A red blur shot past him, fast enough to make Harry readjust his grip on his Firebolt. He tracked them with his eyes, watched as they weaved between bludgers, muscled off defenders, and rifled the quaffle past an unsuspecting keeper.

What's happened to McLaggen? Harry looked up the goalposts, seemingly just as confused at how he'd crumbled these last twenty minutes as the 7th year defending them.

The crowd erupted with shouts and whistles from the stand after the goal. Ginny Weasley gave them a quick wave before floating lazily down to the ground beside Harry.

Harry had never had such a difficult time during tryouts. Scores of people, from 1st year to 7th—some not even from Gryffindor—had come to join the trials. It had taken Katie and him near an hour to sort through the imposters and send them on their way, but rather than leave, they sat in the stands to watch instead.

Half of their allotted time on the pitch had passed before they were genuinely able to begin.

"I tried to shoot it right at him that time," Ginny said with a frown.

"I know you did," Harry replied. He looked up suspiciously to where Hermione stood in the bleachers, his friends gaze focused on Ron, who'd now taken his turn between the posts.

A row down from Hermione, Romilda Vane waved to Harry eagerly, before poking her friends and pointing in his direction. Harry looked away quickly. She'd attempted to tryout today, not even knowing how to properly ride a broom.

"I was worried Ron had blown it…" Ginny continued, tightening her grip around her broom as Demelza Robins drove to the goal with the quaffle.

Ron just barely tipped the ball against the post. It bounced out.

Ginny let out a deep breath. "Now—I don't know?"

Harry hummed in agreement, neither did he. "Sorry about Dean," he said, thinking of Ginny's boyfriend who'd been cut earlier.

"No, uh, don't worry about it," she said somewhat startled. "I don't think he really wanted to make it. He doesn't even like Quidditch that much anyways…"

"Everyone! Come on in!" Katie stood at the center of the field and blew her whistle. Those in the sky came down to join her, some more tentative than others.

"Harry," she said before he'd even got there, "believe it or not, you made the team."

Laughs broke out between the players, and a wave of excited screams could be heard from the stands. Harry ignored them and moved forward, sharing a quick smile with Katie as he took his place beside her.

"First off, I'd like to thank all of you for coming and actually trying out." Katie looked darkly off in the distance to the section where Romilda Vane and her friends sat. "I really wish I could keep you all—but I guess that's what the practice spots are for. For the chasers this year, alongside me will be Ginny and Demelza starting... sorry Seamus."

"It's alrigh', love, I only came for you," the Irish boy winked.

Katie shook her head with a smile. "It's never happening Seamus. I've been saying it for years."

"Can't fault a bloke for trying," he shrugged good naturedly before heading off to the change rooms.

"Now for the beaters," she called out loudly, attempting to regain control. "I've decided to go with Peakes and Coote."

The two boys bumped fists. There were no objections to her decision.

Katie swallowed thickly and looked down at the piece of parchment in her hand.

Ron, in his headgear, looked on the verge of fainting, while McLaggen had never appeared more at ease.

Harry closed his eyes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He felt Ginny tense next to him.

"It was a very tough decision for me to make…" Katie started and paused again, drawing out the suspense, "but I've decided to go with Weasley as our starting keeper, and McLaggen as our backup."

Harry's entire body relaxed. He noticed breathing came much easier all of a sudden.

Time stood still for a moment. Ron's eyes darted around wildly in their sockets and his mouth flapped open and closed, wordlessly.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure from where, a massive cheer broke out. The rest of the team surrounded Ron, hopping up and down and giving him congratulatory bumps on the back.

Sneaking a look to the stands, Harry could see Hermione standing and clapping madly.

"Bollocks! You picked Weasley over me… Weasley!" McLaggen shouted in outrage. "You saw me up there Katie, you know I made more saves! This is plain old favoritism, and I won't have it!" He threw his broom to the ground in spite.

"I also saw you completely crumble in the last two drills, Cormac," Katie said firmly. Her arms were crossed and there was a look about her that said nothing could change her mind.

"That wasn't—something happened—it couldn't have—" McLaggen stopped and started unable to put his thoughts together.

Red faced, McLaggen picked up his broom, shoved through the crowd and went off to the showers, alone.

"You alright?" Harry asked gently, approaching Katie.

"Yeah… it's just, sometimes being Captain isn't that fun," she chuckled mirthlessly.

"Better you than me, then he'd really have grounds to complain about favoritism," Harry said. "Let me know if he gives you any trouble."

"Thanks Harry, but I think it'll be fine. I've known Cormac for years, he's all talk." A cheeky look came across her hazel eyes. "Although, having the Chosen One watching my back isn't a bad thing either."

"What's the Chosen One not bad for?" a familiar voice teased from the side.

"Hey, Megan!" Katie said brightly. "Were you watching the tryouts?"

"Spying is more like it," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"I'm hurt, Harry." Megan clutched her chest dramatically. "There's a code amongst Quidditch Captains, I would never do such a thing."

Harry looked at her unbelieving in the slightest.

"I was only here because Lisa wanted to come watch," Megan said slyly. She gestured to the slim Ravenclaw next to her, who waved timidly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"So, are any of you heading down to Hogsmeade today?" Katie asked.

"I don't know about Lisa, but I'm going with Harry right away," Megan answered, while Katie looked between them strangely.

Footsteps ran up behind them. Harry turned to see Ron jogging over, a dopey grin spread across his flushed face. "Can you believe it, mate! I thought I was a goner there for a minute! It must have been that last save I made on Demelza."

"I think you did great Ron," Lisa said from behind Megan.

His friend's grin widened.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his sweaty head. "Well, uh, I was going to meet up with Hermione and Luna in Hogsmeade, if –er, any of you want to join us?" Ron offered.

"Sure, why not? I just need to freshen up," Katie agreed, and Lisa nodded shyly.

It didn't take Harry very long to get ready and soon enough, him and Megan were on their way down the long, twisting road to Hogsmeade. There was never a shortage of things to do there, and Harry was in dire need to replenish his store of liquorish wands and Honeyduke's chocolate. Entering the only all-wizarding village in Britain, Harry made sure to stop there first.

"Has your sister said anymore about why she wants to meet me?" Harry asked, handing over a stack of sickles to the man behind the counter and pocketing his sweets.

"Other than trying to recruit you, I'm not sure," Megan said, busy nibbling on the end of a sugar quill and gazing through the row of shop windows. "She was pretty vague about it in her last letter."

"Don't you think she might attract a pretty big crowd, eating lunch at the Three Broomsticks?" Harry asked curiously.

He knew how busy the pub could get on weekends like this. Often times there was hardly any room to stand, between the locals and constant stream of Hogwarts students coming in and out, and that was without an International Quidditch star.

"Worried about not being the most famous person in the room, Harry?" Megan teased, and pushed open the front door of the Three Broomsticks. A bell clinked overhead, followed by a flood of sound from inside.

"Rosmerta knows we're coming," Megan continued, having to shout to be heard over the cacophony of noise around them, "It's not the first time she's come to visit me on a Hogsmeade weekend," she smirked as she walked up to the bar.

"Hello, Megan," the busty bartender greeted. She eyed Harry up and down keenly. "I see you've brought Mr. Potter along."

"Harry is coming with me," Megan explained, and Madam Rosmerta nodded her head in understanding.

"In that case, your sister is out back," she lowered her voice as she spoke.

Shimmying her way out from behind the bar—giving some of her patrons an eyeful while doing so—Rosmerta led them through her kitchen and to what looked like the entrance of a small pantry.

Inside, was a private room, set with a cozy little table and a set of chairs surrounding it. Seated on one side was Gwenog Jones, who looked much like her sister, only a bit taller and broader of shoulder.

"There you two are," she exclaimed, waving them over, "I was just about to order a second pie. Thank you Rosmerta, it was delicious as always."

The bartender smiled, picked up the empty plates and left them to their business.

"Were you off for a snog, is that why you kept me waiting?" Gwenog looked between the two of them carefully.

"Gwen!" Megan shouted, blushing. "You know it's not like that!"

"Quidditch tryouts, actually," Harry said, hoping to move the conversation along.

"So, you do still remember how to handle a broom?"

Megan cut in before Harry could respond. "I don't know how it's possible, but somehow he's better than he was before and he hasn't played in almost a year!"

Harry shifted in his seat at the praise.

"It's raw talent," Gwenog said simply, "but that only takes you so far." Her eyes were fixed intently on Harry.

"Megan, can you step out, please. I'd like to talk to Potter alone," she said, her eyes not leaving him.

Reluctantly, Megan stood and left the room, shooting her sister a look over the shoulder before closing the door.

"Firstly, you're going to be getting offers from just about every team in the league the moment you turn of age." She said it as though it was a normal occurrence. "They all have their reasons—whether it's for your talent or your name—but if you're serious about Quidditch, you're going to have to start doing more."

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that.

He found his tongue eventually. "Uh… that's great! But—er, I sort of have other stuff on my mind."

Gwenog didn't need any explaining on what 'other stuff' meant.

"That's the second thing I wanted to talk about," she said seriously, pulling her chair closer to his. "I'm assuming you're acquainted with my cousin."

Harry was forced to think for a second. Her cousin?

"Hestia?" Harry asked, knowing there was a Hestia Jones who was part of the Order.

Gwenog nodded. "I don't know what it is she's mixed up in, but I'm sure it has something to do with you and You-Know-Who," she said.

Harry didn't react.

"Listen, I don't particularly care what it is you do. Hestia is a grown woman and can make her own choices." She stopped, and steely glint came over her eyes before she went on. "But what I do care about is my underage sister."

Her voice was bordering on aggressive.

Harry felt his hand gently reach for his wand at his side, just in case. "Megan is safe," he said calmly.

"I know," Gwenog replied, seemingly reigning in her emotions, "but I know what she's like and I don't want her part of it."

"I'll do my best," Harry promised.

"Good, I'm glad that's settled then." She leaned back in her seat. "Now, I want to help."

Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"I don't want any trouble in my life, but I also don't like what is going on," she explained. "Us Quidditch players… we hear things, sometimes from people in pretty high places. I'm not saying I'll do it often—but if the situation ever presents itself, I'll pass on whatever I know."

Gwenog stood up from the table and stretched out a hand for Harry to shake.

"Life would be so much easier if it was like Quidditch, huh?"

"If my life was like Quidditch, I don't think I would ever leave the Hospital Wing," Harry joked, taking her hand.

Harry left the private storeroom first and made his way out through the kitchen. He spotted Megan sitting across the room with Katie, the two of them deep in conversation about something.

Dodging out of the way of a floating stack of empty glasses, Harry nearly stumbled into a large red-robed figure.

"So, you took my advice, kid?" The grinning face of Auror Fardale looked down at him, waggling his eyebrows. "I saw you go into the kitchen with that cute brunette over there." He pointed to Megan.

"We didn't do—"

"A bit of a risky choice if you ask me," he continued, cutting off Harry. "Pretty sure her sister is a Beater. I wouldn't want to find out what that bat of hers can do if you piss her off."

"Oh, shut up Heath, you're the last person who should be giving out dating advice."

Harry spotted a familiar head of spiky pink hair, sitting in a booth next to them.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks greeted him.

"You two know each other?" Auror Fardale asked.

"Yeah… uh, I got into a spot of trouble on the train and Tonks took me up to the castle," Harry scrambled for a lie.

"Turns out ol' Harry is just as clumsy as me. Tripped and nearly knocked himself out on a carriage door."

Tonks winked in his direction and passed over a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Shouldn't you two be patrolling or something?" Harry enquired, as the two Aurors gulped down their own drinks.

"Just taking a break, Harry—" Fardale checked the time and winced "—a bit of a long one, but a break none the less."

Tonks shrugged. "Not much really happens during Hogsmeade patrols."

"Has there been much Death Eater activity?" Harry asked.

Fardale's eyes stared up at the ceiling, as though he were debating something in his mind.

"Reg would likely kill me for this—but we he doesn't know won't hurt him. The Prophet isn't reporting everything," he said in a whisper, looking over nervously at Tonks, "there's been loads of Ministry-related disappearances."

"The war's not going well then?" said Harry, a pit of uneasiness settling in his stomach.

"I didn't say that," Fardale defended. He rubbed his face in his hands. "It's a bad way to describe it, but it's more of a game right now. There's been a lot of poking and prodding between us and the Death Eaters, testing each other out, but nothing serious."

A loud crash sounded from the opposite end of the bar. Two fairly drunk looking wizard had knocked over their table, shattering glasses, and were now waving their wands wildly at one another.

Fardale sighed as he got off the bench. "I'll get this one," he grumbled.

Turning back to Tonks, he felt a privacy charm go up.

"He was telling the truth," she said. "Scrimgeour is doing a decent enough job, but it won't last once Voldemort's attention is fully on the Ministry."

"How long do you think Scrimgeour can keep the Ministry standing?"

"Honestly, it's hard to say," she admitted, playing with the empty glass in front of her and checking to where Fardale was busy breaking up the fight. "With the Order's help we can keep them going a little longer, but we're busy with our own work. We think he's planning something."

Something nipped at the back of Harry's mind. "Like what?" he asked.

Tonks frowned. "We're not entirely sure what, but there's something big going on. Snape says Voldemort hasn't told him what it is, and Dumbledore believes him, but I have my doubts."

Across the way, Fardale had finally been able to establish some sort of order—mostly by dousing the two drunk men in water.

"I think I'd better go," Harry said, quickly standing, "it was good seeing you again Tonks."

A heavy gust of wind caught Harry from behind when he stepped outside the building, sending a shiver down his spine. Overhead, the leaves were beginning to turn and soon enough an orange and yellow blanket would cover the ground. Summer was at its death, and the first call of autumn was approaching.

Harry made his way up to the castle. It was late into the day, and most of his friends had likely already returned. The thought of finding a seat near the Gryffindor fireplace and reading Dumbledore's books was a welcome one.

He'd devoured the ancient journal Dumbledore had passed on to him in recent weeks, spending hours in the library reading and re-reading passages attempting to extract their meaning, as well as looking through the Prince's book.

His potions textbook had suggestions and alterations on almost every page. The mysterious Prince had yet to fail him thus far, as he continued to be one of the top performing students in Slughorn's class.

In his free time, he'd even attempted a few of the spells written within the margins of the Prince's book. There was one called Levicorpus, that hung somebody ten-feet upside down by their ankles. Another hex caused someone's nails to grow alarmingly fast.

Harry had never heard of most of the spells and was starting to believe the Prince had invented them himself.

There was one in particular, which caught his eye. It was labelled For Enemies, and he'd found himself itching to try it out on Snape at least twice every Defense class.

Crack

The telltale sound of apparition caught Harry's attention. Spinning around, Harry searched for the source of the sound.

Harry's heart nearly stopped.

He blinked, and not believing what he was seeing, he blinked again.

Walking directly from where he'd left the Tree Broomsticks, was Bellatrix Lestrange. Dressed all in black from head to toe, she moved gracefully through the streets of Hogsmeade.

His heart was racing. His magic pumped furiously through his veins. His mind ran through some of the horrid spells within Secrets of the Darkest Arts—if anybody deserved them, it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Just as he was about to take off after her, a soft voice caught his attention.

"Harry…"

Harry turned to see Luna Lovegood wandering down the path opposite him. "Harry are you alright?" her voice floated to his ears.

Harry didn't answer. Instead he turned back to Bellatrix, only to see she had disappeared.

Was I seeing things again? he questioned himself. There wasn't a trace of her in the village below.

"You're looking a bit fuzzy, Harry. Did you come across a Three-Legged Warblung?" Luna stared up at him quizzically.

"Uh, no, I don't think so," Harry said numbly, still scanning the empty streets of Hogsmeade.

"That's okay, they're quite rare. I've been trying to find one for years now," she said, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a roll of parchment. "Professor Dumbledore wanted me to pass this on to you, he made it sound rather important."

Harry took the letter from Luna and thanked her as she skipped away.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well. I feel as if tonight would be a good time for one of our private lessons. Kindly stop by my office before sundown for what I anticipate will be a fascinating evening.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

"Enter," Harry heard the powerful voice of Albus Dumbledore call as he climbed the final steps to his office.

Walking through the double doors, he spotted the old wizard standing in the corner of his office, staring thoughtfully out a large window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Fawkes sat on his shoulder, partially hidden within the tangles of Dumbledore's long hair—no more than a hatchling. He petted him gently with a gloved hand, his purple robes shimmering in the fading light of the day.

"A new accessory, sir?" Harry asked with a smile, eyeing the strange green cap he wore in the place of his usual wizard's hat.

"Oh," Dumbledore said, and his blue eyes darted upwards behind his half-moon glasses. "I had forgotten I was still wearing this funny thing. I had picked it up while in Germany. Some of the more traditional Bavarian wizards still wear it, though I suppose it looks much better alongside a pair of lederhosen." Dumbledore chuckled at his horribly clashing outfit.

"Why were you in Germany?" Harry asked interestedly, finding a seat.

"Young William Weasley needed a bit of insight on some of the more ancient magics involved on a Gringotts project at Nurmengard prison. Thankfully, William will be returning shortly, which will be a boost for the Order. I'm sure Miss Delacour will be quite happy with that as well," Dumbledore said with a strange gleam in his eye

Harry nodded in response, feeling something squirm inside him.

"You mustn't tell Minerva," Dumbledore added, a cheeky grin hidden behind his whiskers, "but I extended my trip a few days to catch some of the sights. A little holiday, if you will; but as much as I would love to discuss my travel in further detail, I feel we must press on."

"Actually, sir, before we begin," Harry spoke up, suddenly queasy, "I—I think I've been seeing things recently."

Dumbledore froze and looked at him seriously.

"Go on," he said, settling in behind his desk.

"In defence class, on the first day—I think you might have heard about what happened…"

Dumbledore nodded, making no comment on the incident itself.

"One of the reasons I acted the way I did—" Harry paused to swallow, his mouth dry all of a sudden "—well, it's because I didn't exactly see Snape in that moment."

"You saw Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore finished for him and leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers over his chest. "An understandable reaction. Unfortunately, I don't think it will do much for Severus, he was most irate when he burst into my office later that day."

Harry sat still and silent, as hundreds of questions—none of them good—whipped through his mind.

"I would not worry, my boy." Dumbledore leaned forward, a soft look in his eyes. "It is only natural for someone who has experienced such trauma and heartbreak, as you have, to be sensitive to certain triggers. Has it happened often?"

Harry shook his head.

"Good," Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, "then it should pass in time."

"You don't think it has to do with my scar?" Harry burst out.

Dumbledore frowned, studying Harry's forehead. "No, I believe not—not this," he eventually said.

"There was another incident—today," Harry said quickly, before Dumbledore could move on. "I saw Bellatrix in Hogsmeade. At least I thought I did…"

"Did you now?" Dumbledore's bushy brow quirked. "Where exactly?"

"Near the Three Broomsticks."

Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle. "It is strange how our mind allows us to we see what we want to see, and not the truth that sits before our very eyes. You can trust me when I say that Bellatrix Lestrange was not in Hogsmeade this afternoon. The woman you saw was her sister, Andromeda Tonks."

"Like Tonks' mum?" Harry asked. He felt as though a weight had been lifted from him.

"The very same," Dumbledore said. "Now, I must ask if you have looked through the items I passed on when we last met?"

Harry nodded. "I found the journal you gave me fascinating; I'd never thought of magic like that before. But I couldn't quite make out the name in the corner, who was the author?"

A heavy look settled over Dumbledore's aged face. "The book was written quite some time ago, by my father," he replied.

Harry held his breath; he'd never heard anything about Dumbledore's family before.

"Yes, Percival Dumbledore… a brilliant man if there ever was," he carried on, his eyes lost in time. "Whatever titles the world has deemed to heap on me, were deserved by him thrice over. Alas, he never had time for popularity, choosing to pass his knowledge onto his children. It was always his dream to live a quiet life with our family and own a goat farm."

One moment Dumbledore was laughing lightly, the next his face was as solemn and severe as Harry had ever seen.

"Vengeance, Harry—vengeance was his downfall, like so many before. I speak from my heart when I give you warning. I have lived a life filled with mistakes and have witnessed thousands more. My only wish to keep you from doing the same. It was a moment of madness that brought upon my father's end. Three dead muggle boys, killed for their folly, and my father was sent to rot in Azkaban. The greatest mind in centuries, ravaged by Dementors until nothing was left."

"I had no idea, sir…" Harry trailed off, shocked. "Why doesn't anyone know of this?"

"Secrets, Harry, secrets. Us Dumbledores know how to keep them well… we always have," he paused, wiping at the brim of his aged eyes. "You are the first to have read that book since I did upon clearing out my father's study after my graduation. Spells are important, but I have found that the mind behind the casting and their intimate understanding of the nature of magic to be more so."

"Would you mind if I keep it longer? There were a few passages I was hoping to examine further?" Harry asked.

"What is mine, is also yours, my boy. If we are to eventually defeat Tom Riddle, it will require a close partnership between us. There will be a number of items I will be bequeathing you as the year goes on."

"Thank you, but are you sure you want to keep—"

"I have no heirs, Harry. The Dumbledore line will come to an end," Dumbledore stated plainly.

"It's about time if you asked me, we really were too brilliant for our own good," he added with a slight quirk to his lips. "Much of what I have acquired throughout my long life will need to find a new home one day, and I can't think of an individual more deserving than you for it to be passed on to."

Something on his face must have given away Harry's concern at Dumbledore's words.

"Don't mind me, when you get to my age you think of these things as if they are completely normal. I'm fairly certain Professor Binns is still planning his will, and he has been dead for centuries."

"Have you looked through the other text I passed on?" Dumbledore continued after a slight pause in conversation.

"I've only managed to read it in small spurts," Harry admitted, not meeting his Headmasters gaze.

"Though I am pleased you are not enticed by the darkest sides to magic, Harry. I must ask you to put more emphasis on your journey into its understanding. I do not question your control and ability to resist its temptations."

"I'll take my reading more seriously, sir," he said.

"I know you will. You have yet to ever let me down," Dumbledore said with pride.

The two stood in companionable silence for a while, with only the cooing of Fawkes and the ticking of Dumbledore's innumerable silver instruments filling the room.

"Sir, I was wondering if you could look over a book I found?" Harry said suddenly, pulling out his battered copy of Advanced Potion Making. "It's my potions textbook, but it's filled with markings. I just want to know if they're safe to use."

He passed it over to Dumbledore, who took it in his gloved hand.

Dumbledore flipped through its pages and pulled on his white beard. "Where did you say you found this book?" he asked carefully.

"I found it at the bottom of a cabinet in the potions classroom. There's a label inside the front cover saying it belongs to the Half Blood Prince."

Dumbledore turned the book over and stared at the name. "Hmm, I thought so… always the flair for drama," he chuckled.

"You know who the Prince is?" Harry said intently.

"That I do," Dumbledore replied, and handed the book back to Harry.

"Will you tell me?"

"I will leave that mystery to you. The book is safe to use; however, use caution with some of its spells. A number are inherently dark, though I feel that is not a fair reflection on their creator. You should count yourself very fortunate for falling into possession of it."

"Is everything inside correct then?"

"I would say it is more than correct, Harry. If you follow your textbook, Horace will be pleased to see that you will maintain your top position in his class."

"Isn't that a bit like cheating, sir?" Harry enquired, thinking back to Hermione's accusations.

Dumbledore winked. "What Horace doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Moving on," Dumbledore announced, lifting Fawkes from his shoulder and placing his companion on a cushion underneath his perch, "I had originally planned to show you a particular memory this evening, but a new idea has crossed my mind."

Dumbledore searched through the top drawer of his desk before pulling out a cloth pouch and a crystal vial. He also removed a small plastic package, before offering it out to Harry, "A lemondrop for the road, Harry?"

Harry popped one his mouth and felt his cheeks suck in tightly.

"We will be apparating to our destination tonight—Headmaster's privileges," he smirked. "Your wand, if you please."

Dumbledore took Harry's holly wand in hand and waved an intricate pattern overtop of it with his own, while muttering underneath his breath.

"That should hold us for this evening," he said after handing it back.

"What did you do?" Harry asked.

"For lack of a better word, I hoodwinked the Ministry's trace on your wand for a limited time."

"I thought that was impossible?"

"Difficult, yes… but impossible? No." Dumbledore held out his arm. "As the year progresses, Harry, you will come to notice how conventional rules do not apply to exceptional figures like ourselves."

Without another word, they disappeared without a sound and were hurtling hundreds of kilometers away towards the next stop on their adventure.