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)

32. Ch 32 No Rest for Weary

Ch 32- No Rest for Weary

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It was in no rush to flee the sight of Its latest Hunt.

Comfortably nestled within a cocoon of Its own power and surrounded by servants, Apex knew that any wizardly attempt to storm this cave would be a noisy and drawn-out affair that would leave ample opportunity to counterstrike or, if needed, retreat. Near Its beginning Apex had established a nest of sorts in a cave not too dissimilar to this, letting hoards of magic wielders come forth with their misplaced bravado before they grew wise enough to stop.

The option of doing the same again was briefly considered, then discarded. Satisfying Hunger was only second to the thrill of a chase, a thrill that Apex had not properly experienced in far too long. This had not been an orchestrated hunt but a meal of convenience; when the first wizards had arrived they'd been simple to overpower. Upon hearing them send for help, Apex realised that waiting would save the effort of tracking another meal. However it was likely that the next magic-wielders who arrived here would be far better armed and informed, no longer allowing Apex to use surprise as a weapon. So though that option was a viable one, it was not a reliable inflow of food and not in Its plan nor desire to dwell here much longer.

The dank darkness of the cavern was penetrated by a sharp wail. It seemed a few of the servants were having troubles. Their pain was truly a sharp, piercing thing considering that they were made to be cruelly apathetic, with their only means for any gleam or glimmer of emotion through barbaric theft. For one to feel even a modicum of anything, a servant had to be mortally wounded.

Apex approved of the title that the wizards had bequeathed his servants. Demented was truly an apt description.

The noises continued, echoing endlessly in the dark, unpleasant cavern that was already making Rest unpleasant. Apex frowned and sent of a wave of displeasure out from the cocoon, encouraging the dementor to cease its final cries lest the inevitable demise come quicker. Once the sound of cloth in the wind and lake waters were all that remained, Apex took stock of Its own injuries.

Though nowhere near mortally damaged, this latest hunt had left greater wounds than anticipated. In particular, Apex's palms and forearms were raw and throbbing. Physically pitting them against the force of the Hallow the second wand had produced was perhaps not the most elegant of reactions to escaping prey, though it had given a tantalizing taste of the magic behind that magnificent spell.

Unlike the servants, Apex did not mind the pain in Its body. The possibility of limited motion and lingering scars were Its only concern for wounds- that, and the detail that it must heal the injuries before continuing a new Hunt. Truly unfortunate. Almost as unfortunate as the tunneled escape of a good number of prey. It left the Hunt incomplete, a gnawing dearth more troubling than the wounds. Fresh skin was already stitching together.

Now that the distracting wails of the servant were muffled Apex reset the healing energy that swirled Its body and went back to a far more pleasurable pastime. Settled at the murky bottom of the cave lake while the servants stood guard above, there was little worry of an attack upon this vulnerable state.

Wings curled closer to Apex's frame as It viewed the memories gained in the last battle. It had taken him quite a while to master the skill. The memories of defeated prey were a mere side effect in devouring essence, after all, but a side effect that had proven invaluable. It remembered in the time near Its creation when all It could gleam were mere impressions and ideas, annoyances detracting from a decadent meal, forced to learn arbitrary information without choice. A crude process that still happened when It ate prey too quickly, gorged upon them a rabid animal devoid of simple things like patience. Or table manners.

In the brief wakings from Rest, Apex had not had the presence of mind for a true Hunt. It had been reduced to little more than a walking plague, devouring all in Its path before collapsing on the fresh corpse of Its latest meals in exhaustion. Only recently had Apex's Hunger been sated to the point that It was no longer a slave to Its own starvation, and Apex relished the freedom to hunt at the pace It desired. A latent memory bloomed with the certainty there was now a phrase which would suit this activity nicely. What was it? Dinner and a show? Ah, yes, that would do.

Apex was currently absorbing the essence of a wizard. While the process caused most of the man's life to pass through Its mind in flashes and impressions faster than even Its intellect could comprehend, Apex had learned how to search for and learn specific information. It'd chosen to spend most of the memories of the wizards in this lastest Hunt to learn about the standards of this era's wizard culture. Specifically, what precisely a 'Ministry' of magic was.

Watching the man's training for a position called 'Hit Wizard' taught the hierarchy of these combat specialists and gave additional insight into the many layers of protections and concealments over the magical den they deployed from. Apex tutted in disappointment- It would need to wait a while yet before paying a visit. A true shame, considering the ornate building was clearly meant to impress visitors such as Itself.

The rest of the man's life- even his name- was reduced to passing impressions and random snippets of knowledge that generally didn't bother Apex unless something triggered them. It had learned whole cultures and languages in this manner. Such was how It'd known that the 'wands' magic users now wielded were not only random but commonplace. Disturbingly so.

When Apex finished the meal and reached for the next essence, an unsettled hiss echoed in the cave. Large wings broke through the protective magic Apex had encased Itself in, sending gusts of Its displeasure through the dead air of the cavern. In taking the essence of the wizards who'd come after It, Apex had exerted supreme self-control to not devour them immediately, merely holding their essence trapped in a cage of Its own. The exerted restraint had been nothing short of godly, as the other prey had been more than a bit distracting to Apex at the time.

Apparently, the prey and Hunger had distracted Apex to the point that It had miscounted. An appalling mistake. Its anger permeated the cavern, the aggression echoing in the servants because Apex allowed it to. Their breathy screams echoed in the cavern like trapped souls seeking escape.

The miscount meant Apex wouldn't regain full strength. Anger festered further when power was assessed and forced a conclusion of inadequate strength to mend the festering burns upon Its arms, let alone restore Its starved form.

The servants sensed Apex's dissatisfaction, although the mundane word was an understatement for the creature's displeasure as It emerged from the cocoon it had been nestled in. They shifted between approaching and drifting from Apex's form like leaves on an errant wind, no doubt experiencing the barest thread of self-preservation but inevitably drawn closer as they had since Apex's creation.

Their instinct was well placed, if a bit surprising. It seemed they had gained a measure of autonomy during the long Rest that had left them without Apex's guidance.

Apex walked from the lake dripping water and malice, further agitated because the moment of anger had wasted the energy It was working so hard to replace. And Its already offensively starved appearance was now soaked in corpse-rotting waters. A lip curled in distaste, remembering the soured taste those corpses had held. It was based on a twisted, rotted essence that Apex had first encountered when exploring the forest It had woken in.

A series of protective enchantments that had been placed around a seemingly random tree. Apex could only assume that it had once been a hiding place, as forgotten as was the power that had been left behind. The only saving grace of that stale meal had been the sheer quantity that Apex was able to gorge upon- and the fact that it was so easily tracked. It could sense a number of other places that the same powerful if unappetizing power had been left to fester. Easy, bountiful meals ready and waiting like little gifts.

The corpses- Inferi- had left a particularly bad aftertaste. Almost as bad, Apex bared teeth, as the next meal would. Because Its Hunger was still unsatisfied and no longer willing to wait for another Hunt.

A group of servants were floating around their injured, obscuring it from view as they tried to lift it into motion. The silver memory from the closing moments of the battle had pierced it particularly strongly. In trying to devour the held emotion the servants dark cloak was flickering the same light, echoing a happiness that was simply too much for the servant to handle. It was letting out keening screams almost akin to wailing sobs. Those screams had been particularly unpleasant during Its healing. This would be as good a one to start as any.

White wings beat again, moving the healthy dementors back as Apex strolled forward and placed a hand to the cloak that covered the servant. Its cries increased and echoed back in greater number, but were paid no mind.

Servants were empty puppets barely held together by old enchantments and the emotions that they stole. They couldn't even maintain a physical shape without a constant flow of fresh magic, the physical form beneath their cloaks crumbled without even a bone or scap of skin. There was nothing to gain from Viewing the memories in their essence and they made for paltry snacks. Fortunately, Apex reflected as the empty cloak that once held the damaged dementor dangled from Its grip before floating to the sandy cavern floor, there was an opportune abundance of them at hand.

Apex would not need all two hundred and six of the servants that remained.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

This was not a date, Albus Severus Potter decided firmly. This was not him taking Zoethia Malam on a date.

Sure, they had made official plans to meet. And yeah, okay, Albus would admit he'd been looking forward to it on some level. But he always imagined that when he took someone on a date it'd happen early in the day, sort of a lunch thing, so they'd have plenty of time to just talk. And he'd be waiting at the Grand Entrance with flowers… not sneaking out a side entrance at night… under the Invisibility Cloak.

So, no, Albus decided this was definitely not a date as he made with way across Hogwarts Grounds. And if his heart was racing in anticipation, it definitely wasn't because he was about to see Zoey. No, no, it was because to successfully find a MoonCalf they would have to stay up most of the night… alone… in the Forbidden Forest.

Because that was definitely what his heart was racing about as he broke dozens of rules days before Christmas Break. It wasn't just because of the gentle snowfall that was quickly chilling him to the bone despite his gloves and the warming charms inlaid in his robes.

When Zoey had said she was going to track down a magical creature to get the magical ingredient to impress Professor Longbottom, she had made it sound like such an obvious solution. What better way to show she was still the same diligent, determined student as before than by going out of her way to support his class?

"Moon Calves aren't domestic, right?" She'd smiled blindingly, not waiting for the confirming answer. "So finding a wild one will be a rare thing to help him out!"

"Um, Zoey," Lily had frowned. "They only come out of hibernation when there's clear moonlight."

"Makes sense, I guess?" Zoey had put a curled finger to her lips. "They're called 'Moon' Calves for a reason. Not very original, honestly, but accurate I guess. Actually I think my Mom mentioned them before- they're pretty nice, right?"

"For magical creatures," Albus pointed out with a shudder, looking around the library as though expecting one such creature to appear.

"Uuum," Lily again piped in as the voice of reason. "Actually, my point was… Zoey, you'd have to be out after curfew."

"Oh." She had blinked, then shrugged. "Okay then."

'Okay then', Albus mocked in his head and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, careful not to let the motion shake the bush he was slinking along. The Potter Invisibility Cloak was flawless, he knew, but even it wouldn't be able to cover a trail of footprints in snow, so he was practically hugging hedges in an effort to ensure his steps fell on the bare soil they grew from.

Zoey had acted like it was so easy to sneak around after hours. Like getting caught wouldn't put her in- in beyond trouble considering the war path that McGonagall and her newly-appointed peacekeepers waged against unruly students.

How, how was he supposed to just let the girl he likes put herself in scholarly risk when he practically had the manual on successful Hogwarts-rule breaking from his family, knew exactly where to get a magical map that would make sure they wouldn't be caught, and a perfectly functioning Invisibility Cloak right in his bag?

…thinking on it, this was probably not the kind of 'gentlemanly' actions that his parents meant to encourage.

Well, well, being a knight in shining armor was a very Gryffindor- No. It was an admirable thing for him to do, so Albus would be proud of himself. And never tell a soul what he'd done to be proud about. Because then he would be in trouble. And so would Zoey. So, really, she was the only person who could admire him as they hunted down a magical creature. Which he did not want to get up close and personal with. At the edge of, but still inside, the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts, a place full of more magical creatures. Which Zoey was determined to return to until they had succeeded, and he had volunteered to accompany her. Into the dangerous, creature-filled forest. Which was much, much bigger up close. And at night.

Albus gulped as he looked at the endless expanse of giant trees, not sure if the moon lighting the forest in half-shadow was better or worse than full darkness. He was going to regret this someday... like tomorrow. He would definitely, definitely regret this tomorrow.

"Zoey?" He whispered carefully, hoping he was at the right section of forest. Pine trees all looked the same to him, especially in the dark. "Zoey, you here?"

"Albus! Over here!" Zoey's voice echoed in a pitch that wasn't nearly as soft as his own. It took a moment to spot her, since her hair was brown instead of its usual vibrant colors, and he mused for a moment that he preferred her usual vibrant self-expression.

"There you are." She grinned at him when he took of the Invisibility Cloak so she could see him in return, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. Unlike him she wasn't wearing the Hogwarts uniform, looking more mugglish in thick pants and snow-coat. At least she had a Ravenclaw scarf on. "Sorry I'm late- Longbottom kept me late for detention again. We ready?"

"Sure, just-" Albus cut off as he saw a blur of blue move in the tree branches above her. He immediately reached for his wand. "Zoey look out!"

"Wha-"

"ATTACK!" Peeves the Poltergeist cried and descended from from his hiding place in the branches, which shook wildly, dropping the snow and pinecones that had weighed them down. The action seemed to inspire him as he quickly plucked them from the air, viciously chucking them at Albus as he approached.

"Peeves!" Zoey cried, her voice rising as she covered her head as a flurry of snow descended upon her.

Albus was quick to reach her side, herding her to the relative safety of the treetrunk. They were doomed, completely and utterly, because that familiar blur of blue donned in an eye-scarring orange coat swooping over their heads was never anything but bad. The youngest Potter cursed himself for leaving his gum in Gryffindor Tower as hefted his wand and looked for the next sign of the poltergeist, which shouldn't be too hard considering the bright colors-

Bonk.

"Ow!" Albus shook his wrist as a pinecone smacked it dead on, barely managing to keep his grip. He spun his wand up to the tree branches, shouting "Repulso!"

The branches shook wildly, depositing a new blanket of snow on their heads and a few more pinecones.

Bonk. Bonk. BONK.

Rapidly thrown and all on target, Albus ducked Peeves's first two projectiles only to hiss as one hit his shoulder particularly hard. The poltergeist seemed to be insistent on aiming for his wand hand.

"What are you-"

Albus ignored what Zoey was saying as he risked casting shields to protect himself from the ammunition, sincerely hoping that the light from his spells wouldn't incite a professor to come out and investigate. That was probably Peeves's plan to get them caught, he'd have to- have to win quick and get them both under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Stupefy!"

The poltergeist yelped as Albus's spell struck, turning over in the air a few times. He tumbled down through the tree- literally in some places, phasing through branches- before finally righting himself, glaring at the Potter boy.

Albus returned the animosity, relieved that Peeves was no longer covered by the tree and therefore would be an easy target. He just hoped that poltergeists could be petrified-

"Albus no!"

He jerked as Zoey yanked his arm, his spell missing. "Stop ignoring me and put that down!"

"Zoey?!" He refused to do so. "What- what do you mean, 'put it down'? The poltergeist is-"

"Peeves is also going to put down his pinecones." She turned and leveled her green gaze on the being in question. "Aren't you, Peeves?"

"No." He said stubbornly, hugging the prickly ammunition to his chest like a comfort blanket.

Zoey sighed. "If he puts down his wand, will you?"

"... yeeees."

Albus didn't trust that for one second.

"Perfect!" Zoey clapped her hands together. "Go ahead, Albus."

"You can not be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Zoey easily put a hand over his, pushing it and the wand it held away from its target. "Now it's your turn, Peeves."

"Hmmmm-" The poltergeist continued to fidget in the air as he pretended to think about it, his feet sort of dancing in bobbing jig that was only possible with weightless flight. "-mmmmmm'kay."

He proceeded to release a single pinecone without looking, which dropped expertly toward Albus, who was forced to duck out of the way because Zoey still hadn't released his wand to defend himself.

"Oi!"

"Peeves." Zoey admonished, looking far more serious than Albus had ever seen her. She was almost reminding him of his mother, with an expert blend of disappointment and anger mixed in her expression. A lot less anger than was typical in a Weasley though. "You know that's not what I meant."

"But Bwue-!"

"But nothing." Zoey didn't budge while Albus mulled over her apparent nickname. "You've got till three to put them away, Peeves. One..."

"It's not fair! It's not fair Bwue it's not fair he hit first!"

"No I-" Albus defended himself, but Zoey shushed him with a hand flapped in his face, which changed to hold out the numbers as she counted.

"He also stopped first. Two..."

Peeves puffed his cheeks until they went out as far out as his ears, rapidly turning mauve purple.

"Two and a half... Peeves, if I reach three you're not allowed to come with us."

"Come where?" Albus choked as Zoey slowly started raising the third and final finger.

"Two and three quarters-"

The poltergeist couldn't move fast enough, quickly chucking all the pinecones into the distance as though they'd personally offended him. Then he huffed loudly and gripped the ends of his coat, kicking at the empty air.

Albus felt his jaw drop. What kind of magic was this? Peeves the Poltergeist, creature of mayhem and bane of the Hogwarts Students, was- for all intents and purposes- being treated like a child. And acting like a child.

"Thank you Peeves." She took a deep breath, lowering her hand and sighing in relief. Then her annoyance worked up again just as quick. "Now- what was that? You two make a habit of just attacking people for no reason? Because if so I will seriously need to reevaluate our friendship statuses."

"What- he screamed 'attack'! And threw like twelve pinecones!" Albus defended himself against her obviously misplaced accusation, "I have never attacked someone for no reason!"

Peeves zoomed up until his long blue nose was inches from the Potter's own. "You did! You did too!"

"When?" Albus challenged, tugging to pull his wand up but Zoey's grip was still surprisingly strong and letting him do no such thing.

"Courtyard! I had peanuts and you had gum! Tell 'im Bwue!"

Zoey ran a hand down her face apologetically. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Peeves. I wasn't there, remember?"

Albus saw the poltergeist frown with a hint of sadness, but didn't think much of it as he realized what Peeves was using for 'evidence'. "There was plenty of reason! You were tormenting Rose!"

"But…" Peeves looked even more upset. "But I like flowers."

"Not an actual rose. Rose Granger-Weasley. My cousin?"

"Oh no." Zoey shifted her weight, looking between the two of them. "Peeves, I've told you, not everyone likes the same games that you do."

Understanding had dawned in the poltergeist's face and he let go of his coat to wave emphatically. "Wasn't a game! Weasel deserved it!"

"Oh yeah? Why?" Albus switched his wand to his other hand- it was better than not having it at all, and Zoey seemed not to notice that the wrist she was still keeping a grip on became empty.

The poltergeist went from confused and apologetic to defending himself with a thunderous boom in an instant. "BECAUSE WEASEL HURT BWUE!"

The words echoed in the forest, startling a few birds into flight. Albus wasn't even worrying whether something dangerous had heard the cry, too shooken himself. Peeves had attacked Rose- because Rose had hurt Zoey. That- beyond the discovery that Peeves had actual motives behind his seemingly malintent, it was jarring to learn that the poltergeist could actually care about someone to any extent. Let alone about Zoey specifically. Then again, Albus reflected, that was the most believable part of all. Zoey had this way of attracting concern.

"That's a lot of information to get in two minutes," Zoey mumbled as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She put a curved finger to her lips for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, for starters- Peeves, we will talk about Rose later. But for now, this is Albus. He's a friend."

Peeves looked doubtfully down his crooked blue nose at the Gryffindor.

"And Albus, I'm sorry if you and Peeves haven't gotten along before, but I promised he could come with me tonight. If that makes you change your mind, it's okay."

Despite her words Albus saw how uncomfortable she was with the idea, so he immediately assured "It's fine, just- surprising, is all." If he wasn't going to let her travel the Forbidden Forest on her own, there was no way he was going to let her do so with Peeves. The poltergeist would inevitably cause trouble.

"Thanks." Zoey smiled softly with relief, "That- honestly guys magical forests make me really nervous, so it's nice to have good company."

Albus frowned and glanced up, only to jerk back a few inches when he saw that the blue poltergeist was giving him a similar look. Peeves sneered and stuck his tongue out- an odd combination that wouldn't have worked for a human but successfully mixed mischief and mayhem on his floating features- then darted forward to fly next to Zoey as she picked her way into the forest.

He checked on his shoulder bag, making sure the Invisibility Cloak was still well-packed inside before following. Experience and family stories dictated that sneaking out wasn't that hard at Hogwarts, it was sneaking back in that was the real clincher.

Zoey was up in a tree when he caught up with her, her legs wrapped around one of the lower branches. Albus watched in confusion as she tied a string around the bark, letting a handmade bauble hang from it. She gave the knot a few tugs while Peeves, intrigued, hung from a different branch to see what all the excitement was about.

"... what are you doing?" Albus asked with slight concern for her sanity. She was working with a poltergeist, after all.

"Marking the trail." She tugged the pendant one more time before giving a satisfied nod. She hung from the branch to let her feet dangle before dropping the last few feet, brushing off her hands before sticking them in her pockets and mumbling a wish for gloves under her breath. "I do not want to get lost in here, I brought like twenty of them."

Albus frowned up at the small item that he could barely even see. "I don't think that'll help much."

"Watch." She whistled a four-note tune. A long high note, then a quick low-mid-high sequence that reached the pitch of the first. The stone lit up a soft lavender that easily caught and reflected off stray patches of snow, and she beamed in success. "Perfect." she declared, one of her pockets also lighting up from the combined glow of the others she'd brought along.

Albus frowned and stepped closer, not knowing of any enchantment this could be based on. Except maybe the Lumos light globe for Orion's projector- oh. Right. Zoey probably learned it from him, because Assistant Orion was Zoey's cousin. It was going to be a while yet before that fact sunk in for him.

Zoey whistled the notes backwards, and the stones dulled. "I know the teachers might see them, but I figured it was quicker than making rock pyramids and safer than snapping twigs. I don't want to accidentally snap, like, a magic tree branch that'll give me boils. That would be a bit hard to explain in the Hospital Wing for treatment."

Peeves was poking the stone in an effort to make it glow again, and whistled loudly in an inhuman pitch that had Albus cringing. He couldn't recreate Zoey's tune though so it stayed dim and innocuous… for a rock dangling from a tree by a piece of string.

The Gryffindor frowned in confusion. "Why would you make rock piles or snap twigs in the first place?"

"It's how muggles mark trails when they explore woody areas." She explained. "I- well, I… got lost in a forest once. Looked up everything I could to make sure it never happens again."

With how easily she lost track of herself in a place as safe as Hogwarts, he could only imagine how turned around she would get in a place as unsafe as a forest. And here she was, coming back anyways. Albus was impressed- his fear of the Forbidden Forest had been inherited through stories, yet here Zoey was with a personal reason to be more scared than he. And she'd wanted him for support, the Potter realized with a blush.

Uhoh. He'd been quiet a bit too long, she was starting to look at him funny. "That's really cool, Zoey." His eyes widened and he quickly gestured overhead. "Not- not the getting lost story! The lights thing. Idea. It's a really cool idea."

Peeves cackled at his verbal stuttering and Albus had never wanted to bespell the poltergeist more.

"Thanks." Zoey pulled off her scarf to wrap her hands in it for warmth. "Can't take all the credit, though. Hansel was the true inspiration here."

...who?

"Anyways," Zoey's eyes sparkled with her smile as she gestured deeper into the forest, "Where did you say you saw the Moon Calf?"

Keeping his eyes on Peeves- whose fingers were twitching like a kleptomaniac's as he stared at Zoey's trail marker- Albus answered "I think it was farther South."

"Pfft." Peeves disagreed for the sake of it. "Moon's better in the north."

"That makes no sense." Albus frowned while Zoey's head swiveled back and forth as though expecting a guidepost to pop out and tell them where to go.

"Does too."

"No, it doesn't." Albus groaned out loud and put his head in his hand, the frustrated action making him realize that he'd never switched his wand back into the proper hold. He hurriedly did so, a move that didn't go unnoticed as Peeves's hands stopped twitching to instead pull a walking stick out of thin air.

Albus cleared his throat and gestured to Zoey's back in a silent threat to get 'authority' involved.

"Not a pine!" Peeves shot back in a whisper even as he bopped the stick into a nearby tree hard enough to again shake snow from the branches.

That finally caught Zoey's attention. She yelped as a chunk of snow fell on her collar to melt down her back, and turned to see the pair of perfectly-innocent expressions on the boys' faces. Then Peeves pointed condemningly at Albus, and the Gryffindor glared back without an ounce of surprise.

The corner of her lips quirked. "Anything to say?"

"Sorry Zoey."

"Sorry Bwue." the poltergeist parroted, still jabbing a bony digit toward Albus.

She put her scarf back around her neck, likely to protect herself from any more induced snowfalls the pair might instigate. "Well, if we're not sure where to go, then maybe we should just get more familiar with our surroundings first. Peeves, could you scout ahead for a bit? Make sure there's nothing dangerous in our way?"

The poltergeist was quick to zoom off, eager to have something to do. Albus winced as he heard the walking stick smack into what must be every branch in the forest, birds and other small animals once again scurrying away from the unnatural ruckus in their midst.

"Looks like we're going west." The Ravenclaw girl smiled, and followed. Even though Peeves was taking them straight into the Forbidden Forest instead of staying close to the edges and the relative safety of Hogwarts' manicured grounds.

Albus cleared his throat, tapping her shoulder "Uh, Zoey, could you maybe explain why Peeves is here?"

"Hm? Oh. I promised him we'd have some fun tonight." She said easily. "He's pretty bored lately, I think that's why he went ballistic a few nights ago. It's better for him to get some energy out this way than by smashing things into Hogwarts' windows."

That answered pretty much nothing at all for him. Albus glanced ahead to make sure that Peeves was still out of earshot as he tried asking a different way. "And how, exactly, did you become friends with the poltergeist of Hogwarts?"

Zoey looked over at him, then quickly turned away as she slipped a bit on a patch of ice. "He's the first friend I made at Hogwarts, I wasn't going to just start ignoring him. That'd be horrible. Plus, Peeves isn't bad when you get to know him. More- confused, I think, than malevolent. I've met loads of people worse than him, poltergeist or not."

"I really, really doubt that." He said with as much emphasis as he could without resorting to swears like Uncle Ron.

"On what basis?" She snapped. "Have you ever actually spent time with Peeves, or did you just join in on the school's hate campaign?"

He jerked back at aggression in her voice. It was far from the most hateful look he'd ever experienced but the prickly demeanor was so foreign on Zoey that it left him reeling.

She took a deep breath and then shook her head, seemingly upset with herself now. "Sorry. That- you didn't deserve that." The ire was swept free from her face, and Albus wished he had such skill at hiding the things that bothered him. He wondered what her trick was.

"S'okay." he mumbled, walking in silence for a few moments before he felt the need to defend himself. "Peeves threw caterpillars on my class when I got to Hogwarts. They were the prickly kind? And they crawled under our robes. Leena had a rash for weeks-"

"I get it, I get it-" she covered her eyes with one and waved the other to stop him. "Sorry, I'm sorry. It just- I can't stand the idea of people judging him from afar."

Albus nodded and relaxed after this apology, listening to her turn to explain herself further. "I've noticed that- other than me- nobody watches Peeves for any reason except to stay away from him. He's banned from walking into any classrooms whether or not class is in session, and chased out of student gathering places like the Great Hall or even quidditch games. The school ghosts don't like him much from what I gather. That leaves a lot of time with a lot of nothing to do, anyone would go stir crazy. It's just-" Her stance was saturated with sympathy that conflicted with her accusation towards Hogwarts, and Albus found couldn't fault her for it. He'd never thought of the poltergeist's situation from Peeves's point of view before. "It's not fair for a whole group of people to decide- just because it's easier than forming their own decision, mind you- a whole school of kids to hate and isolate someone they don't know. It's not fair."

She glowered at the ground she was walking for a moment, then stutteringly added. "T- to Peeves. It's not fair to Peeves."

Albus was confused by the hurried sentence before he realised he'd been too caught in the subject too much to see the bigger pictures. Unwelcomed by students, treated differently by Professors, ostracized by groups because of something that wasn't originally his own fault… yeah, there was someone else who had those troubles.

He cleared his throat carefully. "Look, Zoey, I know this year went bad with-" Rose and more of my family entirely at fault- "everything that's happened since Halloween, but it'll get better. Things will be back to normal before you know it."

"Any day now," she agreed, but this time her smile wasn't quite enough to hide her doubt.

"I mean it. You'll be back to loving Hogwarts as soon as this blows over."

"Albus," she said slowly, "can I tell you something brutally honest?"

Sensing the kind of no-way-out trap that the statement was, he could only timidly say "Always?"

"Hogwarts, Britain's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been the biggest let down of my life." His jaw dropped as she paused to consider her own words. "Well, okay, Hogwarts itself has been pretty great. My experience with Hogwarts students and teachers? Completely and horribly underwhelming."

"Well, sure," Albus agreed, "I know things got pretty terrible lately, but-"

"Oh not just lately." Zoey cut him off to finish her point. "When I was testing to place my skills for classes- you know I'm not taking all my classes at the right level, right?- when I was testing to place, a lot of the teachers were unnecessarily harsh. I mean come on. Herbology is nothing more than gardening, which I've done my whole life, and I have read every manual on every magical plant in those greenhouses. Sure I can't cast a good diffindo but that doesn't mean that I need to be behind a whole year! I know for a fact that there's plenty of safety measure in those greenhouses, they've protected me often enough that I should know."

"Uh huh…" personally, Albus thought that spoke against her point more than for it, but recognised a building rant and decided to stay out of the danger zone.

"And I love Ravenclaw, but- it's been really hard to make any friends. We're not exactly a social bunch to start with, and the entire school except the First Years already have their friend niches. And I can't even walk with people between periods. Jigsawing First Year DA and Transfiguration, Second Year Charms, Third Year Herbology, History, and Magical Creatures in with my Fourth Year Potions, Runes, and Astronomy into the same schedule has me crossing the castle twice a day. I don't have time to walk let alone chat. And barely anyone seems interested in friendships outside of their House. Most people say 'Hi' to me, maybe make a comment on my hair color of the moment, and move on. Barely anyone looks at me when it's like this." She gripped the end of her plain brown ponytail, and he felt a moment of guilt as he remembered thinking how hard she was to spot with this hair color mere minutes ago.

"It is kind of an iconic part of your look." Albus mumbled, and he could already hear future-Lily chastising him about how poor that attempt at comfort was. He tried again, forcing cheer into his voice "It's not that they didn't like you, it's just that people had their own groups already. And even with those odds stacked against you, you made plenty of friends anyways."

"I can count my student friends on one hand- I think." Albus watched as she paused, frowning and testing her statement. Her tone stayed detached and analytical as she listed "Lily, obviously. Your cousin is a literal angel on earth. Hugo. Marianngela Zambini and Marcel Avery, although-"

"Marcel Avery?" Albus choked in shock, knowing that name a bit too well. Dad and James had warned him multiple times that the Slytherin First Year was the only son of Xavier Avery, leader of the largest magical gang of illegal activities since the Second War.

"Yeah." Zoey confirmed, either missing or ignoring his mild horror. "Some of his classmates were making fun of him for having two dads, so I shrunk their robes until their clothes size matched their maturity. It looked like an accident on my part- poor magic control and all that, mostly true because I haven't been able to do it on purpose since- which is why I didn't get in too much trouble, but it got me a few friends instead. Who else…" she tapped her four fingers on her cheek. "I've been to a few DDC meetings recently. They're nice, but I think they're just nice to everybody. Malfoy doesn't count. He's my tutor, but he's really serious about it and we've never hung out for any other reason."

Albus held in a relieved sigh at that.

"I mean I'd like to be his friend," she went on, "but I don't think he wants a friendship back and I don't think it's a friendship if only one person considers it a friendship."

"I'd think so." He quickly agreed and felt a bit slimy to be encouraging her to dismiss a relationship, but ultimately didn't feel any real guilt at all.

"-I do have extra credit Herbology with one girl, but I annoy her, so she definitely doesn't count. Rose and Lysander-" her brow furrowed. "Not anymore, and adding you that's five. So, yup, one hand."

Albus watched her wave it once in demonstration and tried to hide how depressing he felt that was. He couldn't imagine- wait. Huh? "Why not Lysander?" They were inseparable before Lysander was appointed Head Boy. Sure the Scamander twin was too busy now for any of his normal free time, but-

"He wouldn't forgive me for fighting with Rose. Or petrifying Lorcan." She paused, then added "Or maybe both. Either way, he's been giving me the cold shoulder."

"He is?" Albus's voice was a whisper in shock, watching her with wide eyes because that wasn't what he'd expect the Ravenclaw to do after speaking so strongly on Zoey's behalf.

"Yeah. That's what happens when you pitch friendship against family- don't blame him really," she assured in the same voice Lysander used to recite facts. "Should have expected it. Honestly I was more surprised you, Lily, and Hugo didn't do the same."

"Bwue!" Peeves cried, diving down out of nowhere. "I found a thing!"

Albus was grateful for once to see the poltergeist, as it saved him from Zoey's undivided attention for a few precious moments. He was hurt that she thought so little of their friendship. He wanted to protest but found he had nothing to say, not even to himself, that could refute her assumption. He too had experienced the fickleness of 'friends', people who'd been attracted to him for shallow fame only to disappear as quick as they'd come. He'd always had the fold of his family to fall into though, the comforting strangle of eternal ties to the best and worst of the Legacies.

He mused that such a bond might just be visible. That Zoey might know it was there and that she wasn't a part of it, which meant she might be dropped at any moment. She must have felt so alienated already, and here he'd been frantically trying to ask her on a date when she'd just been needing a friend.

That icky feeling was coming back.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy left his gaze unfocused as he looked over the game of chess he was currently playing against himself. In the nine rounds he'd played since the Hogwarts Express had left, Scorpius's white strategies had won six times and he was currently ignoring the taunts his White Queen was calling across the board to concentrate.

Normally his focus was a precise tool wielded as assuredly as his wand- his empty wand-hand twitched as he was reminded of its absence- but tonight he'd been finding his strategies only reaching three or four moves ahead instead of five or seven. A Malfoy did not waste time laying blame, but a Malfoy did not make the mistake of overestimating things either. His lagging mind was the culprit of multiple plans and analyses not limited to an eight by eight board.

If Scorpius were feeling metaphorical, he'd comment that, if the Hogwarts Houses were chess teams, the Hogwarts Express had taken several key officers. But while Red, Blue and Yellow had lost knights or bishops or rooks, Green had most certainly lost their queen player.

Such metaphors were unproductive whimsy however, so Malfoy settled more on the facts. Although the school wide suspensions did achieve its no doubt intended goal of sobering giddy spirits, it didn't have a truly negative impact on Slytherin moral. The simple observation that there were fewer Slytherins receiving punishment than any other House was seen as proof that their position had been justified. Even to McGonagall.

So while Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had been openly glaring and resenting their early trips home, the crowd of Slytherins at the Hogwarts Express had been comparatively jovial. Proud smirks and nods were shared, and those being punished had been regarded with quiet admiration that might not have been as loud as the rest of the school but was no less sincere.

Scorpius had been feeling a trace of a smile tugging at his own features, but, upon returning through the dungeons, their dwindled numbers became more apparent and he was forced to consider the new change of power players in the student houses.

Priscilla and Zambini had been two of the Slytherins sent home. So not only had Scorpius's House lost their best spokeswoman, but he, personally, had lost two of his strongest allies. Odette, the Quidditch Captain, was gone as well, but that wasn't his concern nor responsibility to compensate for.

Mercifully, Nott was still sitting by his side. Likely not entirely by McGonagall's choice, of course. Every Slytherin had been extremely vocal in their assertion that Nott's brief part in the fight had been entirely warranted, and Scorpius hadn't heard of even a Gryffindor who'd been able to say otherwise.

Frustrating as it had been at the time, he was unfortunately lucky that the Potter brothers had knocked him out relatively early in the fight. In the chaos of the moment, opposing Houses didn't see Scorpius quietly strategizing instead of slinging spells and Isabelle hadn't outed him despite being suspended herself. The final outcome kept him from getting in trouble as Zambini and Priscilla had been.

Scorpius would still gladly take a chance to get even with the either Potter if the chance presented itself, obviously.

But again, that was a strategy and plan to be considered at another time. As was the admittedly unnerving fact that Slytherin House was not the same without Priscilla Parkinson in it. No, the first and foremost conflict Malfoy needed to resolve was the simple loss of numbers in his group. At the moment his only magical support was Nott, and the suspensions were at a minimum going to last through the Winter Holidays. McGonagall had warned extended suspensions and expulsions were being determined.

He tapped a finger to his temple, thinking over their fourth-year schedule and then his own commitments to quidditch and tutoring as well as Nott's DDC Lieutenant responsibilities, and closed his eyes with a small exhale. There simply wasn't any feasible way that he and Nott could keep an eye on each other, Melissa Goyle, Zambini's little sister and that boy who was her friend all while making progress in their library research. Something would have to give.

Unfortunately, he knew precisely which.

After moving white's queen-side rook into checkmate, Scorpius took the time putting his chess pieces away to pull himself back from the abstract world. He found that only a few people were still awake, scattered around the common room couches and working on their History of Magic homework. Apparently History Assistant Orion had been inspired by the recent confiscation of wands to give every student in every year an assignment on the history of wands.

It was a similar enough subject to the history of magic-uses that Scorpius's research into sorcery and wizardry and the group's effort to track the fluctuations of squib numbers had given them plenty of information on the subject. Scorpius had written his entire essay from memory. It'd taken a bit longer to go back and cite his sources, but still had plenty of time to use rounds of chess to occupy his hands while he thought.

Nott, as he'd noted earlier, was still sitting at his side. He had a plethora of study books laid out in front of him in an effort to finish his essay, clearly knowing what he needed to find but not remembering specifics. And, to Scorpius's mild surprise, the pile of blankets huddled on the couch closest to the fireplace still contained a wide-awake Melissa Goyle who was trying to peek over her friend's shoulder for inspiration. Her own paper was barely more than the title.

Scorpius felt a small twist in his gut as he realized he would not get the chance to practice his explanation on Nott before telling the others. A twist that grew at the reminder that there were no others at this moment.

The urgency of that thought prompted him to break the thick silence they'd maintained since returning to the Commons. "Nott, Melissa." He named in a casual summon, the two of them instantly dropping their activities to first confirm that Scorpius wanted to speak with them and then to come closer to avoid eavesdroppers.

A Malfoy was never nervous about giving commands, but Scorpius did clear his throat so his voice wouldn't crack after being quiet for so long. "The Headmistress's suspensions have changed the balance of the Houses…" He began, walking them through condensed versions of the thought paths he'd been mapping out. His own summary of facts were calming to him, solidifying his conclusion that without Nott or Priscilla, they simply could not operate as before without facing consequences. Their group had always been vastly outnumbered by Legacy brats and sympathizers, but until now they'd balanced the scales with their combined skills.

"...at this point, we can't afford to divide and conquer as normal." He finished. "Once the shock factor wears off someone might take advantage of Priscilla's absence to test our House strength. And if any of us are alone, we risk being that target."

Melissa whimpered softly and Nott absently patted her shoulder in imitation of emotional support, but he too was more focused on the problem than anything else. "McGonagall just suspended people." he disagreed. "They're not even allowed back until a week after the rest of us return from Christmas break. 'At the soonest'." he finished with air quotes.

"While I agree that that's most likely to be when even the Gryffindors gather courage to push the envelope again, a Malfoy does not depend on percentages."

The two nodded reluctantly at his reasoning. "Whaddya have in mind then, Malfoy?"

"We'll have to greatly reduce the time we spend outside the direct sight of the Professors." He sighed in displeasure and looked around their green-lake tinged Common Room. "Which means no lingering in hallways, and a great deal more time here. And a lot less time spent in the library; the bookshelves may as well be walls when it comes to blocking supervision." A fact Slytherins were usually keen to take advantage of, but would be against them for the time being.

At this point Malfoy faced Melissa, preparing to finish with his plan by saying that their research into squibdom was simply too great a waste of time and so unlikely to pay off in the mere week before Christmas that it was a useless endeavor for them. Simple fact was that Scorpius was forced to accept he'd underestimated the vast problem that finding a squib cure had proven to be. Besides, her grades this semester had already proven as distressingly dismal as the years prior, and those weren't going to change in the next week either. Seeing the entire semester of effort summarized into a single essay, in support of another subject no less, showed the harsh fact that no matter how determined or clever they was no real progress was being made.

Melissa ducked her head down and to the side to avoid his gaze, clever enough to sense that she wasn't going to like Malfoy's next words. She'd been wincing at every mention of Priscilla being gone, and while Malfoy usually chided her expressiveness internally Scorpius found himself taking a moment to wonder the cause behind the emotion. And once that moment was taken, he easily deduced that Melissa was probably fearful of living in a Hogwarts without Priscilla's imposing shadow to shelter in.

Somehow, the realization altered the flow of the words he used. "So we're changing tactics." Scorpius said and instead of explaining every reason why abandoning their original strategy was coldly logical, he summarized so he could launch straight into what he'd decided was the plan moving forward. "Reversing or curing or changing the absent arcanic strength of a witch is something people have tried since the dawn of magic; and if anyone will discover that trick, it won't be students who lose a minimum of forty hours a week to learning entirely separate subjects."

Nott grunted agreement, and despite how inarticulate it was Scorpius found the sound bolstered his confidence in essentially confessing that he'd been conceited and wrong to ever believe otherwise. They were only rediscovering what others had devoted lifetimes of experiments to discover.

"At this point, we need to focus on improving your class performances, and that will show your skill as a witch."

"But-" Melissa protested, frowning unhappily with a glimmer of tears threatening. "But I have no skills."

"You have no natural skills, Goyle." Scorpius corrected, finding it easier to be blunt and callous with Melissa Goyle than usual. A small part of him noted that perhaps it was because Priscilla wasn't hovering at her side, but that was a ridiculous note which he promptly ignored. "Luckily, Hogwarts grades are not entirely dependent on your spellwork. You won't reach the top of your class, but you can't fail from poor practicals alone."

Zoethia Malam had proven that, Scorpius knew. As much as she struggled to cast even simple spells, Wainbata was passing classes without them. Which was doubly notable considering that she had to catch up on so much raw information from missing three whole years of schoolwork. Now that Rose has stopped berating her every session, Scorpius was glad to report he'd helped Zoey raise a few Acceptables into Exceeds Expectations.

While his mind took its short wander Melissa blanched as she realized he was talking about essays and tests. "But- but I'm not smart."

"You're not stupid either." He corrected, then gestured to her barely-touched essay that'd sat in front of her for hours. "But you are lazy. And that is something that can be worked through."

She sputtered indignantly a few times and hid the parchment from their sight before crossing her arms.

"He's got a point," Nott agreed, finally catching on to Scorpius's reasoning. "Hard as we've been working to help you, Melissa, we haven't actually been helping your grades. And that's probably more urgent."

"They're not that bad," Melissa protested, but her hunched shoulders slumped in defeat when neither boy dignified that white lie with an answer. "What can I even do?"

"Ace your tests instead of just passing them," Scorpius started. "Take every bonus assignment Professors offer, pick up more extra credit hours like you're doing for Herbology. And- finish this essay tonight. Without reading over Nott's shoulder."

She looked down at the empty parchment and then at the late hour on the clock, before back to him incredulously.

Scorpius arched an eyebrow. "Is there a particular reason you're not getting started?" he asked, easily falling into the role of tutor that he'd developed with Wainbata over the semester. It was a mannerism meant to get a hyperactive, unfocused girl with dyed hair to be serious. Melissa's lazy tendencies didn't have a chance.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the very early hours of the morning, Harry Potter wondered when walking through Diagon Alley had stopped being a treat and starting being droll instead. And then he wondered if he should be remembering that moment, or if it was something else he had forgotten.

Since seeing his family portrait and knowing he had absolutely no idea who the oldest child there was supposed to be, Harry had gone through a brief period of denial. The painting could have been faked, or a trick to weaken him in some way. Yet when he thought of it, he could remember buying family items in numbers of five, not four. Preparing things in threes for his children. Couldn't imagine why he didn't remember buying the crib that Albus and Lily had slept in, because for some reason it had already been in their attic- or deny the way his portrait smiled at the child with a fondness he himself had lost. He knew it was ultimately more logical, as Hermione would explain, to believe that Apex had somehow damaged his memory than messed with everyone else's. And that Harry couldn't even imagine the scope of what he'd forgotten- but could see in Ginny's eyes her pity and horror- had made staying at home rather uncomfortable.

Harry had held his breath nervously after he tapped the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, three up and two across, and waited. Had the wall always taken this many agonizing seconds to melt away, or had forgotten to tap a last time? Instead of opening the secret passage had he triggered a magical defense? Did the wall even have defenses reminiscent of the ones in Gringotts vaults?

He sucked in a breath as he realized he didn't know the answer, and didn't know if he'd ever asked the question before.

Despite his inner turmoil the wall melted away as it- as he believed it always had, and he quickly shoved his hand back in his pocket. The Elder Wand hummed, though he wasn't sure if it was meant to be a comforting reminder of its presence or if it was displeased to be kept hidden. Either way, his grip only tightened and stayed where it was.

He found himself peering at Diagon Alley with the same fervid interest he'd had as a child, looking in storefronts and checking signs and wishing he had about eight more eyes so that he could look at everything to compare it to what he remembered. He felt no cheer or excitement as he matched every store to what was in his head, calming only slightly as he passed cauldrons, apothecaries, owls and brooms in the same order he recalled. He looked at Gringotts and was immensely relieved that though it was far different than it had been, he remembered the change taking place. The mild panic as wizards wondered what Gringotts was altering when they re-engineered their defenses after he, Ron and Hermione had not only successfully broken into but also broken out with the Horcrux they needed to stop Voldemort.

He found himself reliving that adventure, everything from planning the heist on the goblin-bank to escaping on the blind dragon and seeking for any blanks or inconsistencies in between while he walked, his eyes now trained to the ground as most of his focus turned inward. He snapped himself out of it when he realized he'd been standing outside his destination for several seconds, chastising the useless delay and blaming his unease on the purpose of his visit.

The storefront of Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. had been repainted, but was still cramped in a narrow space. Mr. Ollivander's son had made sure it shone with fresh paint and wood when he took over the family business, symbolic of the fresh start to the wizarding world at the end of the war. It was a sharp contrast to a sneakoscope displayed in the window with a sign that read 'NO BUSINESS WITH DECEITFUL PATRONS'.

He took a deep breath to recenter himself and opened the door, hearing the soft chime echo from the back of the the shop. The inside of the wand store was much the same as he remembered, thankfully, and he reasoned the consistency over twenty years was probably because the new Mr. Ollivander was used to the old sorting system.

A figure made its careful way around the leaning piles of wand boxes, stopping short at the sight of who his customer was. "Harry- Mister Potter!" the young wandmaker stuttered, "I- to what do I owe the honor?"

Harry smiled at the young doppleganger of the man who'd sold him his wand, unfortunately used to the high regard. Gerald Ollivander had wild wispy hair and even wilder brown eyebrows. He pushed a set of reading glasses up to his hairline to look at his hero with silver-shone eyes that were not yet as piercing as his father's had been. Gerald had always considered himself to eternally be in the Auror's debt for rescuing his father from Voldemort and- in turn- preserving their lineage as Britain's best wandmakers, as his training hadn't been complete at the time.

"I need you to look at a wand for me," Harry said. "It was damaged recently, and we're not sure how."

Gerald frowned at the news and set his glasses back on his nose before placing a velvet display cover on the counter. "Whose wand is it?"

"They'd rather stay anonymous," he said as he pulled his own holly wand out of his pocket, grateful for once that the original Ollivander had retired years ago. Gerald wouldn't remember a wand he'd never sold.

The small comfort was extremely small though as he was more worried about the tool that was practically an extension of his right hand. His holly wand had been completely unresponsive since those wrenching cries after Apex touched it, and Harry could only hope that Ollivander not only knew how to repair the damage but would deduce a some way to block Apex's tampering in the first place. Otherwise he'd have to supply all his aurors with a set of backup wands.

The young Ollivander took the holly stick from Harry's hand, then frowned. "Is this a joke?" he demanded, his tone harsher toward Harry than ever before.

"I'm sorry?" He asked in surprise.

"This is not a wand." he lifted his glasses to his forehead, disheveled eyebrows coming sharply together. "There is more to a wand than merely being a stick with a bit of animal inside."

He shifted his feet nervously, seeing that Gerald thought his skill as a wandmaker had been in question. "I promise you, Ollivander, I have seen the magic of that wand with my own eyes."

His expression morphed from insult to unease as he recognised Harry's sincerity. "There's not a strand of power running through it. The joke wands from Wizard Wheezes have more magic than this." he looked deeply disturbed as he reset his glasses and stared intently at the damaged holly through to the core, mumbling to himself as he pulled a few tools from a drawer.

"And- er- what does that mean, exactly?" Harry prompted as he watched the man work.

Gerald took a deep breath as he measure the split in the wand, then looked up at the Auror. "I have known wands to be bent, twisted, snapped and splintered, Mister Potter."

Harry remembered Hagrid's pink umbrella, and his all-but-confirmed suspicion that it held the pieces of the Groundskeeper's shattered wand. "But- they're still wands. They can still be used."

"If the damage is not too severe that can be the case." Gerald admitted hesitantly. "But it's an arduous process almost as difficult as learning magic in the first place. It's more prudent to get a new wand."

"And if that's not an option?" Harry didn't like abandoning his wand before, and certainly didn't now.

"If you have a matching sample of the wandcore, or the exact tree it was whittled from, a patch of sorts can be fashioned." Gerald's tone implied that was unlikely. "Though such an endeavor is expensive and rarely succeeds. Very few things will repair such damage-" Harry had to stop his hand from twitching toward the Elder Wand in his pocket- "and though they never work the same way again, they should still channel magic. You've seen this, yes?"

Harry nodded, thinking back to Ron's wand after it was damaged by the whomping willow their Second Year of Hogwarts and then of his own when it had been cracked by Snatcher's when he'd been on the run. Spells tried with them would backlash or only work halfway, the damaged wands still powerful but dangerously unreliable.

"But this… wand," The professional still seemed hesitant to talk about it as such. "If you or I waved it not a thing would happen. Even if its chosen wizard's life depended on it, this couldn't produce a lick of magic."

He decided not to mention that he'd experienced that already. "What's the difference?"

Gerald stopped his measuring and frowned at the table, tapping his fingers. "I could do my best work on this wand. My father could have done his best work on this wand, and… I doubt it will make a difference. I never thought I could say this, Mister Potter, but if this was ever truly a wand, then it is a dead one."

The statement echoed in the empty shop for a few moments as Harry tried to understand the strange sentence, his gaze flicking intermittantly to the carved wood Gerald hadn't stopped examining. "It- it's a wand. Is- er- is that even possible?"

"In a sense." The wandmaker fudged. "If a wand is bonded strongly to it's witch or wizard, it will sometimes 'expire' with their owners passing and never work again. Some stolen wands will refuse to work for new owners, and expire in the same manner. Other wands, if their owners change too greatly from their original personalities, have been known to set themselves on fire and cease to exist in that manner. But those cases only occur with specific kinds of wood and in extreme circumstances."

Harry touched his scar, and the action didn't go unnoticed.

Gerald's eyes softened. "I often wished Voldemort's wand would have done such a thing. But there have been many dark wizards with wands to do their bidding before Him, and sadly there will be more to follow. Though a wand chooses a wizard, Mister Potter, a wizard will always do what he wants. Besides- I doubt that his change from Riddle to Voldemort was sudden enough to incite such rebellion in his own wand, especially considering that it was made from yew."

He said this with such finality that Harry didn't want to admit that he had no idea what 'yew' had anything to do with it. "So then what happened here?"

"A small crack like this certainly shouldn't have caused such a thing." Gerald said, "and the core even seems intact. Hrm." He finished recording the measurements, putting the tape away to pick up what looked like a pair of tweezers. The pronged tips moved and bent like living metal into the blackened crack in Harry's holly wand to pull out out single dingy, dull feather.

Harry sucked in a breath. "I've never seen a phoenix feather look like that."

"Nor have I." Gerald said, then tucked it back inside the wand with the same flawless ease, not a single strand of the feather cracking or catching on the splintered wood. "A feather of such poor a quality may as well be from a pigeon. A magicless wand…" He looked down at the work in question and shook his head morosely. "I am sorry Mister Potter but I've never seen anything of this manner. If your anonymous friend isn't interested in a replacement, I have no idea where to even start."

"Would- er- well, this is a lot to take in." Harry tapped his pocket as he sat back. "Is there a chance I could get some water? Or butterbeer?"

He was a terrible actor and he knew it. The only reason Gerald Ollivander perked with an excited "Coming right up Mister Potter!" was because the wandmaker held him in such impossibly high regard. Something about being on a pedestal made it seem impossible to imagine Harry might just be trying to trick the man into leaving the room.

As soon as he was alone in the foyer Harry pulled out the Elder Wand, resolutely ignoring the hum of power that vibrated from its simple touch and instead focused on what he was about to do. Before the wand had saved his and his team's lives from Apex, Harry had only voluntarily cast a single spell with it. He did so again as he pressed the very tip of it to the damaged pheonix-feather and holly.

"Reparo."

He'd always planned to repair his own wand in the same way he had years ago, however dangerous the luxury of doing so was. The Elder Wand was still very much a secret- one he'd never even told the Minister of Magic- and flaunting its power would be detrimental to his chances to keeping his possession of the strongest Deathly Hallow unnoticed. But he'd take the risk for the wand that'd been at his side since he was eleven.

The last time he'd used the Elder Wand for this, he'd been repairing far more extensive damage to his own wand, and had felt what he'd later decide was something like grudging respect as the powerful weapon lent its aid to weaker one.

This time there was no feeling of deja vu as he watched the crack in his wand mend as flawlessly as before. There was no uplifting comfort as the spell ended its pull on his magic, no comforting sparks coming from the wand he'd used all of his life. And when he picked it up, there was no joyous warmth at the return to its rightful place.

When Harry Potter waved the holly stick in the Ollivander family shop same he had at a mere eleven years old, nothing happened. Not whisper not a spark not a shiver occured, and his heart sank as he was forced to accept that it hadn't worked. Maybe he'd only been lucky that the Elder Wand had repaired it before, maybe it couldn't do so a second time. But he wholeheartedly placed the blame on Apex, somehow damaging his wand more through a crack than when it had been when snapped in two.

The lofty smile on the winged man's face taunted his mind's eye, and Harry grit his teeth. "Reparo." He cast again, and when the magic in the Elder Wand seemed to hesitate he shoved his magic through the spell with all of his anger and frustration. Apex would not take his wand from him as well.

The magic poured differently this time, the force of his anger mixing with the ancient power hosted by the Deathly Hallow to make a different concoction. The very air around them vibrated and magical torches in the room flickered, but Harry stayed focused on his task. Gerald Ollivander had said that the magic itself was gone from his wand, and with that idea in mind he poured as much of his strength as he could into the spell, thinking not of mending something broken but replacing something lost.

At first the idea seemed to work as the holly wand vibrated on the soft velvet, and Harry felt his spirits soar. The spell was working. It was actually working, he could feel the Elder Wand straining to do what he wanted rather than staying within the rigid restrictions of the spell he cast. A part of him wondered at that, but he was far more focused on the spell itself, determined to finish with his wand good as new.

The torches continued to flicker as the spell lasted longer, and longer, and longer still. A bead of sweat dripped down Harry's forehead as he worked, marveling at how this simple repair was taxing him greater than the patronus that had held back Apex. No matter how much magic he poured into the spell, it never seemed like enough. It felt like he was trying to fill a sieve. No- a bucket, not just with a hole in it but not even a bottom. It was working but it wasn't lasting.

The shop rattled more the longer he cast the spell, the air growing thicker at an alarming speed that made Harry lightheaded. He distantly felt a pain in his knee and it was the only sign his stance had buckled, knocking sharply into the counter. He barely caught himself him falling completely to the ground.

Stop, he willed the spell, and a chilly relief poured up his right arm as the Elder Wand ceased its magic. He took several deep breaths he got back to his feet and sat in the chair, looking around and wincing when he realized that the tremors of his spells had certainly added to the perpetual mess Ollivander's shop was. The Auror hoped that it wouldn't be noticeable at a glance to someone who wasn't looking for it.

The thought made him realize there was no hiding what he'd done, though. Or tried to do. His holly wand was once more unblemished perfection to the naked eye, it would be obvious that he'd tried to repair it. He at least managed to tuck the Elder Wand out of sight again before Ollivander returned- and yup, that was definitely annoyance at being stuffed away that pricked his fingers before he let go of the gnarled wood.

Gerald's expression fell from pleased to far-from impressed in moments after he'd returned, instantly seeing what had been done and looked on the verge of being insulted again.

"Er- I'm sorry, it's just…" Harry sighed and gave up on finding an excuse. "I just- well, I had to try something."

Understanding lit the wandmaker's eyes even as his lips stayed firmly in a frown. "That's unfortunate. It would have been helpful for me to continue studying the original crack."

He lowered his gaze guiltily, then frowned himself. "So- wait, you're saying that you'll work on it?"

"I said I didn't know where to start, Mister Potter." The young Ollivander admonished. "Not that I wouldn't do so."

A kernel of hope inside him ignited, and the Auror wondered if it might had been better if it had stayed unlit. "Do what you can, please."

"I cannot promise a timeline."

"That's fine." Harry assured, getting to his feet. "And let me know if you'll need any specific supplies, I'll do what I can to fund them."

Wild eyebrows rising mildly, Gerald nodded and assured that he would. He set the polished holly onto a display behind the counter and looked it over once again as Harry Potter left. A magicless wand. Every lesson on wandlore told him to leave it be and move on, Garrick Ollivander's voice chiding in his son's ear to spend his time wisely.

Instead of listening he allowed himself a smile. His father had been the best wandmaker in Britain, but Gerald had hopes not only to match but to surpass his senior's skill. Fixing an unfixable wand seemed like a good place to start.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Zoey had to admit; she had thought Albus had been over exaggerating about how hard sneaking back into Hogwarts would be. And a part of her still believed that she would have been fine without his help. But she was really glad to have it anyways.

The Potter boy was expertly sliding them along shadows and avoiding the natural traps of Hogwarts, reminding her to skip trick steps and keeping away from the particularly nosy portraits. He'd pulled out an old piece of paper and kept glancing at it when he thought she wasn't looking. It looked like some kind of origami map.

Albus clearly didn't want to talk about it though, and Zoey wasn't sure if that would be breaking into another overly-serious conversation. She didn't want to make him feel any more awkward than he'd clearly become earlier; they hadn't spoken much the whole night, Peeves's frequent interruptions to show off weird beetles and rocks and a 'whistling' tree that did no such thing were the only times they'd spoken. Which was fine, because they'd been in a dangerous, magic forest that was sending chills down her back and she needed to stay more focused on the sliding shadows and any crunch underfoot which could've easily been more than just a dead leaf. Peeves had left as soon as they'd gotten back into the castle though, so their silence was made all the more uncomfortable.

Especially since they hadn't found a Moon Calf. And Zoey was wondering if Albus would even want to come back with her to try again after they got back from Christmas.

After a few more corners Albus pulled her to the side, then turned another way, then cursed as he stared at his map. He immediately blushed. "Sorry- that's why my Mum says Uncle Ron is a bad role model."

Zoey dismissed it, trying to get a better look at the map that had upset him. "What's wrong?"

Albus hesitated, then sighed and handed it to her while he tugged something out of his bag. "It's called the Marauder's Map- it shows everyone and thing in Hogwarts."

"No way…" She pulled it close, her eyes looking over it in awe. The lines on the parchment were labeled with things like 'Great Hall' and 'West Tower'. Flaps of paper overlapped in an apparently patternless origami manner, so it took a moment to orient herself but when she did Zoey found that under where Albus's thumb had been were two sets of footprints, one labeled 'Albus Potter' and the other 'Zoethia Malam'.

Well this was new.

Zoey took two steps to the left, and watched with glee as the footprints did the exact same. Not the footprints, she realized, her footprints! Though there were distinct flavors of fresh magic to the enchantment on the parchment- one part of the map very specifically reminiscent of a wet dog- it was as familiar to her as the stones she was walking on. The magic of Albus's map was definitely somehow tied into the very fibers of the magic in Hogwarts Castle. And one or the other, which basically meant both, were able to sense exactly where she was standing. She stood on one foot and watched the right footprint disappear, then hopped a few times.

The lonely left footprint did blink but her name stayed put, the magic at her fingertips almost amused by the meager attempts to trick it.

So. Cool.

Her internal analysis was once again broken as Albus finished tugging at the the cloth from his bag and unceremoniously draped it over both of them. The dark material, instead of blinding them, became suddenly transparent.

"Um…" despite not knowing why he was covering up them she helped her friend arrange the soft folds so they wouldn't trip as she was tugged back toward the wall she'd stepped away from in her experiments with his map. "... why did you bring a blanket?"

Albus clapped a hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips, looking down at the map as a pair of footprints approached.

A Slytherin Prefect showed up around the corner, yawning loudly. Zoey tensed and was already envisioning endless detentions and the double scolding she'd get from McGonagall then Jon, but to her shock he didn't say anything as he approached. He didn't veer toward them, and in fact he didn't even look their way as he continued his route.

Zoey wondered if Prefects had a problem of patrolling Hogwarts in their sleep until she heard him give a lazy greetings to someone around the corner, and waited until both voices and footsteps were a ways away before pulling the hand off her mouth. "Why didn't he-?"

"A blanket?" Albus cut her off, clearly insulted. "This is THE Invisibility Cloak, Zoey!"

Well that explained their escape. She ran a hand along the inside of it in silent gratitude for it's aid in their endeavor, but had to point out. "... feels like a blanket."

"Well- well, it's a cloak."

"But it doesn't have sleeves! Or a hood or even a clasp!" Zoey argued as they moved on. "It's a giant, soft, silvery blanket."

"It does too have a clasp, we're just not using it."

"So it's a cape… that functions better as a blanket?" she prodded, smiling as the awkward stance Albus had held melted away through their conversation. In harsh whispers he explained that this Invisibilty Cloak, which certainly was not a cape or blanket, used to be his dad's so he didn't know how it worked. He had no idea if it was changing colors like a chameleon or bending light like a prism or just somehow making them unimportant to onlookers and therefore not actually making them invisible but just unnoticable-

"And honestly, does it even matter?" Albus sighed after he answered her latest question.

Obviously, Zoey thought, but decided not to press the subject since it was time to go. "Here's good."

Albus frowned, looking back at his special map. "Actually Zoey, the door to the bottom of Ravenclaw Tower is that way." He said patiently, and Zoey wondered if he assumed she was turned around. It would be a pretty fair conclusion.

"Yeah, but the stairs of the Tower transform into a slide if you step on them after curfew. Supposedly fun, according to the portraits who warned me about it."

"Sounds like the defense stopping guys from sneaking into Gryffindor's girls' dorms," Albus mused, then blushed and hurriedly added "Supposedly! Only supposedly, I've never tried myself! Anyways-" he coughed into his fist, worry becoming apparent on his face. "How're you going to get back up then?"

"I have a plan," she promised and separated, pointing out that while Albus's offer to escort her was chivalrous, if he did he would run out of time to sneak back across Hogwarts to Gryffindor Tower. Then she walked around the outside of the tower and grabbed the bottom of the rope she'd climbed down earlier that night. Because fairytales totally had it right when they claimed the best way to infiltrate and escape a castle tower from the outside.

...how to sneak through forests and out of boarding school were likely not the lessons that she was supposed to learn as a child, but Zoey was more than willing to implement the wisdom of Rapunzel and the Brother's Grimm. There were no portraits to spot her outside Hogwarts walls', no stairs to change into an impromptu slide beneath her, and no Prefect Patrol ready to spot her unawares.

The cost of avoiding detection though was to suffer a biting wind as she climbed up the knotted rope she'd used earlier that night. Zoey was careful to ascend one windowsill at a time, perching on the outside to regain her breath and warm her numbing fingers. She was only climbing about fifteen feet of rope before taking her breaks but Ravenclaw Tower was the second tallest part of Hogwarts and her mind was mostly occupied with dreams of a magical elevator or at least escalator in this maze of stairs parading as a school. Which the changing stairs did not count as, because they could be relied upon to take her to the floor she wanted.

By the time Zoey made it to the last stretch her body was as tired as her brain. She wanted nothing more than to get through this window, hide the rope she'd stolen from Jon's paranoia-induced survival kit, answer the eagle-knocker's riddle, sneak into the dorm of her Ravenclaw peers and curl under a dozen blankets. Because yes, unfortunately, the windows directly into Ravenclaw Tower didn't open past a few inches, so Zoey was really climbing to the foyer landing outside the dorm door.

Assuming, of course, that she could get back through this window that had closed while she was gone. Zoey perched on the last windowsill as carefully as she had the others, bracing her back on one side of the stone frame and a foot on the other end. Trying not to think about how dangerous this was, one hip supported and the other dangling several hundred feet off the ground, she pressed a hand against the cold glass.

Not even a moment passed before she felt the magic laced through it hum a warning at her; this window was part of Hogwarts' defenses, and any who dared attempt breaching it, dare attack those it protected, would pay dearly.

Zoey's nose crinkled. This was different than she'd expected. Getting it to open had been difficult before, but hadn't involved any threat. She took her hand off the glass to put a finger by her chin, thinking, then put it back in place and opened her magic to the contact. She wasn't doing harm, or invading. In fact, she was supposed to be inside this barrier. She was one of the things that the magics in Hogwarts were meant to protect.

It took a lot of convincing- and pressing her currently freezing, tired, miserable emotions to gain something similar to sympathy, before the latch opened itself to give her access to the warm, welcoming Hogwarts interior.

Carefully standing and shifting her feet to get inside, Zoey was fervently praying for the easiest, simplest riddle in the history of riddles for her password. Did the Eagle Knocker listen to begging? Maybe bribing would work better. She could just, casually mention that there were a lot more riddle books in the library she could always go and find for it-

"What do you think you're doing?"

The male voice made her jump in shock, and one of her hands slipped from the icy windowsill. Zoey barely had a moment to panic that she might lose her balance when a hand snatched the front of her coat and yanked, pulling her inside to safety before slamming the window as though it was to blame for the brief moment of danger.

As if the vengeful protectiveness wasn't enough, the hand that grabbed her had black nails long like claws and the gravelly voice spoke again in accusation "You could have snapped your neck."

She groaned and swatted at Jon's hand, sparks of her magic shocking his skin to further emphasize her irritation. "Only because you gave me a jump-scare worthy of The Conjuring. How did you even-? Oh. Hi Raz. How long have you been there?"

The Albanian Murtlap gave a crooked rat smile from his perch overlooking the room like a gargoyle, hairless tail waving a cheerful greeting despite his no-doubt betrayal of tattling on her earlier that night. The familiar obviously didn't understand the implications of her irate tone.

Zoey wavered, then sighed. She lifted her arm up to his perch, and he gave a toothy rat-grin as he happily scurried down it to nuzzle at her cheek, sea-urchin quills pinching. "Razmanian devil." She accused, poking at him with her finger. The smell of cinnamon wafted through her senses, and she realised her magic was still a bit loose after spending so long opening the window.

"It's the only way to keep track of you these days," Jon said accusingly, picking up the rope Zoey had dropped when she'd been grabbed and yanked inside. "Why did you take this?"

"Didn't know where else to find a rope in Hogwarts," she said, shrugging as she turned and put Rasputin down on a dresser opposite the window. "And yours is really nifty, by the way. Kept growing to the perfect length that I needed and doesn't weigh a bajillion pounds. How does that happen? Is it like a levitation charm that varies, they way brooms adjust depending on who's riding it? Because there are some seventh years that are just plain huge compared to me-"

"I meant," he cut her off and ignored the questions in her answer. "Why didn't you ask me for it?"

"Oh, did you want to come along? Or just the opportunity to tell me that I was being an idiot?"

"That depends."

"On?" She put her hand on the dresser, then frowned and picked it up, rubbing her fingers together. There was a slimy feeling to it, like the castle elves had left too much polishing oil.

"Where, exactly, you went." Finished coiling the rope, Jon left it at the edge of the Ravenclaw staircase.

Ah, so Rasputin hadn't been following her the whole time. Seemed that jumping out windows worked for avoiding more than just Prefect patrols. Very good to know. "Oh you know… exploring, wandering about, getting lost every five seconds. Typical day for me in the labyrinth called Hogwarts."

"How about-" he straightened to his full height and offered in a calm tone probably meant to be placating- "You stop trying to distract me, and we skip straight to the part where you tell me what you were up to?"

"Hm. Sounds like an interesting plan, but- hear me out- how about, instead, we skip to the part where you stop pestering me at oh-dark-thirty in the morning. And I get to go sleep?"

The amusement bled out of Jon as he fixed her with a glare, leaning against the wall. "This isn't a joke, Zoey. Now isn't the time for sneaking about. McGonagall will be an idiot not to make an example of the next student she finds breaking rules, and that student better not be you."

She did not like that wording. Zoey looked at him with a frown before she realized why, then had to ask despite not wanting an answer. "Who should it be?"

"I was thinking Christine Creevy," he said thoughtfully. "She'll be posting that redaction that I asked for soon, and it'd be a simple matter to oust her at the same time. That Scandals series has gone on far too long and McGonagall has banned the paper because it's not regulated by the teachers. As the anonymous author, Creevey voluntarily took the risk of her own expulsion long before we even got here."

Zoey stiffened and he mistook the reaction for confusion. He shifted, half-sitting on the dresser, despite the fact that she didn't make room for him.

"McGonagall's had problems with the contents of that papers' publications for quite a while. Unfortunately, trying to cancel it only makes it more desirable." He explained, "While keeping her and that little paper of hers under my thumb could be somewhat useful, it's more likely that she'll be resentful of me and go rogue again. Simply removing her from-"

"Stop." she mumbled, then said again "Just stop, Jon."

He looked down at her, smile turning into a frown as he got up. "What do you mean?" His coat caught on the dresser, pulling a drawer open until it hit Zoey's thigh.

Instead of closing it Zoey pulled herself away. She took a gulping breath, swallowing down the magic that felt like it was about to surge up. It left her feeling somewhat nauseous, like it just had to get out somehow, the slimy, icky feeling almost clawing up from her arm. Rasputin growled in confusion and stepped forward, his eyes glowing as he hopped the small gap so he could be closer.

Jon frowned. "You're looking a bit off. Are you getting sick?"

She groaned and ran her hand down her face. She really didn't want to answer. She didn't want to be talking to him, she didn't even want to be awake right now, Zoey didn't want to feel the churning guilt of knowing her cousin was planning Christine's expulsion. And she especially didn't want to feel all those emotions churning in her gut at once, mixed through with exhaustion and magic.

Rasputin's growl sounded more like a croon as he open forward, his tail sticking backwards for balance over the open drawer.

From the dark shadow in that drawer came a scuttling sound.

Not just any scuttling sound, Zoey realised, her shoulders rising with a surge of magic. A very, really specific kind of scuttle that she knew so well because it had haunted her nightmares for months. And one Rasputin clearly knew too.

The albanian murtlap barely moved in time to avoid the bite of the creature that crawled out of the drawer, it's body entirely too big to have fit comfortably. Three sectioned like an insects, covered in thick hide that looked like bark, and a mouth almost a third its body length.

Jon fell back from the dresser in surprise. "A dugbog?"

A dugbog. One of the things that had attacked and nearly killed Jon when the two had been lost in the magical part of the Albanian Forest. They lacked teeth but the force of their bite was nearly as strong as a gator's and while they normally didn't bother things as big as humans, they were very fond of swallowing small, rodent-sized animals for snacks. It turned beady eyes toward the murtlap in the room.

Zoey's magic snapped to attention and she stepped forward, time seeming to slow as her reflexes were boosted. While Rasputin puffed his spikes up defensively Zoey slammed a hand forward, smacking the creature on the side and feeling the sparks of energy shock it like a magic taser. It's foreleg went limp, and she used the opportunity to snap a band of magic around it's jaw before it could open it again.

She had experienced dugbog bites enough for a lifetime, thankyou very much.

Her anger sparked again and she started pushing the drawer shut, forcing the creature to choose. Stay where it was, half exposed in a room with a very hostile witch throwing magic at it, or get back where it bloody well came from.

Zoey was pleased to see it make the smart choice. She shocked it a few more times to herd it back into the drawer when the eyes wandered, then slammed it shut harder than Jon had the window.

Magic still sparked over her hands as she tried to control her ragged breathing, and that slick, oily feeling slid over her hands again. She ignored it as she seriously debated it she'd just had a nightmare, because why would there be a dugbog in a dresser drawer of Hogwarts? Zoey definitely would have noticed it, considering it was right in front of her dorm. And they lived in marshes and swamps and for all that they looked like giant bealte-ish alligators to her they didn't really scuttle in corners and closets like-

"...you handled that better than I expected." Jon said, sounding almost put off as he approached her from the side. He took one of her hands, clinically watching the purple energy that danced over her skin like sparks over dying embers.

She clenched it into a fist, looking up at him. "You were surprisingly slow."

"There's a difference between slow and surprised."

"There is. You were slow." Zoey took a deep breath, feeling the slimy texture of the drawer and suddenly remembering that the magical cleaning staff of Hogwarts didn't actually use mundane things like polishing oils. So the icky feeling that oozed over the furniture had to be from something else. "Where did you find a boggart?"

He smiled in approval. He was always amused when she figured him out after the fact. "It was somewhat challenging, seeing as I didn't want to trigger it's transformation myself." A bolt of his green magic touched hers, twisted and probing in a quest of understanding.

"Why- what gives you the right-" Zoey stuttered, pulling her hand out of his.

"The last time you said your magic did this it was because you were mad at Rose," he reminded her. "I didn't particularly want to have an argument, but then again, it usually take a lot to make you snap like that. So I thought that it might be worth making you protective instead, but I still don't see-"

"So you intentionally put Rasputin in that thing's path?" Zoey snapped her gaze toward her cousin's familiar, remembering that his eyes had been glowing when he jumped onto the drawer that had oh-so-conveniently accidently been caught on Jon's impeccable clothes.

"I didn't want you to face your fear either," he shrugged. "There's a reason people avoid their phobias."

"You made Rasputin step in front of his natural predator as part of an experiment." Her voice felt sharp, like needles were scraping her throat.

"It was just a facsimile- aha," Jonovan cut off his own answer with a pleased sound, holding up her hand again. "There they are."

Her eyes flickered to the motion, then widened and stayed. Because her fingers were tipped with claws, fingernails thickened and curved a charp, poisonous purple. They still sparked with electricity of the same color, vibrant and eager for something more to do.

"Did my magic…"

"It's like mine." Jon said, his voice not angry or accusing but still more emotional than just resigned. "You were right. Whatever happened in that forest didn't change just me."

"...which makes us?" Wrong, she wordlessly dared him to say. Because that's what every expert, every specialist the British Ministry of magic had ever said when they attempted to 'fix' Jon. His magic was too wild, too unpredictable, to be described as anything but wrong. And dangerous.

"I believe this is something akin to how metamorphmagi's change themselves." he said thoughtfully.

It was way harder to pry her eyes away from the claws than it should have been. She rested her gaze on Rasputin instead, and cleared her throat. "However you got that boggart here, you can do the same to get rid of it, right?"

"I suppose," he said, his tone turning confused. "It'd be a bit harder though-"

"Do it." She stepped away from the cabinet, pulling her hand back as she did.

His brows furrowed as he looked her over, "Okay then. Are you-?"

"Fine." she snapped, going to the eagle knocker and banging more aggressively than she should have, considering that it was still the middle of the night and she should worry about another Ravenclaw hearing her reentering the dorm after curfew. She hissed and forced her other hand to relax from a fist- she'd almost cut herself.

"You don't seem fine," Jon said over the answering riddle the door gave, and this time Zoey managed to repress the surge of magic that came with her aggravation.

"I've been up all night, I just climbed a rope in snowy weather, and I have claws." She held the hand by her shoulder to demonstrate. "Not to mention, I just went face-to-face with a creature that almost mauled you to death, literally scarred me, and haunted my nightmares for months. Thanks for that."

She felt more than saw Jon flinch. "Zoey-"

"I am going to sleep." she said, and turned back to the door. She glared at the knocker, then sighed. "I missed the riddle."

Jon shuffled his a bit as he came closer, but she didn't face him even as he reached out and used the knocker himself.

"In mouths of men I create worlds and walls, comfort and cruelty. To the wise I am wicked, to the wicked I am a weapon. What am I?"

Oh thank goodness it was a philosophical question. That meant even if her answer wasn't perfect, as long as her logic was solid it would let her through. "Lies-"

"-the truth." Jon answered at the same time. The two looked at the other in surprise.

The eagle looked between the two of them for a moment, waiting for them to reach a unanimous verdict.

Zoey closed her eyes, taking a breath before declaring. "Both. Because truth and lies come from words, which are used to protect yourself, give comfort, hurt enemies and support friends. And more."

"Good enough." the knocker confirmed, the latch unlocking and opening.

"Let me know if those are still there in the morning," Jon said, looking meaningfully toward her hands.

Zoey took her shoes off without looking down, barely nodding before slipping silently through Ravenclaw Tower. She left the snow-muddy shoes in the pile by the door, her socks near silent on the thick blue carpet. She stopped at the stairs to the bedrooms, hearing the cacophony of deep snores and sighs and a few sleeptalkers. After a moment of listening, she timed her steps with the heavier sounds.

The bathroom was a surprising temptation for the Ravenclaw. Not only did a warm shower after marching through the snowy Forbidden Forest sound heavenly, but the mirrors were glinting with reflected moonlight. If she looked in them, what would she see?

Zoey wavered on her curiosity before squashing it. She'd learn eventually, because that question and more importantly its answer weren't something she could avoid forever. But for tonight, she needed sleep more.

Too bad sleep didn't come easy. Her dreams were full of nightmares. The bits she remembered had her running from dugbogs while someone laughed at her attempts to protect herself, and even Albus and Peeves being in trouble as well, fighting they way they had in the forest, with wands and pinecones that did absolutely nothing against the creatures that swallowed them all whole-

Zoey jerked upright from the nightmare before her alarm could wake her, panting heavily as she jumped to her feet. She patted herself down, then scowled at her hands. The claws were gone but her nails were still purple. Luckily it looked like nail polish. And at least they were a pale lavender now instead of the vibrant, royal color of the night before. It wasn't actually that bad to look at, except that it killed her fervid hope the entire night had been nothing but a dream.

Of course, she doubted even her own imagination could be that fanciful. While claws and boggarts and dugbogs were right up her ally of usual nightmare material, Zoey usually wasn't that good about dreaming people. Things like Peeves after Rose and Albus attacking Peeves and Jon manipulating Christine were way beyond the scope of her normal subsconscious.

… hold on.

She blinked rapidly, her thoughts snagging as she realised she'd missed something the night before. Something really interesting. And more importantly- she glanced at her hands again, then shoved them in her pockets- something much, much nicer to think about than her own problems.

Her lips curved as she felt a nice curiosity as she decided to hunt Albus down for answers sometime soon, then spread into a grin as she recognised the feeling. Nicer indeed.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The lulling rumble of the Hogwarts Express was the only sound keeping James Sirius Potter company on the train ride home. There was no squeaky trolley rolling down the hall, no Rox or Lorcan to share stories with, not even babbling conversations floating through the thin walls between the compartments. Occasionally there was a snore or two as the other suspended students slept through the night, but James was too wired up to rest.

Lying alone across the compartment chair, he'd spent the whole night watching the countryside race across the window. He sighed a million times and played absentmindedly with a loose string on the cushions, hoping that Roxanne was more comfortable than he was.

Merlin, Roxy… he'd practically seen red when she'd been attacked by a dozen spells at once. Everyone else in that fight casting spells might have been doing so to resolve old grudges or rivalries, but for James that fight had been personal. He'd been able to tell from one glance that Rox hadn't meant to petrify Rupert, but that braided Hufflepuff girl had clearly been about to jinx her for it. He wasn't about to let that happen. And yet- he had. Dozens of spells had descended upon all of them and James had barely had the time to defend himself, let alone his cousin a table away. From then on he'd been in the fight to avenge her assault. Even if he'd done rather poorly. His face flushed with shame at how horribly outmatched he'd been by Parkinson, certain he'd never live it down. Though he and Lorcan had made a decent stand with Daniel until then.

James scowled as he remembered Daniel was now the former Head Boy. When Daniel and Emma had been suspended they'd also been stripped of all student leadership status, leaving way for McGonagall to appoint fresh students to the position.

A bitter taste rose in his mouth, because Lysander had been the one who had been appointed to the coveted title. He and Lysander's friendship had been somewhat uncomfortable for a long while, if he was being completely honest. It'd been years since Lysander had really been one of his best friends. That title had been forcibly stripped from them when the Sorting Hat separated the shorter Scamander twin from everyone else by placing him in a different House. Lack of easy proximity over most of the year wasn't something the young eleven year olds had been prepared to bridge their friendships across, and Lysander had been accidentally-ostracized by everyone but his twin. Though they all became thick as thieves again over the summer, their friendship had never fully recovered and still faltered over the school years. James knew he was not the person Lysander came to with his troubles and that was true vice-versa, but though the Ravenclaw wasn't his practical-brother the way Lorcan was, he had still considered Lysander one of his closest friends.

The next blow to their relationship had arrived with their 5th year Hogwarts letters. He, Rox, and Lorcan had all gotten identical lists- but tucked neatly into Lysander's envelope was a second letter and a bronze badge with a stylized 'P' emblazoned on it.

He remembered being bitter at the news, constantly consoling himself that his dad hadn't been a Prefect either so he could smile through the obligatory family celebration to support Lysander. And that was it, they'd never spoken about it. It was just sort of accepted that the Ravenclaw's responsibilities were put on pause in the presence of his childhood friends. Merlin, he'd never shown any kind of animosity toward his more mischievous peers- and James knew for a fact he still helped Lorcan and Roxanne plan some of their more technical pranks. Things like showing Roxanne how to flip paintings upside-down without disrupting their inhabitants. Or helping Lorcan confound the quidditch balls at the end of last year's season so the snitches dive-bombed players like a bludger and the bludgers acted like snitches.

He chuckled at the memory of chaos that'd inspired, all the House Quidditch Teams having to work together to corral the enchanted cannonballs back into their casing. The weak laughter didn't last very long, though, as for the first time he wondered why Lysander's active friendship no longer extened to himself. Looking back, James realized the last time Lysander had helped him the same way had been in their third year. They'd smuggled an old family portrait into the school and concealed it, releasing a teenage Fred and George Weasley loose upon the castle paintings until faculty had found and removed their original portrait from the walls. Lately, whenever James arrived with his latest inspiration of what Wheezes products to use next, Lysander fixated upon his books or left the room entirely.

If he'd stopped to consider there was a bigger reason for Lysander's silence instead of just dismissing it as the Scamander twin being a Ravenclaw nerd, he might have been more prepared for Lysander's angered outburst about being done 'turning a blind eye'.

Maybe then he wouldn't have been so shocked by what seemed like a complete change in personality.

In the few days before suspension, Lysander had not only bluntly argued with, but tailed James like a blue-and-bronze shadow. If James was in the Great Hall, Lysander was there. If he was in the gardens between classes, Lysander was sitting on a bench across the courtyard. Almost any time he left his common room, Lysander was already leaning on the wall across the corridor. Not even reading, the Ravenclaw just imposing his own presence like the silent, natural genius he was in a not so subtle show of how he was keeping an eye on the other.

Unnerving was an understatement. No matter how he tried to change his routine, break his habits, Lysander had trailed after James like the watchdog he'd apparently decided to become. For all his talk James had found himself, honestly, giving up after a few days of it. He didn't care about breaking rules. He wasn't guilty over 'feeding into old feuds' or causing trouble.

He found he did care about the change in his childhood friend. And discovering that friend had apparently been harboring so much animosity and dislike was like a slap to the face. His hand reached up to absently touch his left cheek, feeling a ghost of pain… Or a punch. Despite being a rather self-assured person, the double-rejection had wore at him. First his literal brother attacks his entire lifestyle, as well as his face, then the obvious distrust from Lysander on visible display had wavered his confidence.

Part of him wondered if Lysander, with his new position as interim Head Boy, had suggested James's suspension to McGonagall. And it was this thought that left him with bitter betrayal in his mouth and a sinking realization that it shouldn't matter, because there was no way he wouldn't have been suspended.

James didn't regret a single spell he'd cast in the fight. He refused to feel bad about preemptively stopping the Hufflepuff girl from attacking Roxanne, even if the effort had become essentially pointless in the next few moments. He'd also been arguing quite vocally before the fight and realized, in retrospect, that he'd probably stirred up more animosity than solved it. And McGonagall probably knew exactly how many detentions he'd wheedled out of over the years, thanks to Uncle Neville. Not to mention as a non-official leader of the Gryffindor's who'd fought, he was prime material make an example out of. There was no way, with suspensions being passed out like candies, he wasn't going to be on the list.

All of those reasons paled to the realization that Lysander, a weird and admittedly not his closest family member, apparently hated his guts.

His thoughts had swirled in those directions for the long hours of the night, until the start of sunlight crept over the horizon. He blinked and jolted at a small knock, turning to look at the newspaper that had been shoved under the door.

Rubbing away the specific kind of morning drowsiness reserved not for too little sleep but rather a complete lack of it, James propped himself up on an elbow to grab the Daily Prophet. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the text and the young Potter took his glasses off so he didn't have to strain to read through them like usual. After a few moments of shock he let out a string of curses that would have made Uncle Ron blush.

JAMES SIRIUS POTTER SUSPENDED FROM HOGWARTS AFTER SCHOOLWIDE BRAWL

By Rita Skeeter

James Sirius Potter, eldest child of current Head Auror and Wizarding Hero Harry Potter himself, is one of almost thirty students suspended from Hogwarts Grounds until after the holidays. The 6th year Gryffindor was a major instigator in a school wide brawl that has resulted in the confiscation of all student wands and sent no less than nine children sent to St. Mungo's for treatments of magical injuries. Though there is no definitive proof of whether his own wand caused any of these injuries, the prodigal son's suspension (ordered by the Headmistress McGonagall herself) can only imply that James Potter was very possibly at fault. Accounts are few but according to what this reporter has gathered, it started with rather poor behavior at the Gryffindor Scrimmage. Despite being Captain of his team, James Potter- (Cont. pg A7)

It wasn't the headline article, but it was on the first page of the gossips. Flipping quickly to A7 James scowled as he saw there was a decent-sized column dedicated to the subject. The edges of the paper crinkled in his tight grip as his eyes swam over intro paragraphs.

He didn't need to read them. He knew very well what they said- nevermind that he had his own reasons, nevermind that Rita Skeeter was an old bat who had been a plague on his father for years, he wouldn't read the exact words and have them filling his head along with everything else. James knew the way the article would flow. It would paint him as a troubled child, poor little rich boy with no manners or decorum and no reason for what he'd done.

James hoped, he hoped that his Dad wouldn't see the headline before he had a chance to explain. To tell him that- that…

That it was all true, this time. There were small facts and details that James could dispute but deep down, James was forced to realize that maybe, for once, the gossip columns had gotten it right. People had gotten seriously hurt, and even if that wasn't his intention, he was one of the people at fault. Albus seemed to think that. Lysander would probably agree.

He crushed the entire paper and threw it at the window, disappointed when it bounced off the spotless glass and fell to the ground instead of vanishing forever. Gulping a few times to quell his rising anger, he wondered why he was bothered by this. James had been a common headline highlight for years. Some of his earliest memories were of posing for a camera atop his first ever broom.

Obviously they couldn't all be good articles. They were targeted for sale to the nation's shallowest busibodies after all, so he'd had to endure embarrassing photos and false declarations of ridiculous things ranging from supposedly failing his second year of Hogwarts to secret fiances to rigging a World Quidditch Match so Victor Krum could benefit from prize money and everything inbetween. He had been frustrated and infuriated every time, but he'd gotten over them. His family had gotten over them and laughed with him every time over how ridiculous they were. They even had a collection of the most horrendous article stashed somewhere, reserved as fireplace kindling whenever someone was in a particularly bad mood. There was something viciously satisfying about tearing lies to shreds and watching them go up in flames.

Somehow, James doubted this article would join the others as a joke. At least it only mentioned him, and didn't target Lorcan or Roxanne. Or the rest of the family for that matter.

He went to rub the moisture from his eyes before he straightened his robes- they were horribly wrinkled from his bad posture through the night.

The squeak of brakes announced the train's arrival at Kings Cross Station. Finally. He rushed to grab his bag and was the first to step off the Hogwarts Express- the quicker James found his parents, the less opportunities the press would have to immortalize this embarrassing experience in another article.

Paparazzi were always forced to stay a distance from the train for safety reasons, but with so few students arriving this time the cameras pointed his way would get clear frames of his expression. James reached up to adjust his glasses- having learned long ago the how to use the angle so the lenses would reflect camera flashes and hide his eyes- and was startled when his hand touched his cheek instead. He must have left them on the train. He hadn't even noticed.

"James!"

He looked up at the familiar voice, something deep inside him relaxing at the sight of his Mother's soft smile. "Hi Mum."

They shared a soft hug, the fresh clicks of camera shutters little more than background to them. He stepped out of the embrace and half-turned in preparation for another round before he realized that there wasn't a second set of arms waiting for him. "...where's Dad?"

Something flickered across Ginny Potter's face before vanishing with practice. "He was out late for work last night- he'll meet us at home."

"Oh." The word had never sounded so small. James looked down at his shoes and nodded, painfully aware that his father had gone through several late nights before but had never once missed picking his children up from Hogwarts.

Then again, James had never been suspended before, and his insides couldn't seem to settle on whether he was hurt or relieved that he'd have more precious time to prepare for seeing disappointment on his father's face. The article swam behind his eyes again, along with Lysander's words and Albus's anger.

When they were safe from paparazzi he reached for his Mother's hand, not caring that he was far too old to seek comfort in such a childish way. "Hey Mum?"

She took his grip and waited patiently, though sadness and disappointment warred in her eyes when James swallowed his tight throat and admitted "I messed up."

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