet, her right hand coming up to trace the scar. It ran across her left breast, just missing her nipple by mere millimeters all the way to stop just above her navel. It was nearly half an inch wide, a thick line of raised scar tissue several shades darker than her normal light skin tone.

She could feel Daphne's eyes boring into her, the other girls gaze never moving and she sighed in defeat. "What if… what if he thinks we're ugly?"

Daphne reeled at that, almost as if she'd been slapped. "What?" she blurted out. "Are you completely insane?"

"I don't exactly have a lot going for me but my looks, Daphne," Susan snapped, irritated. "You and Hermione are both beautiful but you're also smart, funny, determined. You've got the same kind of cunning that Harry has. He and Hermione both love their books, to an almost disturbing degree sometimes. I don't have anything like that. I swear I… I don't know why I'm part of this bond sometimes. I don't have much at all in common with the rest of you, especially not him. We know where this is leading to and my looks are really about all I have to-"

Her eyes widened when Daphne suddenly stood and slid in between Susan and the sink, almost shoving the larger girl back a step as she placed two fingers over Susan's lips, effectively silencing her.

"You have absolutely no idea how envious Hermione and I both get of you, do you?" Daphne murmured quietly, staring intently into Susan's eyes from only inches away.

Susan turned her head, pulling away from Daphne's fingers so she could speak. "What? I thought you two weren't jealous-"

"Not jealous. Not jealous of you and your relationship with Harry. But envious of you, personally, there's a lot of people in the school that are envious of you Susan." She slid out from between Susan and the sink and moved behind her, placing her hands on the other girls hips. "Look in the mirror," she ordered. "Tell me what you see."

Susan tried to turn but the hands on her hips tightened, holding her in place.

"Tell me what you see," Daphne demanded, insistently.

"Oh fine," Susan sighed. "I see a relatively pretty girl who is marred by scars and doesn't have nearly enough other redeeming qualities to counteract that deformity," she spat out in a despondent tone.

"You're just as big an idiot as we accuse Harry of being," Daphne retorted, causing Susan to jerk her eyes up, looking at the blonds reflection over her shoulder.

"What?"

"The scars are awful, yes, but they don't detract from your appearance at all. Your hair is a little listless right now since you haven't been well, but normally it's so soft and vibrant, I've heard many girls complaining how they wish they had your hair. Your eyes are the most amazing blue I have ever seen, absolutely captivating at times. You're just a tad on the chubby side, but not unpleasantly, and as you grow that'll more than likely even out. Like your aunt you'll have a slender build just broader in the shoulders and hips than Hermione or me."

Daphne smirked at her through the mirror. "You'll need that too, because you're going to end up with a ridiculous bust line before you're finished growing."

Susan's face turned beet red at that and she stammered a bit before she fell silent as Daphne continued speaking.

"Aside from the physical though, you're honest, loyal, funny, down to earth, and generally just the solid, dependable sort of person Harry and Hermione and I need in our lives. And you're by no means dumb. You do just as well in our classes as the rest of us, you just haven't found your niche yet." Absently, Daphne's thumbs stroked the incredibly soft skin along Susan's sides, just above her hips and the sensation sent gooseflesh rippling across her skin as a shiver ran through her body.

"Yes, physically, you're gorgeous, and you're only going to get more beautiful," Daphne whispered. "But there's a lot more to you than just your body. You don't have to worry that Harry won't be attracted to you, I can promise you that."

Susan thought carefully about what her bond mate had said even as Daphne stepped away, almost reluctantly removing her hands from the red head's hips, and didn't notice the saddened expression on her face as she slipped out of the room, leaving Susan to her thoughts.

#####

Daphne sat quietly in her seat beside Hermione's bed with Susan sitting to her left while Harry and Amelia sat on the opposite side, facing each other, so that they could also easily turn toward Neville in the next bed over. Twenty minutes earlier, Harry and Amelia had returned from their outing to the Alley, but put off answering any questions until after their petrified friends were returned to them. Harry especially wouldn't say anything about the sword hanging on his left hip in a sheathe that was belted around his waist.

Ten minutes after the two came and sat by the beds, Madam Pomfrey made her way over and started dispensing doses of the Mandrake Restorative Potion.

"They should be back with us within thirty minutes," she'd said, after dribbling the potion into both Hermione's and Neville's mouths.

She'd stopped listening after that. Daphne sat quietly in her seat beside Hermione's bed, lost in her thoughts. Mother was wrong, she thought, as her mind cast back to earlier that morning with Susan. She had been so concerned over how Harry might perceive them, once he found out about the scars. She hadn't been concerned about how the other girls would see her. To Daphne, that was simply further indication that her mothers hope for her daughter wasn't realistic.

"Daphne?"

She turned her head, absently, to find Susan staring intently at her. She gave the other girl a small smile and tightened up her Occlumency, clamping down as hard as she could on her emotions. She couldn't block the link, anymore, but she could still manage her emotions, as she'd been taught. If there was one bright spot in this, she could at least take solace in the fact that Hermione hadn't heard a word of her confession to her the night before she and Harry had been attacked. Daphne honestly didn't know what she would do if Hermione woke and looked at her with the kind of disgust she knew she could expect from most people in both the wizarding and muggle worlds if they knew the truth about her.

Her train of thought was quite suddenly derailed when a quiet moan drifted through the air and Hermione shifted on the bed between them and all eyes darted to the young witch, watching carefully. She had been found crouched low to the ground against the wall, her right hand across her body as she'd held a small hand mirror around the corner in order to look down the next hall when she'd been petrified. Her arm fell an inch, until it was resting on her stomach across her body, just as her legs, pulled up toward her middle dropped, until her heels were on the mattress.

In moments she'd straightened out, her legs lying on the bed even as her arms moved to rest along her sides and slowly her face scrunched up, brow wrinkling and her eyes squeezing tightly shut before they blinked open and she stared, somewhat dazed up at the off white ceiling above her.

"Hermione?" Daphne heard Harry ask but she was too focused on the bright cinnamon colored eyes of their bond mate to notice if he'd moved. A moment later all three of them, Daphne, Susan, and Harry, hissed, hands coming up to their heads before they shuddered, nearly in perfect unison as Hermione's presence flooded their minds. Susan even let out a slight whimpering moan as all the built up tension from the weeks cut off from part of their bond just drained out of them.

"Harry?" Hermione muttered, her voice weak for a moment before she blinked and her dazed expression started to clear, her eyes brightening as awareness returned and she suddenly sat up sharply in the bed for just a moment before she fell back with a groan. Daphne understood immediately, as did Harry and Susan. They could feel a deep aching in their bodies as joints and muscles that hadn't moved in weeks protested Hermione's sudden action.

"Don't move, yet," Daphne told her. "You were petrified, Hermione. Do you remember?"

Bushy hair swished across the pillow beneath her as she slowly shook her head.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, uncomfortable," she moaned and the rest of them couldn't help a small smile as Neville slowly started to stir in the next bed.

"Oh!" Hermione blurted out and turned to look at Harry. "Harry, it's a Basilisk! The Beast of Slytherin, it's a Basilisk, that's why you can hear it. It's speaking in Parsletongue."

"We know, Hermione. Just… slow down," Harry told her, reaching out to gently take her hand in his. "What's this?" he asked. He kept hold of her hand, but used his other to tug free a piece of parchment that had been clenched in her fist.

"It's the page with the entry about Basilisks from the book I was reading in the Library," she said. "You didn't find it? How did you know about it then?"

Harry exchanged looks with Daphne, Susan, and Amelia before he sighed and scooted his chair closer to the bed.

"A lot has happened in the last three and a half weeks or so," he started. "What it really boiled down to was one night when Daphne and I were leaving the Hospital Wing…"

#####

It took nearly two hours. Two hours to tell the tale, with Amelia and the girls help, and with Hermione and Neville frequently asking questions. The description of the battle had Hermione struggling, despite her pain, to sit up so that she could pull Harry into a bone crushing hug. Or, it would have been, if she'd had the strength. As it was, Harry leaned down so that she could weakly wrap her arms around his neck for a few moments as several tears escaped her eyes.

While they talked, Madam Pomfrey made her way around the Wing, plying each of the victims with potions to help with the pain and weakness. She started with those affected the longest, working her way toward their end of the Wing. The tale, including the conversation held with everyone after Harry had woken, but excluding his injuries and current condition as a result of those, was just completed when Poppy finished with Neville and moved on to work on Hermione. At which point, new privacy screens came up and Harry found himself being kicked out, leaving just the ladies with Hermione.

Before he left, though, Amelia reached out and grabbed his left arm, bringing him up short and causing him to turn toward her, questioningly.

"We're going to tell her what happened to you, you know?" she muttered and he sighed, nodding, even though he wished they wouldn't. He really didn't want Hermione to worry more than she already had. He'd managed to avoid telling her just how badly he'd been hurt during the fight, something he had been glad the others hadn't called him on at the time, but it looked like they'd only done it to avoid causing the girl more pain. He knew she would have forced herself out of bed to start checking him over, despite the evidence that he was perfectly fine.

Amelia hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "I also think, you should let the girls tell her about…" she trailed off but tapped his forearm with her fingers and he blanched. Thinking furiously for a moment he finally sighed again and gave her a dejected nod. Daphne and Susan had seen it, finally, it only seemed appropriate that Hermione should know as well.

He stepped out from behind the screen and felt a tingle of magic behind him as privacy wards or silencing charms went up and he moved across the narrow space to Neville's bed, dropping heavily into a seat next to his friend. Neville was sitting up in his bed finally, most of his pain gone, leaving only a lingering stiffness that had him slowly flexing his limbs and bending joints, as per Poppy's instructions. Harry was most surprised by the somber, or perhaps pensive, expression on the young Lords face.

"What's wrong, Nev?" Harry asked as he settled into the seat, grateful for something to distract him from the conversation he knew was taking place on the other side of the screens. At first it was awkward, with the sword hanging from his belt, but he eventually figured out how to shift the weapon so it wasn't uncomfortable and settled in, waiting for his friend to speak.

"I owe you a huge apology, Harry," Neville spoke, quietly, his tone matching the uneasy expression on his face.

"Huh?" Harry asked, head tilted slightly to the side in his confusion. "What're you talking about, Mate?"

"I promised you that I would protect Hermione, and I failed," Neville muttered dejectedly.

Harry gaped at him for a moment before he just shook his head and sighed. "You did everything you could, Neville, don't worry about it." The irony of the situation was not lost on him. For him to defend his friend against the very same accusations he'd leveled at himself the day they'd woken up after Neville and Hermione had been petrified.

Okay, he thought as Neville stared at him in dumbfounded surprise. I finally get it.

"But Harry-"

"No, Neville. Look, Susan and Daphne already hammered this into my head, with your Gran's help. Now, I'm going to return the favor, are you listening?"

"My Gran?" Neville spluttered. "What's she have to do with-"

"Nev!" Harry practically barked, snapping his fingers a few inches in front of the stunned Longbottom's nose in order to get his attention. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, okay. Sorry, Harry, go ahead."

Harry watched him carefully for a moment longer to make sure he was really paying attention before he started speaking. "When you two were attacked, when Hermione was, Daphne, Susan, and I all collapsed."

Neville's eyes widened. "Like the girls did last year when you…" he trailed off and Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Took two days before we woke up, and when we did… you can't imagine how it hurt, Nev. Hermione was… we could still feel her, but the bond was… broken, or maybe just fractured? Either way we could just feel that she was still connected to us but it was so faint as to be barely noticeable. We had to search for her to be able to tell. And the pain was inescapable, it wasn't physical, but it still hurt in a way I just can't put into words. Susan was so bad that she had to be dosed with Dreamless Sleep."

"Harry, where are you going with this?"

"Just, bear with me," Harry urged his friend.

Neville sighed and leaned back in his bed, arms crossed over his chest. "Fine," he sighed, gesturing for Harry to continue.

"Anyway, I was doing the same thing you're doing right now. I blamed myself. Tried to argue that I should have stopped her or I should have gone with you two. After Daphne and Amy tried to convince me otherwise, your Gran finally just told me off."

At that, Neville couldn't help a small smirk. "Yeah," he said. "Gran's good at that."

Harry snorted out a laugh. "Understatement," he muttered. "She told me that I did what I could. I had other responsibilities that meant I couldn't go with. I cautioned her to be careful and you were with her. But it was the last that that she said that most stuck with me. She said, 'You aren't a god, young man. You cannot do everything and be everywhere.'" He leaned forward in his seat, looking Neville in the eye. "You did what you could, Nev. In that hallway, you had no room to maneuver, no where to escape to, really

"If you hadn't all been petrified, then you'd likely be dead. You aren't a god, Nev. No one expects you to have been able to fight that thing off."

"You fought it off," Neville pointed out. "Hell, you killed the damn thing."

"I got ridiculously lucky. By all rights I never should have lived through that fight, much less have actually been able to kill it. You don't owe me, or the girls, anything. If you really think you didn't do all you could, then train harder. Work harder. Learn more, and, next time there's a dangerous situation, you'll be better prepared."

Neville studied Harry carefully for several seconds before his expression became determined, that steely glint entering his gaze again and he nodded, once.

"So, I'm 'Amy' now?"

Harry closed his eyes and groaned quietly for a moment before he opened them again and looked at Neville, who now appeared to be more than a little bit amused.

"How long has she been standing there?" Harry asked.

"Long enough, Harry," Amelia said from behind him, but Harry didn't turn around.

"Are the girls with her?" he asked and Neville nodded, his lips turning up into a smug smirk.

"Does Hermione look pissed at me?" He knew she was. He'd felt her shock a few minutes earlier and then felt when it had morphed into anger.

Neville nodded again, his smirk spreading into a grin.

With a sigh, Harry turned around in the chair to find the privacy curtains were standing open and, in the gap, Amelia stood with her arms crossed over her breasts, Susan and Hermione standing on her right side and Daphne on her left.

"Umm… hi?" he tried, giving them a nervous smile.

"You know there are very few people that I have ever allowed to call me Amy, Harry," she said, her expression stern but he could see the amusement in her deep blue eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it. "I just might be persuaded to let you use it, if you'll agree to, at least occasionally, throw an 'aunt' in front of it?"

Harry's nervous smile grew into a pleased grin and he could only nod.

"That goes for you girls as well," she added with a glance to Daphne and Hermione, both of whom smiled and mumbled an agreement. All too quickly for Harry, however, Hermione's sharp gaze landed on him and she reached out and grabbed the front of his robes, tugging hard until he followed her and the other girls back behind the screen as they snapped shut, blocking them from view.

"Somebodies in trouuuble," Neville said in a sing song tone of voice.

Amelia couldn't help a laugh and dropped into the seat Harry had just been bodily yanked out of before she eyed Neville for a moment. "Same to you, Lord Longbottom. Aunt Amy is perfectly acceptable, if you're of a mind."

Neville sat up straighter in his bed and beamed a broad smile at her. "Well, if I'm expected to be allowed to use 'Aunt Amy' then I insist you call me Neville, or even Nev, as Harry and the girls like to do."

"Easy enough, Neville. I wanted to reinforce what Harry was telling you. None of us blame you for anything. You're a good lad, and you did the best you could with the situation you had. Understood?" Her tone brooked no argument and he found himself nodding rapidly even before she'd finished speaking.

After a minute of silence stretched between them he glanced at the screens.

"So… just how much trouble do you think he's really in back there?" he asked, cheekily.

Amelia's only answer was an amused smirk and a silent shake of her head as they settled in to wait for the quartet to return to them.

#####

"I want to see," Hermione demanded after Susan and Daphne pulled the screens shut and she pushed Harry so that he was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed.

"Wha…?"

"The scars, Harry. Let me see the scars," she barked, her eyes hard and her brow furrowed in anger as she glared at him.

He cast a desperate look in Daphne's and Susan's directions but both of them simply held up their hands and shook their heads.

"Oh, no. Don't look at us, Harry," Susan said. "You know damn well she was going to want to see the results of your newest adventure. And the old one. She's a part of us, remember? We saw them, and you already know what we think, she deserves that same chance."

He looked back and forth between the three of them for several moments. Yeah, he'd resigned himself to the knowledge that Hermione deserved to know, but he hadn't really planned on actually showing her. In their faces, he saw no give, no sign that they might relent in this request, or demand. Finally, he sighed and stood up, shrugging out of his robes in the process before he started working on the buttons of his black dress shirt. When he had half the buttons undone, he pulled the shirt aside so could see the top part of the scar on his chest.

She shook her head. "Not good enough, Harry, you know that."

"This isn't easy you know," he snapped without any real heat in his tone.

The three of them glanced at each other before Susan sighed and moved forward, past Daphne and Hermione, until she was standing right in front of him, her right hand coming up to rest on his chest over his heart.

"What'd I tell you, Harry?" she murmured quietly, holding his gaze with her own. "You don't have to hide, you shouldn't have to hide at all but out of everyone in the world, the three of us are the ones you absolutely never have to hide from."

He hesitated again but eventually nodded and she smiled brightly at him before stepping to the side as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it on the bed behind him.

Hermione noticed the stiff way that he held himself, there was no missing that. She noticed the slight tremor that ran through his frame, both visually, and through their bond. But she didn't noise the way his eyes were directed at the floor, unwilling to look at her and see her face as she took in the latest damage.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she edged her way closer to him, her hands moving without conscious direction from her body as she reached out and gently grasped his wrist with one hand, pulling his arm forward and turning it to gently trace the scar inside his forearm with her fingers as her vision blurred slightly and she blinked back the tears that wanted to spill over.

Next, she turned her attention to the slash across his torso, noting how it nearly bisected him completely and ran one finger from his collar bone down the length of the scar. The lions share of her attention was fixed on studying the damage done to her bond mate, but some small part noted the lean, wiry frame he'd built, and the way muscles coiled and tightened beneath his skin as her finger stroked gently across heated flesh.

She looked at the scars that pierced his bicep, noting that the one on the back of his arm was slightly smaller than the one on the front before she took his right hand in hers and lifted it, examining the dozens of new scars scattered across his skin.

"This is where the feather from your wand ended up?" she asked in a quiet tone as she inspected his forearm, trying to see some sign of the large feather she was told lay embedded there.

"Yeah." His voice came out as a choked whisper and she finally looked up, realizing he was avoiding looking at her and she lifted her hand to cup his cheek, gently directing his gaze to hers.

"You poor, courageous, fool," she muttered and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug, burying her face against his neck. "Dammit, Harry. Why does everything seem to happen to you?"

"Language, Hermione," Daphne muttered, a grin tugging at her lips that only widened when the other witch took one arm from around Harry's waist and swatted at the air in her general direction for a moment before she wrapped it back around him.

Harry, for his part, had stiffened up for the first time in a while when Hermione's arms wrapped around him. He'd gotten used to, even found himself wanting these embraces from his girls. But he wasn't wearing a shirt this time, and he was finding himself feeling distinctly uncomfortable in his current situation.

Finally, Hermione pulled back from him and offered him a watery smile before she stepped away, giving him time to put his shirt back on, the sword hanging from his belt clattering against the side of the bed as he moved.

"So are you going to finally tell us what's going on with that?" Susan asked after he buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his slacks, pointing at the sword.

"Uhh… yeah… yeah we can do that. Why don't we go sit with Neville and Amy? I think I might need her help to explain this one…"

#####

Harry followed Amelia up the steps into Gringotts, nodding to the guards standing at the entrance as they passed, and moved into the lobby, his eyes scanning the tellers for sign of a familiar figure.

He saw no sign of Griphook so he stepped up to the nearest free teller that he could see with Amelia beside him and both of them bowed slightly as the surly looking creature looked up at them. On the way in, Harry had pinned the medal he'd received from Ragnok to his robes and one glance at the gleaming gold had the Goblin sitting up straighter in his seat, his eyes studying the two of them carefully.

"How may Gringotts help you today?" he asked in as polite a tone as most goblins were likely to use with magical humans that they were not personally familiar with.

"I pray your vaults overflow this day, Teller," Harry said. "I am Harry Potter and I was wondering if I could speak with my Accounts Manager Sharpshard? I do not have an appointment, however, it was recommended to me, recently, that I visit the goblins so I hope that he might have time to meet with me today."

Harry was rather nervous to be standing in the middle of the bank lobby with a sword in hand, even one that was wrapped in canvas and tied securely. Goblins were not known to respond well to threats, and carrying a weapon in hand could easily be considered as such to their warlike race.

"Well met, Lord Potter, Friend to the Goblin Nation," the teller spoke. "I pray your enemies fall before you like wheat before the scythe." He half turned after returning their bow and gestured to a young goblin standing nearby who quickly vanished into the tunnels behind the long counter. "I have sent word to Manager Sharpshard," he said. "If you and your companion would take a seat, I am sure that someone will be with you, soon," he added, gesturing to the chairs along the wall by the door.

They bowed again, only slightly, and made their way over to the seat but were met part way there by a familiar figure rushing out of the tunnels.

"Lord Potter," Griphook greeted them when he was close enough that he wouldn't be raising his voice. "I am surprised to see you here in the middle of the school year."

They exchanged greeting and Harry gave the little goblin a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, there's a bit of a story behind that to be honest," he admitted.

Griphook arched a bushy brow at him, his face taking on a curious expression.

"After the story you told to Branch Manager Ragnok during this past Holiday… well, I have the feeling that this is going to be quite a tale." He smiled and gestured for them to follow him. "Please, Manager Sharpshard is waiting for us," he said and walked away, the two humans falling quickly into step behind him.

Forty-five minutes later, Harry and Amelia were treated to the sight of a dumbfounded pair of goblins. After being led to his office and greeting Sharpshard, tea and coffee was served and Harry launched into another retelling of the events that led to their presence in the bank. He quickly told everything he could of what had happened over the school year, even including Hermione and Neville getting petrified and by the time he explained his conversation with the sorting hat and the battle with the Basilisk both goblins mouths were hanging open in shock.

Sharpshard's mouth snapped shut with a loud click and his expression turned almost greedy as he leaned forward over the desk.

"How big did you say the creature was?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry, I didn't really stick around to measure it but it had to be at least sixty feet. I was a little pressed for time during the incident."

"I have seen the creature, after its death," Amelia cut in, "and I would estimate that it is between sixty and seventy feet in length."

"Lord Potter do you… do you realize quite what you've done?" Griphook asked in a dazed voice. When Harry shook his head he snorted and his eyes seemed to snap into focus. "The largest Basilisk on record was thirty-two feet in length. It was attacked by a team of twenty wizards and only three lived to tell the tale of that battle. For a single, twelve-year-old wizard, to kill a creature such as you described… it is quite literally unthinkable, My Lord."

Harry sighed and slumped back in his seat. "I really don't want more praise," he muttered and a moment later jumped when a loud voice boomed throughout the office.

"Lord Potter!" Sharpshard barked, scowling impressively at the boy who sat up sharply in his seat. "You have done something that has never been done before. You did it on your own merit, using your own skill and wits to fight and to survive in a situation where many others would have died. There is no arrogance in acknowledging and taking pride in ones accomplishments and you shame your House with this behavior."

The two stared at each other across the goblins wide desk for a few seconds before Harry nodded and sighed again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to… I just… I'm really sick of all the attention I get for something I didn't have anything to do with. People look at me like a thing and not a person, all for something that I had nothing to do with."

"But this you did do. You, alone, fought and slayed the beast. You are more than entitled to the praise and reward for your own actions."

Harry smiled faintly as he thought that over. Sharpshard was right. The Boy-Who-Lived crap that pissed him off so much, he had no control over. But he did kill the Basilisk himself. He fought Voldemort, or a version of him, again, and won, again. That was something that he could, and should, be proud of.

Sharpshard and Griphoook both hid a smile as they saw the change in the young Lord as he thought over the older goblins words. He sat up straighter, his shoulders came back and his head was held higher as brightly glowing eyes regarded them steadily.

"Much better, Lord Potter," Sharpshard muttered approvingly and Harry smiled at hime. "Now, may I take it you are going to ask to hire Gringotts for the rendering?"

Harry blinked and cocked his head to the side even as Amelia cursed under her breath and the heel of her hand struck her forehead. "Huh?" he said, bemused by both the question and Amelia's actions.

She gave him a chagrined look. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's been… well it's been a crazy week and you just woke up yesterday, with everything going on I honestly completely forgot."

"Forgot what?" he asked as his confusion only increased.

"The Basilisk corpse rightfully belongs to you, Lord Potter," Griphook spoke up from his place standing by Sharpshard's elbow. "By international law any person that kills a XXXX or higher creature while not on a protected reserve and in the defense of human life is entitled to claim ownership of the carcass."

"And what exactly does that mean? What would I do with a sixty foot snake?"

"Basilisk parts are very valuable, My Lord," Griphook explained. "The organs, eyes and teeth are useful in many different potions but as breeding Basilisks is illegal in most countries in the world they are exceedingly rare. The venom is extremely valuable and the skin is some of the most highly magically resistant material in the world. It's even better than dragon hide in many respects. Law Enforcement agencies the world over would sell their first born children for an opportunity to bid on the hide in order to produce armor for their personnel. Potioneers and even some Alchemists will be clamoring over themselves to purchase or bid on the other parts of the creature

"And since you own it, you are entitled to the gold that rendering and selling the beast will generate. Considering the age of this creature, and its size, the potency of the organs and various parts should be higher than any other on record and the value of those parts should increase accordingly as well."

Harry shook off his surprise fairly quickly and considered the situation. "So, rendering," he muttered. "Is that something that I could hire Gringotts to handle for me? Along with the sale and everything?"

"That is precisely why I brought it up, Lord Potter," Sharpshard told him. "This is a service Gringotts offers and we could easily handle all of that for you, for a percentage of the profits, but I would actually like to speak with Branch Manager Ragnok before coming to any final decisions. To be honest, Basilisk meat is fairly useless to anyone except for us Goblins. The meet is something of a delicacy to our pallets and I am certain that we will want to make an offer for the meat."

He reached into his desk and pulled out a small, clear crystal cut into an octahedron and set it on his desk.

"This is a goblin made memory crystal. Much like the pensieves that wizards and witches use, this item can create and hold a copy of your memory of the creature. I also believe that Branch Manager Ragnok would like to see your memory of the battle itself. As a Friend to the Nation, a battle like this might see you further rewarded by the Nation, and he would be most interested in seeing for himself what happened."

Harry shrugged after a quick glance at Amelia. "I don't mind," he said. "How does it work?"

"If you will simply place the crystal against your forehead, any flat side will do, and think about the memory you wish to transfer, the crystal will do all the work."

Harry nodded and plucked the crystal off the desk, studying it for a moment before he placed it against his forehead and closed his eyes, thinking hard of the same memory that he allowed the others to view starting with when he and Daphne were attacked. After a few moments of nothing the crystal began to glow, softly, and in moments it gleamed with a bright white light that seemed to float somewhere deep in the center of the small structure.

It warmed suddenly in Harry's hand and he blinked his eyes open, pulling the crystal away to look at it curiously. "It just suddenly got really warm in my hand," he said, glancing at the aged goblin across from him who was nodding eagerly.

"That means that it has finished copying your memory," Sharsharpd told him, holding one clawed hand out across the desk. "May I, Lord Potter?"

He nodded and dropped the crystal into the goblins hand and watched as Sharpshard set it on the desk in front of him and tapped it with a claw while he muttered something in the goblin tongue under his breath. An image appeared above the crystal, a floating translucent picture of himself, a sword clutched in his right hand as a massive green shape sped toward him, mouth opening to reveal rows of enormous and wickedly sharp fangs just as the miniature Harry thrust forward and up with the sword.

The image faded and the silence stretched throughout the office as Amelia and Harry were treated, for the second time in an hour, to the sight of two completely shocked goblins.

"Lord Potter?" Sharpshard asked in a near whisper.

"Umm… yes, Accounts Manager Sharpshard?"

"What sword was that?"

#####

"Honestly," Harry was saying as Neville and his girls listened carefully. "I thought the two of them were going to wet themselves when I told them about the Basilisk, they looked so surprised and then they were so excited it was almost uncomfortable. But when I told them it was the sword of Gryffindor… man their reaction was pretty over the top."

Daphne chuckled quietly. "I can only imagine," she said. "Father always said that Goblins were a little too… enamored with their creations. To a goblin, when a goblin craftsman creates something, they believe that it belongs to the one that created it. When they sell those items, they don't see it as being sold, they look at it more as a long term rental agreement. When the which or wizard that purchased the item dies, they expect it to be returned to the goblins as the true owner of the item. The sword of Gryffindor has been missing for centuries and was probably one of the finest crafted weapons in their entire history."

"If they think the sword belongs to them, why are you wearing it?" Neville asked.

"That would be Dumbledore's fault," Amelia muttered. "It took a little fast talking because at first they were almost pissed, especially when Harry showed them that he actually had the sword there with him. We explained how, after Harry woke up, Dumbledore said that the sword rightfully belonged to Harry. Apparently there's some really old magic tied into that sword. Magic so old that even the goblins have forgotten how to do it.

"The sword is tied to the Gryffindor line. As Harry is a descendant of Gryffindor's, it is one of the few times when ownership supersedes the goblins usual beliefs. By him pulling the sword from the hat, then using the sword, followed by the current Headmaster of the school acknowledging Harry's right to the weapon, it has tied itself to him."

"And what does that mean?" Susan asked.

"Well, according to Griphook, it means that I can't escape the damn thing," Harry grumbled which had most of them chuckling at his irritation. "It's not funny! It's hard to walk or sit down with this things strapped to my waist," he complained, shifting the sword where it hung along the side of the chair he was sitting in. "It's really annoying."

"What it means," Amelia cut in, ending Harry's whining, "is that Harry really can't get away from the sword. He could leave it in his trunk, for example, but as soon as he gets physically far enough away from it, or maybe after a certain amount of time, that part is a little unclear, the sword will simply come to him, wherever he is."

"So that's why it just appeared on the counter at Ollivander's? It… what… decided that its owner was too far away?" Neville asked, doing his best to hide a smirk at his friend's plight while Harry was fiddling with the sword, trying to get it to hang more comfortably.

"Well, the sword doesn't decide, magic does. But… essentially correct," Amelia admitted with a shrug.

Harry gave out a frustrated growl and seemed to give up on the sword, for the moment, before he turned his attention to the rest of them. "Anyway," he grumbled. "It took a while to get everyone settled down but we landed on a few things. They're going to show the memory to Ragnok and in the first couple of weeks this summer they want us," he glanced at Daphne, "to come in and meet with them. Everyone else is invited as well. During that time they'll have an offer for rendering the Basilisk down and we'll have to take care of that over the summer, apparently it won't start rotting that fast."

"Too magical," Susan offered. "There's so much magic in it that it'd take years before it even starts to decay."

"Right, that's what they said about it. They also pointed out that goblin made weapons take on the properties of things they encounter that can make them stronger. Since I stabbed the Basilisk with this sword it's apparently now impregnated with the venom. Even a scratch from this thing would be deadly."

"And they expect you to just carry it around all the time?" Hermione asked, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth as she eyed the weapon.

"Not exactly, that's why they gave me the scabbard and sword belt. I was walking around carrying it when it appeared at the shop because Dumbledore had it sitting in a case. This way the blade is at least covered so no one accidentally get's nicked by it."

"But what about school? You can't be walking around school with a weapon like that."

Harry shook his head at Hermione's question. "Actually, I can. It's apparently some old pureblood laws again, but in this case it works in our favor. A Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble House is allowed, by law, to wear a sword at all times. The way the law is written it doesn't specify that I have to be out of school. The law was written back in the 1200's or something when a lot of people routinely wore swords and that kind of combat was commonplace. Just because people don't tend to use swords these days doesn't mean the law was ever stricken from the books. It's still there, so legally no one can actually stop me from wearing the sword.

"And as annoying as it's been already, I'd rather wear the bloody thing all the time then leave it somewhere."

"What does that matter? Even if you leave it someplace it'll just come to you, right?"

"Yeah, Neville, it will. But while it is sitting where I leave it, someone else could pick it up and possibly hurt someone with it. And when it does come to me, it won't just appear belted around my waist. It'll be sitting nearby, like it did at Ollivander's. If I don't happen to see it there, again, someone else could come along and pick it up. At least with it on my waist I keep anyone else from getting hurt or using it to hurt someone else."

Neville and Hermione nodded and Daphne leaned forward in her seat near the foot of Neville's bed. "So, is that why the sorting hat wanted you to check in with the goblins in the first place? It knew what was going to happen with the sword?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea if it knew about the sword. No, it looks like I'm going to have some other trouble in the future that they might be able to help me with. I hope."

He held his right hand out in front of him, concentrating carefully for a moment before he quietly intoned, 'lumos', and the rest of them, minus Amelia, sucked in a breath as a small orb of white light appeared, floating above Harry's upturned palm.

"This is most likely why the hat suggested I check in with them," he said, letting them all stare at the light for a few moments before he made a fist, snuffing it out. "I can't use a wand anymore. Not a real one. And I can't use wand movements when casting a spell without a wand either. I mean, what do I point a finger and trace it in a wand movement?" He shrugged. "No idea, honestly. But we've all seen goblins do magic without a wand. They don't need them for their magic. Sharpshard figures that they might be able to help teach me how to cast spells this way. Right now, all I seem to be able to do is a lumos, nox, and a couple of small other things that don't really require a wand movement. Right now everything else I've tried hasn't worked and I'm not really sure how to go about it."

"What about your exams?" Hermione blurted out in horror.

Harry and the other two girls smiled at the expected reaction.

"Amy is going to talk to Dumbledore and explain the situation. I do have a wand blank that I can cast through," he added as he flicked his wrist, letting the piece of holly shoot into his hand. "Right now, the general idea is to let me do my written exams as normal, but during the practicals we're going to have to change things up because I can't use this thing for every spell, it'll burn up too fast. With any luck, the wand classes will take into account my performance over the year and grade me on a curve to take into account my sudden… handicap."

By the time they exhausted all avenues of discussion it was well and truly into the evening, just minutes before dinner was being served in the Great Hall. With Poppy's blessing, the entire group trooped their way downstairs for dinner, Harry, Hermione, and Neville under strict orders to return immediately if they felt unwell in any way whatsoever.

There were even more whispers and stares than usual as they knew that by now the Hogwarts Rumor mill had been running for over a week, nearly unchecked, and the sword strapped to Harry's waist did little to dampen the rapidly spreading murmurs of conversation that rippled through the hall like a wave.

They took seats at the Hufflepuff table that night, confident the Puff's would be the least likely to completely hammer them with questions and demands for information, and they were right. Cedric sat near them and after enquiring after, and receiving confirmation that they were all healthy and feeling well, directed the conversation around the table in safe directions. The fifth year had made Prefect that year, and after the little time he'd gotten to know them the previous year, especially after Harry's heartfelt apology to the entirety of the House, he felt more than a little loyalty to the group as a whole. He made damn sure that the rest of his House towed that line and didn't pester the four bond mates and their friend.

That night, after Harry had been, reluctantly, urged to go to bed by his bond mates, the three girls found themselves in the shared dormitory showers for the second year girls as Hermione finally got the chance to carefully inspect the new scars that now decorated their bodies.

She stood in front of the mirrors, after they'd felt Harry finally fall asleep, wearing only her uniform skirt and bra and studied the scars in the mirror. She raised her hand, dispelling the glamour taught to them by Madam Pomfrey and carefully inspected the many new scars that dotted her hand, wrist, and forearm as a deep melancholy filled her. Before she knew it both Daphne and Susan had the half dressed girl wrapped into a careful, comforting embrace as even more tears than she'd already shed that day prickled at her eyes.

"One-hundred and eighty-seven," she muttered, crying almost silently in the arms of the two girls.

"What was that?" Susan asked as gently as she could, trying to push as many comforting emotions as possible across their bond toward the girl wrapped between them.

"One-hundred and eighty-seven," Hermione repeated. "Every morning at home, and even here, when I have time, I count the scars. Since before we started there were one-hundred and forty-eight scars that we shared with him. With these… now there's one-hundred and eighty-seven."

The three girls clung to each other, feeling sorry for themselves, sorry for their bond mate and everything he'd suffered over the years. But, in the end, there is only so much time one can spend feeling sorry. Eventually, they pulled themselves together and dressed for bed, each in pajamas with long legs and sleeves, and together they made their way to Hermione's bed where they slid under the covers and laid down to sleep.

Hermione lay awake long after Susan and Daphne had already drifted off. She lay in the center, with Susan cuddled in close behind her, the red heads arm wrapped, almost possessively, around her waist, holding her tightly, while Daphne lay on her right side, facing the bushy haired witch in the middle.

Her mind wouldn't let her rest, struggling with something. Something just beyond her conscious ability to remember. In the dim light her eyes traced the lines and curves of Daphne's face, relaxed in her slumber, and something, something important seemed to be nagging at her.

She just couldn't remember what it was.

The last month of the school year passed in a blur for the five of them. The day after the petrified victims were woken they'd been called back into Madam Pomfrey's kingdom and she'd run her scans over the bond mates. All four of them showed the same glowing tendrils or veins of light extending out from their chests, a dizzying, mesmerizing tangle of gold, silver, green, and auburn. The four of them were beyond relief that they were all on an even keel once again, and it was only further proof that when, and if, their relationships grew again in the future, no one would be left behind.

Two weeks later, Poppy informed them that the venom and tears, both, had worked their way out of Harry's system, however the feather remained fused into his forearm, meaning that he found himself struggling in the practical portions of his classes. He made do, however, with the wand blank that he had and was able to get through each class with a minimum of fuss. Extending his knowledge to casting spells without a wand, however, was not going well, and was no little source of frustration for the young Lord of House Potter.

Classes ran as always. Study sessions continued in the library with their friends and the five of them continued to wake up early every morning to train, only now, their training held a greater focus than it ever had.

It'd stopped being practice and became preparation for the future, and whatever else life or fate might decide to throw at them. The girls, in particular, attacked a more severe training schedule with a vim and verve that almost scared Harry and Neville the first time they saw it. They even started joining the boys in the physical training they'd mostly avoided in favor of spell practice. As a result, they'd insisted on adding an hour of spell practice in the evenings to make up for the hour lost on physical fitness.

Exams flew by in a blink, and before any of them realized it, they found themselves on the Express returning to Kings Cross, another year behind them. The trip was spent relaxing from both stress of their exams, and as a break from the constant pushing the girls had been doing in their extracurricular practice. Neville had nearly sworn another oath when they'd explained the prophecy to him and Hermione and how Neville might have been the one mentioned, but Harry pointed out what they had was already more than enough and he trusted the other boy to stand beside him when it mattered.

Dumbledore had been unavailable for the entirety of the month, but not out of avoidance, he'd been dealing with the aftermath of the Chamber incident, attempting to coerce the Ministry into anticipating future threats even as he was soundly rebuffed by Cornelius Fudge. The Daily Prophet ran article after article decrying Dumbledore as a fear monger and mud slinger as Fudge stuck his head in the sand and refused to consider anything other than a remnant of Voldemort had been destroyed. Dumbledore promised that, when Harry and the Goblins came to the school during the summer to render the corpse of the Basilisk, he would make himself available to answer the further questions that Harry and Amelia were putting together.

Harry held out hope, but didn't really know what to expect so tried to temper it as much as he could. He would wait and see what the old wizard had to say for himself when the time came.

By the time they arrived at the station they were all tired, but excited to be home, and sad to be saying goodbye to their friends. Hermione eventually left through the barrier with her parents after numerous rib creaking hugs were handed out to Neville and her bond mates and even Amelia found herself on the receiving end of the girls infamous hugs before she promised that she would be over to visit as often as she could.

Neville was side-along apparated away by his gran, but not before he pulled Harry into a brotherly embrace, hugged the remaining girls, and Madam Longbottom herself had gravely thanked Harry for what he'd done in ridding the school of the Basilisk. Neville had held nothing back in his letter home to his gran about what'd happened. She spoke with Amelia before they left, securing Neville an open invite to come by and he promised that he would, as often as possible, to work with Harry and the girls over the summer as they decided they needed to push themselves more than ever.

Daphne was taken away by her mother and once again, Harry felt a sense of apprehension in the blond witch that he really didn't like, but could do nothing about at that particular point in time. He only hoped that Daphne would decide to open up to them sooner rather than later about whatever it was that was bothering her.

By the time Susan, Harry, and Amelia made their way to the Boneyard, night was falling, and Binky had a light dinner waiting for them. They ate quietly, discussing their classes and Harry's difficult in getting his magic to work without the use of a focus. There were more than a few humorous stories told about one mishap or another in regards to his efforts at magic since the Chamber that had Amelia nearly double over in laughter at the table, her deep blue eyes shining with mirth and tears rolling down her cheeks.

Eventually, dinner ended and the three made their way deeper into the house. The kids going to their rooms while Amelia herself went to her study to catch up on some parchment work that'd been waiting for her attention. She looked up, surprised, when a timid sounding knock at the door reached her ears to find Harry standing in the door way, a book and several pieces of parchment tucked under one arm as his other hand rested against the open door.

"Harry?" she asked. "Something wrong?" She motioned for him to enter the room and he stepped inside, looking around curiously as he'd never been in Amelia's private study before. It was always off limits unless one was invited in by the Lady of the House, and he'd made damn certain to obey all the rules whenever he could at his new home.

"I'm not honestly sure," he said, frowning as he walked in and sat in a comfortable wooden chair situated in front of the desk. He took the book out from under his arm and set it on the desk before placing the parchment on top. Just before the cover of the book was blocked Amelia was able to note a large number seven stamped into the deep red cover of what was obviously a journal of some kind.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked, leaning back in her chair as his, still glowing eyes remained fixed on the items he'd placed on her desk.

"This journal," he said, tapping the book with one finger as his eyes flicked up toward her, "belonged to my mother. She wrote in this book during her seventh year at Hogwarts. And these are letters from both my mum and dad," he added, moving his hand to the folded stack of parchment sitting on top of the journal.

"Did you have a question about something they wrote?" Amelia asked, starting to feel more than a little concerned over the expression on Harry's face. It was a dark, possibly painful emotion behind his eyes and expression, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

"Only one, really. At the moment at least," he added, his lips quirking into a small grin for a moment before it faded away and he fixed her with an intense stare, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter every moment.

"What can you tell me about Sirius Black?"

So Ends Part Two of

Soul Scars: Darkness Within

Next:

Part Three

Soul Scars:

The Greengrass Problem