Edited 12/9/21


Part I: A Crucible

One

The Artful Dodger

The walk from Southwark Children's Home to King's Cross Station was long, but without incident.

A broad smile was smeared across Harry Potter's face. It wouldn't leave him, although the sky was darkening and tiny raindrops started to wet his skin. It was funny, really. He had trudged with an old red trunk, a magic wand, and an empty birdcage, through London and over Blackfriars Bridge and no one had spared him a second look. Many hadn't gifted him with a first look.

Better than that, though, was the dwindling of stress from between his shoulders and in his neck. The summer was gone. Harry readjusted his grip on the hand strap as the station pulled into view. His homework was completed. His pockets were stuffed with gold and silver, and he was going to see his sister for the first time in two months.

Harry had not had a sister for very long, only four years now. He had been left at the boy's home when he was a year old—both of his parents had been murdered in a mugging. Or that was what the matron had told him. How could she have known that Harry's family had been targeted by an evil sorcerer and that his twin sister, only a babe herself, had defeated him? Harry had said this out loud to himself, of course. Even after four years it sounded like he was meant for the asylum rather than the orphanage.

It was all true, however, and except for a lightning bolt scar on her forehead, Daisy Potter remained whole and unharmed. She was now a famous witch: the Girl Who Lived. And despite being a wizard and being enrolled in magic school, too, Harry took the greatest pleasure in just having a real blood relative.

All of a sudden, the droplets that had tickled the hair on his arms in long intervals lost all patience. There was powerful breeze that tossed his hair and rattled his birdcage, and the rain started to come down. Harry quickened his pace, pulling his things past the dripping awnings and newsstands.

His mood was unchanged. If anything, the smile had widened, and the station's old crystal barrel vaults grinned back at him from across the way. Harry hurried along, avoiding taxi cabs, and automobiles, and rapidly filling puddles. He grabbed a trolley for his luggage as he entered the station and shot off immediately for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Although the name of the platform would have normal folk itching their heads, Harry had all but become accustomed to the quirks of magical nomenclature. He would not have been surprised if Waterloo Station had something like Platform Thirteen-and-One-Half that led to a secret finishing school in Hampshire. But names for platforms and secret schools aside, it was the way that one got onto the train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that was truly fantastic.

In order to reach the boarding platform, you had to run directly into the brick pier that divided platforms nine and ten, baggage and all.

"Get off me, Dudley," came a distressed voice as Harry drew near his destination. "I haven't got anything!"

Harry's good humor evaporated like a sprinkling of water on a stovetop. Just outside the entrance to the platforms, a boy—who might have already consumed several other boys from the look of him—had Harry's sister by her wrist. Daisy Potter was red in the face as she struggled to break through the thick-fingered grip. The girl was dressed in an oversized sweater and rather too tight jeans, and had dug her heels in, arguing fiercely in between pained gasps. Anger exploded in him at the sound.

Harry gave his trolley a great heave. The weight of the trunk laden with spell books, a pewter cauldron, a broomstick and assorted magical paperweights careened into the fat boy's unsuspecting back. Dudley loosed Daisy's hand and, with a pained squeal, fell to the ground. Harry's birdcage thwacked him across the head for good measure.

"Harry!" Daisy smoothed her baggy grey sweater like it was a dress and made to approach him, but Harry ignored her. The blonde boy lay moaning on the platform, and his foul parents weren't around to save him, this time.

Harry was inches from grabbing his wand to hex Dudley into a dozen tubby pieces but stayed his hand just long enough to see a few men in business suits stroll past. One muttered something about hooligans. A smile forced its way through the heat of his rage. Leaving the wand, he jammed his hand into the pocket of his trousers and crouched over Dudley's quaking form.

The blade of Harry's knife swung up with a slick.

"Hello there, Dursley," whispered Harry. "Got rid of that tail, did you?" Dudley Dursley's eyes were watery blue dinner plates. The boy scuttled backwards; his massive bottom dragged after him. He crashed into Harry's trunk.

"P-potter!" Dudley stammered, finding that he could not flee with sufficient speed or precision. Harry brought his face close to Dudley's.

"It looks as though the doc forgot some ham there, Dud," said Harry, inspecting the boy like he had seen the butcher do a promising slab of meat. "Are you going to apologize to Daisy, or is your dad going to be billed for an emergency operation?"

"No!" His voice was a few notes past hoarse. Moisture collected on his forehead. "You don't understand! I didn't… I… She, she took my ticket money." Dudley looked as if he might faint away.

"No," confirmed Harry. His voice grew hot. He jerked the knife at Dudley's face. "You never seem to understand, Dud. That's my sister. You were hurting her. I don't care what it is that she did. You're going to apologize, or we're going to see if I have what it takes to get into Bart's." Harry punctuated his words by edging the blade ever closer to the boy. Dudley looked down at the knife and swallowed.

He turned his frightened gaze on Daisy; his lips trembled. "Sorry!" he yelped.

Harry smiled. He pressed the blade against Dudley's cheek. The boy let out a croak of horror.

"I hear anything even resembling this again," Harry began, "and I'll see to it that someone pays a visit to that posh school of yours." He pulled the knife back and tucked the blade away. Dudley let out a shuddering breath.

"Now, get out of here," said Harry. "You lummox."

"I can't!" cried Dudley, regaining volume. "She took—I mean, I lost my fare." Harry stuffed his hand into his pocket, scowling at the look of fright on Dudley's face, and came out with a crumpled banknote. He pressed it into the boy's hand. Nearly crying, Dudley did not waste a breath in retreat. He moved as fast as his huge weight would allow, fingers clenching his backside to protect him from any incoming curses. Harry's anger cooled. His scowl was replaced by a grin when he realized just how funny Dudley Dursley looked waddling rapidly for the Underground.

"You didn't have to scare him like that, you know," said Daisy, but her voice was bright with laughter. Harry faced his sister as he stacked his trolley back up.

To just look at Harry and Daisy was to acknowledge that they were twins. Their hair was the same color, black, and despite differing lengths, similarly untidy. Their eyes were Lily Potter's, green and striking even from a distance. Daisy's face was softer than Harry's, though. Everything about her was softer than Harry. He was a ball of razor wire and she a spool of yarn. She was smaller than him. The top of her head barely brushed his nose, and even through the baggy outline of her jumper, Harry could see his sister's thinness.

He blamed the Dursleys. He had never been spoiled at the home, but the times that he had gone without food and play were few and far between. And they were always due to the repercussions of his own mercurial temper. Daisy had fared much worse than him.

The (and Harry loathed to call them) people that his sister lived with detested her. They thought magic was unnatural and freakish. They had even made Daisy live in a cupboard beneath the stairs until she had received her Hogwarts letter. Harry's jaw tensed and fresh anger welled up in him as he thought of it. It was astonishing that the girl always had the spirit to gift him with that wild smile whenever they were reunited, no matter the circumstance.

"Yes, well I'm sure he's past due a wicked fright," said Harry, reining his temper. He frowned at his twin. "You're thin."

Daisy rolled her eyes.

"Not you, too," she said. Daisy grabbed her own trolley from the edge of platform ten. It had a similar dingy trunk and dented birdcage, except that her cage contained a beautiful snowy owl. She was their pet, Hedwig. Daisy bent to see if the bird had been unsettled by the excitement. "I'm just fine, Harry. Mrs. Weasley had me for two weeks, and tried to kill me with enormous meals the entire time."

And then, as if remembering something very important, Daisy jerked loose her trolley. Hedwig screeched and became truly unsettled. Daisy tackled her brother with a hug.

"Yes, I missed you, too," said Harry, winded. He set his glasses properly on his nose and reached up to tousle Daisy's long hair. His sister's curiously shaped scar stared back at him. Harry held her at arm's length and shoved the bite of discomfort away. "But I think you ought to have the knife, not me."

"Oh please, Oliver Twist," Daisy teased. "I live in Surrey, not on the mean streets of London. And Dudley is our cousin. He wouldn't do anything too bad. I could have pulled him through the wall. He would have fainted."

"Doesn't matter," Harry pressed. "If I can't see you during holiday, I'd rather you have some means of protection."

"Means of what—I wouldn't even know what to do with it!"

"You stick them with the sharp end," Harry deadpanned. Daisy snickered.

"Still, I can't believe they let Dudley bring you here on his own," continued Harry, piloting his luggage cart. "The boy has so much fat that it's seeped into his brain. Honestly… losing his fare." Harry paused as a bashful expression crossed Daisy's face. "You did take his money!"

"He deserved it," said Daisy defensively. "I was fine on my own, but Dudley just had to go into the city, too. He didn't help at all with my trunk, and would not stop poking at Hedwig. So as soon as we got off, I nicked his money clip."

Harry just sighed. Daisy flashed a toothy smile and dragged him to the entrance of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"You worry so much, Harry. You know that I can always do magic if I'm in a real mess," said Daisy. "Now come, I've loads to tell you." She pushed her trolley into the wall and hurried after it as it melted away. Harry's groan was halfhearted. He waited a beat, making sure that all was clear, and then followed after his sister.

The Hogwarts Express, a brilliant red locomotive, puffed happy white smoke clouds up ahead of them. The big metal thing was entirely unaware of the black sky, and strengthening rainfall. And so was Daisy. Staring up at the train in silent awe, raindrops pattered onto her head, and dripped onto her luggage. A few families walked by with umbrellas open above them, bidding farewells and transporting trunks. For the most part, though, the platform was empty. They were early yet. The mad run on train cars and booths had not begun. Harry pushed his things along, and motioned for his sister to follow. He didn't want to be around when everyone was rushing about in the rain.

"If it wasn't for Hogwarts, I don't think I could stay with the Dursleys... not for another day," said Daisy quietly as they made for the middle of the train. Her gaze flitted from the glistening steam engine to a large fireplace that had spit out a family of four in a spurt of flame. "I wish we could just say that Voldemort is gone for good, and then Headmaster would have to let me come and stay with you. I could sleep under your bed, or in the cupboard."

Harry's blood turned to sludge at the mention of the Dark Lord and his trunk lurched forward as he came to a stop. He gave his sister and the hint of her old scar a look.

"Well, he's not gone, Daisy," said Harry. "And you know it. More than anyone."

"Always the bloody scar! It doesn't mean anything, Harry, it's just being strange," snapped Daisy, rounding on her brother. Harry didn't believe her and it showed on his face. Daisy balled her hands in to fists and snarled up at him. "Why is it so wrong for me to want to live with you instead of piggy and his parents?"

"Oh, and what is it that happened to you at the World Cup?" Harry asked. "Isn't that why you had to go right back to Surrey?" His voice was quiet and dangerous. Daisy flinched. Harry wasn't sure if it was his tone, or that he knew what had happened to his sister at the Quidditch World Cup. A fleeting image of hurt ran across Daisy's face. He deflated then, his rage fading. Harry flicked at her chin affectionately. "I wish the Dark Lord leaping out from behind a dustbin is all that we had to worry about."

"The two of us are more than capable of protecting ourselves," Daisy said, not smiling at her brother's joke. "And it's twice now that I've beaten Voldemort, weakened or not."

Harry was silent. Daisy stared back at him, obstinate. He opened his mouth to say something further, but the matter was put to rest as Daisy let out a startling shriek of delight. She was answered in kind by what looked to Harry like a bushy-haired missile wearing a yellow raincoat and rubber boots. He was jostled and shoved aside as a girl with buckteeth and kind brown eyes grabbed his sister.

"Hermione!" said Daisy with a wide smile. Harry straightened his spectacles, and watched the girls babble greetings as if they had been separated for an age. Hermione Granger was a nice girl, and if nothing else, rather clever. Daisy had befriended her in their first year at Hogwarts, and the girl had been first in their class ever since. Harry was perpetually two places behind her.

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione said at length, apologizing for shoving him. Her cheeks were suffused with pink. Harry waved her off. The bushy haired girl ignored the gesture, and enveloped him in a great hug. "How was your summer? I was so upset that you couldn't make the World Cup."

Harry blinked. He could feel the heat of her face through his soggy t-shirt.

"Erm, you were?" said Harry. Excluding the trouble that Daisy roped them into every year, Harry did not spend a lot of time bonding with Hermione. The girl nodded. Harry pried himself from her embrace. He patted her arm. "Er, don't worry about it. I did get to go to Highbury to watch some football. And I read all about the Final in the paper. But you had fun, then?"

"It was a great experience, nothing like the muggle World Cup, of course. Utterly fantastic, except for..." Hermione bit her lip. Harry saw something like fear in her eyes. He had heard all about the muggle baiting, of course, and the Dark Mark. And Harry had met Hermione's parents before, in Diagon Alley exchanging royal currency for goblin gold. They were well-to-do dentists who had been pleasantly surprised that their only daughter had turned out to be a witch. Daisy placed a hand on the girl's arm.

"Just don't think about it," she told Hermione. "Come on, let's get seats. I can see Ron and the rest from here. You've got all year to swoon in front of my brother."

"I did not swoon!" cried Hermione.


The windows of the train car rattled as the Hogwarts Express coursed over the steel tracks. Harry sat near Hermione, and Daisy was opposite them, playing with Ron's new owl, Pig. The runt of a bird was shrill and excitable. It flitted around the small compartment like a feathery golf ball off a sugar rush.

"He's a funny little thing," said Daisy. Pig bounced off of her palm and rocketed into the glass pane of the compartment door. The owl's hoot could have been mistaken for the sound of a toy whistle as it shook off the impact.

"I don't want a funny owl," Ron Weasley grumbled good-naturedly. "But don't change the topic. What could Charlie have meant about seeing us soon?"

"I told you," said Harry. "Dragon Quidditch."

In the two hours since the train had departed London, the rain had not ceased. If anything, they were travelling with the storm. So with the atmosphere just right, the three friends had caught Harry up on the happenings at the Quidditch World Cup and the aftermath. Where Daisy and Hermione left holes in the story, Ron and Harry traded silent looks. The boy had written to Harry immediately following the incident with the Dark Mark. Ron hadn't been with Daisy for the duration of the excitement, though, and Harry had the distinct feeling that his sister was still holding something back from him.

But Harry accepted the girls' edited story without an inquisition; perhaps it was out of guilt for not telling them about his summer. When Hermione had asked, and was then echoed by Daisy and Ron, Harry just glazed over it. He told them that the matron had offered him work at the orphanage. So he had tended the front desk during the day, and studied his course books at night. Which was not entirely false. However, he could not avoid Daisy's searching look when he glanced over at her. His sister knew that Harry hated the dull work at the home. He just gave her the same innocent look that she had provided him during her tale.

When neither Daisy nor Harry, engaged in their staring contest, offered anything else, Hermione broached the tide of very cryptic farewells Ron's family had sent them off to school with. Everyone had been bursting to say something about whatever-it-was, but no one had actually told them a single thing that was of use.

It was apparent to the teens that something was happening at Hogwarts this year that hadn't happened for an undisclosed period of time, and the rules or guidelines of the thing, also undisclosed, had been changed. If Mrs. Weasley was to be believed, it was about time that they had. The kindly witch had begged them all to behave, in any case. It was all Harry could do to keep his incredulity inside him. Such warnings were of little use. Willful and reckless were understatements when it came to the Potter twins, and Ron's skull was as thick as Hogwarts' stone walls. In fact, Harry had once blown through a section of heavy wall that was definitely thinner than his friend's head.

The sky had darkened, and the windows had fogged up so much by this point, that the aged yellow lamps were lit in order to make the train navigable. To pass the time in the gloom, they all took turns guessing at what the secret thing could be. Harry supposed that it could be some sort of magical sack race or perhaps a new form of Quidditch that took place on the backs of dragons. Charlie Weasley would have to referee because of his expertise with the flying creatures.

Ron and Hermione scoffed at him. Daisy only laughed and said that it was going to be a series of written exams each tougher than the last, and that they would take place at a public venue so everyone could see when they stuffed up. Ron muttered that he encountered that exact challenge every single year. And he always stuffed up.

"Go on then," Harry told the ginger haired boy. "What do you think it is?"

"Percy's had a hand in it," Ron began sourly. "If it isn't tests, it's a potions competition sponsored by his stupid thick-bottomed cauldrons." And Harry had to chuckle at that. Percy Weasley had been Head Boy the previous term and upon graduating school had found employment in the dullest niche the Ministry of Magic had to offer—pencil-pushing. Or was it quill-pushing?

"Oh, just drop it," said Hermione, finally having enough. "We're going to find out when we arrive, and, apparently, not a moment sooner. Read a book, will you?" The girl had to know better than to expect Ron Weasley to read school books, or story books, or any book that didn't have pictures in it, but it didn't stop her from fishing her Charms text from her bag. Hermione opened the thick book on her lap to a marked page, and unexpectedly shoved it over so that Harry could see the words too. He stared at her.

"I was looking at summoning charms earlier, Harry," said Hermione without preamble. "Wouldn't it be great if we could perform them before term starts? I think I can almost summon my pencil case!"

Words failed him. Harry didn't want to say that he could already do summoning charms, especially in front of Hermione. He had no intention of ever telling the girl what he had done over holiday. Hermione would probably jump off the astronomy tower if he did. But Harry couldn't just tell her to go away. Something of his struggle must have shown on his face, for Daisy gave him the same pressing look that she had before. He stared stonily back.

Daisy was entitled to her secrets and he to his. And if his predicament was any indication, Hermione was about to let spill a secret, too. Taking his silence for assent, the girl slid closer to him along the bench and was pointing to helpful passages. Her shoulder, soft and warm, rubbed against him. Hermione glanced sideways at him, her cheeks heating up.

"Please, Hermione," Ron drawled as he lay back in his seat. He idly snatched at Pig. "Harry gets good marks, but he isn't some dull bookworm." Hermione crinkled her face up at Ron.

"Harry likes to learn," she said. "That doesn't mean he's a bookworm. Lots of people like to learn things, you know." Ron guffawed. His eyes had taken in just how close the girl had moved to Harry.

"What, do you fancy him?" The youngest Weasley boy said in disbelief. If Hermione's face was pink before, now it matched the maroon upholstery of the train compartment.

"Do not," she said.

"Yes, you do. You fancy Harry," Ron teased. "Figures, since Daisy already has her eye on Diggory."

"What?" Harry said, sitting up straight. He had been inching away from Hermione in order to save himself from embarrassment, but now turned to face his sister. "This is Cedric Diggory?"

"Oh, left that bit out did you?" said Ron. The boy grinned as Daisy buried her face in her hands. "She accidentally landed on him when we took the portkey to the Cup." Ron said the word 'accidentally' as if it meant the exact opposite thing. Harry's eyes went wide. He didn't know whether to storm out of the compartment after Diggory or collapse in laughter at Daisy's reaction.

"Erm. Landed on him, you say?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. He waggled his eyebrows. "And she went looking for him when the Death—oof!" Ron let out a pained sound and doubled over. Daisy had driven her elbow into his side, her face blotchy with rage and humiliation.

"It's none of your business who Hermione or I fancy, you git," Daisy growled. Ron winced and rubbed his ribs. Daisy looked at Harry, her rage being entirely clouded over by embarrassment. "And I don't fancy Cedric. He was nice to me. I wanted to make sure he was all right."

Daisy said all of this very quickly, as if she would forget the words if they couldn't get out in that instant.

Harry just stared at her.

"I didn't do anything!" rushed Daisy. Her blush faded to a dull pink and she glanced at her knees. "I'm not lying. Besides, he's a sixth year!"

"Yeah," Harry said after a long pause. "Sure. When's your wedding, then?"

Ron laughed.

"Shut up, you!" said Hermione, coming to the aid of her friend. She jabbed a finger at him. "I see how you look at Professor Vector during mealtimes." Ron blinked. Evidently Hermione had lost him.

"Who?"

"Professor Vector," repeated Hermione.

"Is that the Arithmancy one?" he asked. Hermione nodded.

"Oh, right." Ron smiled, misty eyed, as if he were picturing the professor nude right then. Hermione made a sound like a cat that had been stepped on and turned to Harry for assistance. He shrugged; Professor Vector was fit.

"Of course I fancy her," confirmed Ron, emerging from his daydream. "She's gorgeous!" Hermione jabbed Harry with her elbow and looked triumphant, but Ron wasn't fazed.

"What's the issue?" he said. "A bloke can fancy a pretty woman. It's not like anything is going to happen there, Hermione. She's a professor."

"And Cedric is a sixth year," said Daisy. "That's the same thing, right?"

"Er, I don't think it works that way, Daisy," Ron said and scratched his head. "If Ginny told me she fancied Diggory I'd send her home straight away, strapped to a broomstick if she put up a struggle. Ask any one of my brothers and they'd tell you the same." Ron looked pointedly at Harry. Hermione was outraged, and her fingers squeezed into his thigh through the material of his jeans. Harry hissed and pulled at the girl's arm. Then he looked to his sister.

"Well, I suppose you haven't left me much of a choice in the matter, have you?" said Harry with a theatric sigh. Daisy gaped at him as he stood up. Harry rubbed at his thigh and unlatched the window. A hot, wet breeze blew into the booth. "Gather your things. I'll just toss you out here."

"What!"

Harry cracked a smile at the look of utter horror on her face. Seeing it, Daisy scowled and crossed her arms.

"You are the limit, Harry Potter," she said as both Ron and Hermione dissolved into giggles. Harry latched the window and swatted at her head. Daisy glanced up at him grumpily.

"I don't fancy Cedric."

"Cedric?" a voice said, as the compartment door slid open. "This is Cedric Diggory?" It was Fred Weasley, followed by his twin, George, and their best mate, Lee Jordan. George gave Daisy a scandalous wink.

"If I were a pretty girl," George paused. "...or even if I was an ugly girl, there's no way I wouldn't fancy getting my hands on dear, sweet Cedric. Hair like molten honey, he's got. And eyes you could swim laps in!"

"Oh, Cedric," Fred cut in, batting his eyelashes. "Your chest is so broad and your solitary chin hair is so manly. I wonder where else such masculine hair has sprouted! Take me, now, right here on the House table."

"Get out!" Daisy leapt to her feet, her wand flashing out from somewhere beneath her cavernous sweater. "You're not helping things!"

"Settle down, settle down," said Lee, holding up his hands. "We just popped by to say hullo, not to get hexed into toads. Or rabbits. Or whatever it is that fourth years can make."

Daisy let out a dark growl and did not lower her wand. "Well, there's your hello," she said. "Now, leave, before I turn you all into kippers. I bet the giant squid would love to have a snack when we arrive."

"Rude." Fred leaned into the compartment. He flicked Ron's long nose. The younger Weasley clapped his hands over his face and shied away from his brothers. Fred looked them all over. "And we were about to let you lot in on the big secret."

"What is it?" asked Harry perking up in his seat. Hermione dropped her book, and glanced up at the twins.

"Yeah," Ron said from between his fingers. "Come on. Out with it." The twins smiled nastily at them.

"As someone has just threatened to turn us into breakfast for the squid," said Lee, "I think we need an apology first." Everyone in the compartment looked at Daisy. The girl set her hands on her hips.

"Get stuffed," said Daisy angrily. "You started it!"

"Oh dear," said George with a mock-startled look on his face. He made to leave. "That's too bad. It is a cracker of a secret."

"Indeed," Fred added, waving at the fourth years. "Well, you know where to find us."

"No, we don't," said Ron.

"Oh." Lee shrugged, his dreadlocks swinging, and followed after the twins.

Ron spun to face Daisy. "Why'd you do that?" he cried. "You know how they are!"

"You," said Daisy, pointing directly at the freckled boy. "Started. It!"

"Daisy," pleaded Ron, drawing her name out. "I'm sorry. Go after them."

"No," she snapped.

"I said that I was sorry!" said Ron. Just then, as if seeing the compartment door open for the first time, Pig let out gleeful hoot, and shot out into the corridor. Ron yelped and raced after the owl in a panic.

"Serves him right," said Hermione. Harry just watched with a tiny smile on his face. He was sure that the twins would get bored and come back within the hour to tell them the secret.

Red faced and swearing, Ron returned to the compartment a moment later. He held his small owl by its legs and crossed to the luggage rack, tearing open the door of Pig's cage.

"Next time," said Ron seriously to the owl, "I won't come after you." Pig let out an unconcerned hoot, and began zooming about the spacious container. "You'll be wanting me when you're stuck in a ventilation duct, you ruddy owl," Ron shot back. With a final glower at the bird, Ron slumped onto the bench and stared at Harry.

"What?" asked Harry, extricating himself from Hermione, who had crept up on him again, intent on teaching him the summoning charm.

"You let this one just scrap our chances of finding out about the whatever-it-is that's going on," said Ron. He gestured at the black haired girl that sat next to him. Daisy kicked out at the boy.

"You have two family members in the Ministry, and you don't know, Weasley?" A derisive voice said from the open door. Harry let out a groan when he saw the voice's source. He thumped his head back onto the wall. They really had to start bolting the thing shut.

"Malfoy!" Daisy said leaping again to her feet. A platinum blonde girl, perhaps a hair taller than Harry's twin, stood in the doorway. She was flanked by two brutish looking boys and a pretty brunette. They were already dressed in black school robes. All four of them had green and silver patches, the colors of Slytherin House. Not that it mattered what house Malfoy was in, Harry was certain that Daisy would have hated the girl all the same.

Lyra Malfoy was Daisy Potter's arch-enemy. Harry thought that it was stupid to have an arch-enemy that was five foot nought and could be bested by a Hippogriff.

Ron scrambled to shut the sliding door on their faces, but Malfoy slid past him and into the compartment. The two boys, Crabbe and Goyle, each one foot taller and broader than their leader hustled to follow. They pushed each other roughly in their haste to get inside. In the scuffle, Ron was shoved back into his seat. The Weasley boy's ears turned a shade of angry red. He stuffed his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wand.

"Save it, Weasley," said Tracey Davis. The girl had pointed her own wand at him; her stern blue eyes dared him to move. Ron looked murderous. Malfoy sniffed.

"As I was saying," said the girl, looking down at Ron as if he were less than human. "Your father and brother both work for the government, and they couldn't tell you what's happening this year?" Malfoy's face stretched in a merry smile that made her look like an evil blonde pixie. She looked around at all of them and said, "Or perhaps they just don't know about it?"

"Of course they know!" said Ron.

"My father told me ages ago," continued Malfoy, as if Ron had not said a word. The nasty twinkle in her eye let Harry know that she had indeed heard the redhead, though. "He heard all about it from the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge."

"We know who the Minister is, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"Not all of us are as thick as you," added Daisy. "I bet Daddy has to tell you three times a day who the Minister is, just so you don't forget it."

"You shut up, Potter," Malfoy hissed, her cheeks filling with color. "I heard that you fainted at the World Cup when the mark went up!"

"And you must've been cheering your father on," Harry interrupted, his voice hot. "It takes some sort of man to wear a mask when he's torturing people." Malfoy turned on him, her face suddenly blank. All traces of a blush rapidly faded.

"I have no idea what you're on about," she said. "My father was in his tent, and exited the grounds peacefully when that awful business started." The way she drawled the last line made Harry feel as though she were telling a great fib.

"Besides," continued Malfoy with her eyes, grey and wicked, set on Harry. "You couldn't even get a seat. How could you know what happened?" If only seeing the World Cup had been important to him, Harry might have set the girl on fire for the tone that she had taken.

"You're right," Harry said.

Malfoy looked taken aback at his lack of resistance. "I am?" the girl asked.

"Yes," said Harry, standing up and pulling his wand out. "There's no way for me to know the truth. So here's one for you... either you tell us what's going on at school, or I curse you into fifty pieces, then I'll wait to see if Lucius and his mates will come get me."

"Don't you dare accuse my father," Malfoy growled. "And I'd rather eat mud than tell you lot anything!"

"Oh, are you hungry, Malfoy?" said Daisy, leveling her wand. "Because I could feed you mud."

Ron snickered. The Slytherin girl's expression grew stormy, but seeing four wands suddenly pointed at her face, she seemed to figure that there was somewhere far safer to be and turned on her heel. Malfoy ushered her flock ahead into the corridor. Crabbe and Goyle, spoiling for a fight, seemed rather put out.

"I do hope you enter, Potter," Malfoy called back to them as she left. "Nothing would please me more than to see you ripped to shreds." Ron stood and slammed the door shut. Pig and Hedwig screeched in their cages as the compartment rattled.

"Bloody hell, I hate her," Ron said with a snarl. The freckled boy threw himself into his seat. "Acting as if she knows everything important. Did you hear her? My father told me, and He knows Cornelius Fudge. Dad knows Fudge, too, you know and he never tortures muggles."

"Yes, of course, Ron," said Hermione gently. The girl paused, and looked at Harry and Daisy. "But were you paying attention? Malfoy said that Daisy could be ripped to shreds if she entered whatever-it-is!"

Ron flinched. Daisy just looked back at them with her arms crossed over her breasts, but Harry's eyes hardened. He had heard, and he had taken note. Every time that something dangerous had come to Hogwarts, Daisy always ended up in the thick of it. And it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to help get her out of trouble.

"But what is it, then?" Ron said. He exhaled loudly. "And why does everybody know about it except for us!

"Oh, Malfoy probably doesn't even know," Daisy said. "When has she ever needed a reason to be a cunt?"

"Daisy!" squeaked Hermione.

"She is, though," Daisy grumbled. The girl flattened herself against the seat and stared out at the pelting rain. Harry watched her. For all of her pretense and unwavering obstinacy, Daisy was not stupid. She knew the pattern as well as he did. Harry could see the cogs turning in his sister's head.

Daisy felt that every problem and fantastic monster that popped up out of the dark was hers alone to face. Harry knew that she thought it hurt him to help her. He could see the anguish in her face every time marks were posted and Harry wasn't at the top because he had been awake all night helping her brew illicit potions, and fight Basilisks, and Dementors. And Daisy loathed being so powerless that she had no choice but to turn to him for help. Harry didn't care about marks, though. He didn't care about losing sleep. He didn't care about detentions, or house points, or injuries. It would hurt him more, if anything, anything at all, happened to Daisy.

Harry had never loved a thing half as much as he loved his sister.

"Why can't all girls be like the Veela?" said Ron, pulling him from his thoughts. "You know, they're scary and all, but you're too busy being in love with them to notice that they're killing you."

"You are an idiot, Ron." Hermione sniffed.

"What?" said Ron. "I'd let you talk me to death without protest, if you had, you know…" He mimed something that looked as if he were holding two watermelons in front of him.

Daisy chuckled, finally looking away from the storm lashing at the Express. Hermione just stuffed her head into the Charms book again to conceal her blush.

So much of the ride passed with light, inane chatter. Lunch came and went. Daisy bought them all pasties and cakes from the food trolley that rumbled through corridor. They all changed into school uniforms; four Gryffindor lions reared up on their black robes. The twins had never returned, so Harry was forced to occupy his time with trying to explain to Hermione that he would learn the summoning charm when term started, and he had no desire to do so until then. The girl had pouted, a rather strange look on her serious face, and pleaded for him to at least help her decipher some of the foggier sections of print. Reluctantly, and to Daisy's immense delight, he acquiesced.

"I'm just going to the restroom," said Harry when Hermione hopped back towards him as he pushed the heavy textbook aside. He looked at her bemusedly. "I'll be right back."

Daisy snickered at him, and when Harry shot her a quieting look, his sister just stuck the tip of her tongue out at him.

The weather had kept most people in their places as they waited to dock at Hogsmeade Station. The corridor was quiet, save for the occasional loud remark that floated through closed compartment doors, and the pattering of rain on the windows. Harry only saw one pudgy Hufflepuff second year on his way to the loo, and no one on his return journey. He had nearly concluded his walk, when a booth slid open noisily, and a lone blonde stepped into the dim passage. The girl shut the door behind her. Harry slowed his pace. It was Malfoy. She hadn't seen him, or was ignoring him, at the very least, and was walking in the direction of Harry's compartment. Harry narrowed his eyes.

In a few strides, he caught up to the Slytherin.

"Malfoy!" Harry called. He reached out and gave her shoulder a quick prod. The girl started, jolting his fingers from her arm, and spun. Her wand was in hand.

"Bloody hell," the girl hissed, as her hair settled unevenly on her shoulder. "What are you doing sneaking up on me, Potter?"

"I didn't sneak up on you," said Harry, cocking is head to one side. "I practically stomped over and grabbed you."

"Do you think that I'm stupid?" said Malfoy. The girl smoothed her robes, brushing off invisible banks of dust from her chest and shoulders. "Why would I pretend that you had crept up on me? Get lost."

Harry groaned.

"Look, I don't know what's rocketing about inside that thick skull of yours," he said. "I only wanted to ask you a question."

"Oh, you did? And I suppose those muggles didn't teach you to ask nicely for the things that you want?" said Malfoy. She smirked up at him, then spun back around, and began to walk down the corridor. Harry stood with his feet planted in the burgundy carpet and stared after the wicked girl. Then, cursing himself, followed.

"Finally finished with that mudblood?" asked Malfoy with a kind of cruel humor in her voice. Apparently now she had no problem realizing that Harry was following after her. They were nearing his compartment.

"Don't you call Hermione that word, Malfoy," said Harry. He reached out and caught the Slytherin's robes at the shoulder. "And what do you mean finished with her?"

"Don't touch me," said Malfoy haughtily. She jerked the cloth from his grip. The girl looked up at him, and somehow peered down at him at the same time. Perhaps looking like an arse was a skill that all Malfoys were taught as children. Harry gave her a dirty look. Malfoy's smile was very white, and very unsettling. "Oh, don't be thick, Potter. Little Miss Cleverboots is besotted with you."

"She is not," Harry said through gritted teeth. He hated that the Slytherin was right, but it wasn't as though Hermione had made a grand secret of her intentions. Malfoy made an odd sound, and continued to walk down the train car, and kept walking right past Harry's compartment. He hurried to catch up to her.

"And where is it that you're off to?"

"Was that your question, Potter?" said Malfoy amusedly as he caught up to her. She looked up at his face, and blinked. Then the girl threw her head back and cackled. "Oh, that's brilliant! You thought I was off to harangue you lot again?"

"Aren't you?"

"No." The delight in her voice was almost too much for Harry to bear. He should have just left the girl alone. He would never live this down. Malfoy leered up at him. "I have better things to do than visit blood traitors and mudbloods." She practically purred the last word like some sharp-toothed cat that was toying with its food. It was hard for Harry to contain his rage, then. His hands clenched into fists.

"Shut it," Harry ground out. "Or I'll curse you."

"Why?" said Malfoy. She shrugged. "Granger's a mudblood. Look, I'll say it again. Mud. Blood."

"Afflatus." A swift gust of wind burst from Harry's wand, rattling the train car ever so slightly. It struck the mean girl in the midsection, and sent her sprawling. Malfoy sat up, her long hair utterly windswept, and snarled at him. Scrambling to her feet, the Slytherin brought her wand to bear on him.

"You stupid, half-blooded savage, I'll—" The girl's voice suddenly disappeared as Harry jabbed his wand again, silencing her. Malfoy's face was an incandescent red. Quite mute, the girl bellowed spells, but could not get any of them to work. Harry stepped close to her, batting her hand away, and pointed his wand at her neck. Malfoy froze.

"Two conditions," said Harry. "You don't call my friend that word. And you tell me what it is that's going to happen at Hogwarts. Then I'll give your voice back, you harpy." Harry watched the girl's small hands ball up. She looked as if she was going to punch him. Harry gave her a cheerful look, and poked her throat with his wand.

"Fisticuffs, Malfoy?" he said. "And you're always on about how magic is better than muggle savagery?" She looked murderous.

"I could just jinx you, you know," Harry told her. He leaned in and said in a low voice, "I wonder how long it would take for you to hobble back to your friends with your legs locked together." Malfoy snarled silently at him, but nodded and jerked her head away from his wand.

"Finite," said Harry. Malfoy rubbed her throat and coughed, testing her voice. She looked at him poisonously. Harry crossed his arms.

"Right," he said. "Cough up."

"Piss off," said Malfoy. And faster than Harry could react, the girl pointed her wand at him and growled something out. Harry caught the curse in the gut. A cracking pain blossomed across his ribs. He couldn't help but gasp in agony. And all of a sudden Malfoy stood over him. The yellow light of the ceiling lamps was very bright in his eyes.

"Silence me like I'm some wayward child, will you, Potter?" Malfoy said; her newfound voice was shrill. "I'm going to gut you for that." Harry breathed heavily through his nostrils, and stifled a hiss at the pain in his side. It was fading from excruciating to merely terrible, but the lights were still dazzling. The Slytherin girl pointed her wand down at him.

And Harry grabbed at her ankle viciously. His fingers closed around her calf and he wrenched her down. Malfoy let out a shriek and fell heavily onto her back. Harry sat up with another gasping breath and reached out to rip the wand from the dumbstruck blonde's grasp.

"Sorry," he said through a grimace. "Not today." Unable to stand, Harry pressed his palm onto the girl's shoulder, pinning her to the carpeting, and pointed her own wand at her. Fear and rage waged war across Malfoy's face. Harry leaned over her.

"I had pictured this going smoother," he said. "Now, just tell me what's going to happen at school, Malfoy. Is it dangerous?"

"Are you frightened, Potter?" Malfoy asked. She peered up at his pained face. Harry tried to force it away and prodded the girl with the stick.

"No."

"You look frightened," she said. Malfoy shifted beneath him, struggling to force Harry off of her. He held her down.

"Just answer the question, Malfoy," said Harry. He jabbed the wand, red sparks fizzled against the girl's pale skin, eliciting a startled hiss. Harry didn't blink. "I'm not going to be merciful twice in one day."

"I doubt it." Malfoy pushed up at him fruitlessly. Harry just watched her, eyes hard. He really should have just jinxed the girl, and left her in the corridor. And then a curious expression fixed itself on Malfoy's face. She stopped struggling.

"You really did kill that beast, didn't you?" Malfoy asked. She blew a lock of pale hair away from her face.

"What?" said Harry.

"Lupin," Malfoy elaborated. Her voice was of clear of its usual scorn, and filled with something unrecognizable. "You killed him."

"Shutup," Harry said instantaneously. Something pounded very hard in his ears. It took him a moment to realize it was the beat of his heart. Lupin. There was a sudden flash of heat in his chest as the name rang in his head. Harry's fingers bit into the girl's slender shoulder through the dark cloth of her robes. A wounded sound dribbled through Malfoy's lips. But Harry didn't care. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" said Malfoy. Something glinted through the pain in her eyes. "You did it. Not Professor Snape."

"Shut," said Harry. "Up."

"I knew it; everyone said you couldn't be a killer. But I knew. You killed Lupin."

And then Harry wasn't on the Hogwarts Express, and Malfoy wasn't staring at him with those curious eyes, and his chest didn't feel as though she had slugged him with a cricket bat.

But blood, hot and angry, still thundered in his ears.

It was dark, and he was running. Soil and brush crunched beneath his trainers as he chased Peter Pettigrew through the Forbidden Forest.

Harry Potter was good at running. Excellent even. He ran all the bloody time. And it only ever seemed to be in two directions: away from trouble and towards trouble. This time, though, when he caught that dirty rat, it was going to be in trouble. He let out a wheezing laugh.

When Harry caught Peter, it would all be over. He would be able to go to school, and study, and become just as brilliant as Albus Dumbledore. Daisy would be able to leave her terrible relatives. The two of them would finally have someone to take care of them, to treat them like family, and take them on trips and to the zoo. It didn't matter if he was a gaunt, yellow-teethed madman that ate mice or not.

Best of all, Lord Voldemort would never bother any of them again. Harry's feet pounded into the dirt. He pushed the low hanging limbs of trees aside; a fleeting glimpse of a long pink tail caught his eye.

"We won't kill you, Peter," Harry called, for there was no way to sneak up on a rat in the dark. His lungs screamed for more air as he ran. "You just need to tell the truth and no one will hurt you."

Harry was lying, though. Peter was going to be hurt. If Professor Dumbledore and Minister Fudge didn't send the rodent to prison for eternity, Harry was going to wring the vile man's neck himself. That in mind, Harry pursued the fat rat like a mongoose after a snake.

Bluish light spilled from his wand and kept Peter just visible as he scampered along what seemed to Harry as the most troublesome route in the whole forest. He stumbled through a thorny bush, prickling his legs and arms, and made a grab at the brown flash that wriggled just beyond his fingertips.

On second thought, he was going to wring Peter's neck no matter what.

Harry could not be certain what Professor Trelawney's words had meant, after all. Perhaps the only way to prevent the Dark Lord's revival was to end Peter's miserable existence. Harry snatched at the rat again to no avail. As he chased on, Harry could see the thin woman's enormous spectacles in front of him. Her body was rigid, nearly seizing, as she spoke to him over the jangle of her many bracelets, and beads, and necklaces.

"It will happen tonight," Trelawney had said. Her voice was bereft of the airy, ethereal sound that it had always oozed. This voice was a dark one. Grave. "The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... before midnight... the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master..."

Peter was the servant.

And maybe Azkaban wasn't enough to stop him returning to his master. Harry steeled himself. He knew what the only way to permanently stop a man from doing something was, and he could do it. Couldn't he? He could kill Peter Pettigrew. What did it matter? The man had been dead for twelve years already and a greater and more terrible Dark Lord was the absolute last thing that Harry needed.

There was a grating howl somewhere in the gloom of the wood. It was answered by the loud barks of dog. Harry forced himself to keep glued to the pursuit of Peter. Sirius could hold off Professor Lupin. Harry had to grab the rat. The wolf's howl turned into a guttural bark. It was closer. Harry saw Peter scurry beneath a newly budding flower bush. He stamped on it and watched the rat shoot off again into the dark.

"Peter," Harry called. "You can't run forever." The rat had to know that. Harry would never let the man just disappear into some dark burrow.

Something glittered through the treetops. It was the gleaming face of a full moon. There was a soft chattering and Harry saw the rat's bald tail slither towards a clearing. A clearing surely meant open ground for Harry to catch his quarry. He sped off, but was tripped up by an exposed root in his haste. Harry tumbled to the ground.

At the edge of the clearing the rat turned to look back at fallen boy. The thing's mouth twitched to show its nasty rat-toothed smile. Harry's blood boiled as Peter bounded excitedly for a pit beneath an uprooted sapling.

"Incarcerous," cried Harry desperately. He pushed himself to his feet. He had sacrificed his light for an attempt to bind the rodent, but the slivers of black rope had coiled about empty air. The bottom fell out of his stomach, and his heart fell into the abyss.

"No, no, no, no, no." Harry ran, his legs burning, into the clearing, and peered down the hole that Peter had flown into. The furrow was like an inkwell. He fell to his knees and reached inside, his fingers groped about, but the thing was too small for more than Harry's forearm to reach inside. He lit his wand. There was nothing but roots and loam.

"Peter. It will be all right," Harry lied softly. "If you come out, now, I'll plead for them not to give you up to the Dementors." There was no reply from the hole in the ground. Harry flashed the wand into it again, but still no rat.

"Last chance," said Harry into the burrow. Nothing. "Incendio."

A gout of red flame spurted into the earth. Roots burned and shriveled; the dirty leaves and rotting plant matter at the bottom of the hole turned to ash. Harry could feel the heat on his skin. Peter had to come out.

There was pained howl again in the dark, very close this time. But it wasn't Professor Lupin. It was a girl's voice. Harry's heart stopped. The voice echoed in his ears. It was Daisy. And then there was the slow and hungry cry of a wolf. He looked away from the burrow. The flames went out. There was a squeal of joy, and the rat shot out of the hole and away.

Harry let him go.

Again his feet were kicking up dirt and leaves; he ran towards the full moon. Daisy lay at the black lake's shore, with Hermione at her side, as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin ripped at each other. The dog that was their godfather, black as coal and built like a shaggy bull had its jaws around the werewolf professor's flank. The wolf, snarling and screaming, did not seem anything like the mild-mannered man trapped underneath its fur. They wrestled. Yellow teeth and glinting claws were tangled up in tawny fur and black hair, until Sirius was finally torn free of the wolf. The beast seized the dog by the throat and threw it into the shoals. And Sirius stayed down yowling like a pet that had been kicked. The agony of the sound tore at Harry's heart.

The werewolf stalked towards Hermione and Daisy. Harry sprinted forward, all soreness and fatigue gone. As he drew closer, the looks of fear on the girls' faces came into sharp relief. And something else caught his eye, drawing all of his attention away from the werewolf. Daisy was bleeding. A cut on her face, long and glistening, bled purple in the blue light of the moon. Hermione was holding his sister's side as she suppressed her agonized gasps. Was she wounded elsewhere as well?

The hollow cavern of his chest that had once held his thundering heart filled with a seething rage. Daisy was bleeding. The anger burned him inside. He felt it creep into his throat and surge into his arms, rattling the very bones of his extremities. He felt it curl his fingers into fists so tight that he thought he would crush his wand and draw blood from his palms. Daisy was bleeding because he had left her. The fury splashed madly inside him and he could feel the raging of his heart in his jaw. The werewolf had made Daisy bleed. Harry did not feel his legs carry him forward. He couldn't think over the red thunder in his ears. The flashes of heat in his face and the torrid wind of breath coursing over his dry lips were too much. All of his thoughts grew dim. His vision was hazy. All that he could see was the long cut on his sister's cheek and the blood that leaked from it.

His blood.

"Incendio." It was a creaking whisper. A croak, nothing more than that, and the wolf went up in flames. It howled. Its gaze jerked from the pair of girls and onto Harry. The fire ate its fur. Harry didn't stop moving. The wolf gave a shuddering roar and leapt into the black waters of the lake to douse the fire on its skin. Harry hurried on, his eyes fixed on Daisy's wound.

The wolf hit him in the chest. Rage, red and blinding, filled Harry's eyes. It didn't matter that the force of the blow had knocked all the wind from his lungs. The sudden hot pain in his side didn't faze him. Harry looked up as the wolf's jaws opened above him. His wand came up and blasted the creature off.

The werewolf gave a yelp of startled pain. New air pushed into Harry's chest. He staggered to his feet and watched as the wolf hissed and spat, debating its next assault. Fire had burned away the fur on its back, leaving the skin waxy and pink and bleeding. Deep gouges from Sirius' claws had painted its underside red. The wolf turned, and Harry's rage filled eyes caught a glimpse of an odd dent in the thing's side. A broken bone, perhaps. Harry didn't know why, but he charged towards the wolf then.

"Harry, no!" came Hermione's voice. It was dim, somewhere behind him and it did not mean a thing. All Harry could see was the wolf. Daisy was bleeding and hurt because of the wolf. And now the vile animal was hurt and bleeding and Harry was filled with a strange drive to make sure it knew the reason why.

"Incendio," Harry spat. Fire lanced towards the wolf. The flame went just wide, as the animal moved, and for a moment the night was orange as a great fire swallowed what little fuel littered the shore of the black lake. The wolf gave one growl and took off over the lawn.

Angry, Harry gave chase.

The Whomping Willow, pacified, stood before them like a withered head of broccoli. The wolf could run no longer. Broken and tired, it faced Harry, with a wild sort of resolve glinting in the dark thing's bright eyes. Grass on either side of the wolf had been burnt away by the his effort to catch the beast. And caught it he had. It's tail was bent and hung limp. Betrayed by its injuries and shuffling gait, a single pale flame burned at an what fur remained on the werewolf's side. The wolf gathered its legs beneath it and shot towards Harry with a maddened howl.

Claws ripped the long sleeves of Harry's robes. Fire lit the night again. Harry was knocked to the ground, gasping for breath. The werewolf shuffled, yipping at the new flames that bit its tail. Harry said nothing, but let out a trembling snarl. He shoved himself up onto his side. The wolf screamed and charged brokenly at the boy again. Its jaws clackered open and shut madly. Harry's wand was knocked from his grip.

A flash of terror pushed through the immense fury in him. His hand dove into the folds of his dark robes. The wolf's maw drove at him again, spittle flying. And Harry jammed the fat blade of his knife into the animal's exposed neck. The wolf reeled, and then surged back. Harry stabbed again; he pulled the knife down the tender flank of the burned creature. Hot and foul, blood poured onto him. The beast howled. Harry tore the blade from its side and plunged it again into the wolf's throat and ripped until he felt bone. The creature's howl bubbled into nothingness. It made a last feeble attempt to bite him. and then collapsed, turning into dead weight.

The wolf stared at Harry with its wide amber eyes and frothy white mouth.

The heat of Harry's anger faded as hot blood, pumped by the wolf's dying heart, spurted into his open mouth. Coughing and spitting, he tried to push the dead creature from him. It was no use. The wolf pinned Harry to the burnt lawn covered in red, red blood. Harry's throat tightened as thought returned to him.

He was covered in Professor Lupin's blood.

And then it felt as though everything he had ever eaten came surging up from roiling pit of his stomach and spewed forth. It mixed with the steaming blood that sloughed from the wolf's slashed throat and fell again onto his face. Harry vomited again, uselessly.

Bang.

The sound was like a gunshot. The wolf's corpse flew, ragdoll limp, from atop Harry and careened bloodily through the air. There were two more bangs, two silver flashes, and then one green sinister bolt of light.

"Potter," said Snape breathing heavily. "Did it bite you?" The hook-nosed man looked down at the boy that was covered in blood and vomit. His pallid face was full of worry. Harry had never seen the man look at him, or his sister, with anything but disdain or anger. Trembling, Harry shook his head and tried to sit up. The potions master pressed him back down; he was unaffected by the sticky red that coated the teen's clothes and rubbed onto his long fingers. The moonlight shone on Snape's greasy hair. "Stay still, boy. Stay still."

Harry dribbled more of his professor's blood onto his torn robes. Snape crossed the lawn to where the werewolf's dead body had fallen, burnt and bleeding. Harry saw the thin man look between Harry and the wolf.

"I killed him," said Harry weakly, to clarify it for himself as much as for Snape. "I killed Professor Lupin."

"I will not listen to such nonsense, Potter," said Snape, his back snapping straight up. The condescension was back in the man's voice. "You kill a werewolf?"

Snape moved back towards Harry as he managed to sit up. Harry winced as a crackle of pain shot up his chest. His ribcage was on fire.

"Listen," said Harry, each word hurt as it came up. "Daisy and Hermione are with Sirius. Daisy's hurt." Snape followed Harry's gaze to towards the lake. The man pressed Harry back down.

"Put your head back, Potter, I will not be held responsible for your concussion," said Snape. Harry stared up at the man perplexed. Snape pulled his wand out again and stood.

"Concussion?" asked Harry.

"Stupefy."


There was a strangled hiss of pain beneath him. The train car rumbled along the tracks. Raindrops, fat and strong, splattered against the foggy windows. Harry could feel the heat in his face. His fingers were curled violently about something soft and pulsing. His thumb ran along smooth black cloth.

"Let go," said Malfoy. "Potter, you're hurting me." Harry threw the skinny, honey colored wand away from him. He grasped Malfoy's other shoulder and snarled.

"Does it look like I care, Malfoy?" But he relaxed his fingers. The girl's eyes were bright with unshed tears. She sniffed, but the curious expression hadn't left her stare. The Slytherin girl's cheeks had turned pink with rushing blood. Harry shuddered as he remembered the taste of it. He spat. "Tell me why I shouldn't make sure that you never, ever leave the Hospital wing again."

Lyra Malfoy didn't speak for a moment, just stared at him. Harry sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

"It's the Triwizard Tournament." she said at last. Her gaze didn't move from his face as he fought to control his rage. "That's what's happening this year."

Tournament? Harry sat back; his fury burned out and was replaced by inquisitiveness. He pushed Malfoy away from him.

"What is it?"

The train started to swing around a bend in the tracks. Harry leaned, all of a sudden weary, against the wall of the car. Malfoy still lay on the ground, her hair spread around her. She rubbed her shoulder in slow circles."A tournament, with three wizards," said the blond girl after a time. "Or witches. From three different schools of magic."

"And you're going to enter?" said Harry. His fingers had tunneled into the carpet of the corridor. What other schools of magic there were there? He had only ever heard of people going to Hogwarts. Was there a place called Boarboils in Wales?

"Bloody hell, no," Malfoy told him; her pained expression was gone. "People die in the tournament. Father says they've made it a lot safer this time around. But regardless I don't like the sound of fighting bloodthirsty beasts for money." Malfoy gave him an unreadable look.

"Beasts?" asked Harry.

"You'd probably be good at it," she said, ignoring his question. "You would fit right in with the manticores and the kelpies or whatever it is they've got waiting."

Without warning, Malfoy pulled down the shoulder of her robe. Harry flinched at the sudden appearance of pale skin, but then felt positively sick. He could see the marks his fingers had left in her shoulder, broad and red and angry.

"That's going to bruise remarkably well," said Malfoy. There was no heat in her voice, though.

"Sorry," said Harry.

"No, you're not." Malfoy propped herself up on an elbow, not bothering to pull her robes up, and watched Harry stare at darkening bruise.

"You shouldn't have said what you did, if you didn't want a reaction," said Harry. His jaw tensing, he turned away.

"I wanted to see if it was true," said Malfoy.

"I didn't say that it was."

"But it is."

Harry was silent. He saw Malfoy reach for her wand, and instinctively he looked for his, but found nothing. Malfoy threw something at him. The familiar instrument struck him on the nose and fell onto his lap.

"Thanks," he said.

"Illido," said Malfoy in response. It was as if an invisible hand had slapped him with a brick. His head flew back and thudded against the wall of the train. Harry grunted in pain, but held himself from reacting at the sight of the red and purple marks on the girl's skin. Malfoy smiled darkly at him.

"You don't hit girls, Potter," she said.

"Oh, piss off," said Harry, ignoring the wetness collecting at corners of his eyes. He rubbed his jaw, feeling it swell. It was going to bruise, probably just as well as Malfoy's.

The door of a compartment slid open.

"What is going on out here?" Hermione barked into the corridor. "People are trying to rea—" Her voice petered out into a squeak. Hermione's face was a brighter red than Ron's hair. Her eyes wide, she stared at the two people that lay sprawled in the corridor. This time Harry banged his head into the wall of his own accord.

Malfoy's robes were half off. Both of them were sweaty and ruddy skinned, and to top it off, Harry had never seen the blonde Slytherin's hair in worse shape. Harry closed his eyes.

"It's not what it…"

"Shut up!" Hermione cried. He heard the compartment door slam shut. Harry opened one eye. Malfoy was putting herself back together and Ron and Daisy's faces were pressed comically up against the single glass pane of the compartment door. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, then carefully opened them again. It didn't help.

Daisy's face was stormier than the gale that batted at the Hogwarts Express. Ron was almost purple. Harry saw Malfoy stand and smooth her clothes. The girl gave him a lingering look, and turned to continue along the train.

"Where are you off to?" asked Harry.

"I was going to get something to drink," said Malfoy. "But then somebody accosted me."

"Oh," said Harry. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," said Malfoy.

"No, I'm not," said Harry. "When does it start?"

"I suppose we'll find out tonight," the blonde said, then very loudly added, "Thanks for the tumble, Potter."

Harry could hear Daisy's scream through the glass.