Chapter Two: Draco and Marge

Draco and Fallen are called on to hide Tarana from Marge Dursley, testing Draco's patience with the muggles that neglected his best friend growing up. Blaise and Yoko escape from a dangerous situation. A convict escapes from the supposedly impregnable Azkaban.


Harry was still in shock when he finally came down to breakfast with the rest of his relatives.

He was only paying a little attention, then, when Tarana ordered Dudley to turn off the television in the kitchen, so she could have Vernon and Petunia's undivided attention.

It said a great deal about the continued respect between Harry's cousin and the Queen, that Dudley barely even hesitated, though Vernon growled at the interruption.

"Hush, Dursley," Tarana sneered. "If you don't want to discuss the only plan I'm willing to use to keep your sister out of the know, then, by all means, we'll turn it back on for you."

The kitchen was silent except for Vernon puffing like a bear trying to keep his temper.

"Explain." He eventually said, sharper than was necessary.

Tarana narrowed her gaze but ignored his tone.

"Harry and I have contacted a young man who will be visiting Harry for the week that Marge is here."

"Absolutely not," Vernon snapped, slamming his palm down on the table, knocking over the saltshaker and making the cutlery rattle.

Dudley picked up his dish and set it on his lap to avoid losing any of his food, glancing nervously between his father and Harry's guardian.

"I already feed one of them in this house. I will not feed one I have no obligation to."

Tarana's lip curled. "Draco Malfoy is the young man you met at the end of Harry's first year," she told them, as though Vernon hadn't attempted to put the nix on the plan, and she was still explaining it. "You remember the blond with more manners than you have ever managed to display in my presence, yes? He was raised in the Old Ways, what your kind would call the high-class etiquette, and will observe the rites of hospitality while under your roof. He is, as Harry is, bound to hold the Statute of Secrecy and will not speak of magic or wizardry in the presence of your sister.

"There is also, of course, the fact that if Draco is here, then Harry has no reason to be, too busy showing his friend around the muggle neighborhood. Both will be out of your hair more often than not."

Petunia glanced at her husband, fiddling nervously with the fork on the table. "I don't see how that solves the problem, Your Highness," she murmured hesitantly.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Fallen!"

Tarana's lips twitched and she shot him a far too lenient glance, warning him against interrupting and drawing attention to himself.

"And who's that? Another one of you?" Vernon sneered.

"Another of mine," Tarana told him. "Fallen is a Valerian with a Talent in Crafting Illusions. He is bound to the Malfoy family, specifically their Heir, Draco, as I am to Harry. If Draco is here, Fallen will follow."

"And how will having another one of you here help keep Marge from finding about," he waved a hand with a sneer, "you?"

"Because Fallen is a red wolf. He can easily pass as a wolfdog if necessary and hold an Illusion of his choosing over myself during Marge's visit." Tarana waved a paw. "There is, of course, the alternative. Draco and Fallen remain home, Marge comes to visit, and I remain here, on the property and risk being seen."

"I don't know why go through all the trouble," Dudley said, mouth full. Tarana narrowed her eyes on him and he swallowed. "Why don't you just do what you always did when Aunt Marge comes to visit?"

Tarana's lips parted on a very unkind grin. "I have rarely remained on your property while she was here. The last time I did so, one of her dogs chased my charge up a tree and he stayed there well into the afternoon. I don't know if you recall, but that was the year that the poor creature's leash mysteriously got tangled up in the axle of that car leaving the drive next door."

More than one of the people at the table got very green.

Marge Dursley raised bulldogs and was very proud of them.

Her dogs, however, were as unkind to Harry as their breeder was and suffered mishaps that couldn't often be explained at the time.

This time, however, had been the most brutal.

Valiant, which Harry maintained was a stupid name for a bulldog, particularly one as mean-tempered as that one, had chased Harry up a tree when the child had accidentally trod on his tail.

Marge had refused to call the dog off, but it had found something more interesting to do around three in the afternoon, almost four hours after Harry had gone up the tree.

Three days later, just hours before Marge was expected to leave, Valiant's leash had somehow gotten tangled in the rear axle of a departing delivery car and been dragged, screaming for nearly three blocks before the driver realized that the horrid sound had been coming from his car.

Marge, who was as large as Vernon, had waddled as fast as she could, screaming at the driver to stop, face red with rage and tears, but it had been far too late. The dog's flesh had pretty much been stripped from its bones and it had needed to be put down.

Harry had, like everyone else, assumed that the whole incident had been an unfortunate and brutal accident.

The half-lidded gaze of Tarana, and the knowledge of exactly what she would do for him, painted the whole thing in a new light.

"When will he get here?" Vernon asked grudgingly.

"I am attempting to get him here the evening before Marge's arrival, to get everything in place for her."

Vernon grunted and went back to his breakfast, ordering Dudley to turn the telly back on.

Harry smiled into his dish. "Now we just have to get Mr. Malfoy to agree," he murmured into it.

Tarana hummed her agreement, and remained quiet for the rest of the meal, having riled up Vernon enough for both her satisfaction and Harry's safety.

XX

It took Archimedes three days to return with a reply from Malfoy Manor.

Two of them.

The first one Harry tore open eagerly because it had Draco's handwriting on the front of it.

XX

I don't know what you did, Potter, or whether I should be angry at you or not.

Muggles, Harry! MUGGLES!

Of all the times for your bloody relatives to allow you a proper social call and I have to spend a week with MUGGLES!

Do you have any idea what kind of fast-talking Fallen needed to do for this to happen?

See you in a few days,

Draco

XX

"Yes!" Harry cheered, throwing his hands into the air.

Tarana chuckled. "I take it Lucius agreed?"

Harry nodded, tearing into Lucius' letter, even though he already knew that it contained a positive answer.

Lucius's handwriting was nothing like Draco's. If possible, it was even stiffer, straighter (Harry had often thought that Draco's calligraphy-like handwriting was something unique to the blond pureblood) like he had drawn a line on the parchment and then erased it after the line was written,

Though Lucius was even more formal in his response than Harry had been in his request, it did boil down to him allowing Draco to visit Harry, under a series of provisions regarding Draco's contact with the Dursleys and would therein be under the Lord Potter's care, not the muggles.

"What does this mean?" Harry asked, showing the letter to Tarana. "The part about being under my care?"

"That though he may live beneath the roof of Vernon and Petunia, Draco will not be required to answer to any demand made of him. His care, well-being, and safety are all under your care." Tarana stretched. "Because you're underage and, theoretically, your care falls to me as your guardian, that essentially means that you and Draco both will be under my care and protection."

Harry blinked down at the letter, squinting as though that would make the message clearer in the large words and stiff voice.

"Will you help me reply to Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"You did just fine with the letter to him," Tarana pointed out.

Harry shrugged, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "You helped me with that," he countered, before mumbling, "I don't want to offend him. He makes me nervous."

Tarana chuckled. "You faced Voldemort with Yoko, a basilisk with Fallen and Severus, and Lucius Malfoy makes you nervous?"

Harry flushed.

"You're adorable, my cub," she told him, shaking her head. "I will help you."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

"Don't mumble," Tarana chastened gently. "Let's write out those letters of yours. The more homework you finish before his arrival, the less you will need to work on while he's here. Ah, and if you could ask Fallen to practice his Talent in that letter you're going to write Draco, I would appreciate it."

Harry flushed, having indeed planned to write Draco, even though Lucius was the only one who required an answer.

XX

Even before Lucius' answer, and permission, had arrived, it was a tense week leading up to Marge's visit.

Due to the short period of time that Lucius had been granted to come to a decision, it really did leave only a short timeframe between Draco's arrival and Marge's, coming to about twelve hours' difference, as Draco would be arriving the night before Marge's train was due to arrive.

Harry was tense because those twelve hours wouldn't be much time to introduce Draco to much of the muggle world and the things in it. Given his history with wizards coming into the muggle world (he still remembered the sheer embarrassment walking down a street in London with Hagrid had given him, even two years later), he was a little nervous about Draco's first interaction with muggle technology.

Tarana thought he was worrying too much about it. "You know him better than anyone, Harry," she told him during one of his fretful nights. "In what world has Draco ever allowed anyone to know or notice when he didn't understand something?"

Harry snorted into his pillow. "Never," he muttered into it. "He'd rather pretend either nothing was happening, or he'd known about it all along."

There were obvious exceptions, Harry knew, but for the most part, his friend had a good poker face and didn't let on that certain things upset or surprised him. Draco claimed that, other than his parents and godfather, only two people had better ones: Theodore Nott, a Slytherin that Draco had grown up with, and Harry himself, though Harry didn't understand why he thought his was better.

"And for what reason would he break that streak around muggles, who in his eyes are so much less than magic users?" Tarana asked.

"But they're not," Harry insisted. "And I just…I guess I want to show him that. How often am I going to get an opportunity to let him come to the muggle world?"

Tarana snorted into her paw because, honestly, they were lucky Lucius was even willing to give this to them.

According to Harry, who had fought against even writing the letter, Lucius had prevented Draco from joining Blaise and Harry at the Weasleys after Tarana's death the year before, because it was an action that Lucius would never have allowed prior to him stepping away from the Death Eaters, as small as the action had been given the Dark Lord had still been alive.

It probably didn't help that Lucius and Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, had the same kind of hate for one another that Tarana and Vernon did. The only time they had apparently ever been civil had been when Harry and Ron had gotten trapped on the far side of the barrier at King's Cross, which separated the muggle and wizarding platforms from one another.

Which, honestly, made the relationship between Lucius and Arthur better than the one between Vernon and Tarana, because they hadn't managed to agree to anything in over three years.

While Harry muttered lists of things he needed to do before Draco arrived and lists of things that he needed to remember while he was there, Tarana shook her head and wondered at what point her charge had developed this desire to impress Draco.

XX

The Dursley home was a modest size, having four bedrooms: Harry's, Dudley's, the master, and the guest.

Because Marge was most definitely her brother's sister and was therefore built like a house, there was no way, even if Vernon were willing, that the woman would have been able to share a room with anyone else in the house. (Given that the other two were underage teenage boys, it also would have been highly inappropriate, but that was neither here nor there.)

Vernon, likely at his wife's insistence, because as far as he was concerned, the 'other one' as he'd been referring to Draco all week, could sleep on the floor, had brought in the cot they kept in the, newly reclassified as of three years ago, cupboard under the stairs. (Reclassified, because, until a week before his eleventh birthday, it had been known as 'Harry's bedroom'.)

Tarana had allowed him this venting, because she was almost eager to see what Fallen would do to the man when, not if, the mortal said anything about his charge in the General's presence.

Harry, in another of his fretful nights, had told Tarana that he was going to take the cot, leaving Draco his more comfortable bed.

The cot was used when Dudley had friends over, and thus it was sunken in the middle from the weight of them, because all of Dudley's friends were as large and, as far as Harry was concerned, stupid as his cousin was.

It also had an odd odor on one side that Harry was desperately trying to get rid of before Fallen arrived, because there was no way the wolf wasn't a) going to smell it and b) comment on it.

Before Vernon could bring the cot in, of course, Tarana and Harry had spent an afternoon shoving furniture around to make room for it, and then an evening shoving it around again to try and find a space that wouldn't kill anyone who tried to navigate it.

Petunia, surprisingly all on her own, had gone shopping for dinner one afternoon and returned with fresh sheets for the cot, though getting them on it once they'd finally settled on a workable arrangement was another chore that Tarana left to Harry, as the room, already rather small with Tarana, Harry, and Hedwig all living in it, was now very, very cramped and looking to only get worse when Draco and Fallen arrived with at least one other trunk.

Tarana's bed had been moved into Harry's closet to make room, so, when they were finally satisfied with the arrangement, the two sat on Harry's bed and looked around.

Harry's school trunk had been pressed up against the wall, blocking the closet door, but most of Harry's clothes were in his dresser anyway so that wasn't much of a problem, then his desk had been pressed up as close to the trunk as possible, to allow Draco's to nudge up against the other side and still allow the door to swing open and shut.

Across from that configuration, the cot and Harry's bed had been pressed to either side of the room, up against the walls, while Harry's dresser was now wedged between them.

That had been a struggle, and it was only because the cot was collapsible that it had happened at all.

"Are you satisfied, little one?" Tarana asked him.

Harry nodded, before frowning. "I'm not little anymore, Tarana."

Tarana chuckled. "I could squish you with a little effort," she told him.

"Yeah, but you're like, the largest recorded panther in the world or whatever, I don't think that counts."

Tarana narrowed her eyes on him. "Are you calling me fat, Harry?"

Harry's eyes widened. "I didn't-yii"

Harry's squealing laughter only ended with Vernon roared up the stairs to stop making an unholy racket, he was trying to watch the news.

Given that Vernon likely wasn't going to get much of anything he wanted over the next few days, Tarana allowed him the silence.

XX

Petunia looked between Tarana and Harry, her hands clenched in her apron. "You don't have to, Harry," she tried to assure him. "Dinner will be-"

"But I want to," Harry insisted.

"It will be Draco's first night here, Harry, surely you'll want to-"

Harry shook his head. "It's gonna be the first home-cooked meal that isn't cooked by house elves. I want to make sure it's good." He flinched. "No offense, Aunt Petunia."

Petunia pursed her lips together

Tarana tilted her head. 'Harry,' she said gently. 'I need you to go into this remembering that Draco has been raised by a family that doesn't see muggles as all that useful. It may take more than a visit to your relatives to change that opinion. I don't want your feelings to be hurt if he takes some of this trip badly.'

Harry clenched his fists. "I want to try."

Tarana exhaled slowly out her nose and tried to remember if James had ever been this stubborn about anyth-oh.

She hung her head.

"Very well," she said, suddenly dreading the upcoming visit. "I suppose it can't hurt to try."

Potter men and their bloody crushes. She thought ruefully. Why can't they simply try something easy?

XX

Tarana was waiting in the shadows between a small convenience store and the apartment building next door, a couple of miles away from the Dursleys', when Fallen and Draco popped into existence.

The blond had gained an additional two or three inches and looked to quickly be taking after his father's long hair, the strands now settling around his ears and let loose, as opposed to the usual slicked-back look he had sported for the last two years of their acquaintance. His grey-blue eyes took in the alley with a distasteful sneer on his lips, turning his attention down to the red wolf at his side.

Fallen remained easily twice the size of a normal wolf, coming up to his charge's midsection. His red eyes gleamed in the fading sunlight of the afternoon, little though there was that made it between the two brick buildings around them. Unerringly, even as he was listening to Draco's, likely not pleasant, comments his eyes found Tarana in the shadows.

"Your Highness," Fallen greeted, voice cool and rumbling.

It wasn't simply Harry that had suffered under Tarana's decision to essentially commit suicide the year before. All of the then surviving Valerians had, but few had taken it as badly as Fallen, who by the end of it had faced challenge from every corner, including the Ministry, and stood alone when Yoko was attacked by the basilisk and left near death.

Still, he didn't let it stop him from appearing as loyal to her as he ever was, and as Tarana stepped out of the shadows, Fallen buckled a foreleg and lowered his head in what was all the Valerians in their new skins were able to manage to a bow.

Draco, to Tarana's surprise, bowed his head to her as well, a first for any of the current charges the Valerians protected.

"Thank you both for such a swift assist," Tarana told them.

Draco tilted his head and Tarana felt that the additional few months since she'd last seen him had done more than just grant him looks and height, it had granted him additional grace, which he hadn't been lacking beforehand either.

"I don't need to tell you that it's a blessing to be away from Mother, Your Highness," Draco told her.

Tarana gave him a tight smile. "No," she told him, "you don't."

Narcissa Malfoy was of the Black family line, a line that, like the Malfoys, had been bound to a Valerian. The Shade was not a traditional Valerian, however, and his Power had leaked down the Bond to the Black family, creating what had come to be known as the Black Madness, a degenerative mental illness that affected those of the Family, whether they were bonded to Ebony or not.

Beginning just after Draco's birth, Narcissa had begun to show signs of it, and it was, now, getting worse every year, to the point where the only thing keeping the woman from meeting a swift and painful end at Fallen's claws and fangs, was the fact that Lucius kept the two firmly apart for days after an episode between the mother and son.

"Still," Draco continued, as though he hadn't just reminded Tarana that while Blaise and Harry were each suffering, in different ways, from abuse at home, the blond wasn't immune either. "Perhaps now you can shed some light as to why you needed us?"

Tarana glanced at Fallen and he shrugged.

'Might as well, I suppose,' the wolf told her. 'He'll learn it from you, Harry, or myself shortly anyway.'

Tarana nodded. "You are not the only visitor coming to the Dursley home this week," she said. "Vernon's sister, Marge, is arriving in the morning."

Draco sneered. "I already don't like the muggles I'll be living with for the next week, why are you forcing another on me?"

"Because the alternative is me departing for the week and I won't hear of it," Tarana told him. "And not only because of what happened the last time I left to appease Vernon Dursley."

Fallen's lip peeled away, but he kept his obvious comment, and the growl that would have accompanied it, to himself.

"Marge has no knowledge of Harry's magic, or of my presence in the house, and part of my agreement with Vernon to continue housing Harry, is that no one knows myself, or in some cases, Harry, lives there. It usually isn't a problem, because any visitor is only there for a few hours and I can generally keep myself well hidden in their back garden. Marge, however, has a fondness for bulldogs, her brother, her nephew, and little else. She is very much aware that Harry lives there, but this will be her first visit where I am actively inside the house."

"How did you avoid the dogs in the past?" Fallen asked her, pinpointing her problem.

"By not being here," Tarana answered. "I would generally pass through every other day or so to ensure that Harry was well, her last visit, however, went rather…differently."

"Differently how?" Draco asked, crossing his arms and tapping a finger on his arm.

"I killed her dog," Tarana said bluntly.

Draco stared at her, having rather expected something a little less violent. "Did it attack you?" He shook his head. "No, it attacked Harry."

Tarana nodded. "Treed him like a cat," she said. "It broke away from him when I slipped onto the property, but he was inside and in Marge's care before I could actively get to him."

"And yet, you still managed to mangle the beast, I assume."

Tarana hummed. "I tied the fucking thing's leash to the axle of a car and let it drag the damn thing down the street."

Draco frowned. The wizarding world did have cars, even his family had one, though they really only used it to travel back and forth between London and Wiltshire for the train to and from Hogwarts, as it was less conspicuous and easier to use when it came to two trunks, four people, and a giant wolf. That didn't mean he knew anything about them. "Axle?"

"The portion of the car between two wheels that makes them spin simultaneously," Tarana told him. "It dragged the dog several blocks before the driver realized that he had it and stopped the car. It was alive when Marge got to the scene, screaming and crying about him."

Draco's already pale skin went a little paler. "Oh."

Fallen smirked. "Surely that's not the worst thing you've ever heard of happening, Draco," he teased. "You've been with us all long enough to know we're rather…brutal in our retaliation against those who hurt you."

"I always forget how much pleasure you take in doing it," Draco shot back. "I still don't see why you needed Fallen and me to be here for this visit. Couldn't you have simply holed up in his bedroom or something? Especially if the dog's dead now."

"She breeds them," Tarana replied. "I can very easily hide myself from the woman, but she hasn't arrived at the house yet without one of those bloody beasts and it doesn't appear that the incident from her last visit has turned her away from the tradition."

"And the dog will still know you're there," Fallen said. "I assume, based on the request through the boys, that you plan to have me Craft an illusion for the muggle and the dog?"

"On Marge, definitely," Tarana told him. "I figured that a house cat would explain any reactions the dog had to me. There is a minor snag we may all have, however."

Draco blinked, startled at the inclusion.

"As you're aware, the Dursleys don't find Harry all that pleasant a house guest. They put up with him, however, due to the threat I pose to them. Marge doesn't have that warning, and no amount of my Walking in her dreams has convinced her to be kind, or even kinder, to him. She has opinions. A great deal of them. And she shares them with Harry."

Draco's fists clenched and he glared down at Fallen. "And I'm supposed to put up with the muggles?" he asked the wolf. "Especially one that is going to willfully badmouth my friend, likely in my earshot?"

"And his parents," Tarana added. "She seems to have a rather unhealthy opinion of Lily in particular. And yes, I expect you both to try and keep your tongues, but only with her. I will be reminding Vernon and Petunia both that they are responsible for keeping Marge from speaking ill about Harry, but Vernon has been becoming increasingly less and less receptive to my 'requests', as well as those of his wife. I imagine we'll be doing a great deal of damage control there, as I have done for years."

"And how does Harry feel about what Fallen and I might hear?" Draco asked. "I can't imagine he's best pleased with it."

"Honestly?" Tarana asked. "I don't think it's occurred to him. He's been so focused on the fact that we've managed to negotiate your visit that he isn't thinking about what might happen during it. There has also been the redecorating to distract him."

"For me?"

"For both of you. The Dursleys have a four-bedroom home. Three of them belong to those that live there and one guest. Marge will take the guest room and, to keep you off the couch, Draco, we put you up in Harry's room. It is, however, the smallest of the four bedrooms and we needed to move some furniture to make room for the cot and your trunk."

"I assume you know that you'll need to keep your opinions on the state of your lodgings from your hosts, Draco?" Fallen said, turning his head to look at his charge.

Draco's expression said a great deal and not much of it was nice.

"You're asking me to keep my hatred of muggles from muggles, but not just any muggles, those that emotionally abuse my best friend," Draco told Fallen, making sure the wolf knew what he was asking his charge to do. What he was asking him to ignore.

'And if all goes well,' Fallen added, sounding not much more pleased about it, 'we can negotiate more visits that aren't so strictly regimented. Besides, you are your father's son. I'm sure you can come up with something that is wonderfully confusing.'

Draco's smile was mostly teeth.

XX

Introductions with Draco went about as well as one could expect.

Harry was excited to see his friend, both because he was the first friend that the Dursleys had ever allowed in the house and because it was Draco.

Despite appearances to the contrary, he and Draco had been close nearly from the moment they'd met in the wizarding market, Diagon Alley.

Harry had stuck with his friend through their other friends' hatred and distrust regarding both Draco himself and his godfather, the Potions professor at Hogwarts, who while being a rather intimidating and, in some cases, downright cruel teacher, was still one of the few who took the children seriously when they came across something weird, while also doing his best to protect them from whatever it was they had suddenly decided to investigate.

Draco, in turn, had been with Harry through the mercurial moods of their fellow students, Harry's discomfort with the fame he held in the wizarding world, and through Harry's own rather mercurial moods as he dealt with Tarana's death the year before.

While Draco remained entirely polite with the Dursleys, anyone who took the time to know him well could recognize the signs of him 'spinning yarn', and could tell the disdain he held for these people, these muggles, for what it was.

Despite being one of the first to recognize these signs in his charge, Fallen didn't immediately reprimand Draco, because he wasn't paying attention to him.

The moment Tarana and Fallen had slipped into the house through the back door, the muggle boy, Dudley, had made a sound, not unlike a stepped-on mouse, and fled up the stairs.

Fallen watched him flee and tilted his head at the sound of a door slamming closed above them.

Through narrowed eyes, he glanced at his Queen.

'How well are the modified memories holding in the family?' he asked her.

Tarana blinked. 'Neither Dudley nor Vernon appears to remember anything regarding that night, especially not my death. Why do you ask?'

Fallen didn't answer, instead, turning his full attention back to the stairs for a moment decided he simply didn't care, then turned to look at Draco and frowned.

Draco was, by outward appearance, laying on the thanks and goodwill in spades for the Dursleys. His right hand, however, was tapping an unsteady rhythm on his thigh and some of his syllables were marred by a subconscious sneer, wiped away swiftly with the next.

His eyes, however, were glacial ice, hiding none of the hatred and disdain he felt for this family.

And Harry, hovering nearby and watching, hands wringing together nervously and shoulders hunching further and further toward his ears, saw every tell.

Tarana's lip curled beside Fallen.

'Draco,' Fallen snapped sharply, causing the teen to turn away from the muggles and look at his guardian. Fallen dragged his gaze to Harry, but Draco didn't follow it.

"I know," Draco admitted, apparently having already noticed his friend's decreased excitement and behavior. "I just…he doesn't talk about his family much, but I remember enough of what he's let slip. It's not just that they're muggles, it's that…."

'They treat your friend like shit,' Fallen finished. 'And it's a sentiment that I share wholeheartedly. Regardless, watch yourself. If anyone is going to pick up on the subtleties of your dislike, it will be Harry.'

Draco clenched a fist, out of view of the Dursleys.

Draco knew most of Harry's own tells, better than any of their other friends, and, in some cases, even better than Tarana did.

The same could be said of Harry in reverse, however, and honestly, Draco had almost hoped that Harry would recognize that Draco hated his family.

'He's not a mind reader, Dragon,' Fallen told him. 'He reads your hate and your distrust, but he doesn't know why you're feeling that way. For now, keep it to yourself.'

"I'll do better," Draco assured him.

Harry, glancing between Fallen and Draco, quickly squared his shoulders. "Come on, Draco, I'll show you my room." He said, glancing over his shoulder at his aunt.

Petunia's face was pinched, likely having recognized the signs of Fallen and Draco's private telepathic communication, but she gave him a tense smile and nodded.

XX

"Sorry, it's so cramped," Harry said, opening the door and letting Draco and Fallen step in ahead of him. "No one ever wants to share with Aunt Marge when she comes to visit though, not even her dogs."

Fallen eyed the room, taking in the minor changes that it had undergone since his last, brief, stay.

After feeling Tarana die the year before, he had run four days to the Dursley home and broken the door down to get to Harry, which was how he had originally met the muggle child that lived there. Fallen had been the first creature to offer Harry any semblance of comfort to Harry after Tarana's death, and had remained at the Dursleys for nearly sixteen hours before he and Harry had been retrieved by the Weasley twins, Fred and George, and Ron, in a plan cooked up by Draco and Ron to get Harry out of the house and into the hands of someone who would comfort him.

Considering at the time Draco had contacted Ron at the Burrow, Fallen had already left the Manor and hadn't had contact with any of them, it said a great deal about the still-growing bond between Harry and Draco that the blond had known what Harry was going to need before even laying eyes on him.

Draco, who hadn't seen what the room looked like before shoving more furniture into it, could only see the cramped quarters that the supposed savior of the wizarding world was living in.

"I suppose it's better than the cupboard," he muttered darkly to Fallen.

Before Fallen could answer, Draco had dropped his, much smaller trunk than the one Harry had on his 'half' of the room, and turned to look at Harry where he leaned against the, now closed, door and watched Draco.

"How much homework do you have left to finish?" he asked the brunette. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, Harry, but I don't know how long I can put up with those muggles downstairs given what I know they've done to you."

Harry gave him a half-smile, though it brightened his whole face as it hadn't been since Draco had knocked on the front door twenty minutes earlier. "Tarana's made sure I work on at least one a week. I've only got History of Magic left to finish and I started it yesterday."

"Well perhaps if you hadn't left the most boring essay for last…." Tarana drawled from the foot of the cot, where she'd made herself comfortable.

Harry ignored her. "You?"

"Finished," Draco told him. "Father insisted that all my work be finished before I left, or I wouldn't be allowed to come."

Fallen buried a smirk by finding a mysterious itch that had suddenly taken hold in his shoulder and gnawing at it.

Lucius' logic had been that the muggle home Draco was visiting would hold too many distractions for his son to complete them to his, rather rigorous, standards.

Fallen's logic was that Draco would be too distracted by having unfettered access to Harry outside of a school setting to complete them at all.

Fallen dug deeper into his fur and growled.

This muggle hovel better not have fleas.

XX

All too soon, Harry and Draco were sitting on either side of Harry's bed and swapping stories of things that they couldn't share via owl.

That conversation lasted until Petunia shouted up the stairs for Harry to come down and help with supper.

Draco scowled at the door. "You're required to cook? Don't you have guests?"

Harry flushed, slipped off the bed, and darted out the door without looking at anyone else in the room.

Tarana waited until she heard Harry mumbling to Petunia as he joined her in the kitchen, before turning cool blue eyes on Draco as he was getting to his feet and fixing the state of his clothes.

"Harry volunteered to help with dinner, Draco. He is aware that most of your meals are cooked by house elves and wanted to make sure you enjoyed this one. I do not often allow him in the kitchen, but Harry can cook, and he does so very well, especially when guided by Petunia's more practiced hand."

Draco grimaced. "Sorry."

"I am not the one you need to apologize to," Tarana pointed out, jumping off the bed and arching her back.

That cot was seriously uncomfortable.

"Come, if you stay out of the way you can both come down and watch," she said, leading them back down to the kitchen.

XX

Given the size of the kitchen, it would have been quickly obvious that it was in Draco and Fallen's best interest to stay out of the way to avoid harm to either Harry or Petunia, let alone anyone who might get cut, stepped on, or come into contact with something hot.

Harry glanced up at their entrance, but other than flushing and ducking his head, kept his focus on his aunt's instruction.

Draco, for his part, watched as a meal slowly came together as the two cooks chopped, fried, and stirred.

In just a few minutes, the smell that permeated the kitchen made him rest his elbows on the table and lean into it.

He was surprised, given that it had been, mostly, made by a muggle.

"That smells delightful, Mrs. Dursley," he commented, keeping the second half of his comment to himself. "Our family's servants don't create such wonderful smells quite so easily."

Harry flushed again, causing Tarana to smirk.

The panther shook her head and wiped it off her face when Fallen nudged her for an explanation.

Petunia, who had no more caught that Draco's surprise was more at the fact that she had made it than she had his distaste of her and her husband earlier, turned to him with a surprisingly pleased smile.

"Thank you, Draco," she told him. "Harry, let this simmer for a moment. Go fetch the good china."

Harry wiped his hands on a towel with a perplexed look on his face. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said. He didn't ask questions, though it was clear he wanted to.

Tarana buried her muzzle in her paws to hide her amusement.

'What is wrong with you?' Fallen asked her, shaking his head.

'Petunia's 'good china' doesn't see the light of day for anything less than one of Vernon's business meetings. Marge hasn't seen the good china and I suspect she may have bought it as a wedding gift.'

Fallen blinked, before a truly deviant smirk crossed his lips and he snickered.

'I suppose the boy is rather good if he's won over such a hateful shrew so easily,' he commented wryly.

Tarana snickered.

XX

Dinner could have turned out worse.

Draco continued his 'polite' façade with the family, complimenting Petunia's food and housekeeping, gardening, and decorating, while injected compliments on Vernon's clear business sense to have kept the family in 'such extravagance'.

Whether it was because he had spent most of the evening in the kitchen with them, Harry and the Valerians noticed that Draco was less casually biting with Petunia than he was with Vernon.

Thankfully, the Dursley patriarch took Draco's words more at face value than with any of the intent that Draco put behind them, and he never noticed the subtle sarcasm or the biting wit Draco leveled him with.

There had only been a single moment during the conversation with Vernon that Draco had nearly broken script.

The young wizard had made a comment on the wealth of the Dursleys and Vernon had made a more biting one in return regarding the extent of the Malfoy's own, something along the lines of one of 'his kind' not knowing much about true wealth.

Draco's lip had curled, and it was clear to more than one person at the table that he wasn't going to be nearly as polite with what came out of his mouth next as he had been all evening.

'Draco,' Fallen reprimanded silently. 'Simply because you have been Sorted into the Gryffindor House, does not mean that I excuse you to act like one. Keep your goal in your head and keep your cool. This muggle is not worth the words on your tongue.'

Draco's expression had flattened out and he'd turned his attention back to Petunia.

Tarana filed the comment regarding the Malfoys away for further use, however.

Draco may be too young to toy with Vernon, but she had been doing so for the last three years.

XX

The problem, when it came, didn't come from Draco as Fallen had assumed.

It came from himself.

Once the dinner dishes had been put away and dessert had been brought to the table, Vernon turned his attention to Fallen, lying by Draco's chair.

Tarana, personally, blamed the words that came out of his mouth on the multiple glasses of wine he'd imbued since noticing that Petunia had brought out the 'good china' for Draco.

"So what parlor tricks are you capable of that'll hide her from Marge?" Vernon asked, face a ruddy red from the wine.

Fallen went very still and raised red eyes to the muggle. "Parlor trick?" he murmured coolly. "Since you asked so nicely, Dursley, let me give you a taste of what parlor trick, I am capable of."

With no thought to the three children that sat at the table, the world around them swam out of view and Dudley screamed, shoving himself off the chair he now couldn't see, to avoid being bisected by a longsword as it came down on where he'd been.

Where the kitchen had once been, they now sat/stood in the middle of a very realistic medieval battlefield, complete with the gore and screams that one would find there.

Before anyone could truly work themselves into a frenzy, Fallen released the illusion.

Fallen sneered, having not moved from Draco's side, the blond having merely leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

If he couldn't mess with the Dursleys, then he'd at least enjoy it when Fallen did.

"I think," the wolf rumbled. "That you should remember something going forward this week. I am old enough not to need the patience that Draco has in dealing with your bigotry and far less kind in doing so than my Queen. I am Fallen, Valerian General of the Collective and Master Illusionist. Tell me, Dursley, do my 'parlor tricks' suffice to suit your need?"

Vernon, who had nearly been stabbed before Fallen had released the vision, was pale and shaking as he carefully set himself back into his seat. "I-it'll do." He muttered, raising his shaking teacup to his lips.

Draco slotted his eyes in Fallen's direction. "Why do you get to terrify and harass the muggles and I can't?"

Fallen didn't rise to the bait. 'Do as I say and not as I do, Draco,' he told the teen. 'I'm an adult many times over and can decide when such a situation calls for that sort of action.'

Draco snorted quietly, before picking up his fork and stabbing, rather viciously, at the cake before him.

Harry, though he was a little pale given the bloody and horrifying nature of the illusion that Fallen had chosen to Craft, took his cue from Draco and likewise returned to his cake.

Of the three Dursleys, however, only Dudley managed to regain his appetite.

XX

Given the long day they'd had, the children are sent to bed early, though none of the adults are all that convinced that any of them will actually be sleeping.

Tarana and Fallen sat before the television while Vernon and Petunia perched themselves, with varying degrees of discomfort, on armchairs.

"I want it very clear right off the bat, Dursley, that Marge's days of insulting the Potters, no matter which of them happens to be her target of choice that day, are over. If you don't put an end to it, I will."

Fallen hummed lazily. "By all means, Your Highness, allow me the honor. Given what the Potters have done for wizarding society, it would be a pleasure to retaliate on the behalf of the entire wizarding world."

Petunia fidgeted, clearly wanting to ask, but a glance at her husband made her duck her head and remain silent.

"So long as the boy keeps up his part. No one knows he's been going to your school. They think he's been going to St. Brutus' and he'll keep that illusion." Vernon said sharply.

'St. Brutus'?'

'A local school for supposedly incurably criminal boys.'

"That won't work," Fallen sneered. "Not only is Harry simply too soft to be attending a school of that nature, Draco would never be able to pass as an attendant, either." His lip peeled away from his fangs and he met Vernon's gaze with all the chill he ever afforded muggles. "I'd also point out to you both, that to imply a child, any child, though particularly one of wizarding ancestry, to be incurably criminal says much more about you than it does about the children you're implying it about."

Vernon flushed.

"If I may, Your Highness, perhaps keeping it simple? A boarding school paid for by the Potter family should be more than enough information. I will leave it up to you," Fallen sneered in the Dursleys' direction, "to figure out how to fix whatever image you've crafted of Harry in your sister's eyes."

Vernon's face was purple, more with rage than with wine this time, as Fallen had rather neatly pulled the conversation from his grasp.

"And no funny business from any of you lot," he snapped.

"Of course," Tarana injected before Fallen could reply.

'You would allow him to dictate what you can and cannot do, Your Highness?' Fallen sneered.

'I will remind you that this is their home, General. The home that Harry must return to in the future. A week of minor inconvenience is something we can afford.'

Fallen's sneer deepened and he turned away from her. 'You've let them make you less than what you are, Tarana.' He growled. 'Are you not the Queen of Valeria?'

'I am also the guardian of Harry Potter, Fallen,' Tarana sharply countered. 'And that is a job I take equally as serious as I did sitting on that throne.'

Fallen snorted, clearly having much to say about that comment, but Tarana let it go.

Now wasn't the time.

XX

The Valerians arrived after they met with Petunia and Vernon, to Draco helping Harry with his History of Magic essay.

Fallen immediately put an end to that, causing a snit between the wolf and his charge, in which Draco tried to explain that he had nothing else to entertain himself with while Harry did the work, that only ended when Harry got sharply to his feet.

"Here," he said, tossing their Potions textbook from the year before at Draco. "Read this."

Draco's lip curled at it. "I've already read it, Potter. You were there."

"Read it again," Harry insisted. "They're not gonna-"

"Going to," Tarana corrected.

"Going to let you give me the answers," Harry said without missing a beat, "and I want to finish it before Aunt Marge arrives tomorrow. You already don't like the Dursleys and it won't get any better when she gets here."

Draco flipped idly through the book before pausing on one of the ones he'd found interesting the year before. "Why do you call her that?"

"What?"

"Aunt. She's not your aunt."

Harry shrugged. "I guess it's a habit. She's been Aunt Marge for as long as I can remember. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made me call her that, respect or something, and I just always have."

Draco scoffed quietly. "Respect. As though they know anything about respect the way they treat you."

Harry hunched his shoulders and stayed focused on his essay.

XX

At some point during the night, Fallen and Tarana had left the cramped quarters of Harry's bedroom and camped out in the living room, which left Harry to wake Draco in time for breakfast.

They were stopped at the stairs when Vernon stopped to level a finger of warning at the two Valerians, stretched out across the living room floor.

"She better be gone by the time we get back," he snapped.

Fallen and Tarana, however, were too focused on the television to respond and Vernon stomped out of the house, muttering dark things under his breath.

The Gryffindors, wondering what had caught Tarana and Fallen's attention on a muggle television program, stepped into the room to investigate.

It was a news report on an escaped convict, Sirius Black.

A picture of the man, with a gaunt face surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle and mad gray eyes, was flashing off the screen as the anchor returned.

"The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sightings of Black should be reported immediately."

Petunia, who had come to stand in the doorway of the lounge and the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron was pale and frozen.

"I'm surprised the muggle news is reporting about it," Draco said, crossing his arms and eyeing the television like it was going to bite him.

Dudley, sitting on the couch and eating a bowl of cereal, milk drooling down his chin, turned to look up at the blond at the same time Harry did.

"What?"

Draco gave Harry a mirthless smile. "Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban three days ago. The first-ever."

Harry turned to look at the television again, but the news had moved on to another segment.

"So, he's-"

Draco shrugged. "Probably the most wanted man in Britain." He said.

"What the hell did he do?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Doesn't matter," Fallen commented absently. "Free of Azkaban prison and back into contact with his Bonded, the odds of anyone finding Black are slim."

"Bonded?" Draco and Harry echoed.

Fallen gave Draco a narrow-eyed glare. "Sirius Black. Your mother's cousin, Draco, do keep up. Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Draco's cheeks tinged an unflattering pink at the reminder. "He's Ebony's Bonded, right? The Valerian Shade?"

"Yes," Fallen said, turning back to the television as though it would bring the picture of Black back to it. "If any of you run into either of them, whether there's another Valerian around or not, you use those Christmas gifts from Arcana. Don't run, activate them, and go."

Draco and Harry exchange worried looks and look to Tarana for either more information or a counter that the two aren't that bad, but Tarana is lost in thought.

The Queen is too busy wondering what the return of her Blood Kin could mean for the future to pay even the slightest attention to the conversation happening around her and it rolled right over her.

Petunia had her hands twisted so hard in her apron that they hurt as she looked at the Queen, wondering how much she should fear the man that she'd only met once, at her sister's wedding, but had left a lasting impression on her.

XX

There were always moments where Dudley and Harry forgot their usual animosity living as the only children in a house of adults.

None, however, were ever as powerful as those moments when Marge stepped foot inside the house.

For all that Dudley was Marge's favorite relative, likely because she never had children and Dudley was the closest she'd ever gotten, he hated the fawning he was required to put up with, and only did so because he was rewarded for it in some manner.

At thirteen, he had started demanding cash for putting up with unpleasant things he didn't like.

Harry, for his part, was treated even less kindly by Marge than he ever had been by his actual aunt and uncle, and he had only put up with it because the-then-voice had always insisted on being the better person and treating adults with respect, whether they deserved it or not.

Marge was clearly her brother's sister, large, beefy, and currently purple-faced after the train ride and subsequent walk up the drive. She even had a mustache, though it wasn't nearly as bushy as Vernon's.

Though she ignored Harry almost entirely, she still managed to know that it was he who had opened the door, because she shoved the large suitcase she carried into his stomach hard enough that the Valerians both had to have heard his lungs forcefully exhale.

There was a low bass growl from the living room and Harry ducked his head, embarrassed.

Marge didn't care about anything beyond Dudley.

"Where's my Dudders?" the large woman roared. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

Dudley stepped out of the living room, blond hair plastered down to his head and a bow tie just visible under his many chins, and was immediately drawn into a one-armed hug and wet, lipstick sticky kisses that were more drool than saliva was pressed to each of his cheeks. Multiple times.

Either Harry was too close, or he had been jostled by the abrupt movement of Marge's hug, but there was a low growl from under Marge's other arm, drawing attention to the old and foul-tempered bulldog there.

Harry felt further dread build in his stomach, all the good feelings of having Draco around leaving him.

Ripper was the evilest and foulest of all the bulldogs that Marge had ever brought with her to the Dursley's home.

Draco stepped into the hall as Marge moved on to greet a tense Petunia, a sneer already on his lips and she'd barely been in the house for two minutes.

Harry dropped the suitcase to the ground and grabbed his friend tightly by the forearm.

"Not worth it," he mumbled under his breath.

If anything, the comment seemed to incense Draco more.

"We will be having words, Potter," Draco growled.

Both teens' masks dropped down as Marge, drawn by their quiet exchange, turned to Draco, still ignoring Harry (which, honestly, worked best for all parties, because who knew what would happen when Marge opened her mouth).

"Friend of yours, Dudders?" she asked, hefting Ripper higher into her arm and giving the teen a once over.

Draco's lip twitched as he gave her one in return, the only sign of his disgust and discomfort of being in her presence in the first place.

Fallen stepped out behind Petunia, currently out of sight of Marge, just as Vernon was stepping into the house and closing the door behind him.

The man looked around, before landing on the small cat half-hidden by Fallen's larger bulk.

The black cat was large, nearly as large as Ripper was, but it wasn't a panther, so Vernon pasted a smile on his face.

"-clearly from good breeding stock, though you look like you could use a good few meals."

"He's actually a friend of Harry's, Marge," Petunia injected quickly, glancing at her husband, who scowled before the tense smile was back.

Marge's eyes narrowed. "That so?" she asked, tone far cooler now than it had been. "You go to that school too?"

She was oblivious to Ripper's quivering in her arms because Fallen was approaching, head and body low as though he was hunting, a low growl echoing from him.

"Which school are you referring to?" Draco asked, the challenge in his tone causing goose pimples to run up and down Harry's arms and he tightened his grip on Draco's arm.

"They go to a private school together, Marge," Vernon interrupted, sensing the growing violence in the air and, with a tense smile on his face, put a hand on her shoulder and urged her to turn into the kitchen. "Tea? What'll Ripper take?"

Harry sagged once the door swung shut and Fallen's illusion rippled as Tarana pressed her head to Harry's hand.

'Alright, little one?' she asked uselessly.

"I hate her," Harry whispered.

"Can't say I blame you," Draco sneered, watching the door. "Seems like a right piece of work."

'Only a week,' Tarana reminded them all.

'Give me that suitcase, Potter,' Fallen rumbled.

Harry clenched a fist on the handle for half a second, not sure he trusted that Fallen wouldn't shove it through the doors to snap Marge's neck 'by accident'.

Fallen rolled his eyes and put a paw on the suitcase, which suddenly felt too light.

Harry blinked down at it and lifted it with one hand, despite how heavy it had been moments before.

'Your magic is harder for us to manipulate,' Fallen sniffed, 'but not impossible.'

Harry smiled weakly at him, before hefting it up and carrying it up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

Tarana followed but shook her head when Fallen and Draco made to do so as well.

"Harry?" Tarana murmured.

She didn't need to read his emotions to have seen the dread that had suddenly hammered him in the hall.

"He's going to see everything, isn't he?" Harry whispered, staring at Marge's suitcase. "I mean, I knew when we asked him to come that he was going to see some things, but…."

"Do you think that Draco will suddenly think less of you because he sees it?"

Harry glanced at the panther, Fallen's illusion lost so far from him.

"Harry, he has known that the Dursleys don't treat you properly from the moment you two met in Diagon Alley. You can't think that the little things you've mentioned over the years have gone unnoticed. This is Draco."

Harry swallowed. "I know that," he murmured, face flushed. "I just…I didn't want anyone to know, let alone…let alone Draco. You weren't there, the night of Nick's party. He would never let someone talk to them the way she does-"

"First of all, you are not Draco," Tarana said. "Second, if you had ever spoken to Marge the way that I imagine Draco had at the time you're referring to, Vernon would have belted you across the face before I could have stopped him, though I assure you he would only have ever done so once, and you've known that your whole life. No words are worth the risk of someone laying their hands on you, Harry, because I will kill anyone who does."

Harry knelt and wrapped his arms around the panther's neck. "I like having you around."

"And I like being around," Tarana told him. "Perhaps you can wait to piss off the Dursleys until there's somewhere else for us to go?"

Harry huffed a laugh into her neck. "I'll try if you do."

Tarana gave a very put-upon sigh as she lay her head on Harry's shoulder. "If I must," she said.

XX

They were put to the test almost immediately.

No sooner had Harry sat down at the table, perhaps a little closer to Draco than was strictly necessary, but he didn't want to take the risk of Draco losing his temper this early in the week.

If the last year had taught Harry anything, it was that Draco was overprotective and he had a rather sharp tongue when magic wasn't an option.

For the moment, Draco's attention was on the bulldog making a mess of Petunia's pristine floor in the corner.

Ripper's attention was quickly on Harry, the bulldog lifting his head to growl at him, sending even more flecks of drool and tea on the floor.

Harry flinched before Marge ever turned her attention to him and Draco pressed closer to him in response.

The blond clenched a fist on his knee as Marge's attention turned on Harry.

"So!" she barked, narrowing her eyes on Harry. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes," Harry said evenly, knowing Marge hated when he mumbled.

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," Marge growled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."

Harry's lips were white they were pressed together so tightly.

"Where would you find the time to raise a child?" Draco asked, tone sickly sweet. "With all the dogs you raise, after all?"

"So, who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Vernon asked quickly, throwing a dark glare at Draco who only raised his chin in defiance.

Marge took a moment, staring at Draco as though trying to parse the insult to herself from his words only for Draco to maintain an apathetic expression.

"I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," she said, turning away from Draco to look at her brother. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do."

Harry exhaled shakily and Draco pressed his leg against Harry's.

Dudley looked at the two of them over his plate, before fixing his attention on his lunch again.

As soon as he was through, he pushed away from the table, looked at his mother, and asked if they could be excused.

Harry and Draco raised their heads from their own plates and glanced at the muggle teen.

Petunia gave her son a strained smile. "Of course," she said. "Children don't want to hang around us adults all the time."

Marge huffed, narrowing her eyes on Harry. "Should take after Dudley, boy," she snapped sharply. "See those manners, the boy was raised with manners."

Tarana rumbled low, threatening, and very much not like a house cat.

Petunia quickly flushed.

The popular opinion of the Queen's was that Dudley and Harry only had manners because of Tarana.

She wasn't wrong, as Petunia had ignored her nephew for most of his life and spoiled Dudley for the same time period. Only when Tarana and Harry had returned from Harry's first year at Hogwarts, did the panther force the Dursleys to split Harry's then extensive chore list, between the two children of the residence.

Draco pushed sharply away from the table and, ignoring Vernon and Marge both, bowed his head to Petunia.

"Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Dursley. It was lovely as usual."

Harry ducked his head and followed his friend out of the room.

Tarana tilted her head to get a read of Harry's expression and found him with a smile on his lips.

Likely catching Tarana's gaze, Harry shrugged and mouthed 'Snape' to the panther, but the comment didn't make a lick of sense to the panther and she shook her head, still confused.

XX

For the following week, Harry took great pains to keep Marge, Fallen, and Draco apart from one another, with continuous help from Tarana.

As Tarana had predicted, Marge, lover of all things dog, fell in love with Fallen's genes and had believed him to be a wolfhound hybrid, with predominantly wolf genes. With Fallen's supposed placid personality, Marge had pressed on Draco the importance of passing on his genes.

Draco, even before Marge had brought this argument to him, had disliked the woman, and her insistence on the 'foolishness' of Draco and his father for keeping Fallen, and his genes, contained to the wolf alone, was only making things worse for both human and wolf.

The pureblood, for his part, was on a never still see-saw regarding his impression of muggles. Sometimes, he would appear to be in their favor, usually when he was around Petunia and her cooking, but more often than not it was in their disfavor.

For all that Harry managed to keep himself and his friends and guardian away from Marge, did have another problem.

For some reason, Dudley, for all his normal fear of wizards and magic, like with Tarana, had in some way found himself attached to Draco and was continuously trying to figure out what it was that the clearly high-class wizard saw in his obviously low-born cousin.

With the three teens struggling to stay away from the adults in the house as often as possible, it occasionally put them in close contact, usually as they all escaped the house together and, oblivious to Fallen and Draco's views on muggles, Dudley had tried to paint himself in a better light, by telling Draco many of the embarrassing stories about Harry.

Stories like he and his friends chasing Harry around school.

Like throwing his homework in the trash and forcing Harry to dig through it or risk a zero for marks.

Like shoving his much smaller cousin into his mother's washer and slamming the door closed.

Stories that Harry would never have wanted to see the light of day, let alone someone as influential and powerful as Draco would one day become.

The first time that Dudley had shared one such story, Harry had managed to play it off despite his clear discomfort.

By the third day, Tarana had found Harry behind the Dursley's shed, clearly trying to put himself back together and he refused to speak with her about what was bothering him, instead telling her that more than enough of his childhood had been revealed and he wasn't looking to reveal any more, thank you.

Draco showed neither interest in the stories Dudley shared, nor did he go out of his way to avoid hearing them, listening with interest while the other, dirtier, blond shared them.

It was likely this behavior that was causing serious discord between the two young wizards, which in turn was causing the two Valerians to worry.

Fallen was aware, as he was more tightly linked to Draco than Tarana or Harry due to the Bond, that Draco was hoarding this information not to use on Harry, but to use against the Dursleys, Dudley in particular. It was likewise angering Draco because much of the behavior that Dudley had concerning his cousin, were things that Draco was very much guilty of doing as a young child, before meeting and forcing himself to change to befriend Harry. The complex mix of guilt and rage kept Draco still as he listened to Dudley speak so easily of bullying his cousin, one of Draco's closest friends.

Fallen and Tarana had, on more than one occasion, found that Draco and Harry were uniquely observant to one another, almost to a supernatural degree, and often picked up on cues and needs before even their Bonded did.

The year before, Fallen and Yoko had even used that bond to figure out what it was that Harry was going to need from them, by following Draco's lead as they dealt with the grieving child who hid his emotions far better than most pureblood adults.

In this one week, however, Fallen and Tarana were each noticing the fracture between Harry and Draco and neither could figure out how the other was missing it in their friend.

Harry kept his feelings tightly locked down and, for the most part, didn't appear bothered until Draco and Dudley were once more in close contact with one another and Draco was hearing another of his embarrassing childhood moments.

When the two wizards managed to escape the house without Dudley, Harry eagerly introduced Draco to the things that muggles used to replace magic. Much of what he was introduced to confused and intrigued Draco, while other things irritated him with the complexity of them.

Their favorite thing, however, was quickly turning out to be going down to the park a few blocks from Privet Drive and throwing a baseball back and forth between them.

It was a simple, physical, act that allowed them easy conversation, except, much to the frustration of the Valerians, the things that mattered.

And thus, they were brought to the last day of Marge's stay.

XX

Hidden deep within the Moors of England, there was a section of said Moors that had been hidden from the eyes of muggles by magic unseen in the rest of the world.

The very earth itself seemed to rise-up and hide the Moors from the view of outsiders, twisting and churning water and path until the seeker could be lost for days before finding their way back out again.

Within this section of the Moors, was what the wizarding world called the Mansion of the Moors, home of the Ancient and Noble House of Zabini, a House that had only returned to England in the last few years, having spent a considerable amount of time in Italy, where the late matriarch of the family had married.

And married.

And married.

Delia Zabini had had no less than eight husbands, seven of which died while married to her under mysterious or illness-induced circumstances.

With all her husbands, however, she only had a single child, a son, Blaise.

Her seventh husband's death opened that child up to a painful situation when the tables were turned. Desmond, the eighth and surviving husband, took his wife's surname and, therein, inherited her family, and all that it entailed. The rumor of the social scene was that Desmond had turned the tables on his wife and killed her, though there was obviously no proof of that.

Desmond, nearly as soon as Delia was out of the picture, took out his aggression on Blaise, creating a series of circumstances where Blaise's Bonded Valerian, the Assassin Yoko, couldn't get to him to protect him when Desmond physically went after his charge.

Yoko was, hands down, the most dangerous thing in the Moors.

In the Mansion, however, that title went to Desmond.

With poor Blaise stuck in the middle.

XX

Blaise was running.

Sports and exercise weren't exactly his strong suit normally, let alone when he can barely feel his ankle, his arms were going numb, and his shoulders strained with the weight of his burden.

Behind him, there was a familiar, and seriously unwelcome voice given that the Moors had always been one of his safe places, the place he went with Yoko when things at home reached an all-time dangerous high.

"You're rather foolish, boy, to try and outrun a wolf."

Blaise panted, stumbling slightly over his own feet.

"You know I run down faster and more versatile prey. You've seen me run down your precious guardian. What kind of fool tries to outrun the inevitable?"

Blaise was very aware that Dark and his Thrall were behind him and, given enough time, would catch him.

The fact of the matter was, however, that the Moors were still his and Yoko's domain.

There was no one currently alive who knew them better than they did, and Blaise was damn well going to use that.

"Just a little longer, please, just hang in there a little longer. We're almost to the Line."

Perhaps because he was too busy focusing on the blood-covered bundle in his arms, Blaise felt his foot catch a raise in the ground and with a cry of alarm, lost his grip on the blanket.

With a heart-stopping splash, the blanket slipped into the algae-filled water and, immediately soaking up the water, began to sink.

"No, no, no, no," he whimpered, scrambling forward on his hands and knees, immediately striking clumsily through the water.

He ignored the chuckling black wolf as he and his Thrall stepped out of the fog.

Clutching the sopping, blood-covered bundle to his chest, Blaise glanced around the pool before using one arm to pin his treasure to his chest and the other to pull himself away from the edge where Dark paced the shore.

"Where do you plan to go, mortal? Where else do you plan to run? Too far from the rest of his precious Kin for them to be of any use to you. It would be far easier to simply give in. Bring him back, little mortal. Let us finish the conversation we were having before he so rudely went and tried to die on me."

Blaise felt the tingling in his fingers first and with another few clumsy strokes felt himself pass the Ward Lines of his family's property.

The Thrall behind Dark could clearly feel it too because he raised hateful eyes at Blaise, warning him silently as he raised his wand and pointed it at the dark-skinned teen.

"Don't go doing anything foolish now, boy." He warned with a sneer.

Blaise, in a move very much unlike him, flicked two fingers in their direction before dragging them, covered in blood, slime, and algae, across the tri-colored bracelet around his wrist.

Dark clearly recognized it, because he reared with a livid howl even before the flurry of lights had appeared and whisked the teen and his burden away.

"Useless bag of flesh!" Dark sneered, latching claws into the shirt of his Thrall and dragging him forward the last two steps, tossing him into the same pool of water that had kept him from reclaiming Blaise. "I thought you would be more useful to me, as you clearly had enough practice keeping the two apart."

Dark left the Thrall to drown as he turned and disappeared back into the fog.