Death's True Hallows

by Ensis96

She had electric blue hair and emerald green eyes that twinkled with mirth at their surprise, but what put her even more out of place was her clothing. She had no robe or House emblem, nothing Wizardly about her at all. The halfblood beamed at the Poltergeist of Hogwarts and brightly spoke words that had never once been said: "Hi Peeves, it's nice to meet you!" (A Next-Gen fanfic)

30. Ch 30 True Colors

Ch 30- True Colors

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Thanks for all the reviews! and I really love that a lot of them were long ones, you all made my day ^v^

turnthedoor- yay! and yes. things are converging to reach the point hinted in the title/prologue

Yami Umi- welcome back, I hadn't seen you for a few chapters! I'm glad Albus's character growth is getting the stamp of approval.

Wainbata- dude. DUDE. you chose wainbata as your guest name. I love it! and yes, that was my inspiration for most of Rose's personality. and James, to be honest. thanks so much for taking the time to review! The support felt (feels) really great. :)

New York 613- happy to hear you love the story!

J- don't get desperate, get creative! your idea was pretty interesting, don't let laziness get in your way.

Grey Eminence- oh, em, gee! that was an amazingly long review! I am so relieved the family meeting lived up to expectations, and Yes it was always the plan for Lysander to be the person who called it. I honestly didn't expect the backlash against Sandy back in ch 25, but I was pleasantly surprised to find I'd led readers along the same emotional trip as Zoey! Lysander is awkward and Lorcan is an idiot. Great summary. And yes, poor Harry and his poor luck with family problems. quite true.

You also brought up a good point about the conflict between Rose's personality and her crush, Grey- I decided to address it in the first part of this chapter, so thanks and kudos to you!

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"I'm fine- fine!" Albus told his hovering family for the millionth time as they sat outside of the Hospital Wing. Healer Prin was ridiculously busy unfortunately, so though his bone fracture had been healed he was still waiting for a potion to reduce the swelling overnight.

"Are you sure?" Lily pressed, folding her arms and once again channeling her mother-bear impression.

"Lily, I am sure I'm sure." he said, then winced as he repeated himself yet again. It wasn't a true stutter, but it had been years since he'd last been mocked for his speech pattern. He was a little self-conscious, but did it best to ignore it. "Go get dinner before the Great Hall closes."

It didn't take much more persuasion to get his little sister to leave. They may be Potters, but they still had a Weasley appetite. Most of the family left with her, and Albus sighed with relief at the renewed quiet their departure brought. His family was much, much too loud at times.

Although- he'd been a bit loud himself, hadn't he? Albus flexed his swollen hand uncomfortably, remembering the words he and James had exchanged. He'd never spoken that much in any meeting… actually, he couldn't remember ever offering an opposing stance other than a raised hand. Was it always that- that satisfying to just speak out like that? To say exactly what he was thinking and stand his ground if for no other reason than he thought his opinion was something to share?

He could get addicted to it.

Though, Albus knew the reason it felt so good. He was proud of his opinions, his beliefs. He wanted others to know his stance on issues whether or not they were interested themselves. That wasn't a Gryffindor-esque mindset. It was a very- very Slytherin thing about himself, and Albus hated that.

"So, what did you want?"

Albus's eyes snapped open, surprised to see that a family member had stayed- and actually been completely silent during his inner reflection. He felt his mouth tug down in a frown. "Excuse you?"

Rose Granger-Weasley twirled a ringlet of hair around her finger, the same strand she'd chewed nervously during the meeting. Then she took a deep breath and turned on the bench they were both seated on so she could face him more directly.

See, that was a Gryffindor thing to do. Square up to a potential conflict because it was a conflict, not because of herself.

"On Friday, when- on my way to Care of Magical Creatures, before you scared Peeves off… you wanted to talk about something, right?"

"Right." Albus agreed, but didn't elaborate, instead watching Healer Prin bustle around the room. Several of the beds were still filled with students from fight, in various stages of recovery. Most would be out pretty soon, Healer Prin was just keeping them to make sure nobody relapsed into jinx boils or vomiting more slugs. Others, though, had been the victims of poorly-performed transformation spells, and would need some time before their random patches of purple fur or orange skin would recede.

Albus glanced to Roxanne's bed, seeing the girl herself still unconscious and her brother Fred asleep at her bedside. Roxanne and the three beds adjacent to her were the more critical patients, victims of multiple hexes and charms and jinxes. Healer Prin had to be careful lifting the spells else they mix in untested ways and create further complication. The magical doctor checked on them the most out of everyone, twice in just the time that Albus had been sitting here.

Rose hesitated, clearly unsettled by the Albus's one-word response, and then sighed, guilt laced in her voice. "I'm sorry, I just- I couldn't believe I'd been yelled at in front of everyone, and then I got my first detention ever, and then Peeves showed up again and people were laughing and-" Her voice reached a note of panic at just the memory, and she gulped in effort for a lower decibel. "I just wanted to get out of there."

He'd known that, her motivations at the time had been pretty obvious. What hurt was that she hadn't taken the time to consider his.

At least she was considering it now. Four days later. Albus chided the petty thought- she was making amends by asking, and that was what mattered. Well, what mattered more. "I wanted to know why you'd broken into Zoey's room." And why she'd grown so cold to the Ravenclaw girl in general, but he wasn't sure how to approach that subject.

"We just said," Rose mumbled and gestured vaguely in reference to the meeting they'd just left. "We were worried she was up to something."

"No you weren't." Albus refuted, the high of his argument with James giving him the confidence. "Well, I mean you probably were, but that isn't why you did it Rose. Stealing her diary?"

"I didn't know it was a diary!" Rose was quick to defend, her eyes wide. "She'd written it in some kind of rune, I didn't know what it was until after I translated it!"

Zoey wrote her diary in runes? That was weird. Albus shook his head to refocus. "Then why did you take it?"

"I thought- it looked like it was just a Ravenclaw thing. Their walls are bookshelves! Their entire commons is a library, Al! Can you imagine?" Her eyes started shining with energy at the memory. "They don't have to go anywhere to find a good book, or finish their homework. I thought it was- I thought that her diary was some sort of private project or something that she was working on. And I mean really, with her grades, the only thing she should be working on was studying. You know, like a proper Ravenclaw."

Albus knew that, once Rose started to ramble, very little could get her to stop. And this was no exception- his cousin was barely breathing as she went on.

"Which, you know, she's really really bad at being. Ravenclaw, I mean. She can barely remember anything I teach her, her wandwork is absolutely dismal, and she never takes my suggestions seriously. We both know I am a smarter person than her, and yet the Sorting Hat didn't even consider me for Ravenclaw. What makes her so special, anyways? She's not even average, she's below average. And yet no matter how ridiculously pathetic her attempts are she makes Malfoy smile and no matter how rude he is she doesn't hesitate to be nice to him and she's optimistic to the point of idiocy and even though she is so way out of her depth just being here at Hogwarts- can't even cast Avifors, Al- she never stops trying to reach a higher level and never gets anywhere but she just does it again and that just- it bothers me to see her get back up again every time. And I don't know why. But I know it got worse every tutoring."

Spent, Rose flopped back on the bench with a huff, pulling so hard on a strand of her hair a part of Albus worried it would come off. Most of him, though, was unsettled by the harsh words Rose had just spewed about his crush.

Well, perhaps not what she'd said about Zoey but the way Rose had said it. Every word had been laced with irritation and frustration not proportional to the situation at all. Practically everything she'd described should have been taken in a positive light, and in fact many were things Albus himself liked about Zoey, but Rose had listed them off like everything good about Zoethia Malam was a personal affront-

Oh. Oh, that was it. Albus had never heard that emotion in his cousin's voice before, that mix of bitter sadness laced with hubris, and that was why it took so long for him to place it, but when he did it made sense. "You're jealous of her."

"Pfft. As if." Rose immediately rejected the idea, her hair falling forward to cover her cheeks. "Me, Rose Granger-Weasley, jealous of a kid that can't even keep up with first year courses? Don't be ridiculous. That's ridiculous. I mean sure, I wanted to be in Ravenclaw too, but you don't see me jealous of Lysander. And it makes his sense he's in Ravenclaw, he's always reading to fill his free time because the school courses are just that easy for him. I don't have that luxury, I work really hard to keep my grades. She works hard in tutoring, but then she goes off and goofs around. Plays with peeves and constantly getting into things. And fine, she's better with people than I am- for all that she gibbers on and on she's barely ever mean. I'm know still working on that-" her gaze cut over to him in a quick apology. "-but come on Al, that doesn't mean I'm jealous. It's not like I- I can't imagine myself doing the same in her situation. Not that I'd ever let myself be in her situation, mind, and if I did I'd probably be as optimistic as she is, and… I'd maybe make Scorpius smile too…"

Her voice got weaker and weaker as she went, her breath hitching and Albus knew she was hiding a red face behind her certain of crimson hair. "You don't believe that at all, do you."

"She's a transfer student." Rose didn't try to persuade him. "People aren't supposed to like her that easily. Merlin, Scorpius doesn't like anybody and he already likes her."

Albus felt a lurch in his own gut at the reminder, but pushed it away. Right now wasn't about his- or anyone else's possible- crush on Zoey. But apparently, Rose thought this was now about her crush on Scorpius, because she went on:

"I've never been, you know, good with the fact that I liked him. I'm not about to- to waltz up and start flirting with Malfoy- Dad would just, die on the spot. And he's never liked me back- obviously- so I figured, that's the way it would stay, right? At least until I got over him. No one else was about to start liking him meanwhile, and him feeling romantic? Hah. Not a chance. He's Scorpius Malfoy. He doesn't like anybody. But then the Transfer just waltzes on in, does whatever she wants and doesn't care about what everyone else thinks of her, and I had no idea what to do with that. What are people supposed to do with that kind of problem?"

She may have meant it as a rhetorical statement, but Albus felt a spark of anger. He had never felt so close to understanding his cousin, and yet she'd never felt so alien to him before. He'd known- truly believed- that Rose had another reason for what she'd done. And that's what she'd given him. A reason. Not a justification. And though he'd expected just that, Albus couldn't help but feel disappointed in her.

"Zoethia Malam is not a 'problem', Rose, she is a person. A person that you treated terribly."

She bodily flinched in response, but Albus wasn't done. He'd let her speak her peace, now it was his turn.

"In fact, you treated her worse than terrible. You don't have to be a Voldemort to be cruel. You reached that all by your lonesome. You didn't throw Zoey into the Chamber of Secrets, or stalk her, or make her write lines with her own blood- you didn't Crucio or Imerio her or- or lay a finger on anyone, but that doesn't mean what you did wasn't Unforgivable. I'm not going to lie, I don't think I will never be able to look at you again, Rose, and not know exactly what you are capable of doing to another person. And because- because of what? Because Zoey was so nice, you couldn't get along with her? Because she doesn't let a bad situation leave her down, because she makes people smile, because she's not mean to people the way that you are?"

Albus Severus Potter had finally figured out what his kind of anger was. As it turned out- it was rather cruel in it's own way. He took Rose's own words and threw them back at her, feeling a vicious satisfaction as he saw every twisted barb land a solid strike. Because he was serious- their relationship was forever changed. He wasn't sure if he could stay her friend.

And yet, Albus still felt the desire to support her, to give her a hug and help her, because they were friends. Because Rose was his cousin and because he knew that, twisted as her actions were, she hadn't meant things to become this way and that she needed all the support she could get. But that was weak, for him to sway so easily in his convictions, and so he wouldn't. He had supported Rose- supported James- through too much. The definition of insanity was repeating same actions and expecting different results. Albus was done being insane. He was done expecting something better from them.

He looked around again at the Hospital Wing they were in, blaming Rose and James for this. For all these people who had been hurt because they'd gotten caught up in his family's drama. While a part of him stubbornly reminded himself of Lorcan's part in what had happened, he shoved the thought away, because Lorcan had apologized and shown his regret. And, Albus wasn't close to him the way he was James and Rose. His brother, and best friend. Former best friend.

Forget waiting for the healing potion. He was getting out of here. Anger still simmered in him, just was poisonous and invasive as he'd expect the emotion to be, but it was wavering. In the moment, given the choice between yielding to compassion and holding onto anger, Albus was not ready to let his rage fade just yet. He stood abruptly and startled leaving the Hospital Wing, still taking care not to interrupt the mending students.

"Wait!" Rose called, jumping to her feet. She seemed surprised when he listened, looking at her over a shoulder. "I really am sorry. Albus I know it- you're right, I was cruel and that's… not something I ever want to be again. I'm going to do everything I can to- grow from this. I'm going to become a better person."

And she meant it. She truly did, her very spirit glowed with Gryffindor determination and Rose bravely held his gaze in a show of sincerity, despite the pained tears that gathered in them. Because his every barb had hurt her, yes, and maybe Albus should feel guilty about tearing into what what were some of her deepest insecurities. But he found that he really, truly didn't.

"I'm sorry too." Albus told her before turning away, his voice icy and detached. "Because I don't know how long it's going to take for me to believe that."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As soon as they finished tutoring Zoethia Malam immediately rushed to see Jon. She let herself in the History Office and anxiously paced back and forth for a moment, not sure why she was here.

Correction, Zoey knew why she was here. Jonovan was always her first support and confidant whenever anything happened. And yet- she hadn't told him of Salazar's Chamber. She couldn't without breaking her promise, something she wasn't confident enough to risk breaking so early after striking it.

She was also worried about what Jon would do after she told him. He'd probably march right down to Salazar's statue and either blast it to smithereens for threatening his 'baby cousin', or get drowned himself.

Neither of which was an appealing outcome, so silence was her only option at this point. Which meant getting a second opinion on the whole wand vs boat analogy wasn't possible.

At least, not directly. Zoey let her gaze fall on the messy side of Jon's office, his latest attempts to recreate technology with magic components. 'Magtech', as he'd been calling it. She tapped her fingers on the giant desk she was leaning against. They'd initially come to Hogwarts for two reasons. First and foremost, Zoey had wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps. Their second reason, of course, was the vast expanse of reading material in the school library. The thousand-year-old school held arguably the largest collection of magical texts in the world they'd ever have access to. And so, though they'd visited some of the other magical schools, here was where they'd stayed.

Jonovan Malam Orion had been grabbing a new set of books from the library practically every day. His research- both into wandlore and the errant relation between magic and electricity- was the reason they'd made that Ravenclaw persona of his. At first it had been because he'd had to start with horribly basic material that any true wizard should have known already. Then Jon had become too noticeable as 'the Assistant', especially if he wanted to peruse the private library in Ravenclaw Tower.

Zoey had also caught him masquerading as a Ravenclaw merely because it was, to quote him, 'easier to get around'. She distantly remembered him saying he was 'done' with the disguise and put a finger to her chin. Had he meant he was done with the library, or that he would be making a new appearance to wear? It wasn't easy as it might sound to for a metamorph to look like someone completely new. Or at least, it wasn't for Jon. Without practice certain things about his new appearance just wouldn't seem natural to even a casual observer. Expressions that were normal for one face could look completely alien on others.

Either way the subject of his hobby was an innocent enough way to open a conversation about magic in general. And it never failed to send Jon on tangent after tangent… in a manner similar to her own, she smiled happily. Steeling herself Zoey knocked on the door to Jon's rooms, now more prepared for meeting her cousin. When he didn't answer she grumbled under her breath as she grabbed the door's new combination lock. "If you're taking another nap, Jon, I am- I'll- I might seriously consider putting you in rehab for your caffeine addiction."

That decided, she returned her focus back to the dial and pursed her lips as she reached out to feel the magic embedded in it. She was immediately overwhelmed by how vast it was, the small chunk of metal in her hands teeming such a wide and strong variety of protections that it left her reeling. Her exploration of Jon's enchantment felt like she was leaning over the edge of a canyon to look at the smallest of bushes miles away, a deadly and useless endeavor, and she dropped the metal lock with a sudden sensation of fear.

Only after she'd released it did she feel that the usual prickling sensation in her hand had extended almost to her shoulder, and she shook her arm out uncertainly. She didn't know how much of that sensation had been true instinct, and how much had been emotional hogwash.

"Well," she supposed aloud, putting a curved finger to her chin. "Instincts are mostly emotional hogwash anyways."

She wasn't going to try that again, that was for sure. Though protection magics tended to fade in intensity over time, that time was usually measured by the year. And knowing Jon, the paranoid genius would probably make boosting the defense a daily endeavor.

Zoey tapped the silver dagger on her bracelet, for a moment debating if she could possibly just break the steel lock, but then dismissed the idea. Jon had gone through some trouble to make it after all. He'd be a bit mad if she ruined it.

Instead Zoey kept her magic to herself as she picked up the spinning dial again. "Let's see… if I was a paranoid, know-it-all big cousin, what three numbers would I choose?" She first tried the basics, twisting the number dial around to enter 01-02-03, then trying repeating digits. She moved through 01-01-01, 02-02-02, 03-03-03 and so on and so on with no success and got bored before she'd finished the thirties.

Then she tried numbers that were important to them. Dates like his birthday, other family birthdays and his parents' anniversary… nothing. There were one hundred cubed possible combinations on this thing. And Jon, she knew, would probably still be snoring by the time she went through all of them.

Finally she tried the dates that were important to him specifically. His high school graduation, his first day at college, his last day at college…

Zoey paused, then turned the dial to 09-21-19, and sighed as the lock opened. Normally she'd be pretty happy to have figured out the code, but she didn't feel excited. While she understood it had been a day of freedom for him she had only felt a deepening of guilt.

She shook her head and put those thoughts away, setting her hand on the Hogwarts door to blur its defenses with ease. Zoey noticed with interest that instead of restarting at her palm the 'tingling' of her arm had continued from her shoulder. Seemed her unusual talent had more of an accruing symptom rather than a predetermined one. Good to know.

As soon as she opened the door she was blasted by the echoing sound of a snore like that of a bear, the noise emerging with every breath Jon took in the middle of the four-poster bed. There was definitely a silencing spell of some kind on the entrance, Zoey firmly concluded. And maybe Jon was allergic to ghost dust or something, because he wasn't usually this loud back home.

How he didn't wake himself from his own nap was a mystery. Rasputin even lifted his head to look at her in agony over the sound he was being subjected to. Zoey sympathetically patted the Albanian Murtlap. She herself had lost the opportunity for many a sleepy morning's because of Jonovan.

She didn't even attempt to rouse Jon, knowing that it was far simpler to let the aroma of freshly brewed coffee do the work for her. Instead Zoey sat on one of the giant clothes-chests in the room and stared at the small purple flame she'd just created.

Since finding the secret entrance in Myrtle's bathroom, Zoey had been using her newly-acquired sense everywhere and on everything she could think of. So far she had mostly reconfirmed the obvious- like the magical nature of moving walls and staircases- and found a few new shortcuts as a result, but nothing as impactful as that entrance in Myrtle's room.

Looking at her small fire and 'sensing' it for the first time, though, Zoey was shocked to feel extremely familiar with it. While almost every other magic had some kind of foreign scent or sensation to it that she had to grow accustomed to, this one was natural to her. Very much so. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing a reflection of her face she was feeling an echo of herself.

It was kinda weird. And very mesmerizing.

She watched the purple flame until the water rose and mixed through the coffee grinds, the smell of the brew quickly filling the History Living Quarters. She got some hot chocolate going for herself too.

The coffee rose in the pot, and shortly after there was a moan and groan like that of the living dead as Jonovan Orion emerged from the mess of covers, staggering over to the cabinet and grabbing some mugs. He grumbled and patted her head as he waved a finger, the hot pot pouring itself into the cup he held out.

Zoey looked at his head and chuckled. As always, Jon's hair was a rainbow of colors when he was mostly asleep. Silver, red, green, and blue hair locks bumped into eachother like the worst camouflage ever. She grabbed her own bangs to confirm that it had become the same multi-chrome spread as his and laughed some more. "Hey, Rainbow Dash- you did it again."

"Har har." Jon said dryly, waving for a second cup to pour itself. The more he awoke the less vibrant his hair became, until it was back to his natural brown color. He was still groggy though as he cracked an eye open for the first time and asked "So- what's up?"

"Beside the sky and the castle and, it seems, a personal rainbow-" Zoey dropped the colorful bang she had been fingering. "I wanted to check in on you. You missed breakfast this morning."

"Sorry about that." Jonovan scowled, upset that he'd missed their appointed meet-up. "McGonagall called me to her office super early to give me a spiel about needing proper permission before taking a student off of Hogwarts Grounds."

Zoey blinked a few times. "You did what?"

"I took that Malfoy boy on a home visit; seemed the least I could do, since he's been tutoring you."

"Oh." she tightened her grip on her own cup, a bit surprised. She had read the article about Malfoy Manner, but hadn't worked up the courage to talk to Scorpius about it. Nor had she imagined he would ask her cousin to bend rules on his behalf… yet, it probably was in him to take advantage of a connection like that. She was caught between wanting to thank Jon for going out of his way and wanting to know what had happened, but ultimately neither were her business. Jon did what he wanted, and Scorpius Malfoy told her- or in this case didn't tell- whatever he wanted, too.

Instead she took a sip of too-hot chocolate and asked "You in trouble?"

"Nah. Played the innocent newbie card- she lapped it up. Deputy Head's getting a bit tired of that, though. I can tell."

Zoey took a moment to wonder at the fact Jon called Professor Longbottom by his official title and not the Headmistress, but ultimately shrugged it away. As long as she knew who they were talking about she didn't care what names were used.

Rasputin climbed up in her lap and sprawled lazily, seeming to decide that his master's awake, non-snoring state was a prime opportunity for him to catch a quick nap himself.

Jonovan smiled and scratched his familiar behind the ear. "So, are you still planning to interrogate me five ways to Sunday about that fight?"

Him and his detective documentaries, Zoey smiled. She shook her head to his question though. She'd heard more than enough about what had happened, and probably would continue to over the next few days. It seemed to be all the school could talk about. "I am curious about one thing, though."

"Just one thing?"

"Mostly one thing." She stuck her tongue out in response to his teasing. "I get why you used your demon shape- still don't like it, for the record, but I do get it- but what was with the horns? You've never had horns. They made you look like a faun. All you needed was panpipes."

Jon looked insulted. "I thought they were cool. Kinda Darth-Maul-esque."

"Riiiight. Because wizard kids totally know who that is." She rolled her eyes. They hadn't even known who Elphaba was, something that still astounded her. There was no chance they'd seen anything in the science-fiction field. Muggle science left most of her classmates confused, fake-space science would probably be complete gibberish to them.

"It still worked. You should have seen their expressions." He grinned over his mug of coffee, and Zoey blinked in surprise. Somehow the face had reminded her of Peeves for a moment.

"I think I have a pretty good idea." Zoey mumbled, knowing exactly how most people reacted to Jon's other shape. He looked truly inhuman to match the loss of his sense of self. Glowing eyes, two-inch-claws and the sharp pointed face of a fiend was unnerving enough to see on a living person, and when accompanied by Jon throwing a fireball or bolt of lightening in every direction it was downright terrifying. Even when it missed you.

Once he'd gained control of his magic though Jon had taken quite a liking to using that shape when it suited him. An easy feat for a metamorphmagi, it never failed to send instinctive 'run and cower' jitters through anyone who saw him.

"And now, they do too." He seemed exorbitantly pleased with himself as he guessed her train of thought from years of companionship.

She shook her head at the pride in his voice, bemused. His confidence was great to see but she'd like if Jon kept his caution just as prepped when it came to the anomalies of his own magic.

Jon flicked his fingers to set his coffee cup floating at his side as he picked up a book from his desk, the porcelain bobbing peacefully in the air as though floating the ocean.

Zoey peeked at the title and almost bounced with excitement. "'Wandmakers of the 16th Century?' Are you still trying to figure out what makes wands work?" She couldn't have asked for a better opening subject.

Her cousin nodded, the book dog-eared and tagged at several places. The Ravenclaw in her would have been more upset if Zoey hadn't seen first-hand Jon's ability to repair the damaged paper with his magic. A trick she was determined to learn herself- practicing on her class notes, of course. She would never risk ruining a real book.

"If magic can make a piece of wood into a working conduit of energy, I should be able to replicate it with wires and electricity. But no-o-o," he bemoaned, "I can't find a proper account explaining how wands work. The wandmaker communities are as tight-lipped as our parents at Christmas!"

Zoey smiled. The annual investigation about what presents would be under their tree had always been long and involved. And, naturally, they never managed so much as a sneak-peek into what their Christmas goodies would be. "That bad?"

"Worse." He declared. "They're that paranoid about competitors stealing their methods. I'm having enough trouble even developing a timeline of their development- for a brief stint wizards used staffs instead, but there's not even a clause on why or a comparison of their strengths. I was in the library all night trying to find a decent text."

Magic staffs? That had potential. Zoey filed that under the list of possible wand-alternatives, but was more concerned with her cousin's current dilemma. With his caffeine addiction, he did not need anything else keeping him from well deserved rest. "So- I get that you're pretty determined to get to the bottom of all this, but you do know how huge that library is, right? I've gotten lost in there."

"I seriously need to put a tracker on you one of these days…" Jon mumbled thoughtfully, well aware of her wandering tendencies.

"Ha ha." Zoey sighed. "And I wasn't finished. That library is big enough to live in. It seriously needs a search archive- but in the meantime, why aren't you using your resources?"

Jon blinked for a moment, then waved his current book toward the towering stacks that piled his desk. It was such a childish Look look action that Zoey chuckled.

"Jonovan, you are a teacher-"

"-Assistant Professor-"

"-in this school, right? And your job is to educate all few-hundred of us about History of Magic. So why don't you just- use that?"

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing as he grabbed his coffee from the air for another sip. "Where are you going with this?"

"Give the students an essay. On the history of wandlore, which is- quite obviously- magic. Make them properly cite all their sources from the library, and then just use the best essays to track down what books the students had. That way the whole school does the legwork for you."

Zoey watched with barely concealed glee as Jonovan stopped completely in place, hardly seeming to breath as he registered her suggestion. He opened his mouth, left it there for a few moments, then closed it again. It wasn't often that someone got the best of her cousin and she relished the rare experience for what it was.

She wasn't the only one. Rasputin made his unique wheezing laugh at his Master's expense, and only then did the man finally compose himself.

Or at least, Jon reached the step where instead of just opening and closing his mouth the like evolved fish humans really were, he interjected an embarrassed cough in the process.

Zoey finally let herself laugh at his flustered state, the happiness bubbling up inside of her like a natural spring. "Why do I call you a paranoid genius? You're just paranoid."

"Why didn't I think of that months ago?" He groaned and put his head in his hand. He then accusingly pointed at her with the coffee mug. "And for that matter- why didn't you think of that months ago?"

"I did- and I thought you had. I just figured you'd dismissed it because… you know…" the Ravenclaw girl shrugged. "Well, it's not very ethical, is it? Not only is it kinda child labor and mostly abusing a position of power, but that's pretty manipulative to try to make the entire school do your dirty work for you."

"It'll be simple enough." Jon waved off the 'try' part of her statement with a dismissive flick of his wrist, his mind already turning to how quickly he could get that process started. "I've faced harder challenges- and besides, power is meant to be used."

Now it was Zoey's turn to freeze. She was glad he was taking the advice of course, better for his health and all, but his lack of hesitation was concerning in a different way. Especially the way Jon had said it. Like not only were his ethics not maintained to their usual standard, but like he'd actually done something similar before.

Her cousin was undoubtedly a manipulative person when he found it necessary. He'd always said it was easier to work people than work the system, and while Zoey usually found the opposite to be true Jon was scarily good at predicting exactly what made other people tick. And how to set things up so that their natural response was what he'd wanted from the start. That tendency had only gotten easier for him after becoming a metamorphmagi, able to change himself into a casual stranger with a friendly word of advice or rebuke.

Smooth music started to play, pulling Zoey from her thoughts as a familiar voice started to croon. Too familiar. Waaay too familiar. She groaned "More Sinatra? Jon, you have that playing every time I'm over here."

Jon's arms had been stretched to the other side of the room to start the record, and he crossed them indignantly. The casual action was made alien by his elongated limbs, his elbows jutting a few feet from his sides like a pair of of nonfunctional wings. They steadily returned to normal though as he spoke. "It's the best of the records I've got. Besides, it's growing on me."

"Like mold." Zoey mused, but didn't push the subject. Instead she asked curiously "So, when did Malfoy ask to go to his manor?" because that had been the day she'd spent in Myrtle's room, and the last she'd seen of Malfoy had been before he entered McGonagall's office.

"He didn't ask. I offered."

"You- why?" the Ravenclaw frowned, unsettled to turn her previous assumption on its head.

"He's a bright young student, Zoey, who went through a horrible tragedy. It was the least I could do to give the young man some peace of mind." He put his hand to his chest, the epitome of heartfelt generosity.

Zoey raised a brown eyebrow, tacking to the end of his explanation- "Is what you told McGonagall and Longbottom when they were trying to pin you for breaking the rules."

Jon didn't even try to deny it, instead smiling wider in obvious approval of her deductive skills. "I may have also wanted to vet his aptitude to continue as your tutor, considering what came of the other one that McGonagall assigned. That was not what I'd had in mind when I orchestrated those tutors for you. Fortunately, I see no reason at this point to remove Scorpius Malfoy from your sessions as well."

He sounded truly contrite about what had happened, but once again his phrasing sent an uncomfortable trill through Zoey. 'As well'. The two words rang back and forth one after the other in her head, spoken in a way that indicated previous accomplishment instead of hypothetics.

Rose had quit tutoring all on her own- but Jon didn't know that, nor had McGonagall. It had only been made official after the girls had had their very public falling out. By that logic, Jon thought it was their argument that had ended her previously-normal relationship with Rose. Ergo in taking credit for ending their sessions he was making it sound like he'd caused their public catfight.

Which was just ridiculous of course. Zoey immediately shook her head internally. Jon may be good at predicting people and sure, he would have known that Zoey would immediately confront Rose after connecting the dots, but it wasn't like he would have known when she'd do that. He couldn't have known that Lily and Hugo would tell her in the middle of the Great Hall, after hearing from some random person that a fake Lysander had been in Ravenclaw Tower on Halloween…

… except it hadn't just been a random person, had it? It had been a random Ravenclaw, just like Jon's fake-student metamorph. And Jon, ever vigilant in watching over her, had been incredibly slow to react to an argument that had gained the attention of half the Hall. Additionally, Zoey remembered that Jon had been arguing with James Potter earlier that week. He'd even mentioned something about compromised House security, but she'd been too distracted by the erratic nature of his magic to wonder about it at the time.

All of which of course was a good bit of circumstantial evidence that still lacked motive. Zoey couldn't image why Jon might have wanted her to get so angry, but then again such ignorance would have made her easier for Jon to predict.

The Ravenclaw blinked rapidly, unable to reach a true conclusion. There were too many leaps of assumptions for her to ever know for sure but through a singular method- ask. "Did you have something to do with my argument with Rose?"

To his credit, Jon was only momentarily surprised by the unrelated topic. Then he tilted his chin and almost scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't think you want to know the answer to that."

Except that now, she did. Zoethia always knew when Jonovan was lying, and knew he wouldn't give a non-answer unless he was avoiding a truth. Her grip tightened on the mug of cooled hot chocolate. "Maybe I don't want to know. But I need to. So, yes or no, did you have something to do with my argument with Rose?"

"Yes."

The simple answer should have been more shocking to her. But, unfortunately, it really wasn't. Jon had gone behind her back for something as small as struggling to keep up in magic classes. Zoey should have been more surprised to believe he'd really stopped investigating the Scandals article about her just because she'd asked.

She didn't blame him for her angry rant at Rose. He may have laid out the path, but Zoey was the one who had walked down it. The argument, the things she'd said- her alienation of Gryffindor House- Rose's tears- Zoey detentions, her actions were what had caused them, not Jon. And the Ravenclaw in Zoey had to know- "How? Why? To what end?"

"The situation had deteriorated to the point that a drastic measure was necessary." Jon continued as though describing a movie plot and not their own lives. "When we came to Hogwarts, we both knew that students would find you odd, but that was out of our hands. Transferring to any school at this point made that inevitable. But you wanted, I quote, 'not to stick out any more than you had to'. So we decided not to advertise that we were family, and tied my hands when it came to playing favorites."

"Apparently," Zoey said with barely amused tolerance, "Not well enough."

He half laughed at that, going on with pride to describe what exactly he'd done. "So when you started garnering the wrong kind of attention, through no fault of your own, I was left with three options. Intervene directly. Intervene indirectly. Or do nothing."

Zoey did release a chilly laugh at the idea of him considering the third option. Her cousin had a very aggressive approach to dealing with problems.

"Responding to that article as myself, however, was just as likely to have a negative backlash as it was to actually work." Jon scowled as he remembered exactly what it had implied between him and Zoey, his practical-sister, then shrugged that thought away. "So when I found what I needed to know, I fed the information to you in a way that I hoped you would feed to everyone else. And, to ensure a bit more time on your part, I distracted the Professors that were supposed to be supervising the Hall with a possible solution to one of their oldest conflicts. The only hiccup could have been your Hufflepuff friends not passing on the rumor, but I had a few other options in case they didn't. "

"So you were the person who saw Lorcan and Rose break into my House on Halloween." The Ravenclaw closed her eyes, feeling bitter distaste that he'd not only manipulated her but also Hugo and Lily. "And was just telling me ever considered during your planning?"

"Not for long." Jon admitted, and for the first time started to persuade instead of explain. "I know you Zoey. You either divert, or dodge. Which you did for this entire week of bullying."

He looked at her meaningfully, and Zoey squirmed under the silent accusation. "How do you-?"

"Rasputin was keeping an eye on you." Jon waved a hand at his familiar. "Recently, I've been able to see through his eyes. It was my only way to keep track of you since you decided keeping things from me was your way to solve problems."

The Albanian Murtlap feigned innocent sleep with a loud snore, prompting Zoey to shove the little traitor off her lap. He spryly twisted to land on his paws instead of his spiked back, and glared indignantly before resettling atop her shoe.

Normally she would be eagerly asking for all the details about Jon's newest magic skill, things like distance and duration and if Raz could hear instruction on things like where Jon wanted to look, but she was more mortified, wondering exactly what Jon had seen. Zoey knew he hadn't seen her nearly-drown, otherwise he'd have destroyed Myrtle's bathroom to get to her. But that was a very close call. Rasputin wouldn't be going back to the chamber with her again.

"That so?" she commented vaguely when she realized he wanted a response.

Jon deflated a little, clearly having wanted to share information about his new magic trick, but didn't change his stance. "It is. I'll admit, you kept your temper better than I would have. But yielding and showing a friendly face will only get you so far Zoey. The only way to get through to some people is through fear- or by having someone else fighting your battles for you."

"I didn't ask you to fight my battle." Zoey grit her teeth, starting to reconsider her earlier conclusion that she wasn't mad at him.

"It's not something you ask." He said stubbornly, his voice every bit the protective sibling he'd adopted himself to be as he put a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Left to you, Christmas would have come and then you'd have lost every opportunity to disprove the article before the time solidified it even further into facts for most of Hogwarts. Besides, you're louder when caught by surprise. Though I wasn't quite expecting you to lose control of your magic, I won't deny that I am pleased with the hesitance it no doubt put in your adversaries."

Her frustration continued mounting. Zoey remembered how Jon had tried to persuade her to leave Hogwarts completely when this mess had first started. Hindsight, as ever, was exasperatingly perfect as Jon's comment about Zoey needing to 'face them herself' had been her first hint as to what he'd probably already started planning. Everything he'd done since had been a giant series of manipulations to put her, Rose, and everyone else exactly where he wanted to reach that endgame. Couldn't he see how twisted that was? "I can't just scare people into believing me, Jon-"

"Of which I am aware, and have already taken the appropriate steps. Miss Christine is currently working through her third revision of her upcoming redaction. It's almost to the level of remorse that I believe is necessary."

Zoey blinked, distracted by curiosity at the new name. "Christine?"

"Oh yes- Christine Creevy, Scandals author? I tracked her down by comparing the article's writing style to my essays. That girl is quite fond of the oxford comma." Jon added the last part as an aside, momentarily stepping out of the guardian role to instead critique as a teacher.

Oh. OH. That was why Creevy had defended the article so adamantly during the Tower debates- she'd written the bloody thing!

"It took longer than I would have liked to confirm my suspicions. A week." Jon admitted remorsefully. "A whole week. I tracked down Miss Rose Weasley first- with a bit of help from Rasputin- and she fortunately confirmed that Creevy was involved for me. It seemed that her cousin Roxanne knew something at the time, but that girl had been writing an essay for me on Halloween, so she couldn't have been an active culprit. Then in the process of- persuading, Miss Freelance Journalist to write a new article redacting all of her previous works, she mentioned the involvement of two others."

"...two?" Zoey said hesitantly, sensing he wasn't counting Rose in that number and cursing her insatiable need for knowledge.

"Unfortunately, Lorcan was the only one who I managed to gather true evidence against. But don't worry, I'll be keeping a weather eye on future opportunities."

Someone other than Rose and Lorcan had broken into her room. Someone who'd gotten away scott-free. Someone that maybe held Zoey's still-stolen diary instead of giving it back- She hurriedly reigned in her temper and tendrils of magic that writhed with it, leaving that train of thought for another time. Zoey instead felt another bite of apprehension as she thought of another event her cousin may have been the culprit behind. "Were you the Ravenclaw who attacked Lorcan?"

Jon met her with a deadpan and almost disappointed look. "Please, Zoey. I would never stoop so low. And if I did, he would be a smear on the wall."

How she wished that was a joke, but it was true. As powerful as Jon's magic was it defaulted to one setting- full throttle, especially when he was upset. Lorcan or any other unsuspecting prey would be lucky to be a smear.

"I'm afraid that was merely a fortunate turn of events. The entire school gets in a fight with itself and your indiscretion is entirely forgotten." Jon finished with content, nodding at what he considered a neat little package to the entire ordeal.

Zoey felt a rolling sensation in her gut, and couldn't separate her mental unease from her unsteady magic as she looked at Jon from head to toe. He had changed in the last four years.

The most obvious change, of course, had been his sudden development of magic. Jonovan Malam Orion had been born as magical as a rock. It still baffled the Ministry how the completely typical muggle, after sleeping almost a week in the hospital, had woken up and- understandably confused as to how he'd gotten there- released a force of magic so strong he'd broken every window on the whole floor.

Then, in a flash of fear at the imminent danger he didn't know he himself had caused, Jon's emotions had fueled his magic to larger and larger wandless explosions. The destruction had only stopped after he'd passed out with exhaustion.

He'd been a danger to himself, his environment, and most important to the Ministry, Jonovan had been a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. So Jon been extracted from the hospital in the midst of the chaos, and the muggles chalked up the event to a hate crime. Her cousin had then spent almost four years under disturbingly close scrutiny as the Ministry tracked his magic. They kept records on its unusual tendencies, how it was different from normal parameters and pondered if it were not only reproducible, but reversible. So far progress hadn't been made on either front.

While the Unspeakable Researchers had studied the very essence of the magic that inhabited him, Zoey had spent the time watching over her cousin. Zoey had attended every one of his lessons to gain control over himself. Zoey had made sure to make him laugh at least once a day through the frustration and anger that had threatened to consume him. Zoey had gotten her letter to Hogwarts a year later, and then dismissed it, because going to the famous school would have meant leaving Jon alone to struggle through an event that was more her fault than his.

That left Zoey as the only person to see the changes that had undergone not 'Jonovan Orion, the now-magical muggle' but 'Jon, her best-friend-and-practical-brother'. It had been painful to see her competent, self-assured cousin shot down by what had happened. See Jon insecure and scared of himself, of seriously injuring someone or even Zoey. His confidence had only returned with training and time, but then it kept growing. Inflating higher and stronger and backed by the power he'd never before dreamed of having, power stronger than some of the Ministry's Unspeakables.

And all that was without a wand. The Ministry had assumed that no wand would ever accept him because of his muggle origin, but considering the strength of Jon's powers he truly didn't need one. In time, Zoey had seen the magic going more and more to his head.

She twisted in her seat, wondering if his continuing character change really was Jon drunk on literal power or if it was more the result of what had basically equated captivity when the Ministry first started 'testing' him. The Minist-er of Magic, himself, Zoethia Malam and her cousin had grown to like. She regarded him as a sort of an estranged uncle. The Minist-ry of Magic? Both Malams would happily live without.

"Zoey?" Jon's worried voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Something wrong?"

Where to start? Her revelation left her hesitant on what information she could trust him with. On what information she could trust him to be himself with. "Do-" she wet her lips. "Do you think you've changed in the last four years, Jon?"

He stiffened and glanced toward the door, even though it was closed and sealed and covered in silencing charms and Zoey had spoken intentionally vague in a way that only he would understand. See? Paranoid. Something Jon didn't used to be.

"I think that would be rather inevitable." He said gruffly, sipping the last of the coffee.

"...That scares me." Zoey admitted softly, and hurried to had "Not you, Jon, the actual change bit."

The tension that had snapped into his shoulders relaxed. "Oh?" Jon asked with distraction. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm starting to think that your magic and mine are the same."

There was a sound of cracking porcelain as Jon's claws grew suddenly and without warning, easily piercing the mug he'd been drinking from and causing it to shatter. He cursed sharply at his mistake, cracking his knuckles as he morphed his hands back to normal. "Don't joke about such things, Zoey."

"You know I wouldn't." She reached for her bracelet subconsciously.

"Then try seeing reason." Jon scolded as he picked up the broken pieces. "We have both been under the eyes of the Ministry for four years. They practically kept breathing records on me. And you were right there for most of it. Do you honestly think you thought of something a team of magical experts didn't?"

"Yes." Zoey said simply. "As you love pointing out, Jon, wizards are notoriously bad at deductive reasoning. And compared to you- a muggle that could suddenly do magic- who would notice a few anomalies in an untrained little girl?"

Rasputin cooed comfortingly at her disparaging tone, leaning up against her shoe.

Jon stood straight and put the pieces of the broken mug on the table, fitting it back together with controlled motions. Zoey absently noticed a coffee stain on his pajamas. "All right then- what makes you think our magic is alike?"

"For starters," Zoey fingered the dagger charm again. "Neither of us can use wands."

"But don't you have-?"

"Zelina's. I snuck it out of her stuff at Mungo's. I thought it would work well enough, so I told Rex that it was in the batch Ollivander sent in."

He frowned. "And conveniently forgot to tell me you've been using your mother's wand instead of your own."

Hypocrite. Being sensitive over that when he'd just admitted to puppeteering the entire school. Zoey decided not to respond, instead resuming to share her logic.

"Next," She held a strand of her hair out, which had changed from rainbow to a determined black when he'd touched her shoulder earlier. "Our magic mixes too well to dismiss as just 'good luck'."

"We're family." Jon quoted the reason that every Ministry expert had used to explain the phenomenon of a metamorphmagi subconsciously transfiguring someone other than themself. Then he added "I trust you."

"And that makes sense- within the parameters of our first explorations." Zoey agreed. "But not everywhere else. If that was all it took, Aunt Mary should turn blond every time you hug her."

His eyebrows drew together and he had to acknowledge her point. His changing of Zoey's hair color was completely involuntary and based on one of their emotions, whoever's feeling was stronger at the point of contact. Angry, excited, proud became red, electric blue, silver. When one of them was happy, her hair became gold. If a family bond and trust was all it took for him to change someone, then he should have the same effect on his parents' appearances as well. But he didn't. Zoey was right- it had to be related her magic as well as his.

"And- and last friday, in the Great Hall," Zoey took a deep breath with the most definitive piece of evidence. "When I got really mad at Rose… I grew claws."

Jon stopped fixing the mug and sat back down heavily, steepling his fingers over the ridge of his nose. He just looked at her for a moment, part of him probably entertaining a hope that this was still a terrible joke on her part. "Are you sure?"

"They were purple."

Her 'evidence' drew an exhausted laugh from him. "Purple. Of course." He took a meditative breath. "We can't tell Kingsley."

"Obviously." Zoey agreed immediately. While they both trusted Kingsley Shacklebolt, while they had nicknamed him 'Rex', while the man himself had made it a personal mission to look after their well being, neither her nor Jonovan would dare let the Ministry and its Department of Mysteries catch wind of another magical anomaly.

"This explains your grades, then." Jonovan mused, obviously making the correlation between her high and low marks to each class's dependency on wandwork. "That's a problem- we can't have the teachers noticing the same and reporting anything to McGonagall. She could turn around and tell Kingsley."

"Or- she might help? I mean, this is a school of magic. Maybe she'd…" Zoey trailed off as she saw his expression, once again reminded of her recent ordeal in Salazar's Chamber. His face mirrored the statue's in this moment and Zoey knew: Jon wouldn't take the slightest chance. "...or not."

This was a new secret for two of them to keep. Another one to add to a teeming pile. Zoey felt the weight of it settle upon her in yet another layer of vulnerability that had to be hidden and dismissed in conversation but always, always kept in mind and firmly defended. So many of her words and decisions were dictated by such constrictions Zoey wondered if any of her own initiative was left.

She hugged her arms to her chest, suddenly chilly. "What are we going to do?"

"...we are going to be very, very, careful." Jonovan said as much to himself as to her. "Give me some time to take this in. If you are right… I'm not certain what will come next. We need to make sure nobody else notices anything, so let's focus on that step first. We'll start some experiments as well- compare my magic more directly with yours."

"Without anyone noticing?" She said doubtfully, then suggested "Maybe we should save that for Christmas, when most of the students are gone."

"Obviously." He echoed her earlier tone, lowering his hands from their steepled position as he raised a wary eyebrow and joked "Was there any other deep contemplations you wanted to blindside me with?"

"No, no, not today." Zoey smiled even as a part of her squirmed beneath his good instincts. "That can wait for tomorrow."

Clearly thinking she was jesting in return, he rolled his eyes and flicked her forehead. She stuck her tongue out at him in response. Jon grumbled something under his breath about 'impossible little girl', and she surprised him by jumping forward and hugging him. Still complaining, Jon shoved bodily her off of his person.

Despite the childish antics Zoey looked up to see that her hair had turned not gold but white. Pure white- Fear. That emotion was probably high in both of them right now… Zoey gave him another hug. "I'll be careful."

"You better be." He warned with a slight wobble to his voice.

Rasputin stopped nibbling their shoelaces and climbed up Zoey's shoulder instead, nosing her cheek. She stroked his spines fondly. "You gonna watch over me too, Razmanian devil?"

He sneezed, and both humans in the room smiled. Then Jon looked up at the clock and his mouth turned down. "You'll miss the last of dinner if you stay any longer."

"I can stop by the kitchens later." Zoey waved the problem off dismissively.

"All right- I'll miss dinner if you stay any longer." He'd been napping, after all. Jon got to his feet, waving his hand to change his pajamas into a set of fresh faculty robes, coffee-stain free.

Zoey tilted her head, struck with a sudden curiosity. "So- Jon- do you still wash your clothes? I mean, I know you can transfigure them into new stuff. And you do that a lot. Does that mean you clean it with every shift? Doing that should make your clothes puff out the old dust, though… Or does the old dirt and stuff actually become part of the new clothes? If that's the case, could they ever really be clean again?"

"Get out." The History Assistant demanded, but the corner of his lips twitched.

"Fiiine." She sighed theatrically, moving intentionally slow "But you totally just want me to leave so you don't have to answer."

"OUT."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Up. Up. Up." Melissa kept repeating the word to herself even though they'd finished tutoring a long time ago, frowning unhappily at the feather she still held. It still hadn't so much as twitched from her magic. "She made it sound so easy."

Scorpius Malfoy raised an eyebrow but didn't turn to look at her, instead focusing on the dungeon corridors they were traveling. "It is." Though he didn't use that particular method, small levitations such as that were relatively simple for experienced spell users. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy could manipulate something as insignificant as a feather with barely a thought.

"But it shouldn't be. Not for Malam," Melissa Goyle said bitterly, folding her arms. "You said she's even worse than I am."

"I did."

"But she did it on her first try, making me look completely incompetent!"

"Quite so."

"Are you going to use more than two syllables anytime soon?" Melissa channeled her inner Goyle and tried to disapprovingly look down her nose at him- an entirely unfitting action for the girl, as she was shorter than the other Pureblood and her nose was too wide for it to properly sharpen her gaze.

Scorpius's grey gaze met her from the corner of his own eye- a much more appropriate look, due to his height and the harsh angles of his face. He waited for her to break their mutual gaze first, making sure she knew it was always his decision to elaborate at any point and not a reaction to any begging disguised as threats.

She held her ground for a respectable time before finally looking away, stepping through the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. Melissa immediately went to join Zambini on the couch, then paused and glanced at Malfoy before taking care to sit without contact. Zambini, for his part, nodded a mute hello and looked studiously at his homework instead of meeting anyone's gaze.

Really, the two of them were being quite blatant about their recently discovered mutual feelings.

Scorpius decided not to point out the flaws in their secretive efforts. It was much more useful to hold on to that information, know it for future reference in case the two decide to deceive him on subjects of greater importance. Instead he let them believe they had succeeded and waved to Priscilla and Nott, wanting them over.

It took a moment for the group to gather, and when they did they looked at Scorpius expectantly. Though he and Priscilla were undoubtedly the leaders of their gang, the two didn't actively collect their peers without purpose.

Wordlessly, Scorpius reached into his bag and pulled out the pass he'd received by owl just that morning. A pass into the Restricted Section, with the book name instead filled by McGonagall's own signature to signify that he was free to peruse whatever he wished.

"UnRestricted," Priscilla Parkinson whispered in shock, her fingers twitching with obvious greed to have such a pass herself. There were many subjects and spells in the limited library section that she'd always wanted to know more about, and Scorpius knew it. The two Purebloods held each other's gaze and Scorpius deduced that sometime in the near future, they were going to barter on what books he would get her for what services.

"Took you long enough."

Were he not a Malfoy, Scorpius would have bristled as the insinuation of incompetency. As it was, he redirected Zambini's frustration. "And let's not take any longer." He nodded his head to the door of the common room. "Library's open for another few hours."

"What- we're going now?" He asked in shock, glancing at Melissa. "But- I was going to-"

"Have something better to do, then?" Nott asked with a small challenge to his tone, and Scorpius opened the possibility that Nott was also aware of the change in the lovebird's relationship.

"No!" Melissa practically squeaked, jumping to her feet. "No, we're good."

Zambini's face clouded over in obvious frustration, but he got up as well. "Fine. We'll save our usual table."

He grabbed Melissa's hand as he went, pulling her ahead of their peers. Her voice- not nearly as quiet as she was obviously aiming for- floated back to the other three Slytherins. "We're not supposed to hold hands!"

They heard Zambini say back stubbornly "Oh yes we are."

Priscilla's face softened into a small, true smile. "Ah, young love."

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy looked up to the ceiling to gather his strength. He would never understand girls. They took a bit more time to gather what they needed- parchment and quills and their old notes from previous times researching- before leaving themselves.

"Wait wait wait-" Nott held up a hand, looking at the clock. "Let's give them a bit of time to settle in…"

"Settle in." Priscilla repeated blandly, raising a thin eyebrow.

"To you know, get cozy." He waggled his eyebrows, "Then walk in and see them jump like they'd been pixie-bit."

"... you are a special kind of cruel, Marcellous Nott." Priscilla commented, then her eyes narrowed. "Why don't you go on ahead and keep watch in case we miss the perfect moment?"

Recognising the dismissal and more than willing to follow the suggestion, Nott hurried ahead.

Priscilla and Scorpius were left alone as they traveled a more leisurely pace through the dungeon halls. While Scorpius would normally have let someone who so obviously wanted a private conversation start their interaction, to put them in the mindset of being below him, he did not do so here. Not only did Priscilla's patience rival his own, but Scorpius considered her too much an equal to use the subtle manipulation.

Besides, as a Parkinson, she probably would have known what he was doing anyways.

"You did well at the fight." He said mildly instead, grinning at the memory of her showdown with the Head Girl.

If Scorpius hadn't been watching closely he would have missed the twitch at her lips and the small rise of her chin, a combination of pride and satisfaction. "You missed the best part, Malfoy. I took on James."

He'd heard, and oh did he ever despise Albus Potter for taking that spectacle away from him. It was mortifying to imagine himself unconscious not ten feet away from James Sirius Potter being utterly defeated in front of his entire House. Were he not a Malfoy, Scorpius Hyperion might be tempted to describe the injured state of Potter's behind with a curse word, but as it was he far more eloquent even in the confines of his own mind. Though if someone else mentioned first that Potter had gotten his arse kicked, Scorpius wouldn't hesitate to agree.

"You did well yourself." Priscilla commented thoughtfully, her grey-green eyes looking Scorpius over. "You're a very natural leader and have a wonderful grasp of strategy."

Thanking her would imply that his skill needed her validation, so instead he raised an eyebrow and returned "As you already knew."

Her lips twitched and she nodded, no doubt remembering their hours of chess and Pureblood upbringing. Then her eyes dropped and she looked ahead, a small frown tugging at her usual impassive expression. "If only you were a few years younger."

"What?" Scorpius asked blandly.

"It would make things much simpler." Priscilla elaborated. "I'm graduating next year, and you two years after, and that'll leave a lot of us without protection."

He knew she wasn't talking about Slytherin House. No, proud of her House as she was, Priscilla wasn't protective of it. She only raised a hand in the defense of a select few.

Scorpius thought of Zambini's little sister and the Avery kid who'd just come to Hogwarts, and for the first time realised that they would have three years of schooling without himself, Nott, or Priscilla to look after them.

That was… disconcerting. Not only would his younger peers potentially be leaderless, their dwindled numbers would leave them vulnerable as well.

Equally troubling was the fact that Scorpius had not considered Hogwarts after his graduation. A poor foresight on his part, the Malfoy chided himself for not having a concrete strategy already in place. "I'll make sure the three of them will be ready when the time comes." He swore, even as the challenge seemed daunting. Marianngela Zambini and Marcel Avery were barely first years, after all. And would only be in their 3rd when he graduated. Melissa… well, her skills had obviously been a challenge all year long.

"Four of them." Priscilla corrected, after making a quick scan around to ensure that they were alone in the hall. "My brother… next year, he'll be coming here. Courtesy of my mother."

Her tone left no question as to the sour nature of that relationship. Pansy Parkinson was a terrible mother to her children, and as the eldest sibling Priscilla was the one that had to pick up the slack.

Scorpius didn't know the full details. In fact, he'd never spent more than five minutes in the presence of either of Priscilla's two younger siblings. Most of what he knew came from private conversations between his own parents, overheard in the late of night. So while he wasn't supposed to know that the Parkinson matriarch had been through not one but two failed marriages and was balancing a dwindling Gringotts account against a startling firewhiskey intake, he did.

He also knew that Priscilla was beyond protective of those two siblings. Her defensive protection over Melissa was nothing over even the idea of something happening to one of the two of them. And the idea of them here at Hogwarts- with all the prejudice from the Second War still running rampant, with the two of them in the crosshairs- without her around, was a recipe for something to happen.

"I thought," Scorpius approached the topic with the same care he'd use before a manticore, "that he would be going to Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons."

"So did I." She said, a true snarl seeping its way into her voice and onto her normally-passive features. "But apparently, the travel fees are 'simply too extravagant to even consider, Pris dear'."

She was not mocking nor openly mimicking her mother as she quoted her, but the small show of anger spoke volumes. Scorpius had no illusion that Priscilla felt anything but loathing for the woman.

He stayed quiet for a moment, giving her that time to collect herself, before he said "Four it is then." to let her know that he'd watch over her brother when she couldn't. While he could, at least.

A small bit of tension left her shoulders and she nodded, the wordless gratitude the most she would ever give. Then she straightened even more and looked at Scorpius from the corner of her eye. "So, Malfoy, since we're already heading to the Library, there is a book I've been hoping to peruse."

"Is that so?" He returned just as dryly, fingering the corners of his UnRestricted Pass to spin it slowly in his hand. "Is there a particular reason you're telling me about this?"

Let the bartering begin.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Albus Severus Potter was starting to regret leaving the Hospital Wing. He didn't think he could have stood Rose's company a minute longer, but as he wandered through the halls of Hogwarts… his hand really, really hurt. The bone was fixed but soft tissues in his hands still ached, and likely would for a few days without further healing.

He gripped his forearm tightly as he continued to march around turn after turn without rhyme or reason, the repetitious fall of left-right-left-right soothing the violent storm of emotions in his mind. The pressure only helped the pain a little bit, and he was seriously debating whether he wanted risk going back for that potion Healer Prin was supposed to get him. The positives was that he would have one less thing weighing down on his mind. The risk was that Rose might be waiting for him when he got there.

...he probably wasn't going to sleep much tonight anyways, so he decided to ditch the healing, no matter how tempting.

Besides, Albus looked around the empty hall he'd found himself in, he wasn't quite sure where he was anyways. He should have paid more attention- he hadn't gotten lost in the winding paths of Hogwarts since Second Year. He turned on the spot, wondering if he should walk back the way he'd came.

"Al? What are you doing?"

He jumped about three feet in the air, his hand reaching for the pocket he usually kept his wand in but coming back empty. "Who- who said that?"

"Up here."

He tilted his head up to a high window, surprised to see someone curled up comfortably on the thin ledge as though the fifteen-foot high perch was a hammock. With the back-light he couldn't see the face, especially since their hood was up.

There weren't many people who actually used the headgear of Hogwart's mandatory uniform, however. And the only one of them who'd greet him with such familiarity was- "Zoey?"

"That's my name." She had a grin in her voice, a lock of albino white hair catching the setting sunlight before the girl started climbing down a suit of armor.

Albus looked between her and the strange place she'd been lounging in. "What were you doing up there?"

"Thinking." Zoey said, dropping the last few feet to land on three limbs. She pushed the blue-lined hood back and smiled at him, dusting off her knees. "I never think in the same place twice. I need a new spot to analyze every new problem. Well, not 'need' per say, but definitely prefer. Otherwise I find myself going down the exact same thought processes. New place, new mindset. I know it sounds weird- probably more placebo than anything else, but it if it works it works, right?"

"Right." he repeated, even though he'd barely caught the gist of her rapid-fire explanation. Albus started to offer her a hand to her feet, but hissed in pain. He'd forgotten it was hurt. Her eyes immediately settled on the injured appendage, and she took it with a gentle touch. She kept her grip up by his elbow so it wouldn't aggravate the swelling.

"Did you- Albus did you punch someone?" She asked in shock, her head bobbing to look at his injury from other angles.

Al's jaw dropped. "You can tell by looking?"

"...I used to spend a decent amount of time in the nurse's office." Zoey said somewhat reluctantly, then her eyes flitted up to his. "Who did you punch?"

Her inquiry snapped Albus out of his internal reflection on the unusual color of her hair. It had only been white before at the Sorting Ceremony, and Albus found that very interesting, but not as important as figuring out how to answer. He wasn't sure 'oh, my family likes to have secret meetings to talk about stuff- like, you know, YOU, and during said meeting my annoying brother was being very rude and also stubborn about hating YOU and I didn't like that because by the way, I LIKE YOU' was a good path for this conversation to take.

Fortunately, the Ravenclaw transfer had been rambling into her usual follow up questions during his internal panic. "... punch them? Did they deserve it? This looks pretty swollen, you might have cracked a bone… how long ago did this punch occur?"

Ah, there was the out he was looking for. "I already went to the Healer, he mended it up. Now I just have to wait for the swelling to go down."

"... isn't there a potion for that? There should be. Feels like there's a potion for everything."

"There is," he agreed and puffed out his chest in a typical 'I'm-so-tough' pose. Belatedly he realized that it probably didn't work well on his thin frame, but didn't back down. "But I don't need it. It's not so ba-aha-ad."

His voice cracked with a high squeak in the middle of the word when he waved his hand to make his point but only undermined himself completely. Ow.

Zoey chuckled lightly, the sound more supportive than mocking as she nodded. "Bad or not, there's no need to put yourself through unnecessary… discomfort. Not when there's literally a magic fix-it button."

His Weasley-Potter stubbornness reared its head. "Muggles heal all the time without magic."

"Muggles have medicine," Zoey chided, taking his hand in both of hers again. Her eyes were particularly vibrant as the sunlight faded, almost looking like they were flashing a different color altogether. Albus assumed it was the contrast from her colorless hair. "Advil, morphine, painkillers and stuff. Not that they actually 'kill' the pain itself, mind, they just make it so your brain doesn't register your nerves telling you something's wrong."

Albus paled even further. "That doesn't sound very good."

"Mm." She hummed in mild agreement. She kept her eyes downturned, almost glowing in their intensity. "Makes for a better night's sleep, though. They don't have the luxury of instantly healing their bones. Imagine this much pain for a month instead of a night."

That… sounded rather terrible. Especially if he remembered how bad his injury had throbbed before Prin had healed the 'broken head' of the 'dital metatarpal'. Albus hadn't even known bones had heads, or that they could hurt him that much. If he'd had to heal through non-magic means… yeah, he probably would have broken his recent conviction to stop being a crybaby.

During his thought process Zoey had led him to sit on one of the benches lining the empty hall, her hands gently massaging above his swollen knuckles. Her fingers were a welcome chill against the heated injury and he almost groaned with relief.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Zoey asked after a few more moments. Her curious tone was softer than usual, an invitation instead of demand.

"Dunno," Albus said honestly. "I mean… it's complicated."

This time Zoey was silent, though her hands didn't stop massaging his injury.

And that- that right there- that was part of what he liked about her. She was so in tune with the world around her. As boisterous and energetic as Zoethia Malam could be, she didn't drag people along to that pace. She just enjoyed being herself. And she didn't pressure him into being anything different. His family would be literally climbing all over him in their desperation to know every detail of the situation. And Albus knew if Zoey had taken the same approach, he would have clammed up, hummed an excuse or two. Instead she was respecting his decision in this. Her calm inquiry was allowing him to feel the same, enough so that he said "I punched my brother."

Zoey's eyes snapped up in shock, blinking owlishly at him.

He cringed, cursing his mouth. He was not supposed to say that. That was one of the things that could lead to awkward conversation. He was not supposed to say that-!

"Did he deserve it?"

"Yes." He immediately assured, his fists starting to clench again in anger. He stopped only after his swollen joints throbbed in complaint. "Yes, for a thousand and one reasons."

"I'm sorry." she said, and for a moment he worried she had guessed that she was part of the conflict. Then she continued "It's- not fun when family argues."

"Happens all the time." Albus confessed ruefully, trusting she wouldn't run to the Daily Prophet about it. "You should see our family holidays. Half the time half of us aren't talking to each other. And in a house of nineteen people- twenty-one when the Scamander twins are over- that gets pretty tiring."

Her green eyes bulged at the impressive count of all his cousins and aunt and uncles. "How do you all fit?" She eventually asked in complete bewilderment. "Do ya'll rent a mansion? Or just have cuddle-piles in the living room? Oh my gosh- how bad do the bathroom wars get?"

He laughed, the sound feeling wonderful in his chest. "Magic, of course. Though my house is pretty decently sized to begin with. We sleep three or four kids to a room, and bathrooms are first-come first-serve." He paused, then admitted in faux-horror. "If we didn't have pool, I don't wanna know how bad the lack of showers could get."

Zoey started laughing too, her smile almost breaking her face. "Sounds exciting."

"Yeah…" he blinked, the admission hurting a bit. "Yeah, they are. My family is… weird. We don't- we practically live on another world, I get that. Between Dad's fame and the paparazzi that hounds us we really don't do much besides spend time with each other. Though, it didn't bother me growing up. It's not like we were isolated as kids, because there were just so many of us. It was impossible to be lonely about it, you know?"

"...Maybe?" Her honesty was refreshing. "My family is really small, but… I think get it. For a long time I felt like I didn't need anyone but them either."

"Exactly. Right. And then the older cousins started going to Hogwarts, and… well, things changed. People took fresh interest in us, we got a celebrity nickname-"

"Legacies?"

"Hate that title. So much." He groaned, swiping his good hand through his unruly hair. "But it stuck, and every year- every time one of came to Hogwarts, they'd post this article trying to predict our Houses. And they did that by sticking their noses into everything about us, which is just- just…"

"Just like that dumb Sorting Hat." Zoey offered spitefully, "Horribly invasive."

Albus blinked a bit in surprise, but nodded. "Yeah. It- it really sucked. But it wasn't as bad as it could have been. James…"

How had he even started talking about all of this? Bitterness rose back up again, finding its way out with his words. "He's this, this hopeless attention hog. Ever since we were little, whatever happened, you name it- vacations, family pictures, paparazzi… he is always putting himself front and center. Which, if I'm honest, is usually a bit of a relief. I don't like attention myself, and his- antics?- made things a lot easier for me and Lily. I used to think that it was intentional. That James acted larger than life, dramatized, pulled all the attention so, so there'd be less rumors and speculation about the two of us. Big brother looking out for us, you know?"

The Ravenclaw frowned at the tone in his voice. "And now? What makes you doubt he was looking after you?"

He glared down at their hands, remembering the vibrating impact of his fist against James's jaw. "I don't know. Even if it was for us once upon a time, it's not anymore. He likes being the center of attention too much. Craves it like a baby."

"Tears and everything?"

Snorting was far from attractive, but Albus couldn't stop the sound at the idea of James in tears. "As if. I haven't seen him cry in years. Probably thinks it'd ruin his image."

Zoey waited to see if he'd elaborate, then shrugged. "That definitely does sound pretty annoying."

He nodded vehemently, feeling absolute loathing for that part of his brother. In all his life, he doubted he'd ever meet another person as vain, conceited, and completely arrogant as James. And Merlin help if that person ever crossed him, because if James wasn't his brother he would have- he would…

Albus probably wouldn't even care, he realized with a sinking sensation. If he wasn't related to James by blood he'd wash his hands of the older boy, dismiss him as another one of the many bad people who marred the world. But… but he'd grown up with James. He knew the good in his brother as intimately as his faults. James was brave, a true Gryffindor and as fiercely protective of his family as he was of himself. Even if his actions were misguided, Albus still loved his brother. That was why he hadn't hesitated to protect him during the the fight. And why Albus knew he'd do it again, if the situation came up.

James, not his father, had been Albus's childhood hero. James, not his mother, had been the one he'd gone to when nightmares woke him in the middle of the night. James, and no one else, had been the one he'd trusted with the Sorting Hat's words.

"...what was your mother like?" Albus asked softly.

Zoey tensed, her eyes searching his for a moment before she turned away from him. She stared instead at the tapestry across from them instead, her brow creased.

He felt sick with himself. Why, why had he turned this conversation into a veritable regurgitation of his life problems? "Sorry. I just- you once said she was Slytherin…"

"She was." The Ravenclaw confirmed the fact, her eyes still facing the stitched Hogwarts emblem. "I- I never knew her well, to be honest. I was too young before… my Aunt and Uncle knew her better than I ever will. But- but they talked about her. I like to think I know her." she fingered the charm bracelet on her right wrist, the motion almost reverent.

"Zelina- that's her name, by the way. Zelina. Never let anyone but my dad call her 'Zel' or any other nickname. Zelina was a very, very strong woman." Her voice was an odd mix of respect and remorse as she spoke. Albus felt a bit guilty about bringing up such complicated emotions in her but found himself hanging on her every word. "She worked Search and Rescue in Glauchestershire, and was a PI on the side."

"A what?"

"Private Investigator." Zoey hurriedly explained. "She'd get paid to investigate things like crimes or do background checks on people. Lost jewelry, cheating spouses… sometimes she'd go after people who skipped bail."

Albus still didn't understand what that would entail, but he couldn't, seeing as it was a very muggle-oriented profession. He waved away her attempt to explain in further detail, wanting to stay on topic. "Suffice to say that it was a complicated job?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Zelina was really good at it, too. Even without magic, though I think she probably used that more than she let on." She took a slow breath in, and released it even slower. "That's how she met my dad. He was a cop. Muggle Auror? And she kept crossing paths with him. 'Stubbornest woman he ever met', apparently. Aunt Mary was the one who set them up on their first date."

"Your Aunt?"

"My dad's big sister. Apparently, both my parents were too dense to notice how much they liked the other and she decided to give them a push."

That sounded like something Lily would do too. Or were all sisters like that?

"She was really resourceful. Had to be. Zelina was- she was running from something. I think it was the war, but I never… really got to ask. Can you imagine, though? A witch, hiding herself from everyone and trying to scrounge out a living without knowing how anything in the muggle world worked? She must have been amazing at thinking on her feet. But… more than anything else, I'd have to say she was beyond capable."

"How do you figure?" Albus breathed, mesmerised by the idea of a woman he'd never met.

"Zelina was the sort who could wake up in a room of strangers- with absolutely no idea of where she is, what she's doing there, or what they want- and in just a few seconds, make you believe that she is the one who calls the shots. She… Zelina is a woman who sorts through absolute chaos, and if there isn't one already, she makes a safe place to stand. And yes, she's a Slytherin. It's the part of her that's so strong. What makes her confident."

He was distantly aware of her change of tense, but was more curious about the last part. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Zoey finally looked back at him, a small smile on her face. "That's what pride is all about, isn't it? An unshakable confidence in yourself and your own capabilities. To be able to carry themself through anything when they have to is what makes a good Slytherin."

Albus felt his mind immediately balk at the idea of a 'good' Slytherin, and shook his head. "That's not… that's not what a Slytherin is."

"Isn't it?" The Ravenclaw challenged, a fresh gleam in her eye. "And what is a Slytherin? What's a Gryffindor? More importantly- what's the difference?"

Albus blinked and this time he was the one to look away. "Slytherin's are greedy and vain tricksters who only look out for their own benefit. Gryffindors are noble, brave people who protect those that need the help."

"You're echoing."

"What?"

"Echoing." Zoey repeated bluntly. "What you're saying- it's something someone else told you once upon a time, am I right? And it stuck. It's not an opinion you've founded on your own experiences. I mean seriously- you didn't even refer to Slytherins as people. That's not like you..."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, realizing that she was right. That James's voice had echoed in his mind along with the words that had come out of his mouth. James- and his father, and aunt and Uncle Ron- their words ran as strongly through his thoughts as his own. Albus ran his hands through his hair as he realized that while Zoey was right, she was also wrong. Very, very wrong. Albus Potter accepted that he 'echoed', as she called it, a lot of things. He supported the assertions of his family as fact with little thought… took their sides against the world. Vaguely he had another epiphany- if he didn't know Zoey, if she'd been a faceless name that James had built a grudge against, he wouldn't have gotten as upset.

He would have been disappointed, sure. He would have complained and griped, obviously. The same way he had about James stealing Scorpius's wand. But Albus would never, ever have openly confronted his brother for the sake of someone he didn't personally like.

"...Al? Albus?" It took a hand waving in front of his face for him to realize she was trying to get his attention. She must have continued talking again, only this time his internal reflection had lasted longer than her words and Zoey had noticed. "You okay?"

"I- yeah, I'm okay. Just- just having an existential crisis over here." He leaned back on the stone wall, grateful for the chill.

Zoey hummed and seemed to take that as permission for her to continue talking. "The whole House thing is just- kinda weird to me, you know? I get the four elements allusion that they have- very Avatar Aang there- but the whole personality thing…? I don't see where that big divide comes from. Where's the huge jump between Slytherin cunning and Ravenclaw wit? Learning to Hufflepuff dedication? Loyalty to Gryffindor chivalry? Nobility to pride?"

As she spoke Zoey gestured to the Hogwarts Crest on the tapestry she'd been staring at before, making a circle between the House Mascots and pausing with each of their traits. Albus followed the motion as her words washed over him like a cleansing wind.

"How are they supposed to be so different? Why must they also be exclusive? Cuz they're not, I've seen they're not. Gryffindors can be selfish- anyone can, from one moment to the next. Ravenclaws can have lotsa bravery when supporting our theories, and a whole lot of nerve. Hufflepuffs… okay, I'll admit, I've yet to meet a 'Puff that isn't the epitome of determined loyalty, but I'm sure it's possible!" They shared a chuckle at that. "And- Slytherins can be loyal, and patient. Very."

Something about her gaze turned distant, and Albus was left wondering if she was still thinking of her mother or if she'd started thinking of a different Slytherin paragon for her example. A certain blond, extremely attractive example of the Pureblooded variety.

"The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin." He confessed before he'd really thought it through. "It really, really wanted to. Spent six minutes trying to convince me, but I…" had refused to the point of near-tears, and only then had the Sorting Hat rescinded its decision. "...I was terrified of not being in the same House as my family. Which probably didn't help my argument. Crybaby asking to be in the House for bravery. Doesn't much matter if I'm honorable or daring, I'm a terrible Gryffindor. Sometimes- sometimes, I wonder if I should have let it put me in Slytherin. At least then people'd be less surprised when I disappoint them." Albus felt his voice grow smaller and smaller as he spoke.

Zoey blinked rapidly, five or six times, then offered "I don't think you being in Slytherin would have been disappointing Albus. And it's not the fact that you're Gryffindor that makes us expect your best. It's just the fact that it's you."

Shock reverberated through him. Albus had always rejected the Slytherin-esque parts of himself even as he told himself that it didn't hold him back, that it didn't make him any worse. To hear Zoey not only support those parts of his personality but not think less of him threw Albus completely for a loop. He never could have expected it. He had… no idea how to respond.

The next thing to escape his throat started as a laugh of disbelief, of relieving tension he'd long since forgotten existed, and then- to his horror- turned to sobs. His eyes watered and blurred the Hogwarts crest they'd been staring at until the colors mixed and then small tears were running down his cheeks. Albus had been through such an emotional rollercoaster the past few hours- the past few days- that it all came crashing together until he didn't even know what he was feeling anymore. He had been through determination, frustration, confusion, disappointment… he had reached real anger for the first time in his life and still felt stubborn guilt for how mean it had made him and just- just knew that whatever it was he was feeling now, it wasn't waiting for Albus to catch up before pulling him along.

He was such a crybaby. Albus put his face in his hand, trying to stifle the sound and hide all at the same time.

He felt rather than saw Zoey stiffen in shock, her hands flittering on the edge of his side. Reaching and pulling back only to reach and then pause before actually touching his shoulder as she asked "That wasn't supposed to, I- I am so sorry, I didn't- can I do anything? Do you want a hug or should I go?" With the last three words she started getting to her feet.

"Stay." In a moment of panic his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, the speed of his reflex showing what he wanted more than the word itself. Albus flushed with embarrassment but still asked "Please?"

His heart pounded for a long moment as he waited for her response. Then her small hand rested on his and he felt her settle back on the bench. "Sure." Zoey Malam said softly, not a whisper just… gentle. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Albus Potter smiled and rubbed his wet cheeks, confusingly grateful for his irrational moment of jealousy, because otherwise he wouldn't have risked telling Zoey. And wouldn't have known what it felt like to know that he wasn't judged over what a magic hat had said in his head years ago. His hand, which he'd just used to grab Zoey's, wasn't even hurting anymore. "Deal."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was many things. Large, confusing, busy, full… at this very moment, to the extreme disappointment of a certain mischievous being, Hogwarts was full of unhappy students.

Peeves the Poltergeist frowned as he came to this conclusion, watching students pass below him. They had all been unhappy for days now. Had been ever since that fun fight in the Great Hall. It was no good when Hogwarts students were UnHappy. Why? Because… because-

-because it was no fun to prank UnHappy people! The blue being pouted at the vase in his hand, tracing the many cracks with an opaque fingernail. UnHappy people did not like pranks even more than happy people. Less than. More than? Peeves huffed and gave up on the grammar. UnHappy people were not fun. Period.

And Hogwarts students were unhappy all the time now! They hadn't been this morbid since Potter and Weasle and the Red Dopplegangers had all fought against Voldy Moldy.

Fun times… the poltergeist smiled inhumanly wide, his melancholy forgotten as he recalled the Mayhem he had wielded on the pink toad and then Severus Snapey. With the full encouragement of all the students! That had been great. Really great. Oh, and Filtch! Peeves could never forget Filtch. The squib had been his favorite caretaker ever.

Why, Peeves had always waged a one-ghost war against the caretakers of Hogwarts. Even more after Rancid Carp had set that nasty trap full of deadly weapons for him- but Peeves had shown him, he had! He'd broken that bell jar and used all those toys to play everywhere in Hogwarts!

For a war, however, his skirmishes with Caretakers had always been fairly easy. All he had to do was keep track of where their magic was, and he'd always be able to do whatever he wished without getting caught.

Unfortunately, all they had to do was wave a wand and most anything he'd done would vanish with magic. The stalemate was boring.

But oh, oh, then Argy Filtch had arrived! A Squib, and ooh how that had changed the game considerably. He had no magic to wave and repair things, he'd actually needed a broom- a real broom!- or a mop to clean messes.

Peeves had quickly learned that he needed to go easy on this Caretaker, else he'd give in and miserably ask one of his magical peers to clean the mess for him. The Poltergeist quickly found the line of what Filtch would stubbornly fix himself, and took fresh glee dancing along it. He had been happy to know his mayhem lasted longer because of the man. Really, Peeves had been quite fond of Filtch.

He looked back down at the vase he was tapping a finger on. Peeves had knocked the antique pottery off its pedestal some oh twenty-eight years ago, using the noise to send Mrs. Norris the cat yowling for her master. Filtch had come running and- finding his precious familiar trapped in a suit of armor- had gone on a long rant about Peeves's impending banishment.

Hadn't happened of course. Peeves belonged to Hogwarts, he was goings nowheres, no matter what one or two hundred cranky old caretakers had wanted over the years. Instead, Peeves had watched with secret glee as the Squib gathered the broken pieces and painstakingly glued the vase back together by hand over weeks. Filtch had been so happy to finish repairing it.

So, of course, Peeves had immediately stolen it. If Filtch ever had a bad day, Peeves had plans to break the vase again- that way, Filtch would be happy again by fixing it. Wouldn't that be nice? It made perfect sense, and the poltergeist had looked forward to it immensely.

But then Filtch had retired, and he wasn't here anymore, and that was sad because Peeves hadn't gotten to make Filtch happy with the vase again.

Filtchy had still been fun though. His face turned the most amusing shades of colors. Even better was that- during Filtch's time at Hogwarts- the Squib caretaker had actually had the chance of catching the Poltergeist, because Peeves couldn't track the man!

There were always a half dozen magical aura's that the poltergeist could point unerringly to, knowing their exact compass direction and general distance from himself. Every creature's magic was unique, and it was an ancient but powerful enchantment he knew to be able to track a select few of them. Peeves knew where to find Bwue, because of course he kept watch on someone he liked, and Snottgrout, the house-elf that was Hogwarts's current Caretaker, and the Headmissus, because it was always good to keep track of Hogarts's Headmissuses and Headmisters, and of course the Hungry One, because… because…

Peeves frowned at where his thought had gone, resting his chin on the top of the vase as he tried to concentrate. He didn't remember why he tracked that one, only that he did. And that whenever HungryOne moved, it meant it was eating, gorging and Devouring, and that brought up… fear.

Fear was a scary thing for Peeves. Not scary because he remembered what it was about the Devourer that he feared, scary because he was scared. Peeves was a poltergeist, liberated from pain and hunger and sadness and all the miserable trappings of the livings mortals, and yet he feared the magic of that one. Feared and froze whenever he felt the movement, random babble spewing from his mouth as Peeves suffered through a maelstrom of fractured memories and feelings that rose and fell like phoenix from flames. He would drop whatever he was doing- even if it was a wonderfully perfect set of gobstones he'd had plans to roll down the moving stairs to watch chaos ensue- and careen through the halls to mark the occurrence in a dusty room that had been long forgotten by the rest of the Wizarding World. Peeves had no idea what instinct drove him to do so. Or perhaps he had no memory?

He had been to that room more often more frequently recently, he recalled, a bit shocked by the ease of the memory. Peeves blinked and had a double shock as he realised he was thinking serious. He was never thinking serious. How had he become serious?

Ah yes- the vase. He had grabbed the vase from its hiding spot because he'd wanted to try and see if it could make Snottgrout happy too. Speaking of Snottgrout, she was quickly becoming a favorite of his as well. The House-elf's ability to apparrate within Hogwarts was a fresh challenge that Peeves hadn't never faced before! Or, didn't remember.

He hesitated with the vase balanced over his head, part of himself still stubbornly wanting to save it for Filtch. Reason piped in that Filtch wouldn't be coming back anytime ever, and started to add that maybe this plan wasn't going to-

"Snotty Grotty!" Peeves cried, and there was a crash of shattering porcelain as he rolled the vase along the carpet to knock into a display pedestal, the vase atop that one teetering over like a domino to knock into another, and another, repeating echoes of the first demolition.

"PEEVES!" The house-elf's voice echoed magically down the hall. "IF THAT IS WHAT I THINK IT WAS-"

Whoops, that didn't sound happy. It sounded decidedly UnHappy.

Oh well, the poltergeist cackled, it was still a great prank! He flipped and turned over in the air, bending down to look at Snotty Grotty through his ankles and blew a raspberry. Then he dropped up through the ceiling to make his hasty escape, turning invisible with barely a thought.

Hrm, what now, what now? Grotty would be busy for a while. She wouldn't be around to appreciate his pranks, and a good prank wasn't good if it went unappreciated.

Instead of continuing his mischief Peeves decided to check on Bwue. She had recently been unhappy too because of- something…- and only cheered up after finding the Secret Place under Hogwarts. It had been nice to see Saladzar as well, even if the man had called him Pev.

Pev. The name… it didn't feel wrong to Peeves, maybe more incomplete.

Ever since he'd heard it Peeves had been haunted by that feeling, that there was something unfinished he was supposed to be completing. The insistent tugging in his mind pulling and jerking him around to no success, prompting the poltergeist to do action. Fruitless action, because he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He couldn't remember.

Frustrated with the errant nature of his own mind, the poltergeist redoubled his decision to find Bwue. Her magic was a balm to his own and to his mind, and he found himself craving it like a cat to sunlight. So with barely a hesitations from the other parts of his fragmented mind, he reached for her magic.

In the process he felt that the Hungry One had grown stronger yet again, and shivered. Pev shivered again at the sensation of fear, then went to find Bwue.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dear Professor McGonagall, -scratch-

Professor McGonagall, -scratch-

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,

No... Lysander Scamander scratched through the latest of his attempts to start his newest rough draft, taking a deep breath as he subtly chewed the inside of his lip. He was both intrigued and frustrated by how hard it was for him to find the right words. He knew almost every word and phrase of the english language and a smattering of other languages as well, having traveled quite a bit with his mother Luna over the summers. Yet his mind was in such a state that the information danced away from him.

None of this internal struggle showed on his features as he sat at his usual chair in Ravenclaw Tower, the parchment before him half-filled with variations of how to address his school's highest authority.

He tapped the extra ink off his quill so it wouldn't drip while he perused his own thoughts. Lysander knew quite well why he was unfocused at this moment. To put it simply, he was annoyed.

To view the complication currently occupying his mind in a more detailed frame, Lysander was still annoyed. He was annoyed because while he knew what he wished to do, he wasn't quite sure how to do it. His brown eyes, identical to his twin's, closed to the world as he organized his errant thoughts.

It was one thing to know that, as a Hogwarts Prefect, he reported directly to McGonagall. And objectively he was aware that it was entirely within his rights to seek an audience with her. Yet he was finding it appallingly difficult to do so.

Process of elimination had brought him here. Lysander did not have the spare time to wait outside her office, and he was uncomfortable with speaking to anyone below her position about some of the topics he wanted to address. Ergo direct mail by owl had been become his prefered method of communication.

Calmed by the reminder of his own rationality, Lysander found the first few lines come easily to him:

Headmistress McGonagall,

In light of recent events, I'd like the chance to sit down and talk with you. I am aware that your time must be more strained than normal at this moment for obvious reasons, yet it is those very reasons that I wish to address myself.
A lot of the misevents that have occurred can be attributed to my family, my close friends, my fellow 'Legacies' as our classmates continue to call us. While I assure I have taken a personal approach in attempt to restrict any repetition of their misdeeds, I unfortunately report that I may not be entirely successful.
Additionally,

… and there's where the sudden bout of inspiration stopped. Lysander left his quill where it was for a few moments, expecting his usual poetic writing to return, but to no avail. It was so much nicer to read than to write. Easier to critique than to create. And yet, easy did not mean simple in this instance. One poor turn of phrase and this letter could be construed as insubordination. Lysander let a lazy eye scan what he'd written then frowned, crossing out 'misevents' and replacing it with 'school disturbances'. The cramped words seemed to be mocking him.

It seemed that anything his family did caused a disturbance of some kind. Their presence was simply far too loud. From public events to quidditch games to holidays and vacations, Lorcan, James, Roxanne, and the rest of the Weasley offspring did everything in the biggest, loudest way possible.

Merlin, Lysander felt the corner of his mouth twitch to contain a grin, Roxanne couldn't even wake up from a comatose state in a calm fashion.

The Wizard Wheezes heir had been unconscious since the fight, recovering from the volley of spells that she had been struck by. Though Healer Prin had countered and cured every spell Roxanne had suffered, it was still quite the ordeal that the young witch had been through, and her body had spent a full three days recovering. Her brother, Fred II, had refused to leave her side throughout it, and Lorcan had been equally worried though he couldn't afford to miss his classes.

Lorcan'd persuaded his twin to check on her as well whenever possible, and so mere hours ago Lysander had walked into the Hospital Wing to the strange but not altogether unexpected sight of Roxanne Weasley in a fight.

"No!" Fred had been shouting, bodily pinning his sister to stop her from getting off the thin bed. "You can't get up!"

"Oh I most definitely can," she cried back, through her face had been flushed with lingering fatigue and she was breathing heavy. "You just need to get your heavy butt off of my-"

"-I am skinnier than you and you know it-"

"-true. A bowtruckle has more body mass than you, Freddy-"

He had squacked indignantly and gone back to the topic at hand "-Prin said not to let you to your feet until tomorrow!"

"What's so special about tomorrow?!" Roxanne had demanded, and something in her brother's face had the girl dropping her playful but determined smile in favor of a frown. "Fred? Fred what happens tomorrow?"

"Nothing."

"Fred-"

"The Hogwarts Express is making a special stop." He had told her reluctantly. "For you and James- you're both suspended until Christmas."

"What?" Roxanne had hardly seemed to be breathing. "For both of us?"

"... and, you might not be allowed to return after."

"You mean- expulsion?"

Lysander still wasn't sure why she was surprised. Their troublemaking antics had been headed in that direction for some time now, after all. Suspensions had become not frequent but standard after the Second War, particularly in Slytherin House after Professor Sybble had been hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. His parents had been surprised to hear that suspensions actually happened. In their day, not only had the original Fred and George Weasley wrecked their own brand of mayhem for years before leaving with a literal bang, but even Uncle Harry confessed that- after bodily harming a student by casting an untested spell- he himself had only received detentions.

Yet it was not the era before the Second War that they were living in, Lysander reflected. The Wizarding World had hardened even as it settled into peace, and McGonagall was no different. The Headmistress had a heavier hand than the Gryffindor Head of House from their parents' stories, and she encouraged all her faculty to the same. Even with Uncle Neville's fondness as a buffer for their detentions, it was bound to catch up to them eventually.

All in all, he couldn't quite muster true sympathy for Roxanne's plight. The news about James, however, had made him actively sigh with relief.

Lysander had noticed that James hadn't agreed to the stance of inactivity at the family meeting a few days ago. And so- after making sure Albus had been to the Healer for his hand- he'd immediately tracked the eldest Potter down at the quidditch pitch.

James had drilled himself to the point of exhaustion, and it was likely the only reason why Lysander successfully cut the other boy off on his way into the locker room. The two had looked at eachother for a moment, then James had started putting his broom away with professional care. "What do you want now?"

"Things finished rather abruptly in there." Lysander had said in an equally bland tone. There was a tightness in his chest and he lightly bit the inside of his cheek, uncomfortable. "I wanted to see where you stood."

"In the locker room." He'd dismissed the question, then turned to Lysander and folded his arms. After a moment he went on "I'm not going to toe some line you decided to make on your own, 'Sander, so you can save yourself the effort of trying to convince me."

He had been disappointed but not surprised. Going into the meeting Lysander had known exactly what his strategy to convince each Legacy had been. Because they were family, he'd been relatively confident he could convince everyone at the meeting to follow his suggestion. Lily and Albus and Hugo were usually on the side for passivity instead of action anyways, and he had hoped his twin Lorcan would listen to him if only because Lysander asked. Rose had always respected his skills and opinions as a Ravenclaw, Lysander knew, so she would be the quickest to agree with his logic. After that Roxanne wouldn't have been much of a problem, though it turned out that she hadn't made it anyways.

But James…?

James had always been their leader as they grew up. Mostly because of his unmatched charisma when situations arose, but also because the eldest Potter boy wouldn't have it any other way. Lysander could count on one hand the number of times he'd listened to anyone's objection to his decisions- unless that someone was his father, of course. Lysander was not The Chosen One, a Conqueror of Death or The Boy Who Lived, and therefore knew he had very little chance of persuading James to do anything.

He had known it, James knew it, and while someone else might might have let sleeping dragons lie Lysander was not one to shirk responsibility. He was a Prefect. And as a Prefect, he'd been growing increasingly uneasy with the persisting rogue actions of the Gryffindor before him. It was a conflict that had been building ever since he'd been appointed to the position last year, a subtle strain on their friendship.

Now that an event more monumental than a mere prank had arrived, Lysander found himself cursing his hesitation on every step until this moment. Perhaps if he'd chanced the meeting before the quidditch match, Roxanne and Lorcan wouldn't have been so active they sparked the fight. Perhaps if he had been harder on James when Lysander first became a Prefect, Ravenclaw Tower never would have been broken into. Perhaps… The possibilities were endless, and while it was staggering to consider them all Lysander could only face the conclusion that inactivity was a far greater burden than failure, and so he had set his jaw in stubbornness. "I won't let you."

"Let me what?" James had smirked in mild amusement, "You don't even know what I have planned."

"Knowing you, 'plan' is a very loose term." Lysander had mumbled, earning a dark glower for the comment, then pressed on. "Whether you're going after the people from the fight or still hounding Zoey, all you're going to do is make things worse."

"No. What I'm going to do is find the truth that nobody else is bothering to." Harry Potter's oldest son had folded his arms and looked away from a moment in rare embarrassment. "I'll admit- this didn't really start as a worry about what Zoethia Malam and that Assistant were up to. Originally, I wanted to discredit her because she knew that I'd stolen Malfoys' wand, and McGonagall wouldn't take too kindly if word reached her ear. But after digging around for something we found something, and be mad at me all you want, it doesn't change the facts. Those two aren't here normally. That Assistant has stupid-strong magic and Malam's magic is strange in its own right. The Mauraders' Map never lies, and there has to be a reason the Minister of Magic knows them personally. I'm going to find out what reason it is. Whether you like it or not."

"You're a student, James. It's not your place to police the faculty. That's McGonagall's job." Lysander had pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose. "And having had numerous conversations with her over the course of the year, I believe I am more qualified to judge Zoey's character than yourself. I can assure that she's not up to anything nefarious."

James had just grinned, almost seeming pleased. "Then she'll have nothing to hide, will she?"

The illogic behind his actions was equally baffling and frustrating for the Ravenclaw, and though they'd argued until their throats were dry neither he nor James had persuaded the other to stray from their beliefs. Lysander had resigned himself to looking over his shoulder for James's next action, but perhaps a suspension would do what he couldn't. Perhaps it would make James Potter realize that even he had to face repercussions.

It was the best he could hope for, sadly. Lysander closed his eyes again, his quill moving. Additionally…

Additionally, I wish to share an opinion -scratch- express my opinion -scratch- thoughts regarding events that continue to occur in Hogwarts.

And here was the hardest part for him to address. As a Prefect he could lead his peers, but Lysander was still a student and had no grounds to question McGonagall or her actions. And yet, that is what the Ravenclaw found himself doing.

He had not been present for the fight in the Great Hall, but he'd seen the aftermath, and according to what he'd heard and seen before he left, the Head Boy and Girl had not handled things well. By many accounts they'd even contributed to the aggressive atmosphere. This, coupled with Wilkes' handling of the Scandals article, her dismissing the resulting treatment of Zoey and the double invasion of the both the Howlers and the thieves in his House had shaken his confidence in the Head Girl's ability. He now questioned her leadership both under pressure and as a day-to-day mediator more than he ever had before.

Lysander Scamander was not equipped to mitigate emotional disquiet. It simply wasn't in his skillset. That was why he'd left that aspect of leadership to Wilkes, his fellow authority over Ravenclaw. Now he regretted that decision, both because of her actions and because it had left him ill-prepared to address his own House.

Ravenclaw House in the wake of the fight was too somber. They had been the only House not to stand as a unified force, and the only one to have been pressured into yielding completely. Not only was the pride of his blue-and-bronze companions shot, their division lingered with a running current of animosity trudging a deeper gap by the day.

Now the Tower was even quieter than normal for the most intellectual of Hogwarts' students, not a single debate or theory being aired out around the center fireplace. While quiet was coveted for productivity, this felt like the silence of the defeated. Of those unwilling to face another the storm.

Lysander he himself would rather not face yet another metaphorical storm. They were running out of metaphorical umbrellas.

He smirked contentedly. And Zoey said he was bad with allusions.

The expression quickly fell. He'd yet to speak with the multi-haired girl. Now that the family meeting was done there was no longer a reason for him to keep her at arms length. It was not often that Lysander enjoyed human companionship with his literature, and he found himself expecting a random question or five to be thrown his way any moment now. He therefore reached the conclusion that he was missing her company.

Lysander let his gaze flit over to her usual seat, and gave a slight jolt when he saw it was occupied. The small shock was laced with disappointment, because it clearly wasn't the person he'd hoped it would be.

Instead Sam Holt sat in her chair, leaning his elbows on his knees with his fingertips tapping together. He was looking at Lysander intently, and upon receiving attention his tapping only increased in frequency.

"Did you need something?" Lysander asked, fairly certain he knew the answer.

The DDC Member stilled his hands under his chin for a moment, then nodded. "I was hoping you'd come with me to see our Head of House."

"Naturally." The Ravenclaw Prefect immediately assured, but his eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What did you want to talk to her about?"

Sam was back to looking nervous, biting a lip before sighing and seeming to decide to just be forthcoming with it. He took a look around to make sure nobody else was listening before he confessed "I'm the person who attacked Lorcan."

… Well that was quite unexpected. Lysander stated just to be sure "You were the person that cast a jinx at Lorcan the morning before the fight."

"Yes." He confirmed, then sighed. He left his head hanging as he went on. "It was just- your twin broke into our House, Scamander. He stole from my Housemate and newest clubmate. I couldn't- I can't let that go, and when we saw him on his own it was just such a perfect opportunity we just had to take it-"

"We?" Lysander repeated, his eyes narrowing.

Sam's lips pressed thinly together. It seemed that while he was turning himself in, he was not outing whomever his partner-in-crime had been. Such loyalty was not truly a Ravenclaw trait, but Lysander could respect it all the same. Besides, investigating wasn't his job as a Prefect, reporting was.

"We'll meet with the faculty after dinner." He looked over the other boy for a moment with a frown. "But why did you come to me with this? You attacked my twin. You couldn't have been sure how I would respond."

For the first time a bit of guilt made it's way onto Sam's face as he started tapping his index fingers together again. "I… well, I trust you. To start, you always make it clear that you're twin's actions and views are not your own. And while you're not the most active Prefect Scamander, you've always respected the rules and chain of authority. It's very reassuring."

He stated all this as pure fact in the manner only a Ravenclaw could, and the truth of it settled something inside of Lysander. As he was taking that in, Sam went on to say:

"And, I realise that my action undoubtedly aggravated the situation. I knew it was a selfish action for personal recrimination, and I'd take the risk of being recognised for doing so, but-" a touch of pride entered his voice, "-Lorcan didn't manage to get a glimpse of me. Yet that was used as fuel for the fight, and… I just…"

His words ended as emotion overrode logic, and Sam sighed again.

Lysander watched the guilt on the other boy and realized that he was correct, in a sense. He could be blamed, yes, both for attacking Lorcan and being one of the loudest arguers in the Great Hall. Yet he was also wrong, because there were several other people who were far more liable.

Personal recrimination, huh? Lysander dipped his quill in the well for fresh ink as he stated "Leave the explanations for the professors."

Headmistress McGonagall,

In light of recent events, I'd like the chance to sit down and talk with you. I am aware that your time must be more strained than normal at this moment for obvious reasons, yet it is those very reasons that I wish to address myself. I believe that I can give a unique perspective as someone living in the student body.
A lot of the school disturbances that have occurred can be attributed to my family, my close friends, my fellow 'Legacies' as our classmates continue to call us. While I assure I have taken a personal approach in attempt to restrict any repetition of their misdeeds, I unfortunately report that I may not be entirely successful.
Additionally, I wish to share my thoughts regarding the distribution of authority among myself and my fellow Prefects within Hogwarts. There are concerns about the cycle of recrimination that is threatening to build and I have hesitations about certain members of my peers setting the examples you desire.

Please inform me if such a meeting between us will be possible.
Lysander Scamander,
Ravenclaw House Prefect

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry Potter paced back and forth in his office, well aware of Ron and the Minister watching him do so. Since Ron's re-training back into the Auror Ranks he had resumed his position as one of Harry's right-hand men. Gerry Sanderson was the Deputy Head of the Auror office, but Sanderson was out on assignment and Ron had held the position before him, so he knew how to help Harry do his job.

Especially in instances like this, when helping Harry meant not grunt work but knowing what was going on in his head. "They'll be back soon," Ron assured. "You know better than anyone else that it takes time to scope out a location."

Harry grunted and turned as he reached the wall. He did know that. Especially when locations were magically defended, especially when those defenses were Dark Magic traps.

And the horcrux locations that he'd sent teams to were teeming with Dark Magic. He had set teams of five to each of the Voldemort's known horcrux hiding places, with strict order to report upon immediate arrival and again after sweeping through the location.

Harry's men always followed his orders. A patronus message had come from each team almost immediately after the apparrations to the locations, and over the day he'd waited anxiously for their second report before their return back to the Ministry.

Patronuses remained the only reliable and near-instantaneous means of magical communication over long distances, one that Harry was usually a staunch supporter of. In moments like this, however, all he could think of was the possibility that his Aurors weren't sending another message because their wands were occupied with other spells. Defensive spells, like a ring of fire to stop an army of swarming inferi from drowning the team to the bottom of the cursed lake.

Harry took another breath and turned again. He had wanted to be the person to first scout the Crystal Cave. After all, he was the only living wizard who had seen the traps Voldemort had left to defend Salazar's locket. The blood payment to pass the hidden entrance, the inferi that lurked beneath the waters, the invisible boat that would only let one wizard pass at a time and the Drought of Despair...

An old shiver went down his back, and Harry turned again in his pacing. This was why he'd let Ron, the Minister, and most importantly his wife persuade him not to join the initial team of scouts. Ginny knew more than anyone how the Crystal Cave still haunted his nightmares, and had refused to let her husband subject himself to the personal torture of going back. At least, not without a few good meals under his belt, some quality time with her, and an idea of what would be waiting for him.

So Harry had sent his men in his place, and now listened to the reports about the horcrux locations from miles away, imagining the worst possible scenarios happening to his men.

A silver blur came in through the window and then settled on the ground, swirling before rising into a large, four-legged creature whose head was even with Harry's chest and Ron's stomach.

"Sanderson." Kingsley said as he recognized the Great Dane, and leaned forward. "How is the Gaunt Shack?"

"Minister." The dane tipped it's large head in respect as it relayed Sanderson's report. "It is- barely standing, sir. The roof is in tatters and the floorboards rotting. We had to cast stabilizing spells to even set foot inside."

The three wizards frowned at this. Though they'd expected the Gaunt Shack to be in disrepair after years of neglect, they didn't expect worse than cobwebs. Magic could make any home last near indefinitely. Harry had personally seen the teetering, architecturally impossible Burrow that Ron and the rest of his Weasley in-laws had grown up in. And even the Shrieking Shack, which had been used to hold a growing werewolf, was unpleasant but not unsafe after almost half a century.

The giant silver dog shifted back and forth on its paws, and continued "It was the same as Malfoy Estate, sirs. The protective enchantments were gone, the few portraits are froze, and there were no standard enchantments that we'd expect in a wizard home."

"Bloody strange, that." Ron murmured, rubbing at a patch of red beard. "There one minute and gone the next."

"Mister Potter," Sanderson asked through his patronus, "May I ask what the other teams found?"

"About the same," Harry told his Deputy. "Not a lick of magic, and not a clue so far about what happened."

"So far?"

"We're waiting on one more report." Kingsley Shacklebolt said, then pursed his lips. "Sanderson, how fresh is your team?"

The great dane dipped its head. "Ready to go Minister. As mentioned, nothing of note happened here."

"Then apparate to the Cave and find Simmons' and his team. They haven't been in touch since they landed."

"Yes sir." The giant silver dog tipped its head again before crumbling, pooling and dissipating into fine mist until vanishing.

Harry looked at the spot that the patronus had been, then turned and resumed his pacing. This time though Ron reached out and grabbed his best friend by the shoulder. "I know you don't like them going from one mission to another, Harry, but it's the best choice. Half your men are still with the Creature's division, and the people still here are mostly deskworkers."

He nodded in reluctant agreement with his friend, folding his arms as he leaned against his desk. "And with the anti-disapparation jinxes over the Ministry, it would take time to gather and deploy them. I know, Ron. It's just-"

The rest of his words were lost as a silver blur burst through the window, the great dane leaping through to land not three feet from where it had previously stood. Its paws were braced wide and if it were a living creature it would have been panting with urgency. "They're down. Simmons is down and Anderson isn't breathing and there's no sign of Morris, Lee, or Baker-"

Harry was immediately on his feet. "Is the perimeter secure?"

"Yes sir, but they need a Healer."

"We'll have Mungo lift the anti-apparation charm for your entry," Kingsley assured, nodding as he watched Ron cast his patronus to send that exact message. The jack russell terrier shook from silver nose to tail once before taking off.

"Thank you sir." Sanderson's voice wavered with relief. There was a pause, and then he reported "They were both in the antechamber you mentioned, Potter, past the water tunnel. The entrance is open and Anderson was facing away from the lake, sir. I think they were on their way out-"

"Are the inferi moving?" Harry demanded, reminding his man of the danger.

"I can't tell, sir, there's barely any light. But if Morris, Lee and Baker didn't make it out-"

"Do not enter that Cave, Sanderson. That's an order."

Harry and Ron both started at the command from the British Minister, and then Harry- with extreme reluctance- agreed. "What's rookie rule one, Sanderson?"

"Wait for backup." The projected voice emerged through grit canine teeth. "But sir, we are the backup."

"And now, we'll back you up." Ron said with his usual stubbornness. "We'll be there in forty."

"Thirty." Kingsley nodded to the emergency fireplace behind them. "I'll open the floo in here to casual travel- get every able Auror in to provide support."

Ron nodded and burst from harry's office, his loud voice echoing to his advantage as he called out for the combat-cleared people to "Drop whatever bloody useless papers you're holding onto and get your arse in Harry's office immediately!"

"There's one more thing, sir." Sanderson's patronus spoke up, and Harry started guiltily. He hadn't meant to cut off his man from the rest of his report.

"Proceed." He said quickly, wanting the message to end so that Sanderson would no longer be distracted from the danger he faced.

"It's Simmons, Sir. He doesn't recognize me. Or anyone."

Harry's mouth went dry and he licked his lips nervously. "Concussed?" he asked, feeling twisted for hoping that the answer was yes.

"No sir. No head wound, not a scratch on him. Or Anderson. Mister Potter," Sanderson took a breath. "there's a chill in the air that's more than just the cave. There are dementors on the other side of the entrance."

There it was. The proof they'd been after. The gathering dementors, the amnesiac magicless wizards, the broken enchantments- they were all connected. They had to be, though Harry still had no idea how or why.

He hung his head. He wished the confirmation hadn't come at the cost of Simmons. "We'll be there as soon as we can. Stay vigilant, and do not engage. Retreat if you have to."

"Yes sir." Sanderson said, his voice also lined with regret. Then his patronus vanished a second time.

Kingsley Shacklebolt took a deep breath, then turned to Harry. "The Floo is open. Where do you want them to gather?"

"...my house." Harry grabbed a handful of glittering powder to toss into the fireplace. "I'll have to tell Ginny before we go."

---

Not a teaser- next chapter will start with the immediate continuation of this last scene. So any last theories or rants that you've got- go for it! Leave me a Review of what you predict will be in that cave!

And that's how Zoethia Malam and Jonovan Orion got tied up with the Ministry of Magic. and, the mini-maybe?-forgotten mystery of how Zoey's hair changes colors!

Hair Colors:
Excited- electric blue
Happy- gold
Jealous- lime green
Nervous/worried- 'pumpkin' orange
Determined- black
Proud- Silver
Angry- Red
Fear- White

The color 'fades' eventually back to her normal hair color- brown, same as her eyebrows. I have been sticking firmly to this from the very beginning. Zoey's emotions are the ones that usually decide the color, since Jon is a lot more laid back than her. Zoey is generally very happy or excited, which makes her hair electric blue or gold. Jon is most passionate about his successes or goals, so he's the one that usually makes the silver or black on rare occasions.

Oh yeah... and I never forgot Jon's investigating. Or him calling Creevy to his office. Turns out Jon is scary manipulative of people he doesn't care about- and right now, the only person he cares about is Zoey. Who knew? (Me. I knew. bwahaha)

PS-

Peeves is bad with names. Argy Filtch = Argus Filtch, and Rancid Carp = Rancourous Carpe. Carpe was the Caretaker in 1876 who tried to trap Peeves with a room of medieval weapons before kicking him out, but Peeves escaped and used all those weapons as his personal toys around Hogwarts until the Headmistress of the day swore they'd never try to banish Peeves again.