Teeth

by hathanhate

Harry messes up the animagus process and begins a new journey. New friends and old share his discovery of life. What is in store for The-Boy-Who-Lived? What dangers will he face? Find out inside! WARNINGS: Begins entirely in HP world, crossover starts later. Harry is bisexual. Rated M to be safe.

19. Part Three, Chapter One

Thank you, both to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who has stuck with this story!

Hurray! We're back! Sorry about the late-in-the-day update. I've been sick lately, and I didn't even realize it was Friday until dinner was over.

We are officially moving into Part Three. I have a lot of editing that I've done, and need to do, on this Part. There were more than a few things that I wasn't so happy with, when looking back on what I originally wrote. That said, this part is never going to be perfect (but what is, really?). All the same, hopefully you will all either be happy with it, or interested enough to suck it up and read.

Before I get to the responses to last chapter's question, I need to make a response to GreenT, who did not log in for their review. I apologize for the way that I phrased that. I meant no disrespect for women, or for those who are transgender (especially as I am friends with people who are). I only meant that people have a tendency to make Harry very feminine, to the point where it seems as though they are trying to make him female. I meant no offense, so I apologize profusely for that. I suppose I didn't think over my phrasing very well when I typed that.

Now then, onto the question.

Like the one about pairings, there was quite the mixed take on whether or not I should include any other Marvel characters.

Some of you are ecstatic about the thought of me including more of the Marvel Universe, and some of you are, apprehensive, at best. I won't really go into it as badly as I did with the pairing question, but I will tell you now that this is, unlike the pairing, something that I have actually come to a decision on.

I will include more Marvel characters; however, I intend to keep the number relatively small, as I am unsure how well I could handle a surplus of characters. My handling of the HP world is proof enough of this, given that, as we go, you'll see the HP world more and more pushed aside in favor of Marvel. There's just too many characters for me to juggle, and still be able to focus on the plot.

Now, I have to go into something for a second, so bear with me.

Joss Whedon, god of all things he sticks his awesome fingers into, has made a lot of plans where the Marvel Universe is concerned. Iron Man 3, which I recently saw, was epic. Next will be the next Thor Movie, then a new Captain America, taking place in modern times, obviously, and then we will see Avengers 2.

The main villain for Avengers 2 is a robot called Ultron. As such, and with the implications of Thanos at the end of Avengers 1, this implies that there will likely be an Avengers 3, possibly with Thanos as the villain. For Avengers 2, we are likely to meet the character Wasp, and her counterpart, Ant Man, has his own movie scheduled to take place after Avengers 2, though we won't see him during that movie, despite the fact that, in canon, he was the creator of Ultron. The Scarlet Witch is also expected to make an appearance in Avengers 2.

Taking into consideration that I've no clue who Joss will choose to play their characters, or how he will depict their personalities, should I include any of these three here?

Beyond that, I intend to, at least temporarily, stop writing once we are done with the events of Thor 2, if the next Marvel movie has not come out by the time we get there. Would any of you want me to continue with the Marvel Universe after that? Stopping, and then, after a time, as new movies are made, continuing on with the story? Would you want to see more from this story at that point? Even if there might be months between where I stop and where I begin writing again? Or would you prefer I just say 'The End' and be done with it?

Don't really know what I want to do yet, but I want input from all of you, since, at the least, it's nice to have second opinions, if only to help me figure out what I genuinely want to do.

Now then, I'm done, so let's get on with it.

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Harry was spat out of a vortex of green flames onto cold and unforgiving stone. The pain of impact jarred him some, but it wasn't quite enough to pull him from the shocked state his mind had undertaken. Hands gripped his arms and pulled him to his feet. He got a sense of many people around him as he was shuffled into a room.

"What happened?"

"-don't know-"

"-magic went wild-"

"-never seen-"

"-scary-"

"-came early-"

"-hurt, is everyone-"

The voices washed over him like the swell of the tide at the lake when it washed against the pebbled banks. Another set of hands took him from the others, and he was pulled against a man's chest. The smallest hints of blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, and the chest he was against vibrated as the man keeping him on his feet spoke out. Harry couldn't hear what he said, but his voice came out strong and sharp, and the other voices all fell silent at hearing it. He had a vague understanding that the man was barking out orders, but he was so far away, slipping under the water of the lake.

There were the sounds of pops, and Harry felt the number of people grow smaller and smaller until there were only a few aside from himself left. He tried to pull himself from the depths of the water, but his magic was too strong. It was an angry sea, crashing against him and dragging him under; suffocating him. He couldn't breathe, but above the water was the fire, consuming the death eaters and rending the smell of burnt flesh into the air and he shied from it.

The water was drowning him. Where were his gills? He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't-

The sea pulled him under, and the darkness pressed in as he descended.

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Harry awoke with a shuddering gasp and shivered. His eyes flew around the room, and, as the understanding that he was alone graced him, he closed his eyes and groaned, running a hand over his face and trying to loosen the tightened muscles in his shoulders. Unable to sleep any longer, he slipped from his bed and slipped away.

Bogdon Stronghold was a fortress. It stood tall and strong, its' dark grey stones standing out proudly against the white snow that surrounded it in a violent contrast. It was old and its' outer walls were scarred and pocked with the marks of sieges long past; each scar proof of the ability of the stones and wards to protect those within. It was smaller than most castles, but also stronger, the magic that kept it safe more unforgiving than the wards of most such places and the stones larger and thicker than could have been lifted without magic.

He slipped through one of the halls of the place which had become his home, and into the confines of the small dungeon library.

It was not just home for him, but also for eighty-four other people, including the Dursleys, and twenty four other students and their families. Twelve of those students were members of the D.A. Harry sighed. Or rather, they had been members of the D.A. But there wasn't really a D.A. anymore; with Harry and some of the members stuck here, and the rest not even capable of meeting for fear of being caught and killed.

Still, no matter his fears for those left behind, and the unknowing first years that would be coming at the beginning of the school year, there were still seven dozen people who would not die or be harmed at the hands of Voldemort, or any other death eater, because Harry had gotten them away. He sat in the small dungeon library, now the home of all the keeper's books, and firmly told himself that this was a good thing even as guilt churned in his stomach at the sight of the Daily Prophet in front of him.

FIFTEEN STUDENTS KILLED IN HOGWART'S ATTACK!

By Andy Smudgley

Fifteen students, two teachers, and the headmaster lost their lives this past week during a direct attack on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by death eaters. They were reported as being older students, who attempted to defend the school alongside the professors. Contact from the school has revealed that many house elves also lost their lives in attempt to defend the castle from the intruders.

The most notable death was that of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who was killed in the process of protecting those students unfortunate enough to have been in the halls at the time of the attack. He and the other professors, including Septima Vector, and William Morris, who were also killed, are reported as having brought down as many as twenty seven death eaters in their efforts to defend the school.

The students were not released upon the eve of summer, and it is unknown what fate awaits them. There has been only minimal word from Hogwarts thus far, and it is unknown whether or not any of the students will be allowed to return home sometime in the near future. Word has also been leaked that several students were marked as missing at the time of the attack, including one Harry Potter.

Has our saviour abandoned us? Has he fled? Or has he been killed by You-Know-Who? Only time will tell. For a list of names regarding those students who were killed, please turn to page 8.

Harry didn't dare look at page eight. He felt guilty enough about what had happened, and he knew that putting names to those numbers would only make it worse; especially so if he recognized any of the names. It was bad enough to know that Dumbledore and Professor's Vector and Morris had been killed despite all the preparation that had been done to prevent death. He had expected that the headmaster might go down; knowing that the man had been dying already and would have protected the school to his last breath. He had never liked Professor Vector, but she had been a Slytherin, and he had begun to learn there was usually so much more depth to them than the surface showed you. Then there was Professor Morris...

Harry ran a tired hand down his face. Professor Morris had, easily, been his favorite professor (aside, maybe, from Severus). The man had taught him so much about other cultures and spells, and how to craft his own... He had learned a lot from him, and his greatest regret about planning his leave from the school had been in knowing he would not be able to attend the last of the man's classes. He and the others had worked so closely with him in Spellcrafting that he had become more a friend to them all than a teacher, and knowing he was gone forever made Harry's chest ache; perhaps not so badly as it had upon Sirius' death, but the pain was still very much present.

He folded the prophet up and walked away from it, going to stand before the only wall of the place that was not covered in shelving. This was occupied instead by the map from before, overlaid in its' pins of various colors; those numbers now including some white pins to mark the actual homes of everyone in the castle, rather than just the Longbottom, Malfoy, and Zabini properties; which he had been given official leave to use as needed. He picked up one of the red pins, having been using them to mark attacks, and eyed the place he knew was, approximately, where Hogwarts was located. They had all been living in the castle for close to a month now, and he hadn't been able to mark that spot before.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and determinedly stuck the pin to the map. He stared at the spot, expression hard and thoughts churning chaotically through his mind like a tornado. He had been... unbalanced ever since that day, and while it had faded some, it had never really left him.

That magic he had used, that churning power that had flew from him and pushed back the fire with enough force to flash-fry the two death eaters on the other side of it, like an angry tidal wave, had never been anything he had seen or felt before. Harry was in tune enough with his own magic to know the feel of it, intimately. His magic was like a rock. It was strong and firm and unyielding inside of him...

Or it had been. Ever since he had become an animagus, something had changed. But that change had stayed beneath the surface, waiting, and he had disregarded it for the most part, until now. That day they had escaped the castle, that changed magic inside of him had snapped whatever bindings held it back and rushed to the surface and it had been that which had protected him without conscious thought on his part. It had been wild and fierce, and so different than his usual magic that using it had sent him into a state of shock. He had remained that way for nearly a full day afterwards, and then he had gotten ill.

He had been sick for over a week with a raging fever and his magic churning inside in him like an angry sea as the newer, strange magic attacked and destroyed his old core. Blaise and Seamus had looked after him during that time, both being the most skilled with healing spells out of the old D.A. members, and had done a damned good job of keeping him alive. They told him they had been forced to tie him down when he started screaming and thrashing about as though he were in the throes of a night terror. His magic had been going crazy, and when, finally, it had settled, Harry had returned mostly to normal.

Except for his magic. That small changed part had washed out the old magic completely and taken its' place, and the first time he had tried to cast a spell after waking from the fever had not ended well. He had woken in a room on the ground floor which had been converted into a makeshift infirmary of sorts, and it had been dark. He had found his wand, and tried casting a lumos, and the spell which was supposed to act as little more than the equivalent of a flashlight had created a bright ball of light that flooded the entire room like it was daytime before going off with a 'pop' like an exploding light bulb and had blinded Harry for nearly ten minutes.

His magic had been misbehaving even further since then. Even now he could feel it sparking along his body like static electricity and swirling about with his emotions like the sea beneath the rays of the moon. He knew, without being told, that this was the chaos magic of the Mishipeshu, but for the life of him he could not understand why his magic had changed to this (being that such a thing should have only happened in his other form), especially now of all times. He could control it occasionally, but other times he couldn't, and his plans for making himself ready to face Voldemort had been reduced to relearning how to use his magic properly.

How could he even think about facing Voldemort if half his spells blew up in his face?

More than that, he hadn't been able to see any of the ghostly inner animals since he had woken, and he had been unable to find any explanation, either for his having possessed the ability to begin with, or how he had lost it. He was sure it was just another thing that had come about because of his magic misbehaving.

Harry groaned, feeling a headache coming on, and wondered when those had become so common.

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Harry tugged at a lock of reddish brown hair uncomfortably.

He wore one of the disguise bands he had made before, though this particular one had been the twins' idea. He hated it honestly, and much prefered the one that he usually used, with its' minor alterations, blondish hair, and brown eyes. That one felt comfortable, and not like walking around in someone else's skin the way that this one did.

The reason this particular disguise was so uncomfortable for him, was because it was female. Where short, but otherwise average Harry Potter/Black once walked, there now was a tall and thin female with reddish brown hair down to her back and annoyed black eyes. He had made this one so there wasn't enough chest or curves to make him freak out too badly if he happened to look down at himself, but it was still undeniably a woman, designed from a combination of his Aunt and his mother, and he hated it. He felt his skin crawl like there were spiders on him anytime anyone so much as glanced at him.

There was, however, no denying the effectiveness. His usual glamor made only very minor changes and let him blend in well, but it was close enough to his original appearance, that if he accidentally caught someone's attention and they looked too closely, they would grow suspicious. This form, on the other hand, was so completely different from his real one, that a person could stare at him the entire time he was out and not uncover who he was.

It didn't work well here though, since he was in the bank and the goblins could see through it just fine, but when he went out into the Alley in a bit to visit the twins and see what they had heard it would prove to be a lifesaver, considering that every death eater and his mother was currently on the hunt for him on Voldemort's orders. He followed Grimrok into their usual meeting room, the lack of Sirius' leather jacket beneath his grey robes and the wearing of flat womens shoes rather than his normal boots only serving to make him even more uncomfortable. At least he could still wear his own clothes and armor under the robe, since no one could see them.

"Welcome, Lord Black." Grimrok grinned at him with his sharp teeth and a glint in his eye that looked undeniably amused. Harry kept his tone civil even as he glared at the creature and sat down; trying very very hard to ignore the absent feeling of some parts of himself which were rather important to him.

"Thank you, Grimrok. I understand from your letter that some business has come up?" The goblin nodded, grin still in place.

"Yes. The recent death of one Bellatrix Lestrange has recently brought something up. Usually this would not be an issue, but we have received letters from her husband contesting the usual response." Were his eyes not currently black they would have darkened with the mention of Sirius' murderer. He still had no regrets about killing her, even with the blood it left on his hands.

"What about her?" The goblin caught on to his icy tone, and sat straighter, dropping the grin for a more professional expression.

"Bellatrix Lestrange was, before her marriage, a member of the Black family. At the time of her marriage contract being formed, an account was set up for her by the head of the family at that time, to contain her dowry. Usually the money would have been moved to her husband's account after the wedding, but he let her keep it, and she continued to use the account in place of a personal vault. A dowry vault is meant to be returned to the initial family upon the death of the bride, if not done sooner, since, while the contents may belong to the husband, the vault itself is the property of the bride's family." Harry nodded. "Had they simply removed the money within, or left it untouched, the same would happen here, and the initial dowry would be moved to her husband's vault, however, since Mrs. Lestrange used the account as she would a personal one, and deposited money and artifacts into it, her husband is contesting that the vault not be returned to the Black family."

"Is he aware that I currently act as Lord Black?" Harry asked, resting his other hand on the one with his signet ring and running a finger across the stone.

"No."

"I see... Does he have a legal right to contest the return of the vault?"

"I'm afraid that's a bit of a legal grey area. By law, the vault is to be returned, and only the dowry given back, but as her next of kin, Mr. Lestrange has a right to any and all properties owned by her, and, at least until she placed them in the vault, the money and artifacts would have fallen under this category." Harry nodded.

"So the vault is mine, but the stuff in it isn't?" The goblin nodded hesitantly.

"That's the grey area. Legally speaking all current contents of the vault other than the dowry are to be returned with the vault itself, but under normal circumstances a bride would never have added anything to the vault, so we are... a bit at a loss of how to go about this."

"I see..." Harry thought about it. The goblin had said artifacts. There was no telling what sorts of dark objects the witch had hidden in that vault, and her husband was just as devoted a follower of Voldemort as she had been. Letting him have the vault and anything in it would be the same as handing it over to Voldemort, and even if there was nothing but money, that would mean funding towards the evil wizard's schemes. "So... Do I have a right to say what gets done with the vault?" Grimrok nodded.

"At this time, as we are uncertain of any other options, yes."

"Could I see it? The vault?"

"Of course. Right this way, Lord Black."

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Harry loved riding in the Gringotts carts. He had loved it since that first time he had come to the bank. He imagined that it was not unlike a roller coaster, though he had never had the pleasure of riding one. One day he would, and then he would be able to compare it properly. Still, the trip in the cart, however short, being that Bellatrix' vault was not so far down, helped to lighten his mood some, given the otherwise serious and upsetting situation; it doubled also, to distract him from the glamour he currently wore.

Harry had the smallest grin on his face that faded almost as soon as he stepped out of the cart, but he tried to focus on how wonderful the ride had been rather than who it was who had used the vault sitting before him. The door was smaller than the ones for his own vaults, and he stared at it as Grimrok wobbled up with the key. It opened with a creak that was loud and obnoxious enough for him to have to force himself not to cover his ears, and it was dark inside. Grimrok waved a clawed and stubby hand even as he stepped forwards, and the cavern within lit up.

There were the usual piles of gold around him that adorned many vaults in the bank, with the occasional item set on top or thrown to the ground. It was messy and disorganized, and Harry looked carefully at everything that wasn't a coin. There was a painting covered in a sheet and tossed haphazardly on its' side, some silverware and fine china that had been handled rather carelessly, a wardrobe of some sort that was empty within.

Some books caught his eyes, and he read the covers. He had seen the same tomes in the library at Grimmauld; simple books on the dark arts that hardly mattered; considered 'basic' material as they were. There were other things, randomly thrown about. Some looked old, some looked sentimental. There was a handful with a touch of dark magic to them, none of which were all that powerful. Harry didn't think there looked to be anything of much consequence until something black caught his eye.

He went to look; curiosity moving his feet for him. Atop a pile of galleons and a smattering of sickles and knuts was what looked to be a sword. It was half out of the sheath and had a fine layer of dust over all of it. He reached a hand out, and felt with his magic before he touched it. His magic obeyed him in this, thankfully, and while he felt magic, it wasn't particularly malicious in nature, so he grasped the handle in one hand, and the sheath in the other, and pulled the blade the rest of the way out.

He had never really seen a blade like this one (though, to be fair, the only blade not for cooking or potions that he had ever seen in person was Gryffindor's sword). The handle was rounded, and topped on the end with a ball of metal. The guard was vaguely diamond shaped, and the blade itself was just longer than his arm. The top end curved a little like those swords they had in old asian movies Dudley liked to watch, but that was the only similarity. The part near the guard was angular, and then the blade thinned, before widening again and then tapering to the point. It was well crafted, and painted black, or made of something black, that didn't shine. There was also a small, thin groove all along both sides that Harry knew from his experience with butcher knives in the kitchen was called a blood groove. He had heard it said that the purpose of such a thing was to make it easier to pull out a blade when you stabbed something, but he doubted that, as the theory of it serving to lighten and strengthen a blade seemed more likely to him. There could, he supposed, be some magical use also, that he didn't know about.

"What is this?"

"It looks to be a scimitar, Lord Black." He jumped a little, having nearly forgotten about Grimrock, and turned to look at the goblin.

"A scimitar?" He nodded.

"It's a type of sabre; a Middle Eastern muggle blade. This looks like a bit of a bastardized modern version, since they are usually thinner and don't possess a groove, and I've never seen one with a black blade, but it's of a similar make." Harry nodded, and held the sword out in front of him. There were no lightening charms on the thing, and the weight of it felt good in his hand. It was different than holding his wand, but the warmth there reminded him of it. His strength kept his arm steady, and the blade didn't shake or wobble. He brought it closer, eyeing it again, wiping off a bit of the dust, and then looked at the sheath.

It was simple and not so well made, whereas the sword looked to be of a fine quality. Some sort of canvas cloth wrapped about in hard and worn leather with a couple extra straps near the top; one of them with the same simplified version of the Black Crest stamped or embossed on it that was engraved in his signet ring. It flexed a bit in his hand when he squeezed it, and he slid the blade inside carefully. He held it in his palms, and nodded to himself. He continued to look around him then, carrying the sword with him, and tensed when, near the very back of the vault, familiar black magic tugged at the edge of his senses.

It emanated from a cup, a handcrafted illustration of a badger curled in a ball on the front of it that was surrounded by a decorative golden line. It was simple white aside from that, with a handle like a teacup though it was larger than a normal one. Harry glared at it. It figured, considering that Voldemort had left one horcrux with Lucius Malfoy (if Dumbledore was to be believed about the diary), that he would leave one with Bellatrix also. It was dumb luck that he had found this one, something that seemed to have marked his discovery of most of the others, and he had a nasty feeling that the last of them would not be nearly so easy.

"Grimrok."

"Yes, Lord Black?"

"Could you get me something to put that in? Something to grab it with also. It would be best not to touch it." The goblin eyed the cup he pointed at, straightened up with a scowl, perfectly able to feel the magic that came from it (now that he was looking for it), and nodded.

"Will that be all?" Harry hummed.

"I want everything else taken from here. Have it all distributed between my other vaults. Leave however much was put in here when it was still a dowry and let Mr. Lestrange have that, but take the rest." The goblin grinned in a way that was nearly evil, and nodded.

"Of course, Lord Black. I think that should fall perfectly under our legal duties."

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Diagon Alley was practically deserted when he finally left the bank, the sword under an arm and wrapped in a thick roll of cloth to disguise what it was, and the horcrux in a thick leather bag that only just kept Harry from feeling the evil of it, though the thought of carrying it around in this manner made him slightly nauseous. The sooner he could get back to Bogdon and lock it up with the others, the better.

Many of the Alley's shops had been boarded up, now out of business. The more used ones seemed to still be running, though many of the windows had dark curtains on them, and the doors were locked, with signs saying that customers needed to knock first before they would be allowed entry. Harry passed by Knockturn Alley as he headed down the street, and someone slipped out and down the way, wrapped in a thick cloak and and moving quickly. He glanced down the darker alleyway and noticed that many of the stores there looked the same as ever, though there appeared to be more people than there was in Diagon.

Apparently, having an evil maniac slowly taking over the magical United Kingdom was good for business. He continued down, and had to stop when he reached the twins' colorful shop and hold back a laugh. It looked the same, except that the door was wide open, and there was a large sign overhead that said 'come right in' with smiley faces drawn on it. Harry walked in, and looked around with a grin.

The shop was just the same as the first time he had come, and he felt happy to see that there were actually customers inside, albeit only a couple, and that they had smiles on their faces. He recognized Lee at the counter and smiled.

"Hello there, ma'am, need help with something?" Harry held back a grimace, only now remembering the glamour, and forced a polite smile.

"Yes, I'm here to see Fred and George. Are they in? They should be expecting me." Lee eyed him suspiciously.

"Um... They should be in the back, just, let me, uh-" He slipped into the backroom hesitantly, and Harry wondered if he had ever made the mistake of trying to go downstairs. He waited patiently, and Lee came back after a minute, the twins right behind him. They both paused outside the doorway, looking him up and down, confusion on their faces. He raised a hand, and shook it, showing off the glamour band, and then wide leering smiles appeared on their faces. Lee backed away with an almost scared look on his face, and Harry stifled a groan.

"Harriet!"

"Our dear, girl."

"Welcome." They came at him with open arms and he tried to keep the smile up for Lee's sake even though it probably looked more like a grimace at the moment.

"Right this way my Dear."

"Just back here my Lady." They dragged him into the backroom and as soon as the door closed he dropped the smile and glared at the both of them with dark eyes.

"I swear to Merlin, one of these days I'm gonna get you for this." They just laughed and he only scowled more. He let them drag him upstairs, knowing from past experiences that once they latched onto him there was no point trying to walk on his own.

He found himself pushed into the same armchair that he had used the last time he was there and the time before that, and so on. He glared at the redheads as they settled into their couch across from him. He tore the band off with a muted snarl and sighed in relief as the glamour lifted away like a cobweb under a vanishing charm.

"How've you been then?"

"How's everybody you spirited away?" He sighed and settled the bag into his lap with the sword laying across it, noting to himself how much more comfortable it was to sit when he was aware of his 'boys'.

"I've been alright. There's a lot to do. Right now I'm stuck mostly researching. Everyone else is doing okay. Mostly. It was hard for them, getting uprooted, but most of them have settled in by now."

"Researching? You mean the, ah," Fred paused.

"Yea. I found another one, too. There should only be one left now." George grinned.

"That's good right?" Harry shrugged.

"It is if I can find a way to destroy them. Right now, most of the spells I've tried bounce right off." There was also the problem of his magic misbehaving, but they didn't need to worry about that. The thought of telling anyone left him feeling oddly... Shamed. As though he had been caught with his pants down in a broom closet. "There's only a few books I've found that so much as mention the things, and nearly all of them just say that they're nearly indestructible but don't actually give any examples of how to destroy them. Being almost indestructible means there's a way to do it, but..." Fred nodded.

"You haven't found anything yet?" Harry shook his head.

"Well... Dumbledore always thought the diary was one, and I destroyed that one with the basilisk fang. So basilisk venom could probably do the job, but it's almost impossible to get hold of. I think the corpse of the thing is still in the chamber, but only me and snake-face can get in there, and I don't know if the venom would still be any good after all these years. Even if it was, I'd still have to get into Hogwarts to get into the chamber, and I can't really do that right now..."

"You want us to keep a lookout for some?" George asked.

"We have to do some... Not so Ministry-approved dealings to get some of the supplies for our wares. We could ask around about basilisk venom." Fred continued, both twins looking at Harry earnestly.

"If you could." Harry nodded. "Try not to take too many risks with it, don't ask outright, but if you can get ahold of some," He let the sentence hang.

"Of course." Fred grinned.

"Whatever you need, little brother." Harry nodded, and then fidgeted with his fingers, his tail flicking nervously back and Forth near the tip, the fin brushing the arm of the chair with every backwards flick.

"Have you... Have you talked to Mum and D-Dad?" They both nodded, and George scooted to the edge of his seat to clasp a hand on his shoulder.

"They know you're okay. They're both worried, but they understand." Harry nodded, not looking up.

"Have you heard from Ginny?"

"Not yet. But the coins or Mum's clock would have said if something happened to her." Harry knew that already of course, but there was a difference between knowing nothing bad had happened to someone, and knowing they were okay.

"What about Ron and Hermione?" They may not be friends, not exactly, not anymore, but they had been for so long that he felt compelled to ask about them.

"No." Fred scowled. "They just... They disappeared around when you and the others did, and no one's heard from them since then. The Order went looking for them, but they're gone. Hermione's parents are gone too, no one can find them. Ron's owl showed up just after they left, and Crookshanks too, but there was no letters or anything." George nodded.

"Mum's been beside herself. But Dad thinks that since they sent the owl and that cat that they're probably okay, or at least alive. Likely that they're hiding and trying to figure out what to do about everything. I know they asked to join the Order just before the end of the year, but McGonagall told them they were too young." Harry nodded.

"How is the Order then? And everyone else?"

"In chaos." Fred said, matter-of-factly. "With Dumbledore gone, no one really knows what to do, and there was a while there where they were all worried that Grimmauld wasn't safe anymore. But no death eaters have come knocking, so they decided to stay for now." George hummed.

"McGonagall has taken over, most of the time, but it's hard to know what to do. No one knows about how the headmaster was dying, 'cept you and us cuz you told us, and everyone thinks Snape's gone to the other side since he killed him. Cuz of that, they've got no one to spy and tell them what old Voldy is up to." Harry nodded. He had heard about that.

"So it's true then? He's the one who did it?" Fred nodded.

"That's what everyone's saying." Harry knew Severus well enough to know it was more than that. Dumbledore was going to die anyways, and killing him would have cemented his place at Voldemort's side, allowing him to subtly dismantle the monsters plans from the inside. It was a nasty bit of business, and no one on the 'light' side would ever believe it, but it was what Harry believed. He had grown too close to Severus to ever willingly accept that the potion master could possibly be a criminal in any sense of the word. Maybe he was wrong and it was only wishful thinking, but he would hold tight to that belief like a lifeline until someone yanked it from his grasp. The twins knew what he thought, they knew the things he had told and trusted Severus with, things that had not yet been betrayed, and whether they believed the same themselves or not, he knew they would never bad-mouth the man in his presence. They were wonderful that way.

"I see... Could you two do me a favor?" Fred nodded with a small smile and George rolled his eyes.

"Of course."

"Do you even need to ask?" Harry dug into his cloak, and pulled an envelope from his pocket. He had written it earlier, but he'd had to add to it while he was at the bank, after he had found the sword in the vault. He handed the envelope over to Fred, knowing he was the least likely of the pair to lose it.

"Could you get this to Moody at the next meeting? I'll be back in a week, and if he's replied by then you can let me know." Fred nodded, and took it carefully. His brother tried to grab it and he snatched it away and hid it in his shirt with a reprimanding glance. George pouted.

"Sure. He should be there tomorrow." Harry smiled and muttered his thanks.

They tried to push aside more serious matters for the rest of Harry's visit, and the time passed them by with smiles and laughter. Both things which Harry found he had sorely needed.

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Harry sat in front of a table that night, glaring at the horcruxes placed out on it. He had set them there, all in a row, all but the ring, which was in a box in his room, and the diary; the fate of which he knew not. He eyed them all, looking for some connection, other than the one which he had already found. The cup, was Hufflepuff's, the tiara, actually a diadem, as he had learned, had belonged to Ravenclaw, and the twisting 'S' and color scheme of the locket proved its' origins as belonging to Slytherin. The diary had been Tom's, back before he had become Voldemort, and the ring, according to Dumbledore, had belonged to the Gaunt family, and thus, had also been Tom's.

Other than the diary and the ring, the others were of the founders, and were, from Harry's perspective, like trophies. What better way to mark his power than for Voldemort to turn items having belonged to such people, known as well as the founders, into items of the blackest magic. If he had kept with the pattern, that would mean the last item had been owned by Godric Gryffindor (he was taking a risk here in assuming that the Dark Lord had both reached his chosen number of horcruxes, and not gone beyond it). Harry could imagine it. Everything that Gryffindor had stood for had been qualities which Voldemort hated, and Harry could see the Dark Lord filled with malicious glee when turning some artifact of the red and gold founder's into something that would have the long-dead wizard rolling over in his grave.

But the only well-known thing which had belonged to Gryffindor, had been his sword, and, having handled that himself in second year, Harry was certain it was untainted. But he didn't know about anything else that had belonged to Gryffindor. He groaned, and pulled out the tongs he used to handle them, to begin re-locking the horcruxes back where they had been. This would require even more research. Maybe there was some book from the Keeper's library which would tell him what it could be.

Of course, even if he figured out what the last horcrux was, he would still have to find out where it was at. He cussed violently under his breath.

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"Master." Harry groaned. He had been awake for a few minutes already, but that didn't change the fact that it was early in the morning and there was false sunlight filtering through his enchanted window to make him feel warm and lethargic. He was hardly ready to get out of bed yet. He moved his arm from where it had been covering his eyes, and glared at Kreacher, who was entirely unimpressed with any implied threat in the young man's gaze.

"What?" He snapped, having never been known as a morning person.

"Lord Malfoy requests to speak with you." He sighed. It had become a regular occurrence of sorts, since they had come to live in the castle, for whatever reason. His meetings with the man always left him a combination of confused, annoyed, and immensely amused; with emphasis on one of the three based on whatever happened in that particular meeting. Often he asked about the goings-on outside the castle, since Harry's visits with the twins, and access to the coins and the Marauder's map, made him the only person to ever receive any word from the outside. The castle had owls, but they also had owl wards. No owls could get in, and the ones that went out had their packages and letters carefully screened by the house elves. People weren't very inclined to send messages when they knew they wouldn't get replies, or that their owls might never return, or that their letters would be inspected and read by some third party... All the same, that he would seek information was normal enough, but the odd etiquette lessons the blonde ponce seemed possessed to instill upon him were not so normal. Lord Malfoy had, somehow, learned that he was the acting Lord Black, and had seemingly made it his life's goal to turn Harry into a proper little pureblood Lord.

Harry loved making it very clear he had no intention of following along with any of it, and his favorite pastime (in this otherwise very boring castle) had quickly become listening to the man lecture him on perfect posture, and then promptly leaning back in whatever seat he was in and putting his boots up on the table (sometimes he even conjured mud to stomp in before he met with him so it would all flake off onto the table), which never failed to make the blonde wince as though in pain and glare at his feet as if they were a personal assault on his person.

All in all it was really very hilarious.

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Lucius was in the Library today, and it was early enough that no one else was there at the moment. He sat in the one armchair in the place that had a high back and was drinking some wine (Harry had wine in the castle?), one leg crossed over the other with his cane laying straight across them, and everything about him screaming aristocrat and pureblood and hey-look-at-me-with-my-giant-stick-shoved-into-som e-unmentionable-place. Harry settled himself into a smaller chair near him, and propped his feet up on the small table between them, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. Lord Malfoy kept his expression reasonably calm, though one of his eyebrows gave away his ire by twitching randomly. Harry grinned, and the blonde snorted.

Even without being able to see it, be could almost imagine the snowcat that represented Lord Malfoy was pacing back and forth before him, as such an animal might do when locked in a cage, and Harry wondered if the man felt that way. Did he feel trapped? Stuck here in Harry's castle? A twinge of pity and guilt panged at him, and he set his feet on the ground and put his hands in his lap. It wasn't proper posture, but it seemed to be enough to ease Malfoy's irritation.

"You left the castle yesterday." Harry nodded. "Where," He paused, changing his question. "Have you heard anything new?"

"Not particularly. I got confirmation that Severus was the one to kill Dumbledore, but beyond that there hasn't been anything new."

"No word from the school?" Did he really care about the students, or did he feel it was expected of him to ask?

"I can only get short messages from there, though the message changes the moment it's been given. Right now the message is just 'All's well', same as it's been since last week." The man nodded and sipped at his wine, eyes distant a moment in thought. Harry waited.

"There is no word? Nothing at all?" His eyes were still distant, and Harry wondered if he was really even speaking to Harry anymore. His voice had the slightest touch of desperation in it, and Harry felt even more guilty. He had left Malfoy very much out of the loop on things, simply for a lack of trust, but now he felt a bit badly for doing so.

It occurred to him then, in one of his occasional surges of epiphany, that, high society pureblood or not, Lucius Malfoy had never been known for sitting back and letting others do the work. Every time Harry had ever seen something about him in the Prophet, it had been in regards to something the man had done. Lord Malfoy as made a generous donation at such and cush place and has gone to see the construction of a new wing himself. Lord Malfoy has used his considerable skill in something to do suchandsuch. In a brilliant political move, Lord Malfoy has, etc. Etc. He had been there himself that night at the Ministry. This was not a man who was accustomed to sitting back and letting others handle the work, without playing a part himself or being there to at least oversee things; aware of each and every step.

"Are you any good at research?" He asked, and Malfoy looked up. His carefully crafted mask broke only through the spark of interest in his eyes.

"Yes." He said carefully. "It was one of those things which were required to receive any sort of good grade during my time at Hogwarts." Harry leaned forward.

"Would you like to help with something? Something to defeat Voldemort?"

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Leaving the task of researching the Horcruxes to Lucius freed Harry up to look into Chaos Magic. He gave Lucius access to the Keeper's Library, and the horcruxes themselves, with an oath that ensured the pureblood would not betray him or speak of anything he read with others without being killed for his trouble.

In hindsight, Harry should have begun to research Chaos Magic since the moment he found out what he was, and learned that it was connected to the MIshipeshu. At the time he had been more concerned with hiding things, and then with his schoolwork, but he should still have sound room for this subject of study. Still, it was too late now, and Harry would simply have to do what he could to make up for the lost time.

He gathered a few books on rare types of magic from the lot, and started. Maybe he would learn something interesting along the way...

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Most of the books had only a few spare mentions of chaos magic, and only one or two proved at all helpful. In the end, it was a book from the normal library, rather than among the keeper's books, that proved to be invaluable.

It was, compared to most of the other tomes in the place, rather new. It had been written extremely recently (recently being when he was a toddler or so), by a man from Dubai. If Harry could hazard a guess, he would say that it had probably been his grandfather (on his father's side of course) who had brought the book here, assuming he had still been alive when the Potters were killed. The book felt unfinished to him, looking as though the man who wrote it had intended to write more, but had changed his mind.

According to the book, chaos magic was more a form of wild magic than anything else, and it functioned and worked in different ways than normal types of magic were prone to do. It was constantly changing, and often violent, and strongly connected to emotions and pure intent in ways that other types weren't. The book was on a different subject, the parts on chaos magic being only side notes, but the author wrote as though he knew a great deal more.

The most important bit of information, was a small sentence, seemingly more of an afterthought than anything else that said that, because of its' wild nature, chaos magic was nearly impossible to access or control with a wand, and the dates at the back about the author. According to the book, the man who wrote it had been fairly young at the time he had done so, and, given how long magical humans lived, he should still be alive, assuming he hadn't befallen some unpleasant fate.

Harry needed, quite desperately, to fix his problems with his magic. He would give anything for it, because if he wouldn't even control his magic, he was unlikely to be able to kill Voldemort. An idea formed in his mind that wouldn't leave him alone, and, bereft of other options, he decided he would act on it.

This author seemed to know his stuff when it came to chaos magic, and so would be likely to know how to help him.

All Harry needed to do, was find him.

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And here we go. Part Three has begun, and will bring us into a new area as the first real vestiges of plot begin to descend. I'll see you all next week for chapter 2.

Sincerely,

Mr. Hate