HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 32: Home for the Holidays
21 December 1992
9:00 a.m.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" asked Harry as he continued to pack his trunk for the Christmas holidays.

"Yes," replied Theo irritably. "I'll stay in bounds and avoid any creepy evil mirrors. Besides, Ginny, Amy and Marcus are all staying over. That's three times as many Slytherins as I had to talk to this time last year."

"So explain again why you're not riding the train with the rest of us?" asked Blaise. "You're missing out on one of our beloved school traditions – being cooped up with all your peers for six hours in tiny compartments that smell like cheap faux leather."

Harry looked at him quizzically. "Why would you say it smells like cheap faux leather? I'm fairly certain the compartments are actually furnished with expensive real leather."

"Don't evade the question."

Harry shrugged. "After everything that's happened, the Potters and Dumbledore decided that it would be best for me to Floo straight to Potter Manor rather than take the train and be exposed to mad assassins and crazed house elves for six hours or more. Neville and Jim are going the same way."

"Hmph," Zabini replied almost petulantly. "I wish I could. I'll have to take the train to London, meet Gunther, and then take an international portkey to Marseilles." He made a face. "I hate international portkeys."

"Why Marseilles?" Harry asked. "I thought you spent the holidays in New York every year."

He shrugged. "Mother usually has some sort of get-together of the night of the Winter Solstice for some of her friends. this year, it's in Marseilles."

"Hmm," Theo said. "A solstice party. Sounds ... kind of pagan, actually."

"Not really," Blaise replied. "Just an excuse to break out the champagne a few days early."

Harry finished packing his trunk and gave his best Slytherin friends goodbye hugs. Then, he lugged the trunk down to the Common Room and outside into the corridor just as Professor Snape rounded the corner.

"Punctual as usual, Potter. Your Gryffindor traveling companions will no doubt be late, which gives us a few minutes to confer." Snape produced a piece of paper which he handed to the boy. Then, he gestured at the heavy trunk with his wand and shrank it down until it would fit into Harry's pocket. "One of your parents will be able to restore it to its normal size with a Finite." He hesitated thoughtfully. "Ask you mother first. She is the more competent of the two. I imagine your imbecilic father will accidentally explode the trunk or set it on fire or something else equally ridiculous."

Harry nodded in agreement as he pocketed the trunk and then opened the note. It had just a few words in Snape's familiar handwriting, but no signature.

Perceptual Dilation

also-known-as

Fixing the Mind's Gaze Betwixt the Seven Beats of the Heart

"Sir?" Harry asked in confusion.

"My understanding is that you will be meeting with your Occlumency instructor at least once over the break. On the note are written the two most common names for an obscure Occlumency sub-skill you might find valuable. I prefer the first name, but traditionalist Occlumens as well as those more given to poetry prefer the second. Not knowing anything about your instructor, I have included both names. Either way, it is a technique for using Occlumency to improve reflexes and speed up one's thought processes." Snape sniffed somewhat disdainfully at the boy. "I do not wish to see a repeat of your sluggish response time should you be forced to publicly duel the Other Potter again."

Harry furrowed his brow. It should have been obvious to Snape that he was only the tiniest bit slower than his brother, and the two of them were much faster than anyone else in the dueling club. Nevertheless, Snape seemed to have taken the view that Jim had utterly dominated Harry in their one-on-one duel before all the craziness with the giant chaos-snake (as Theo had taken to calling it) ended things prematurely.

The two made their way to Dumbledore's office. As Snape anticipated, the other boys had not yet arrived. After the Headmaster welcomed Harry into the office, the boy was startled by a trilling sound from a perch near the man's desk. It was a young-looking phoenix fresh from a recent burning day.

"And this must be Fawkes, I presume," Harry said somewhat excitedly. The bird preened itself proudly as Dumbledore chuckled. Harry looked up at the bird's owner. "Professor Flitwick says Jim and I both have wand cores with feathers which came from Fawkes." The boy crooked his head. "Is that ... unusual?"

"No more so than the existence of magical twins in the first place, my boy. I do not know about the Patil sisters, but if memory serves, both Fred and George Weasley just happened to have wands crafted from the exact same dogwood tree even though they were crafted very differently. I was quite surprised, however, when Fawkes surrendered two feathers at the same time. He has only yielded one other feather suitable for wand-making during this century, and that was over seventy years ago."

"Really, sir? Do you happen to know who got that wand?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You might be pleased to know that it went to a brilliant young Slytherin by the name of ..." Before he could finish that sentence, there was a knock at the door, and then McGonagall and Lily Potter entered the office, followed by Jim and Neville.

"Ah, Professors McGonagall and Potter, along with your young charges. Harry, perhaps we shall continue our conversation after the holidays. Do you still wish to be tested on your Occlumency in January?"

"Yes, Headmaster, if that's convenient for you."

"Quite so, my boy. Quite so."

Minutes later, all three boys stepped out of the fireplace at Potter Manor. Augusta Longbottom and James Potter were waiting on them. Neville went to his grandmother and gave her a hug, while James regarded his two sons. He smiled at Harry with a warmth that actually surprised the wary Slytherin, though Harry thought that warmth was marred by a nervous tension that the man seemed incapable of concealing.

"Harry. Jim. It's great to see you both home for the holidays. Hopefully, it will be a lot more enjoyable than the last time you two were here. Jim, why don't you show your brother and your friend up to their rooms. Lunch is at noon."

Jim hesitated for a few seconds, during which he stared at his father as if waiting for something. Finally, he turned to Harry. "Come on," he said tersely. Harry, who had grown up with the Dursleys, sensed that there had been some subtext that he'd just missed out on. Neville, whose own upbringing was far less emotionally stunted than Harry's, realized the truth instantly, but it only made him more uncomfortable at the thought of how this vacation would go.

Jim had been expecting his father to give him a hug.

21 December 1992
5:00 p.m. at Malfoy Manor

When Draco disembarked from the Hogwarts Express, his parents were waiting on him, but immediately, he could tell that something as different. His mother hugged him and kissed his forehead, and as they were leaving Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the apparation point, his father made small talk about how Draco's fall semester had been. Still, there was a ... perfunctory quality to it all that Draco found worrisome. By 4:30, the Malfoys were back home, and Draco had been sent up to his room to freshen up from the long train ride. Prixie, the Malfoys' chief elf, informed the boy that his father wanted to meet with him in Lord Malfoy's study at 5:00 and that dinner would be served at 7:00. The announcement made Draco oddly nervous – he couldn't imagine what his father would want to speak to him about that might take up to two hours.

At the stroke of five, Draco knocked on the door to his father's study.

"Enter," came the languid voice from within. Draco cautiously stepped into the study. His father was seated behind the huge gilded desk that had been in the family since before the days of Louis XIV. There was a single chair that had been placed in front of the desk. Lucius nodded towards the chair, and Draco sat down.

"I wished to speak to you, Draco, because I have heard some ... intriguing stories about the school term just ended. I wish to hear your account of them. And perhaps your explanation for your own conduct."

Draco stiffened in his chair. "Father?"

"I am reliably informed, Draco, that you have undertaken an association with ... a Mudblood by the name of Justin Finch-Fletchley. Is my information correct?"

Draco took two slow breaths before responding. "Yes, Father. That is correct."

"Explain yourself."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley may be the first wizard in his family line, Father, but that family line is descended from Muggle aristocracy. His immediate family members possess wealth and power within Muggle society that is equal to if not greater than our own family's status in wizarding society."

Lucius stared at his son intently. "And you believe that mere wealth is enough to elevate a family of Muggles to being equal to our own?"

Draco exhaled slowly. "What I believe, Father, is that Justin's family understands power even if they've never had the kind of power we take for granted. And as a result, I believe Justin will learn to command power in ways beyond what either his Muggle family ... or most Purebloods can imagine." Lucius considered that in silence, so Draco pressed on. "Tell me, Father, do you know what a stock exchange is?"

Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am ... familiar with the term."

"Then perhaps you can explain to me why wizards don't have one. Is it something the Muggles have thought of that we just haven't yet?"

Lucius went very still at that, and Draco suddenly began to wonder if he'd overstepped his bounds. Then, in a swift motion, Lucius slid his holdout wand from its place of concealment in the walking stick that never left the man's side. Draco's eyes widened.

"Okay, my father is about to use the Cruciatus on me. I guess I did push too far."

But to Draco's surprise and relief, Lucius aimed his wand over the boy's shoulder and fired off powerful locking and privacy charms at the door. Then, he rested the wand in his lap and regarded his son intently for a moment before speaking.

"The current wizarding population in Great Britain is less than 30,000. It is less than half a million in Europe and about five million worldwide. Generally, but particularly in Britain, material wealth among witches and wizards is concentrated within the top 1% of the population. By some estimates, the twenty richest wizards in Britain collectively hold more galleons than the bottom three-quarters combined. Because there is so little liquidity held by the vast majority of wizards and witches, a stock exchange is an inefficient medium for investment. Rather than sell shares in a new business venture on an open market, wizards who seek to start new businesses instead sell stakes in them either to Gringotts or, more commonly, to wealthy individuals. Thus, broadly speaking, our economic system more closely mimics the Roman patronage system rather than modern Muggle venture capitalism."

Draco stared in confusion. He'd understood less than half of what Lucius had said. A ghost of a smile tugged at the man's mouth before he waved his wand towards a nearby bookshelf and a multi-volume series on the wizarding history of Constantinople blurred into the shapes of several very different books. One of them then floated over and landed on the desk in front of Draco, a heavy and slightly beaten tome entitled Economics in One Lesson by someone named Henry Hazlitt.

The boy looked back and forth in utter confusion between the patently Muggle economics textbook and the former Death Eater who revealed its presence to him.

"Um," he said articulately.

Lucius reclined in his chair. "After graduating from Hogwarts, I spent several years in France pursuing a Charms apprenticeship. This was ... before I knew your mother. My master was insistent that I have a well-rounded education to fill in what he considered to be egregious gaps in the Hogwarts curriculum, in particular what was at that time an appallingly poor Muggle Studies program. In 1974, I had the pleasure of attending a seminar on the topic of Muggle economics presented by the Muggle Studies professor from Durmstrang."

"The Muggle Studies professor ... from Durmstrang," Draco said uncertainly. He'd assumed that if Durmstrang had a Muggle Studies class, it probably focused on proper vivisection techniques.

"It may surprise you to know, Draco, that Durmstrang's curriculum is substantially broader and more open-minded than most British wizards would lead you to believe. There was a reason, after all, for my stated desire that you attend Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. On that matter, your mother exercised certain ... marital privileges to overrule my preference."

The boy nodded, uncertain whether this was a dream or not. "And after this seminar, you began a study of the Muggle stock markets?"

"Not a study, Draco, so much as an aggressive diversification. You have no doubt heard it said that I am the sixth wealthiest wizard in Britain. What is not said because I have concealed the knowledge from the wizarding world is that today the galleons in my Gringotts vault only make up less than half of my true net worth. The majority of my holdings are invested in the Muggle world through the goblins and other intermediaries. If those holdings were counted as part of my 'official' fortune, my placement would be several spots higher. That said, even when counting all my personal assets, our family is still not as prosperous as that of your young Muggleborn friend. Indeed, when your budding relationship with Mr. Finch-Fletchley was brought to my attention, I had my agents make inquiries as to his family background. The results were ... illuminating."

"Really?" Draco asked in surprise. "How so?"

Lucius pulled a filed out of a desk drawer and opened it. Draco saw as he did so that the name "Finch-Fletchley" was on the cover.

"While the Finch-Fletchley family's wealth is impressive, I was even more surprised to discover the boy's wizarding heritage. His grandfather, Jonathan Woodnutt, the Duke of Forgill, can trace his family tree almost back to Mary, Queen of Scots. I say almost because the Queen's son who was progenitor of his bloodline, Robert Prince, was written out of Muggle history books after he displayed signs of magic in early infancy. You see, the existence of a wizard who was also a potential claimant to the thrones of France, Scotland and England was unacceptable to both wizards and Muggles of the day. All memories and records of Mary's infant son were erased, and Richard was stolen away to be raised in France by the Court Wizard to King Henry IV. He graduated from Beauxbatons in 1580 before leaving France for Scotland where he founded the House of Prince, and he lived just long enough to see his family elevated to a Noble seat on the Wizengamot in 1655. The Woodnutt line formally diverged from the House of Prince in 1699 when Robert Prince's squib great-granddaughter married Duncan Woodnutt, the Earl of Dunbar who was created the first Duke of Forgill that same year."

Lucius smiled warmly at his astonished son, who struggled to absorb all that his father was saying. "Congratulations, my son. While it may not have been your intention, you have through cunning and diplomacy successfully ingratiated yourself to a potential claimant for an incredibly powerful but currently dormant seat on the Wizengamot."

Suddenly unable to maintain his decorum, Draco grinned and let out a laugh.

Two hours later, a nervous Prixie informed the fuming Narcissa Black Malfoy that her husband and son were still talking and would take their dinner in the master's study and that she should begin eating without them.

21 December 1992
9:30 CET (local time) just outside Marseilles, France

Blaise Zabini dropped to his knees and fought down the urge to vomit after the arduous portkey journey from London to the farmhouse in Marseilles. Gunther silently rubbed the boy's back for a few seconds and then handed him a potion to sooth the travel sickness. Thus fortified, Blaise rose to take in the view and smiled. He'd always loved the farmhouse, a charming two-story structure typical of Provence's rural architecture that sat on a tall hill overlooking the rolling farmland and vineyards below. It was here that Gunther had taught him how to ride horses and to throw a punch and (late at night after the Countess had retired) how to play poker and talk to girls. It was tiny, of course, compared to the Palais de la Comtesse de Provence, but Blaise hated the Palais, and respectful of his wishes, Serena Zabini never made her son visit that place. It was only fair, after all. He was the one who, on the morning of his eighth birthday, discovered Le Comte's dead body slumped over the breakfast table. Le Comte (Blaise had utterly refused to call him anything but "Le Comte") had been a horrifically obese wizard with remarkably poor table manners for someone of his social standing. On the day in question, the man had taken too large a bite from his pain au chocolat and choked to death. It was easily Blaise's worst birthday ever.

After soaking in the scene, Blaise quickly followed Gunther into the house through a side entrance. The Countess's guests were already here, an eclectic mix of family, friends and ... others. While Gunther stashed Blaise's trunk to be emptied in the morning, the boy darted up the side stairs to his room to freshen up and change clothes. Unlike Wizarding Britain, with its odd affection for robes, pointed hats, and other anachronisms, the current fashion of Wizarding France called for contemporary Muggle styles but with a distinct wizarding twist. When Blaise descended the main stairs to greet the guests and find his mother, he was attired in an immaculate suit of crushed black-green velvet with an open-necked black silk shirt underneath. A stick pin in the shape of a silver and green cobra adorned his lapel, last year's Christmas gift from the Countess to acknowledge his place among the Chosen of Slytherin.

Blaise finally found the Countess in a side room where chairs had been set up for the memorial ceremony. Among the Countess and her fellow travelers, the Winter Equinox was the perfect night for such memorials. It was the longest night of the year, and the walls between the living and the dead were at their thinnest, ideal for letting those who had been loved and lost know that they were not forgotten. With the Countess was Jacques Delacour, an official with the French Ministry with whom she was discussing the final details for tonight's services. Blaise frowned. He hoped that Delacour's wife and daughters were not present. Apolline Delacour was half-veela, while Fleur and Gabrielle were each quarter-veela, and while Blaise was generally confident in his Occlumency, he did not wish to pit it against supernatural allure on this night of all nights.

After concluding her business with M. Delacour, Serena crossed over to Blaise and gave him a strong motherly hug. "Passerotto! It is so good to see you at last! You had no problems getting here?"

"None, mamma. Nothing a Stomach-Soother couldn't cure. Have I missed anything?"

"No, mio figlio. We have plenty of time before we begin. Do you wish to pay your respects now or later?"

"Now, I think."

The Countess nodded and led Blaise off to one side of the room where a long narrow table had been set up along the wall. On it were dozens of photographs surrounded by votive candles. Most of the photos were magical and held moving images of people who waved to onlookers. Quite a few, however, were static Muggle photos, including the one that now held Blaise Zabini's attention. Within it were two figures: a man with regal African features and a beautiful Italian woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to the Countess Zabini, both attired in what looked like Muggle hospital scrubs and lab coats, and each with a doctor's stethoscope around the neck. In front of the picture were two votive candles, one of which was already lit. Blaise's eyes blinked repeatedly as he studied the picture while the Countess held a firm hand on his shoulder. Then, he picked up a long match and used it to light the other votive candle before reaching down the open collar of his shirt to draw forth a small amulet on a silver chain. Inscribed on the simple black facing was an open silver triangle enclosed by a silver circle and bisected by a vertical silver line. Blaise lifted the amulet up to his mouth and kissed it lightly before grasping it in his hands.

"Novissima autem inimica destruetur mors." The boy softly recited the Latin verse in a soft voice without ever taking his eyes off of the photograph.

"Omnes ave dominum mortis," the Countess said in answer.

"So mote it be," they said together in English.

23 December 1992
9:00 a.m. in the Leaky Cauldron

Harry stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace bearing an expression of mild annoyance. He'd not been sure what to expect from James Potter when he agreed to spend Christmas with them, but cloying protectiveness had not been among his predicted behaviors. Case in point: Artie Podmore had gone to great lengths to set up some Occlumency sessions over the Christmas holidays, but James Potter – who had asked more questions about Harry's life in the last two days than in all the previous time since the two had met on Privet Drive – insisted that the whole family should make a day of it in Diagon Alley. It was frustrating to Harry, who'd wanted to focus on Occlumency without getting distracted by the increasingly tense Potter Family Drama. It was beyond frustrating to Jim, who'd reacted to Harry's presence in Potter Manor with sullen resentment. The odd thing, however, was that Harry didn't think his twin resented him at the moment so much as their father. Granted, the man was a Gryffindor not known for subtlety, but even Lady Augusta and Neville noticed the way James had been trying to instantly forge a father-son relationship with Harry while ignoring the other son who'd just finished a very stressful fall term. Jim had been quietly fuming since they'd arrived at Potter Manner, and Harry was wondering whether he'd make it to Christmas before blowing up in some entertaining way.

Almost immediately, Artie was on hand to intercept the Potters, to thank a surprised James for delivering Harry on time, and to shuffle Harry upstairs before James could even speak. In Room 13, Mr. X and Mr. Y were already waiting.

"You should have contacted me the minute you decided on this ill-considered plan to spend Christmas with your parents, Harry," Artie said crossly. "If you were bent on this course of action, I'd have made arrangements to be there with you. I still can if you need..."

"No, Artie," Harry said forcefully. "Just ... no. You don't need to spend the holidays at Potter Manor where... where you have unpleasant memories."

Artie sighed. "If you mean 'where my wife died,' Harry, just say so. And while your compassion for my feelings does you credit, you forget – I'm the solicitor, and you're the client. As ... unpleasant as time at Potter Manor might be, I am more than capable of setting them aside to perform my duties."

"Artie, it doesn't matter. It's done. Lady Augusta is staying there, and she's more than capable of keeping an eye on me. And besides, you know me. And you know I'm not going to be taken in by James Potter." With that, Harry turned to Mr. X and Mr. Y. "Thank you both for meeting with me on such short notice. Shall we proceed?" The two mystery-wizards looked at one another and then nodded towards Harry.

Downstairs, James was still complaining about how his Heir had been rudely snatched away from him, when his other son spoke up.

"Dad, Harry came here for Occlumency training. Just let him do what he came here for."

For a second, James seemed annoyed by Jim's tone. But then, Lily moved to stand behind Jim with her hands on his shoulders, and the look she gave her husband made the man back down.

"Perhaps you're right, Jim," he said. "Harry's supposed to be here till lunchtime. You guys can go off for some shopping . Now, what are you looking to buy today? Christmas presents for your friends?"

"A few," Jim said with a nod. In truth, the number of people he felt inclined to buy a present for could be counted on one hand. "Also, you'd offered to buy me a familiar last year, but I didn't think I'd need a pet back then. Is that offer still ...?"

James waved his hand. "Sure, sure. Anything you want." He reached into his pocket and tossed a small bag of galleons to the boy. "Lily, Lady Augusta, why don't you take the boys out into the Alley? Meet back here at noon, and I'll buy everyone lunch."

Lily and Augusta looked at one another for a second before ushering the two boys out of the tavern and out into Diagon Alley. James watched them leave and then took a seat with a view of the stairs which Harry had just ascended.

Upstairs, Harry and Mr. X had just begun the day's Occlumency training. After about ninety minutes, the instructor signaled for a break.

"My congratulations, Mr. Potter. I feel confident in saying that you have completely mastered the second level of Occlumency. You are able to suppress your emotions at will without the need to do so constantly, you were able to detect my intrusion every time, and you were able to mount a consistent defense. Beyond this point, you have the basic psychic defenses needed to foil a Legilimens. That does not mean you can do so against any and every Legilimens, as true psychic duels largely come down to experience and willpower. But you now have the tools to defend yourself against any attacker and the means to perfect those tools going forward."

"Thank you," Harry said with an exhausted smile. "So what's next? What's involved in mastering level three Occlumency?"

"The second level is about mastering your emotions, Mr. Potter. The third level is about understanding them – about recognizing when you are acting in response to an emotional stimulus rather than rational decision-making. The level three exercises will also further improve your memory and recall. At this level, you will also begin the construction of a memory palace, a psychic landscape in which all of your memories can be safeguarded and which you can use as a fortress against more powerful psychic attacks."

Mr. X wrote some notes on a piece of parchment and passed it over to Harry. "These are the page numbers for exercises found within the two Occlumency texts you have been using. Please note that we will now be spending more time in Pathways of the Mind, a more esoteric and abstract book. Your progress may slow a bit, at least in the beginning. But if you persevere, I believe based on your current rate of development that you may master Level Three by the end of next summer if not sooner."

Harry nodded as he read over the note. Then, he started. "Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Snape said to ask if you could teach me this." He handed Snape's note over to the instructor who examined it silently for several seconds.

"Your Potions Master sent this for you?" The boy nodded. "Does he wish you ill?"

"Um, I don't think so," replied Harry uneasily. "Why?"

"Because perceptual dilation has a non-trivial chance of causing brain damage or even death if used incorrectly."

"... oh," said Harry. "Um, well, I guess I'd better use it correctly then. Is it something you think is within my abilities?"

Mr. X looked at the note again. "I believe so. The technique is not particularly hard to learn, but it is also not particularly useful until fully mastered, a time-intensive process. Perceptual dilation slows down your subjective awareness of time, allowing you to study your surroundings more thoroughly and make decisions more efficiently. In combat, it might be easier for you to sidestep a curse if you perceive it as moving more slowly than it actually is."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "That seems ... very useful. Why isn't this skill more commonly known?"

"Because in addition to requiring at least a second-level mastery of Occlumency, it also takes many months of practice to use the technique in any beneficial way and often a year or more of dedicated effort for true competency. The skill is historically known as "Fixing the Mind's Gaze Betwixt the Seven Beats of the Heart," the archaic name from the medieval text Aegis Mentalis. It is called that because the state of heightened perception can only be maintained for a duration equal to seven beats of the Occlumen's heart. Needless to say, it is essential that you maintain your calm so as to keep your heart rate as slow as possible in order to gain the maximum benefit. The technique will then essentially slow down your perception of time as it passes between heart beats. Initially, the benefits are meager – you might experience two or three seconds of time between heart beats instead of one. With practice and experience, you can extend that duration. The 19th Century Master Occlumens Werner von Mises claimed that he could subjectively experience almost a full minute of time between each beat of his heart. The danger is that if you maintain the altered mental state for more than that or if you extend the duration between heartbeats to more than your Occlumency skill allows, you risk suffering an aneurysm or stroke. Which, incidentally, is how von Mises died."

Harry swallowed. "Thank you for the warning, Mr. X. I promise I'll be careful."

Mr. X studied the boy impassively for almost five seconds (though Harry now wondered if the man was thinking for a lot longer than that, given what Harry now understood of perceptual dilation). "Very well," he said with a shrug. "You have prepaid for my services through next summer, and I don't give refunds to students who accidentally lobotomize themselves. Now here's how you activate the perceptual dilation effect."

Meanwhile in Magical Menagerie

Jim entered the pet store first and with a purpose. Neville and Augusta were close behind followed by a surprised Lily Potter who called out to her youngest son. On the way to the pet store, the Boy-Who-Lived had stopped to sign a few autographs, but to Lily's concern, not as many as usual. In fact, she was quite certain she saw one witch pull her small children across the street to specifically avoid having Jim cross their path. She almost didn't notice when Jim bypassed Eeylops Owl Emporium for Magical Menagerie.

"Jim? I thought you were after an owl," she said tentatively.

"No," he said simply as he strode through the store, with the others following behind. Jim made his way to the back corner of the store, a rather dusty and dimly lit back corner within the otherwise charming pet shop. To Lily's mounting alarm, this corner was where Magical Menagerie's supply of snakes and other reptiles were to be found, animals more often sold for potions ingredients than as pets. Jim stopped and looked around, as if to make sure that no one except his three companions could hear. Then, he turned to face the snake cages and hissed. Instantly, all of the snakes, about twenty or so, reared up and turned to look directly at the boy before hissing back to him almost in unison.

Lily looked around wildly to see if anyone else in the store was watching the scene while Neville took a step forward.

"Uh, Jim? What are you saying to them?" asked Neville quietly.

"Oh, I'm just letting them know I'm a Speaker and asking if any of them would like to come with me and be a Speaker's pet snake. You know. The usual." With that, the boy moved closer to the cages and picked several snakes in particular to hiss at, as if he were interviewing them for a job opening. Lily moved up right behind him and put her hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Jim Potter!" she hissed (in English, of course). "You stop this right now. I did not bring you to Diagon Alley today for you to cause a scene!"

He turned and looked up at his mother with a deceptively calm expression. "No, Mum, you brought me here because Dad insisted on coming with Harry and making today a father-son outing, and you didn't want me to sit at home and brood over it. Anyway, I want this one." He pointed back to a two-foot long snake with brown and yellow scales. "He says he's a California king snake." The snake hissed something, and Jim nodded. "Lampropeltis getula californiae. His name is Steve."

"Jim, you cannot buy a snake and then run around in public talking to it," Lily said in a pained voice. "You know what people will think about that!"

"Yeah, I know exactly what people will think. They'll think the same thing they've been thinking for almost two weeks now – that the Boy-Who-Lived is a dark wizard. That's why I don't walk around the school anymore unless I've got one of my few remaining friends to watch my back."

"What?" Lily asked in alarm. "What do you mean...?"

"It doesn't matter," Jim interrupted. "People are going to believe what they want to, and I can't do anything about it so I might as well ... embrace it."

Lily stepped forward and pulled Jim into a tight hug. "Jim! I know this has been hard on you. I'd have given anything to spare you from it. But that doesn't mean you should just give in and make things worse! And I am telling you right now – buying a snake for Christmas and carrying it back to Hogwarts, to say nothing of Potter Manor, will make things worse!"

Jim sighed loudly and then, with a single backward glance towards "Steve," he walked past his mother and out of the store. Lily followed, sparing an embarrassed glance at Lady Augusta whose face was impassive. After she'd left, Neville exhaled loudly and looked up at the older witch.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into all this ... whatever this is, Gran," the boy said.

"Oh, don't apologize, Neville," she answered with an odd smile. "I feel for the boy's unhappiness, but other than that, this is the most interesting Christmas holiday I've had in years. It's like a Muggle soap opera but with talking snakes!"

At noon, the Potters and Longbottoms reassembled back at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch in one of the inn's small private rooms. James and Harry were already sitting together, with Harry politely but evasively answering James's questions about his Occlumency training. When Jim sat down on the opposite side of the table from his father and brother while wearing a tired expression, James looked over at him in surprise.

"I though you were getting an owl," he asked.

"Changed my mind," Jim replied in a clipped tone while diligently studying a menu. "No pets for the Boy-Who-Lived today."

James looked at him quizzically for a second and then shrugged. "Well, maybe this summer then. Did everyone get their shopping done? Harry, do you need to pick anything up?"

"No, thank you. I actually owl-ordered everything a month ago."

Harry split his attention between his father's forced Christmas spirit, his brother's obvious unhappiness, and Neville's visible horror at the Potter family dynamics. At this point, Harry honestly wasn't sure whether his presence made things better or worse. On one hand, James's renewed interest in him was plainly based on the man's reaction to Jim being a Parselmouth. On the other, Harry thought it was possible that James was forced to at least be civil with Jim when Harry was around, and he might well be even more openly intolerant of a Parselmouth son if Harry hadn't come. In any case, at this point, Harry thought that no amount of physical or mental torture would ever get him to admit that he too was a Parselmouth to James Potter or anyone else.

James nodded. "How about you, Jim? Done with your shopping?"

The boy didn't look up from his intense fascination with the menu. "Yeah. I bought gifts for you and Mum, plus everyone I consider a friend. That part hardly took any time at all."

Lily winced and tried to figure out how to end the day's excursion early before Jim, James or both made a public spectacle. Suddenly, Jim put the menu down and looked up.

"Actually, that's not true. I do need to buy one more gift. It's for, well, not really a friend but someone who really helped me out of a jam last week. Mum, it's a girl, and I have no idea what to buy for her. Nothing fancy, just a small thank-you gift."

James smiled at his younger son for the first time all day. "You have a young lady friend you're buying a Christmas present for? Good for you! You can never start too early, I say. What's the lucky girl's name?"

Jim paused while considering how to evade the question. And then, he smiled after deciding not to even bother. "Amy Wilkes," he said easily while turning his attention back fully to the menu. There was a sudden clinking sound as James Potter nearly knocked his water glass over before catching it.

"Amy ... Wilkes? The Toymaker's daughter?" James said in disbelief.

"Oh, I hardly think it's fair to hold that against her, Dad. I mean, she never even knew her parents, and like I said, she helped Boy-Who-Lived out of a difficult spot, so she's hardly Death Eater material. And surely you don't think I should be rude to her just because she's a Slytherin, right?"

"Of ... course not, I mean... that's not the point," James sputtered.

"Besides," Jim continued, "I'm trying to become more tolerant and open-minded where Slytherins are concerned. After all, if I hadn't been so biased against them, I might have made it into Slytherin House myself. I mean, the Hat did offer it to me."

There was another clinking sound. This time, it was Harry who nearly knocked his water glass over before catching it with the same grace as his father. "Sorry about that but ... the what offered you what now?!"

Jim laughed out loud. "The Sorting Hat, Harry. Remember that? Floppy and a little smelly but with a lovely singing voice? It offered me Slytherin at first. It said I could be great, that it was all there in my head, and that Slytherin could help me on the way to greatness. But I said no because I hated Slytherin and was afraid of disappointing other people and letting them down." There was a dead silence at the table. Jim finally looked up and around at the others.

"What?" he asked mildly.

After lunch, as the group was preparing to Floo back to Potter Manor, Harry pulled Neville and Lady Augusta off to the side.

"Listen, I really want to apologize for all this, and if you want me to make some excuse for us all to head back to Longbottom Manor, I'll be happy to do so."

"Nonsense, Harry," said Augusta with gusto. "Not to make light of your situation, but watching James Potter squirm under his sons' disdain is perhaps the most fun I've had in years. Far better than sitting around the Manor listening to Cousin Enid natter on about macaroon recipes."

"What Gran means," Neville interrupted in consternation, "is that we're here for you, so don't think you need to apologize for how others are behaving."

"That too," said Augusta.

"Thank you, both of you. Honestly, I was expecting some friction in the Potter family but not ... this. I never imagined there could be so much tension all the time."

Augusta nodded sagely. "The tension is unbearable." Then, she smiled almost fondly. "I hope it will last."

Harry did a double-take. "Lady Augusta ... did... did you just quote from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?!"

"Certainly not," she sniffed disdainfully. "I was misquoting Oscar Wilde. I've never even been to a chocolate factory!"

9:00 p.m. at Potter Manor

"We need to talk," Lily had said to James just after they returned from Diagon Alley. She'd used that frighteningly quiet voice that James had referred to as "the Death Whisper" since their Hogwarts days. He nodded. He knew what was coming, and he knew that he'd put it off for far too long. In retrospect, he should have told her everything back before the twins were born, but his Gryffindor courage had failed him. Nowadays, he had to rely on liquid courage instead.

"Nine o'clock in the Master's Study. After the kids have gone up to their rooms." He hesitated. "Bring your wand." She gave him a look but then nodded.

At the appointed hour, she knocked on the study door. It annoyed her still that she needed to knock on any door within her own home as if she were a houseguest. But James had explained when they moved into the Manor that the Master's Study was the sanctum sanctorum of the Head of House Potter and that he himself had only been inside the room only four times prior to Charlus Potter's death, so she let the matter drop. Sort of.

James opened the door and ushered Lily inside. Immediately, she stopped and froze at the sight of a prophecy orb sitting on James's desk. "Is that...?" she said, her voice catching slightly.

"No," he replied. "It's ... a different one."

He walked past her and sat on the edge of the desk. It seemed disrespectful to sit behind it with his wife on the other side, as if she were some kind of supplicant. The look she was giving him now was bad enough.

"Another prophecy," she said coldly. "There's another prophecy that you're just now telling me about."

He took a deep breath through his nose. "Yes. I never told you because, well, I held out hope that it wasn't about us. This prophecy has been in play for two centuries. And before I can reveal it to you, I'll need a secrecy oath." He held up a hand to forestall the angry response that was coming. "It's not my choice, Lily. I'm under an oath myself never to reveal it to anyone not bound to keep the secret."

"Fine," she said finally. "But depending on the contents, I still reserve the right to hex you for keeping it from me."

He snorted bitterly. "Fair enough. I'm sure I deserve it." She swore the oath, and then he tapped the prophecy orb. When it was finished, she asked to hear it again, giving no sign as to what she thought. Finally, after the third repetition, she was ready to speak.

"And this is the reason for your attitude towards Harry ... and now towards Jim. When Harry was Sorted into Slytherin, you assumed that he's the 'Last Potter' who's destined to become 'Prince of Slytherin' and kick off the rest of the prophecy."

He nodded. That was also the real reason why he'd only wanted one child, something he'd explained to Lily before their marriage and to which she'd readily acquiesced. Her relationship with Petunia ensured that she had no desire to see any more sibling rivalry, while James wanted to avoid the possibility of 'two who should be as one set against each other in reckless hate.' The arrival of twins had been a surprise to them both.

"And then, you decided the best way to respond to Harry maybe being the future Slytherin Prince was to send him a drunken Howler!"

James winced. "Yes, Lily-flower, I know. That was ... beyond stupid, and there hasn't been a day since that I haven't regretted it. But there's more to it ..." He hesitated and took a deep breath. "Jim was born after Harry, so if the prophecy really was about Harry, then ... then, it would mean that Jim was going to die. Die and leave Harry as the Last Potter. With Harry getting Sorted into Slytherin and especially in light of his anger towards us – justified as it might have been – plus the other prophecy hanging over Jim, I thought the first prophecy might mean that Harry might someday play a role in helping Voldemort come back to kill Jim in revenge for us abandoning him to Petunia and Vernon."

Lily started rubbing her forehead with her hand as she tried to process all the new information. James continued.

"In fact, you'll recall that originally I opposed sending Harry away despite everyone saying he was a squib. The main reason I changed my mind was this prophecy. Dad never told me about it while he was alive, and so I didn't learn of it until his will was probated and I gained full access to the restricted parts of the family vaults." He hesitated again. "The Death Eaters used to claim that Muggleborn steal their magic away from wizarding children, leaving them squibs. That's rubbish, of course, but there's a kernel of truth in it. There are ancient, forbidden dark rituals that supposedly allow magic to be transferred away from a wizard to a squib. As much as I wanted to keep Harry with us, with both prophecies in play I was afraid Harry might become so bitter about being a squib that he might get hold of one of those rituals and use it to claim Jim's magic for his own. I know that sounds far-fetched, but it's the sort of thing that can happen when prophecies are involved. I mean, the mere fact that we have twins is suggestive – Harry and Jim are the first generation of Potters to yield more than one child since the 1780's."

Lily had wondered about that. Two hundred years of Potter fathers siring a single male child carry on the family name without deviation. No daughters. No multiple births. Not even any unplanned second children. Aside from the statistical oddity, she'd been amazed that the Potters had courted line extinction for so long. One Potter dying before he lived long enough to marry and produce an heir would have ended the family completely. She shook her head and focused on the present.

"James, after everything, surely you realize by now that trying to manipulate a prophecy only increases the likelihood that you'll inadvertently make it come true."

He barked out a laugh. "Oh, yeah, Lily. I think that's been made abundantly clear to me."

"Then why in Merlin's name have you suddenly decided to push Jim away? Do you not think he's noticed that you're now rushing to accept Harry while ignoring him?"

"I haven't been ignoring Jim. I'm just ... trying to make up for lost time with Harry."

She scoffed. "Oh please. Jim is revealed as a Parselmouth and the next day you unexpectedly invite Harry to spend Christmas with us? And say that it's okay for Severus to come with him if that's what's needed to make it happen? It's obvious that you're treating Jim differently now that you know he can talk to snakes."

"YES! OKAY?!" he snapped. Then, he continued more calmly. "Like I said, I was concerned before that Harry might play a role in killing Jim to become the Last Potter. Now, I'm worried about the fact that Jim is the Last Potter right now and he already has a trait that marks him as the Heir of Slytherin, which is a name that just happened to get vandalized onto a wall next to a petrified cat while Jim's at school!"

"You think that was Jim?!"

"Can you guarantee 100% that it's not Jim being influenced by some subconscious remnant of Voldemort? Perhaps a dormant piece that was activated last spring when he killed Quirrell? " He sighed. "That's why I'm telling you all this, Lily-flower. You're the smart one, not me. The fate of the whole wizarding world may be at stake. I need you help me figure this out. To help me decide what to do."

Lily sat quietly as she considered James's words. "No," she finally said.

James did a double-take. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"I mean that Lord Potter may be concerned with the fate of the wizarding world, but Lily Evans-Potter is concerned with the fate of her two boys, and the rest of the wizarding world can go to hell." She rose and walked over to open the door.

"Elmo!" she called out, and the Potter's chief house elf appeared instantly. "Elmo, prepare the bedroom next to my private study. I'll be sleeping there for the foreseeable future."

"Lily! Let's be reasonable!" James jumped up from the desk in surprise as the elf nodded and popped away. She turned back to face her husband.

"I love you, James. I always will. But right now, I don't think I have it in me to share your bed. In the past, I know I've wronged Harry, and in some ways, Jim as well. But I will do whatever it takes to keep them from harm and to protect them from anyone who threatens them." Her eyes flashed angrily. "Do not make the fatal mistake, James Potter, of leading me to think that you're a part of that group."

She turned and left the Master's Study as James let out a shuddering breath. The previous year, he'd thought that Harry's eyes were a different shade of green than his mother's. "The same color as the killing curse," he'd thought. Now, he realized that they weren't so different after all. When Lily was angry enough, her eyes looked like the killing curse as well.

Later in the Mistress's Boudoir

Lily sat fuming at her desk in what the elves insisted on calling "The Mistress's Boudoir," apparently because it was unseemly for a lady to have a private study or library of her own. When James had explained about the Master's Study, she'd accepted his need for privacy ... and then asked for a room of her own that he couldn't get into without her permission. Finding the idea amusing, he set up such a room for her. He'd never even asked to enter it and almost certainly had no idea how many wards she'd put up herself over the years to keep out all intruders, including her own husband. Not even the Potter elves could get into this room, and it endlessly annoyed the small creatures that there was a room in the Manor that they weren't allowed to clean.

As she leaned back in her chair, Lily thought long and hard about what James had just told her. Learning about the second prophecy was the perfect end to an absolutely dreadful year, one that had featured Voldemort's return, multiple attempts on Harry's life, and Jim's exposure as a Parselmouth.

"Oh, and Vernon," she thought to herself. "Mustn't forget Vernon."

She shook her head angrily. It was both exasperating and predictable that James had kept the other prophecy from her for so long. She did love her husband dearly, but he certainly made it difficult at times. At his best, James Potter was warm, loving, generous, and brave. At his worst, he was still the same spoiled condescending Pureblood man-child she'd spent so much time arguing with at school.

That vague condescension that he still held for his wife's Muggleborn nature was at the forefront of her mind now. Of course he'd conceal a prophecy handed down from Potter Lord to Potter Heir for generations from his wife even though it involved both of their children. It was exactly the sort of thing she might have expected from him - concealing the prophecy from her for over a decade only to seek her counsel once he'd repeatedly cocked things up. After all, how could a lowly Muggleborn, no matter how intelligent, ever have anything useful to contribute to a prophecy suggesting that either of her two sons might be the harbinger of a magical apocalypse?

Lily inhaled deeply, soaking in the familiar smells of her small study. When she was angry, nothing was better for calming her and focusing her mind than the smell of books, and that smell permeated the Boudoir. Two of the four walls were covered with bookshelves stretching up to the vaulted ceilings. Books, books and more books, and almost none of them fiction. Over half were obscure and esoteric magical texts on nearly every magical topic that wasn't outright illegal to read about. The rest were Muggle books, primarily in the sciences. Quite a few were textbooks that went along with the framed certificates hanging on the wall over her desk, certificates denoting that Lily Evans-Potter had successfully completed degree programs in multiple scientific fields from universities across the U.K. before pursuing a Master's in Biochemistry from St. Andrews.

After Hogwarts, she'd wanted to get a Mastery in a magical field, of course. But the War, the birth of her children, and James's new Lordship ended those plans, at least for the foreseeable future. While she'd been almost jealous of Severus for actually getting a Mastery before the age of twenty-one, she'd also been realistic. An apprenticeship was a full-time position, and between being the Lady of House Potter and the Mother of the Boy-Who-Lived, Lily simply did not have the time to pursue an advanced magical degree. Advanced Muggle degrees, however, were another matter. Between the ability to apparate across Britain as needed and having several house elves to watch over little Jim during her classes, it was surprisingly easy over the last ten years to complete multiple degrees. James had been supportive, of course, even though he seemed to view getting a Muggle university degree was some sort of "hobby activity" for his young wife. While intelligent in his own way, the Pureblood was almost wholly ignorant of Muggle sciences and how they might be relevant to any field of magic. In particular, he hadn't the faintest idea how something as mysterious and Mugglish as "biochemistry" might possibly be relevant to Potions or Herbology, let alone Transfiguration.

If only he knew.

18 October 1992 (just over two months ago)
3:00 a.m. at 4 Privet Drive, Surrey

There was a soft click, and then light filled the room where Petunia and Vernon were sleeping. Petunia awoke and blinked her eyes, but Vernon kept right on snoring. She sat up and then gasped in surprise. For there in her bedroom, sitting in a chair that hadn't been there when Petunia went to sleep, was Lily Potter, her wand resting in her lap. Next to her was a small table that also hadn't been there before with a big thick book resting on it.

"Hello, Petunia. It's time for a family reunion."

Petunia stuck out her chin. "I have nothing to say to you. Now leave, before Vernon wakes up."

"He won't wake up before dawn, Petunia. Neither will Dudley." Lily smiled. "Magic, remember?"

Petunia sneered. "How could I forget? Magic's only been ruining my life since we were little girls." She paused. "This is about The Boy, isn't it?"

"His name is Harry, though I gather you never actually bothered to use his name, did you?"

"Don't you DARE come into my house with your ... freakishness and judge me! I took him in and raised him and got nothing but trouble for it. You promised me that he would have no magic! That he would be ordinary!"

"I told you that we believed he was a squib and that he wasn't safe with us, but that if he showed any signs of magic, you should contact us and we'd take him back. You never did. You just locked him away in a boot cupboard and used him for slave labor. And you still act like he's the villain in this piece instead of your victim. You have the audacity to claim that he's the freak instead of you."

"Stop it!" Petunia said holding back a sob. "You don't know what it was like when he was here. The fear ..."

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm not here to talk about ancient history, Petunia. I'm here to talk about last July. The last day Harry was here. The day your husband tried to kill my son."

"Vernon did nothing! The Boy brought those ... things to our home!"

"Those things were called doxies, Petunia, and Harry didn't bring them. They were sent by someone else to kill him, and with Vernon's help, they very nearly did. James concealed the truth from me, but I've seen the auror report. I know everything!"

Petunia started to speak, but Lily cut her off abruptly. "I was stung once by a doxie. Did I ever tell you that, Petunia?" The other woman shook her head, too frightened to speak.

"It was during Fourth Year in Care of Magical Creatures. There was a mishap, and one of them stung me on the tip of my finger. And I screamed. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt. I actually begged someone to cut my finger off to stop the pain before somebody stunned me to shut me up. I woke up two days later in the infirmary because the prescribed medical treatment is to knock the patient unconscious and keep them in a healing coma until the venom is fully neutralized." Lily crooked her head. "Can you just imagine how you'd feel if something like that had happened to your Dudley?"

"You leave my son alone!"Petunia shrieked.

Lily's face softened. "Petunia, Dudley is my nephew, and you're my sister. Evans blood flows in his veins just as it does mine and yours. I would never do anything to harm him just as I would never do anything to harm you."

Petunia gasped in relief, and after a few seconds, she began to cry. "Thank you, Lily. Thank you so much. Thank you for sparing my family."

Lily watched her sister's tears of relief impassively before she spoke again.

"Vernon's not family, Petunia," she said in a cold voice. "There's no Evans blood in his veins."

Petunia looked up sharply, fear clouding her face once more. "Lily...?"

Lily cut her off with a voice like a knife. "I brought Harry to you to be safe, Petunia, safe from people who would have harmed him. Or worse, people who would have used Harry to get to my other son and harm them both. I gave in when you demanded that I avoid contact with Harry growing up. I was willing to never see my son's face again if it meant he would be safe. And the people to whom I entrusted Harry abused him and tormented him and eventually your repulsive pig of a husband tried to kill him in the one of the worst ways to die I can think of. What did you think I would do when I found out?!"

The other woman was frozen in fear of her sister and could barely gasp out the words. "Lily ... what are you going to do?"

"Do?" she said almost in surprise. "It's done, Petunia. Before I even came in here, I paid a visit to your bathroom and worked some of my freakish magic on Vernon's medications. I transfigured them all into other drugs that were chemically similar but which will worsen his condition rather than treat it."

Petunia glanced at the book on the table and finally noticed its title: Applied Pharmacology. Lily noticed. "Yes, Petunia, magic and science working together to make the world a better place. Vernon will have another heart attack, a much worse one, within a week. Two at the most. The transfiguration is sympathetically linked to Vernon's life. The second he's dead, the spell will end and the drugs will revert to their normal state, even those in his system. There will be no way either through magic or Muggle science for anyone to know what I've done or how Vernon really died."

"I'll know! There are laws against your kind harming us with magic! I'll find someone in your world and let them know what you did!"

Lily shook her head. "No, Petunia, you won't. Because in a few seconds, I'm going to put you back to sleep and then erase your memories of this conversation."

Petunia was suddenly paralyzed in confusion. "But ... if you're going to take my memories, why did you even say all this to me in the first place?!"

Lily studied her sister in silence as if drinking in the sight of her. "Because you hurt my son, Petunia Dursley. And for the rest of my life, I will treasure the memory of the look on your face right now."

Petunia drew breath to scream, but before she could, Lily flicked her wand, and the Muggle fell back into her bed asleep. The witch moved over to the bed and placed her wand next to her sister's temple, casting an Obliviate to erase the last five minutes. Then, she picked up the pharmacology book and tucked it under her arm before vanishing the table and chair. Lily stopped at the door and took one last look at her sleeping sister before she turned the lights back off and left the house.

The next chapter (Title TBA) will be uploaded on MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2016. I've decided to try Monday updates for a while so that I'll have time to write on the weekend and adjust as needed rather than continually panicking on Thursday night.

AN 1: I am humbled by the fact that several people actually messaged me to see if I was okay after missing my normal update schedule (for the first time in 66 chapters). There was no big emergency this time, but damned if this chapter didn't fight back. Most of it I wrote in a single afternoon, but all of the Harry-Jim-James interactions I rewrote five times before finally settling on what you read today. At one point, I seriously considered scrapping the whole thing and having Harry decline James's invitation and stay at Longbottom Manor over Christmas and not do anything but catch up on his naps. Anyway, hopefully the extraordinary length of this chapter will make up for the delay.

AN 2: I was never impressed with either of the women who played Augusta Longbottom in the movies. Henceforth, the part of Augusta Longbottom will be played by Penelope Wilton (Harriet Jones from Doctor Who; Lady Isobel Crawley from Downton Abbey).

AN 3: Updated o 2/22/2016 to correct bad Latin and also paper over my errors pertaining to how British Muggle college degrees work.