Harry wasn't actually called to bear witness for the trial - a good thing, too, because continuing his Muggle education on top of his wizarding one was becoming more and more strenuous. While he wasn't exactly eager to do both at once, that was beginning to look like the most feasible option - at least until he graduated from Hogwarts, something he was both dreading and looking forward to at the same time, because then his real work would begin.

Even with all the help he was receiving from the (mostly Voldemort-aligned) pureblood families, it was going to take years for him to compile everything he could find on wizarding traditions of the British Isles, and not just English but also Irish and Welsh and as many regional variations as he could find. From there, he would extend out to Europe, then Africa and Asia, Australia and Oceania, the Americas. Hopefully by that point it wouldn't just be him alone; there had to be others who would be interested in wizarding history and anthropology if it didn't come from Binns.

"It seems to me that this will be the work of a lifetime," Hannibal said as he reviewed the notes Harry had made on several books that had just appeared at their house, "Several lifetimes, even. Your foray into biology and genetics will not be nearly so intensive - unless, of course, you intend to make an attempt to isolate a quote-unquote 'magic gene'."

"There's an idea," Harry replied, "but I want to do this first. Maybe as new technology becomes available, it'll make that easier."

"You'll have to be careful, too," Will added, "It wouldn't surprise me a bit if some wizards used it to start discriminating against others because they weren't 'marked by magic' or some other garbage, or even started hunting down the descendants of squibs to steal their children for their own. I can think of at least three reasons off the top of my head for them to do that."

"Indeed."

But, he wasn't called to testify at the trial, though whether that was because he was a literal child or someone's intercession, he didn't know. Remus was called, however, and sent a brief note telling Harry as much, followed by a longer letter a few days later, explaining what had happened. It seemed that Shacklebolt and Tonks and possibly even Snape had already testified and provided their memories on the events in the Shrieking Shack, because the Wizengamot had mostly asked him about his school years with Sirius and Pettigrew, and then about the chase through the Forbidden Forest and where precisely he'd lost the trail. It hadn't seemed like they were trying to lay the blame on him for losing Pettigrew, Dumbledore moderating intently, but he'd been careful about answering nonetheless.

A week after that, Hannibal unfurled a copy of The Daily Prophet, which he'd taken to receiving mostly for the financial section (and perhaps a little for the still-novel experience of accepting the morning paper from an owl). Then he said, "Ah. It appears everyone's been successful, then."

SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT! read the headline, and the article below detailed much of what Harry already knew, at least in passing. The paper had also printed a moving picture of the Marauders at school, which was actually Harry's first time really seeing one of his parents' faces. It was as many had said before and would again; even in black and white, he did look extraordinarily like James Potter, especially him bright and happy in the photo, laughing with his friends.

Below that was a photo obviously taken in the courtroom itself, of Sirius seated on a stone chair. Two Aurors stepped up on either side of him and released the chains holding him in place, which he gladly shook off. Then he stood up and hurried to embrace Remus, who seemed near to tears in the image. Then it looped back to the beginning again.

A few days after that, Harry received another brief note from Remus, saying that now that he'd taken over the Black estate, Sirius was attempting to clean up his family's old townhouse in London, if he wanted to come by to chat and take a look at the Black Library.

Oh, did he ever.

Will, Abigail, and Abigail's werewolf boyfriend David ended up tagging along as well to lend a hand with the cleanup, mostly because David wanted to see what the inside of a wizarding house looked like and also meet the werewolf who'd given Abigail a few resources to help him.

Remus must have seen them approaching from the street, because he opened the door before they reached it and gestured them inside. "Welcome to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said softly, "Try not to make too much noise on the ground floor; we don't want to wake Walburga's portrait."

"Who's Walburga?"

"A bitch!" Sirius shouted from somewhere above them, and Remus groaned aloud even as the curtains on the wall next to them flew back.

What lay behind the curtains was a portrait of an extremely unattractive old woman, who shrieked at the sight of them. "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!" she screeched, brandishing clawed hands as if to reach out of the portrait and attack them, "Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers-!"

"Sirius!" Remus cried indignantly, even as other portraits woke up and began screeching right along with her. He rushed for one of the curtains and started trying to force them shut. Will hurried to the other side, and between the werewolf and the High Wendigo, they managed to get them forced shut again.

Remus let out a sign of relief when the hall went quiet again. "Sorry about that. We think she's put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas, can't get her down."

Will hummed speculatively and ran a hand over the wall. "Does that affect the wall?"

"Pardon?"

"The charm, does it prevent the wall from being removed?"

"Not to my knowledge. Why?"

"Then the easiest solution would just be to cut out the wall where she's attached." The High Wendigo rapped his knuckles against it. "Once she's gone, along with the rest of them, you can call someone in to fix the holes. I'd offer to do it myself, but I'm pretty sure this isn't drywall."

The werewolf looked pleased, then surprised. "Why didn't we think of that?" he only half-asked Sirius as the other wizard came down the stairs.

"I've noticed that a bit in myself, too," said Harry, "We get so used to magic solving our problems with one spell that when it can't, we think there's no solution at all and give up."

From there, introductions went around, and they all set to work. Sirius directed Harry up to the library with a "You're welcome to whatever doesn't try to eat or otherwise maim you."

The Ravenclaw laughed aloud. "Don't say those words to me, Sirius; I'll walk out of here with the whole library!"

"Within reason," Will amended, "and while you're up there, see if you can find anything about whether renovations affect wards on magical houses. I can't think of any reason why it would but you never know…"

"You got it!" Harry darted up the stairs.

The Black townhouse was much larger on the inside than it appeared from the street, about the same size as their own house in the country (which Hannibal called "cozy" and Will called "so excessive it's unbelievable, my GOD Hannibal, there are four of us, we do not need a fucking mansion with a million bedrooms!") if not larger. That seemed to be about all it going for it, however; the place was filthy. If Hannibal had come with them instead of heading all to his psychiatric conference, he would have been horrified to see the state of even just the ground floor.

As he rounded one of the landings, heading up to the last floor below the attic where the library was, he paused, then peered at the drawing room door. There was no way... but even so, he sensed...

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and entered, letting his magic lead him past the glass front cabinets Sirius was in the process of cleaning out to one that hadn't yet been touched. His eyes were immediately drawn to a heavy golden locket with an S of emeralds on the front. "X marks the spot," Harry said to himself, "or in this case, S."

The locket was even weaker than the diadem, too weak to even manifest a shade the way it had when he put it on. He still had the diadem, hidden in his closet back home; he still wasn't completely sure what to do with it, so he'd just kept it a secret. He decided to take the locket as well, since Sirius probably would throw it out without even realizing it was one of Voldemort's "memories" (and if by chance he did, he would probably actively work to destroy it).

He tucked it into his pocket and resumed his ascent.

Harry spent most of the day organizing the library. It seemed like there had either never been any kind of system for it or if there had it had long since lapsed, with family members just putting the books back wherever it was convenient for them - if they put them back at all. Fortunately, with Remus and Sirius present and the wards around the townhouse, he could use magic without the Trace alerting the Ministry, which made his work go a lot faster. By the time everyone called it quits and came to get him, there were piles of books everywhere, stacked together in categories based on primary subject, and he was shelving books on the lower shelves with his hands and the higher ones with his wand. It was good practice for the Levitation Charm, if nothing else.

He also had a stack of books nearly as tall as he was that he wanted to take home with him.

"There's room on the shelves!" he protested when he saw Will raising an eyebrow.

"Hm. Yes. The shelves. The ones in your room or the ones in the study?"

"Both!"

"Lies," Will retorted, even as Abby and David snickered.

Remus snorted and rolled his eyes, and Sirius dug up a bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it so he could take them all with him.

(Harry briefly thought that it was foolish of them to just let him take whichever books he wanted; a number of them were quite dark, though that was more by the Ministry's "light"-oriented definition than any actual malicious or violently destructive content. But then he pushed that thought aside and decided to just be grateful that they trusted him.)

They went out into Muggle London for dinner, introducing Sirius to quite a few things he'd missed while locked up in Azkaban, before finally heading for home. All of them immediately jumped in the showers so Hannibal wouldn't smell KFC when he returned from his conference, and when he was done, Harry carefully unpacked his books. As he'd told Will, there was enough room for them - but only just, and only if he put previous years' school books in his closet.

Then he took out the locket and examined it. It was as it had been when he'd first seen it hours ago, though perhaps less dusty from the light buffing it had received while in his pocket.

He set it down on his bedside table, then climbed under the covers.

His body, such as it was, was functioning on its own at last. That was more as a result of Barty's work than Wormtail's, but the latter had at least been skilled enough to get the process started - and to capture Bertha Jorkins, who had told them about Barty. He was grateful to them both in the privacy of his own mind, while simultaneously amazed that he could feel grateful - and amazed that he could feel amazed. His mind was clear as it hadn't been for years, no longer struggling to stay afloat in a black well of madness, but he still felt precariously perched, like the slightest twitch could send him towards safe sanity or back into insanity that put even the Black family madness to shame - with no way to tell which direction was which, not until it was already too late.

Potter had done something, he knew. His merge with his horcruxes had been sharp and sudden, with little warning, and so he hadn't had time to prepare to receive their memories. That deluge had come closer to overwhelming him than anything else since that Samhain night so many years ago. The memories were partitioned off right now, a cluttered mass in the corner of his mind that he was sorting through when he wasn't too tired to focus, but he had seen enough during the initial surge to know that Potter was involved - as usual, it seemed. Wormtail had been very forthcoming in that respect.

But it was Harry's apparent theory that the horcruxes were causing his weakness, his madness that had his attention at the moment. The youngest version of him had been wholeheartedly convinced - enough to feel regret, even, and that was what had rejoined them. But he himself was not so sure.

Not yet.

Barty was on his way to the Gaunt shack to test the theory, however; there was enough circumstantial evidence that he couldn't afford to discard the theory out of hand. He'd given the younger man the strictest instructions imaginable for how to carefully part the protections around the Ring, letting him bring it back without falling victim to the many painstakingly crafted curses that had shielded the horcrux for the long years since its making. If Potter was wrong, then it could be returned and the wards stitched back together and redoubled.

But if Potter was right… then he had much to think about, and new plans to make.

Harry woke with the dawn, before this "Barty" returned with this "Ring horcrux" Voldemort had been thinking of. The locket was where he had left it on his bedside table, and it seemed no different now than it had yesterday when he acquired it.

He couldn't leave it here. Not because he thought his parents might misplace or destroy it, but because if this "theory" of his and Voldemort's was correct - that these "horcruxes" were the cause of even part of the elder wizard's madness - then it was essential that the locket be returned at the earliest opportunity. At least to Harry's mind, sane men could be negotiated with. Mad men, not so much.

But before he could return the locket, he first had to make contact. He rose, dressed, and wandlessly summoned a pen and two pieces of parchment.

He'd read enough wizarding etiquette books that he agonized over the wording and forms of address - but only for a moment, before deciding that secrecy outweighed formality.

I have what we discussed. Summon me at your leisure, that I may deliver it. There is much we need to decide on.

He set the message for the Dark Lord aside, and penned one for Lucius as well.

L, He has a body. If you intend to return, now is the time. If you have a message for Him, Hedwig can take it, too. -H

Harry stepped out onto the damp grass of the lawn right as Hedwig returned from her nightly hunt. "Morning, beautiful," he said warmly as she swooped out of the dim morning light to perch on his arm, "Good hunt?"

She let out a soft hoot and nibbled his ear.

"Glad to hear it. I have two letters for you today. The first one's going to Lucius Malfoy. You'll need to wait for a letter from him, too, if there is one, and then it and this one are going to the Dark Lord."

She gave him a look that clearly said he'd lost his marbles.

"I know, I know, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I don't know if you'll be able to find Voldemort directly; you might have to look for Pettigrew instead."

Hedwig nipped his ear, accepted the letters, and few off.

She returned with a response three days later. A scrap of creamy parchment barely the length and width of his thumb, with two words in a familiar script.

I will.

There was quite a buzz when Harry, Hermione, and their families arrived in Diagon Alley, though thankfully the buzz wasn't about them. With so many wixen about, Harry and Hermione were able to cast Notice-Me-Not Charms that let them pass everyone by.

Abigail leaned in as they wove through the crowds. "Is this 'Quidditch World Cup' the FIFA World Cup for wizards?"

"I guess so," Harry answered, following close behind Hannibal as the High Wendigo parted the seas of magical people like he was one of the highest purebloods, "I don't really pay much attention beyond the school teams - I've got too much on my mind."

"Ron's told me some," said Hermione, "mostly that his favorite team is the Chudley Cannons, even though they're apparently the worst in the league." She listened for a moment. "It seems like the Cup's being held in England this year - that's the reason for all the fuss."

"...Huh."

But then they were in Gringotts, brought before one of the bank's lineage specialists. Harry went first, bleeding a few drops into a stone bowl etched with runes from an alphabet he didn't recognize; it must have been the goblin people's own, something not shared with wizards. Once the specialist was satisfied, she took the bowl back, added a number of ingredients (mostly colored liquids and powders), mixed it all together into a paste, and then smeared that paste on the bottom few inches of a long roll of parchment.

In an attempt to cover as much of their ancestry as they could possibly get, looking for wixen, they were going fifty generations back, which could have been anywhere from a thousand to fifteen hundred years. Harry's theory was still exactly that, a theory, so they needed as wide a snapshot as they could possibly get.

(But, Harry thought to himself, before the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy, Muggles and wixen are bound to have intermarried more frequently than in modern times, though perhaps not the purebloods, and we've no real idea where our most distant ancestors emigrated from, so maybe it's not a matter of if, but when and where and who.)

His family tree unfurled on the parchment like a flower blossoming, even as the specialist prepared Hermione for her own. For the moment, at least, Harry ignored his father's half of the tree, focusing entirely on his mother's and repeating the surnames of every pureblood family he knew -

Prewett. One "Felicity Jones" from the early 1700's had a brother and a sister who were both Prewetts (or née Prewetts), but she herself was not, and the line went straight through her.

And she was just the first, There were four names he recognized on an initial pass: Prewett, Black, Rowle - and Malfoy. There were at least two others who were maybe's, but they weren't on the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight that Harry was most familiar with.

He was practically bouncing in his seat, grinning so wide that his face hurt, while Hermione had her blood drawn. "Good news?" she asked, also smiling. The boy's joy was infectious.

"The best. Let's see what yours says."

Hermione's most recent magical ancestor was even more recent than Harry's, one "Marius Smith (Black)" barely four generations back; he had two sisters and a brother who bore the Black name-

"Wait," Harry said, leaning over Hermione's tree, "Dorea Black married-?" He pulled his own family tree over and traced his father's side now. "Here! Charlus Potter and Henry Potter were brothers, so it looks like we're cousins by marriage as well as by blood, 'cause i've got some Black in me, too!"

They had to leave Gringotts eventually, but they took lunch in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron so everyone could continue looking over the genealogies.

Hermione's father, Wendell Granger, was especially fascinated. "I've always been interested in tracing family history," he said, following a few magical lines further back on the tree, "meeting distant cousins, hearing their stories... but family mysteries are the real fascinating parts."

"And Grandpa Marius always was a bit of a mystery," said Monica Granger, "Never said a word about where he came from or his family - it was like he just popped into the world as a fully formed 6-year-old child. I wonder if he even remembered."

'''Was'?" Harry repeated, looking up from the school lists.

"He passed when I was nine," said Hermione.

"Well. That's a bummer; I'm sure Sirius would have enjoyed talking with him and complaining about their relatives. Have you looked at your list yet? Is yours asking for dress robes, too?"

"Yes, it is. I thought it odd, too; none of the upper years have ever mentioned any formal events before. Maybe something's happening at Hogwarts this year."

"Something official, you mean?" Abby said dryly, earning an amused noise from both wixen.

"Maybe we can ask Cousin Draco about it," Harry said with a grin, "Lord Malfoy's very close with the Ministry; maybe Draco's been told or overheard something. It would be nice to have a bit of a heads-up."

"Amen. - Wait. Cousin Draco?"

"Yep. I have both Black and Malfoy blood, but you're actually more closely related. He's your-" Harry counted quickly. "-either second or third cousin."

Hannibal peered over, then said, "Third."

"Thanks, Dad."

(How their family addressed one another depended on the setting - they would never use "Dad" or "Furball" [Abby; Harry - Hairy - Fur] where the situation demanded "Father" or proper names - but also the company. They signaled increasing levels of comfort with decreasing levels of formality, though no one had as of yet reached the level where they would hear both Hannibal and Will addressed as "Papa".)

After lunch, they all went school shopping, including getting fresh parchment, which let Harry and Hermione each take a copy of the other's family tree while retaining their own original.

"We'll need to talk to some of the others," said the witch, already halfway through their transfiguration textbook for the new year, "see if we can't get some other Muggleborns to Gringotts, get this test done. If this is universal... Harry, this is huge."

"I know," said the wizard, "All the discrimination based on blood status and everything that goes with it... it doesn't mean anything, and who knows how many lost bloodlines will be restored." Although he grimaced at a sudden thought. "There's going to be even more fighting over this, to determine who gets what, if indeed there's an ything to get that hasn't already been absorbed into another house. Let's keep this quiet for now, until we can figure out some way to resolve that in an orderly manner."

"Agreed."

Harry set the locket on his nightstand again that night, hoping against hope that he would see...

...Potter was right, damn him, or right enough. The Gaunt Ring was on a chain around his thin neck, but he wasn't worried about it slipping off and vanishing into the deepening night. Barty was far more careful than Wormtail could even dream of being as he carried both his Lord and Nagini up the path to Malfoy Manor, where Lucius and Narcissa were already waiting.

The Maledicta was in a foul temper. Earlier that evening, before their departure from Riddle Manor, Wormtall had trod on her tail and nearly received a faceful of fangs and venom for the trouble. The rat-Animagus claimed it was an accident, and Voldemort believed him; he was far too cowardly to actively mistreat the serpent believed to be his Lord's familiar. Still, to prevent the woman from trying to kill and eat him in his sleep, he'd held the man under the Cruciatus long enough to satisfy her before sending him away to another part of the house.

She was still upset at the offense, however, and hissed quietly from where her head hung over Barty's shoulder. To his credit, the man wasn't visibly reacting to the sounds, but his heart pounded rabbit-quick under the Dark Lord's ear.

It had taken longer than Voldemort had expected to retrieve the Ring, but he had done it, following his Lord's instructions to the letter - which was more than could have been said for many of his fellow Death Eaters. And, despite his years in Azkaban and under his father's Imperius Curse, he had retained his Ravenclaw brains; the moment it became apparent that the Ring would not be returned to its hiding place, he'd asked how he would go about making appear as if nothing had ever been in that worthless hovel.

If only all his servants were so competent and proactive; he could have taken over years ago.

Wormtail tripped and fell somewhere behind them, but Voldemort ignored that and Nagini's hissed laughter in favor of acknowledging the Lord and Lady of Malfoy Manor. "Lucius, Narcissa," he said, voice calm enough to make them both sweat.

He wouldn't deny a bit of vindictive pleasure at seeing them pale slightly at his tone. Admittedly he had been more than a little out of his mind, especially towards the end of the last war, but he was still irritated that Lucius hadn't even given the appearance of trying to look for him. The man was trying to make amends now, though, which bought him a little goodwill - enough to avoid a Crucio on sight, at least.

"My Lord." Both Lord and Lady Malfoy knelt without hesitation and bowed their heads, though only Lucius spoke. "We are honored to receive you. Rooms have been prepared, and await your inspection."

"Lead the way," Voldemort commanded, "and tell me what you know of Harry Potter."

Lucius actually hesitated for a full second before rising and guiding them through the manor. "My Lord?"

"Mr. Potter has proven himself quite interesting of late," said the Dark Lord, "and I am capable of learning from my mistakes. I want to know more about this boy Dumbledore has set against me."

"I do not believe he has been set against you, my Lord," the Malfoy patriarch responded, "at least, not yet. Draco has certainly never mentioned the esteemed headmaster taking an active hand in Mr. Potter's education. In addition, while some of his friends are of... less than pure blood, ever since I met him before the beginning of his first year, he's taken an active interest in our history and traditions. Some of the others and I have sent him books on the subject, some of which are considered to be quite Dark, and he seems to have read them quite thoroughly. He hasn't surrendered them to the Ministry, at least, though it remains to be seen if he's practiced anything within those pages."

"You believe he could be our ally?"

"I hesitate to use the word ally, my Lord. He seems far more interested in… doing his own thing, so to speak, than getting involved in our struggle. But, if we were to moderate a few of our positions, perhaps, at least concerning Muggleborns and even if only in public, then I do not believe he would oppose us."

"Which would deprive Dumbledore and his Order of one very potent symbol of resistance." Hm... yes indeed. If that was the best possible outcome he could get, then Voldemort supposed he could accept that. He did kill the boy's parents, after all. But he certainly wasn't going to let that stop him from pursuing something more; the Boy-Who-Lived on the side of the "Dark" would be devastating for the "Light", and as the wise war-mage Sun Tzu said, "supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting".

But all of that hinged on that damned prophecy. If it said they were doomed to be enemies forever, Voldemort was going to be very put out.

Barty lowered him into a chair in the suite of rooms Lucius opened for them, then knelt to let Nagini slither off of him, the snake-woman already scenting the air with her tongue. The Maledicta decided not to explore, however, and came up to coil around him, soaking up the heat of his magic. If he ever did manage to break the curse on her, it was going to be quite odd for both of them.

"You may go, Lucius. I have much to think about." Not the least of which was whether or not Barty would be impersonating Mad-Eye Moody as the Defense professor this year. The Triwizard Tournament would make it much easier to sneak the boy in and out so they could speak, what with so many people already coming and going through the castle's wards, but would it be worth the risk to have an extra set of eyes on Potter, given the amount of trouble he'd stumbled into in his previous years? The window to decide one way or another was closing rapidly.

Lucius bowed and departed, and Harry woke to the morning light.

Sirius and Remus sent a letter the very next day and invited Harry (and Will and Abby, if they wanted to come) to the Quidditch World Cup. When Harry dashed off quick messages to his friends, Neville said he was also going, and Ron and his family were bringing Hermione. Will declined, but both Harry and Abby accepted. Even though he expected that Draco and his family would be there as well, Harry didn't take the locket with him to pass over; while not technically an official "Dark artifact", the boy couldn't imagine that whatever Voldemort had done to make it a "horcrux" was entirely legal, and he didn't want the Malfoy patriarch to get in trouble for having it if by chance it was discovered.

Will took the two of them to the Black townhouse, and Sirius and Remus Apparated them to the site from there. Apparition, Harry discovered, was even more unpleasant than Floo travel, though in an entirely different manner. It was very like what he imagined spaghettification (as described in some of his Muggle science books) would feel like, if he ever ended up falling into a black hole (unlikely, but not utterly impossible); it was like being squeezed through a very tight rubber tube.

But they arrived on the moor where the match was being held without incident, and made their way through the rows and rows of tents and hordes of wixen from all over the world to reach the Weasleys' tent. Apparently they had been there for a few days, and Neville's grandmother Augusta Longbottom had dropped him off earlier that morning. Everyone greeted Sirius and Remus happily, and Harry introduced Abby to all his friends, who were in turn glad to finally meet the sister he mentioned periodically.

They talked about everything - and more, when more of their yearmates came by, including Cedric Diggory. Neville greeted the other Hufflepuff happily, and explained that Cedric had convinced Professor Sprout to let him help out in some of the more advanced greenhouses outside of class, starting that very year. "I was glad to do it," said the other badger, "You're aces at Herbology. You've even helped me out a few times, and you better believe I'm going to be picking your brain before NEWTs come around."

"That's right, you're graduating this year, aren't you?" said Blaise, "Do you know what you want to do afterwards?"

"Dad wants me to go into the Ministry," Cedric replied, "but to be perfectly honest, I fancy the thought of becoming a Healer at St. Mungo's."

"You'd be good at it," said Harry, "You've definitely got the heart for it - just don't let it burn you out. Do you have the OWLs and NEWTs you need?"

"I will."

Harry nodded, pleased. It was always good to see one of his friends succeed. "How exactly would that work, you going into St. Mungo's? Do you get like an apprenticeship under another Healer, or is there additional schooling available after Hogwarts?"

"Typically it's a little of both," Cedric answered, "There are 'wizarding colleges' out there for people who want to specialize in a specific field, but there aren't any in England that I know of. Though I hear there's a warding college somewhere in Ireland, but obviously it's not easy to find. St. Mungo's has an - exchange program, kind of? - with a Healing college on the Continent, and if my NEWTs are good enough, I can get a grant that'll pay for everything. I'll learn stuff that we don't in Hogwarts, either because it's too dangerous to teach or too specific for people who won't want to be Healers, and then I'll come back to St. Mungo's for my residency. If I do really well, I could be a full Healer by twenty-five."

He grinned, which Harry returned. "You'll do just fine, Ced."

The Hufflepuff blushed a little, then asked, "What about you all? Have you thought about what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

Ron wanted to be an Auror (no surprise there). Hermione hadn't really thought about it yet, but she thought she might work for the Ministry doing some kind of research ("You'll want the Department of Mysteries, then," said Draco, "The Unspeakables do all the fun stuff, researching the nature of time and death and other things." "That actually does sound interesting."). Neville wanted to do something with Herbology, maybe cultivating specialty potion ingredients or something similar ("You could take over as Herbology professor when Sprout retires," Cedric suggested, "You're good, and all respect to her, but she's not getting any younger."). Draco was going to be Lord of the Malfoy Estate, which was apparently a full time job, but he also wanted to do something relating to alchemy, which he found fascinating. Blaise was already making plans to move to Italy after graduation, where he had some family and family businesses that he could use to jumpstart his own career in wizarding fashion. Their other assorted classmates had similar plans, though Fred and George wanted to open their own joke shop.

"What about you, Harry? What do you want to do?"

"Research. History and traditions, mostly - Muggles would call some of it anthropology, the study of humankind."

"Really? That sounds… boring."

"Who here sleeps in Binns's class?"

Every hand but Hermione's went up.

"And that's why it sounds boring. But it's more for those of us who are Muggle-raised than anything else. We come into this world knowing nothing - some could argue less than nothing, because what Muggles know about the wizarding world is more of a warped mirror of reality - and then, rather than getting actually taught about the history and culture and traditions of not only our own corner of the world but also the wizarding world in its entirety, we get stuck with Binns. Like, the things you told us about covens," he said, looking to Blaise, "to us, 'coven' is just 'a gathering of witches and wizards'. Literally, that's the dictionary definition for Muggles. It doesn't have all the history and connotations to us that it does to you. I bet - no, actually, I don't bet, I know - we step on a lot of metaphorical toes because we don't know any better and aren't actually taught. I want to change that. I want to write, like, a primer or something on the wizarding world for those of us who are Muggle-raised, so we can understand how it's different from what we know and why, and what's the history behind it, rather than just a million goblin rebellions and giant wars. Starting with the basics, then going more in depth in later volumes, and not just for here, but for the entire wizarding world, if I can."

"...You really wanna do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Someone has to. Why not me? Besides, maybe that will be enough to someday get Hogwarts a proper History professor, instead of a ghost that tries to kill all of us through boredom."

"Oh Merlin yes please!"

"The sooner that happens, the better!"

"We'll give you as much help as you need, just say the word!"

The game was interesting, but Harry's attention was caught more by the foreign wixen in the crowds - and also speaking to the Bulgarian Minister for Magic. Harry didn't speak Bulgarian, but Hannibal had taught him German, which the Minister spoke, among half a dozen others. The Bulgarian Minister Oblansk confessed that he did speak English but found Fudge's miming hilarious, and enjoyed regaling the Boy-Who-Lived with tales of his home in between cheering on his team.

Ireland won, though narrowly, even though the Bulgarian seeker Viktor Krum caught the Snitch, but it was still an enjoyable match. Everyone was raving over the match as they descended from the stands and returned to their tents; Ron and Draco were arguing, as usual, while the rest of their yearmates looked on with amused exasperation, and Fred, George, and Cedric were deep in a debate with the adults about some of the more technical aspects of the match. Sirius was particularly vocal, though he may just have been drunk, but he wasn't resisting Remus's attempts to corral him into something more manageable.

As he watched them all with fondness, Harry spotted something off to one side in the woods that made his smile slip. Lucius was arguing with a group of wixen, almost facing off against them, hands gripping his cane like he was about to whip out a concealed blade and start slashing - no, it was probably his wand; the Malfoy patriarch would never go for something so pedestrian as a blade.

Harry nudged Abby and inclined his head. She saw what he had seen, and then he saw a subtle darkening of her skin and lightening of her eyes, even as her jet black antlers branched out from the crown of her skull. She nodded, and they moved into the trees.

"Is everything all right?"

If Lucius was surprised to see them or worried, he didn't show it. "Heir Potter," he said, inclining his head.

"Lord Malfoy," he said respectfully, bowing as deeply as was appropriate for the older man's station and felt Abby do the same at his back. Then he shot a glance at the other wixen. "Friends of yours?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Death Eaters, then. Who looked none too happy about the closeness between the two of them, and the seeming Muggle at the boy's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be attending the Dark Lord?" Harry asked quietly, too low to carry beyond their circle, "Lord Malfoy is very competent - much more so than Wormtail, although it must be said that that isn't exactly a high bar to reach - but I'm sure he could use some extra hands in returning Him to a body of His own."

If any of them reacted, it was too dark for Harry to see, but he felt Abby move closer and rest a hand against his side, ready to shove him out of the way if any of them attacked.

"You-"

"I told you," Lucius nearly growled, "He's the one who told me that our Lord had returned to England."

One of the wixen - an older witch, he had no idea who she was but she instantly made him think, 'This is the Dark version of McGonagall' - stepped forward and looked Abby over for a moment, eyes gleaming in the dark. Then she leaned down slightly so her face was level with his, letting her look him in the eye more easily. "And why have you aided our Lord and guided His servants to His side, Heir Potter, Savior of the Light? What do you have to gain from it?"

He crossed his arms. "I had no say about what happened around me or to me when I was one, so please don't call me anyone's savior. But I already lost my parents to this war between Him and Dumbledore. I don't want to lose my friends and my new family as well. If that means negotiating with the Dark Lord, giving Him what He wants to a certain extent…" He shrugged. "So be it."

"Dumbledore could arrange for their protection."

"Could he? Without a doubt. Would he? When them being in danger would make me fight harder to protect them? When he already left me on the doorstep of my abusive Muggle relatives the same night my parents died, against their express wishes as enumerated in their wills - which he didn't even open? When he baited both me and the Dark Lord into a trap my very first year at Hogwarts, to check if He was paying attention and see what state He was in once I was old enough to hold a wand and choke myself on his puppet strings? You tell me."

What is the nature of evil? It depends on your perspective.

She studied him for a long, silent moment, her gaze briefly flitting over his scar, barely visible in the dark. Then she smiled, knife-sharp, and straightened. "We go to attend our Lord," she said to the others, and Disapparated on the spot. The rest followed in moments, and Lucius stayed only long enough to bow to them both and receive a bow in return before he vanished as well.

Once they were sure the Death Eaters were gone, Harry and Abby hurried from the woods and ran to catch up with the Weasleys and company, and Sirius and Remus Apparated them back to Grimmauld Place, where Will was waiting to take them home.

Harry had the locket in his pocket when he arrived at Platform 9 ¾, and searched for Lucius. The moment he spotted the man, he made his way over and managed to pull him away for just a moment, only long enough to press the pendant into his hand and say just loud enough to be heard, "It's His. If I may be so bold, I suggest taking it straight to Him once you leave here, and telling Him that I found it where I sorely doubt it should have been."

The patriarch nodded, then said just as softly, "The Triwizard Tournament is taking place at Hogwarts this year, though not of His will. But the people coming and going from Hogwarts will cover your departure when He calls, and He will arrange for someone to bring you to Him."

Harry nodded, though it was more of a bow. "I will await His summons, although I would like my parents there to aid in any negotiations between us."

"If you will tell them, I will see to it that He knows."

Harry bowed again, recognizing the dismissal, then stepped away to greet Draco and his other friends. He quietly told Hannibal and Will before getting on the train, and they agreed to come with him when he met the Dark Lord, though for more than just negotiations. Harry remembered what the goblins had said years ago, that High Wendigos were resistant to most spells and very difficult to kill; if Voldemort tried something, he was reasonably confident that they would be able to protect him and get him away. Not to mention Voldemort was one of the few people who knew they were High Wendigos, which made Harry also reasonably confident that he wouldn't try anything with them present.

Then the Hogwarts Express was rolling out of the station, and Harry leaned back on the bench, the low drone of the engine, the clatter of the wheels over the tracks, and the sounds of his friends' voices lulling him into a half-sleep. But Lucius must have done as Harry suggested, because he suddenly heard Voldemort's voice in his ear.

"How does he keep finding them?! It's like every time he turns around, he trips over another one!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh himself out of sleep. His friends didn't know what was going on, but they still laughed with him.