A/N: Back to business at last ! One month instead of a week, this chapter took longer than expected. I apologize for that. However, some conditions need to be fulfilled so that I can write, and they weren't. Especially the "quiet environment" clause. Family life and all that sort of things.

I must admit I wasn't really inspired to write this chapter – hence why it's shorter than usual. It was necessary, though. New players are introduced, and they will prove important later on.

DISCLAIMER! the Potterverse isn't mine. Every right goes to My Lady Rowling, Mother Goddess of this wonderful franchise.

SSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTOOOOOOORRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY

The very evening of the débâcle at Flourish and Blott's, Rufus Scrimgeour was convoked by the Minister. If the convocation itself wasn't exactly surprising, considering what had happened, and who had been involved, more unsettling was the absence of Amelia Bones, who was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – in other words, Rufus' hierarchical superior. Of course, Bartemius Crouch had been leading the DMLE for years before he sat on this most prestigious chair, and it was no secret he favoured his former department over any other, but still. Bypassing Amelia's authority didn't sit well with the Head Auror.

"So, Evan Rosier managed to abduct Mr. Potter in broad daylight, only to release him a few minutes later, unharmed ?"

Crouch sounded sceptical, but Rufus merely nodded. He had already explained the situation, and had nothing to add.

"And even though Mr. Potter assaulted an Auror as soon as he was found, you didn't think it necessary to bring him in to undergo an in depth interrogation ?"

"No, sir" admitted Rufus. "Mr. Weasley was displaying an aggressive behaviour, and Mr. Potter's emotional state was no doubt unstable. A burst of accidental magic seemed the most likely explanation."

"At eleven ?"

"Even at this age, it can happen. Casting a silent, overpowered Expelliarmus cannot, however, be achieved at such a young age."

"Don't you think the boy you met might have been an usurper ?" asked Crouch. "The real Boy-Who-Lived could have been kept by the death eater, and a false one released."

"It seems... highly unlikely, Minister" answered the Head Auror, fighting back an incredulous snort. "Morphomagic and Polyjuice are both limited to people of about the same size as the target. A metamorphomagus of Mr. Potter's size can't be old enough to use his power so efficiently, and brewing the Polyjuice takes months. Months ago, the Boy-who-lived was out in the Muggle world, according to professor McGonagall, and no one knew when – if – he would return, therefore..."

"This Potter is the real one, I understand. But maybe he was under the Imperius curse ?"

"Again, I severely doubt it. Mr. Potter didn't show any of the classical symptoms. For example, he was too witty and too quick to react to be imperiused. I've asked the deputy headmistress to keep an eye on him and see if he was displaying any kind of unusual behaviour, just to be sure, but I'm quite confident in my judgement in this case."

"Well, that's reassuring" said Crouch, but he seemed anything but pleased. He was frowning, almost as if disappointed nothing went wrong.

"If I may ask, Minister, why do you focus on the boy ? I find the ease with which Rosier moves, acts and flees much more worrying. It suggests intelligence from within the DMLE, which would also explain how a lone man was able escape justice for ten years."

For a short while, the Minister of Magic remained silent and unmoving. Nevertheless, Rufus knew he was thinking furiously. Crouch was paranoid. It was a secret for no one.

"Tell me, Rufus. Do you want Amelia's job ?"

"I beg your pardon, sir ?" choked the Head Auror.

" I said, do you want to become the head of the DMLE ? What you're suggesting is, Amelia doesn't do her job, and let dark wizards within her department. If that's true, she must be replaced by someone less lenient. As the Head Auror, your name comes to mind."

"I never suggested such a thing" protested Rufus. "Mrs. Bones has done a wonderful job in the last ten years. Sacking her would be the worst mistake possible !"

"Good" approved Crouch, an almost-smile on his lips. "The DMLE can't afford internal plays for power. If you think there's a traitor within your department, discuss it with Amelia."

"Then why did you call me here, and not my head of department ?"

"Because this affair concern a person who is of interest for the Ministry as a whole, but not for the DMLE. Not yet, at least."

"The Potter boy ?"

Crouch nodded.

"He will be a major player in the years to come. I loathe to let him under Hogwarts' supervision. It already failed once."

"You don't trust Dumbledore ?"

Rufus found it ridiculous. The headmaster had led the fight against two of the worst dark wizards in all history. His morality was beyond suspicion, and his might without rivals. There was a reason Hogwarts was considered the safest place in Britain !

"I trust him... to a certain extent. His goals are unclear, and the Ministry can't force him to do anything. He's almost a separated power, a state within the state. Now, he's trying to put the Boy-who-lived out of our control. Even if Dumbledore is a hero, we can't trust him with everything."

Crouch's eyes darted toward a photograph, and his expression darkened.

"No" he murmured. "We can't."

"So, Albus. Why did you call me here ?"

The headmaster looked at his guest. Seemingly as old as his host, the man harboured a white beard much like Dumbledore's, and had youthful, sparkling blue eyes, with which he used to charm men and women alike. The beard, however, was a recent development. Albus wasn't sure whether it was intended as a mark of respect, or as a mockery. It could be both, and perhaps both at the same time. His guest liked to cultivate ambiguity.

"Do I need a reason ?" Albus replied. "Perhaps it was merely to enjoy your company."

But the man answered with a light laughter.

"No, I think not" he smiled. Then he summoned a sofa and a glass of brandy, and sat in front of the headmaster's desk.

"Let's be honest, Albus. Usually, you want me as far from you sight as possible. For you to actually call me to Hogwarts... You need my help, don't you ?"

Albus nodded in reluctant agreement. He loathed to be read so easily, even when he wasn't trying to keep a secret, but his guest was right.

"I do. In fact, I'd like to offer you a post at Hogwarts."

"Really ?" smirked his guest. "And which one would it be ?"

"Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Once again, the white-bearded man laughed, this time with noticeably more mirth than before.

"Has the so-called curse finally scared the last candidate away ? The situation must be desperate indeed, else you'd never let me near your precious students."

"You're right" admitted Albus. "After decades of unfortunate incidents, the number of applications has melted like snow in the sun. If you refuse the post, I will be forced to hire a sub-par teacher – a terrible mistake, in the long run."

"Would it be so bad ? Britain is at peace. Why would the children need to, ah, defend themselves against the Dark Arts ?"

"As you know very well, the Dark Arts are never vanquished. Always after a defeat, they take another form and grow strong again. It would be foolish and even criminal to think an absence of obvious threat means we can drop our guard. And with you as their teacher, I can't imagine our students would be taught complacency."

"Oh, they wouldn't" chuckled the old man. But he didn't add anything, and began to sip his brandy, a serene look on his face. Albus watched him do, trying to fathom the thoughts of his guest – but he was unreadable, as usual.

"May I assume you've accepted my offer ?" he asked, breaching the silence.

"First, I'd like to know your true motives. I'm no fool, Albus. If you were so intent in ensuring your students receive the best education possible, you'd have sacked more than one of your teachers. I'm not so blind not to notice the timing of your request either."

"What do you mean ?"

"I mean you're not the only one worried about Nicholas' property. Twice the goblins have repelled the thief, without catching him. Thrice is the charm, isn't it ? But will the thief be caught, or the Stone be stolen, that is the question."

The old man shot Albus an amused glance, and continued.

"Let's not the forget the boy. He's back, and he's not what you expected him to be – whatever it was. Not two weeks after you find him, the shadows of the past strike. You're like me, Albus. You hate such coincidences. The child disappeared when the last war ended, and you can't help thinking his reappearance means another one will begin."

Behind his glasses, the headmaster tried his best to hide his shock. Years had passed, and his guest was as sharp as ever. It was unnerving to see his train of thought in the mouth of someone else. Were they still so alike ?

"I see you're well informed."

"That I am. Well, Albus ? How can I help you ?"

"Soon, the Stone will be brought to Hogwarts" explained the headmaster. "Nicolas has agreed its current location was no longer safe. But moving it secretly would put our mutual friend in danger, as the enemy would no doubt try to question him about his property's whereabouts. That's why I intent to have Hagrid ostensibly remove it from Gringotts."

"Surely you don't thing your reputation, or even this castle's will be enough to keep the late Lord Voldemort's minions from trying to steal the Stone ? They will attempt to infiltrate your dominion by all... Oh, I see" grinned the old man. "You mean to set a trap, don't you ? To lure dark wizards in a school full of innocent children – a dangerous gambit. It's comforting to see you still have that in you."

"That's exactly my plan – though I'm not going through it with a light heart. I've already tasked my most trusted allies to prepare adequate defences against whoever would try and steal the Stone. Thus, it will be safe long enough for us to discover who the would-be thief is. When we're sure of his identity, we'll be able to capture him and discover the names of his accomplices."

"A scheme I very much approve, but what role do you have in mind for me ?"

"One with many facets. Your... unique expertise will be invaluable to defend the Stone, and I hope your sharp eyes will be put to good use too. As I don't wish Defence to be taught by a follower of Voldemort, you will play that role too – you're not much better, far from it, but at least I know you, and I have leverage on you. Finally, you will be a factor of uncertainty for the other side, for in doubt most mistakes are made. I think nobody but I know your true identity, Mr... Forester, is it ?"

"Yes, it's the name I go by these days" he nodded. In all honesty, Mr. "Forester" was pleased by these latest developments. The last few years had been so boring he would have welcome a war with open arms, if only to feel alive once more. It was fortunate the latest Dark Lord wasn't actually dead.

"Is that all ?" Forester asked. "I thought you'd have one more request for me."

"Which one ?" frowned Albus.

"Well, I don't know ? Maybe I could act as a mentor figure for your little weapon project. After all, who knows more about Dark Lords than I do ?"

Forester laughed again. Even after eighty years had passed, forcing a grimace on his old friend's face still amused him. Life was taking a turn for the better, it seemed.

Once again, Harry was bored. It was hardly surprising: in fact, he had spent the better part of the week travelling through the boredom realm. He blamed McGonagall for his suffering, and for the broomstick he was holding in his hand.

As soon as they'd come back from Diagon Alley, the deputy headmistress had begun to schedule his detentions, never mind the fact the term hadn't started yet. Harry supposed he had reaped what he had sown, ignoring her instructions like he had done. But now, he had to sweep the floor of the Great Hall every day, so it would be clean for the first day of the term. It was a long, repetitive and extremely useless task.

"I'm sorry, mister" said Twitty, anguished. "Mister is doing Twitty's work, and Twitty can't help him, Twitty is forced to watch her young master and can do nothing !"

"It's not your fault, Twitty" replied Harry in a tired voice.

It wasn't the first time Twitty had complained about it, nor the second, nor the tenth. McGonagall hadn't wanted to take any chance, and thus she had assigned an elf to keep an eye on him, to ensure he performed his punishment. For some reason, Twitty had volunteered, and he had seen a lot of her during the last days. Heard a lot of her, too. Apparently, standing idle while someone was working was anathema to a house-elf.

"So, what do you think ?" he asked after a few sweeps. "Is it clean enough for Her Majesty ?"

Twitty eyed the floor carefully. Harry found extremely funny the serious glimmer in her eyes every time he asked for her opinion. She suddenly looked like an elvish version of an old stern British housekeeper, with her big tea-cup eye narrowed and her focused expression.

"It's acceptable, mister. Twitty could do a better work with her magic, but her young master has done a good job without his wand."

Harry grimaced. It was a sore point. Not only was he forced to perform various chores, he was also forbidden from using his magic in the castle. Just because he had attacked that Auror. How unfair could be the deputy headmistress ? Harry craved for experimenting with his wand. He wanted to feel the flow of his power, to hear his magic sing, to exult with his partner in his hand. But Twitty wouldn't let him 'forget' the interdict, of course. Harry had tried, with no success.

"Then, I can take a break" he decided.

And he rushed out of the Great Hall, the house-elf on his heels. After a deep thinking, he had planned a activity to circumvent McGonagall's forbidding, and hopefully it would take him enough time, spent in a wise enough manner, so she would be unable from assigning him another stupid task. Harry knew the transfiguration teacher well enough to know she wouldn't keep him from a studious activity.

That's why he headed for the dungeons, and did what no first year ever dared: he knocked on Snape's door and entered his office. Surprisingly enough, the potions master wasn't brewing anything. Instead, he was writing with a quill on a piece of parchment, slowly and deliberately. Harry imagined his handwriting had to be both clear and sophisticated.

"You again ?" said Snape when he saw Harry enter his lair. "I hope you're not going to disturb my work with your inane questions, like you did the last three times."

"Actually, sir, I was going to ask for your help."

That gave Snape a pause, and he arched an eyebrow at Harry. A Potter came to ask his help ? A Potter had called him sir ? It seemed as weird as dancing a waltz with a Dementor.

"And for what purpose do you need to enlist my support, Mr. Potter ?" he inquired curiously.

"Well, sir, you see, I realized recently that I've never brewed anything in my life" Harry explained. "I fear the other students will have more experience than I in that particular area, so I'd like to practice before the term begins."

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Potter" snorted Snape derisively. "Most first year students have never come near a boiling cauldron in their whole life. You won't look worst than the rest of the unprepared dunderheads plaguing me every single year since I've begun teaching."

"And what if I don't want to be an unprepared dunderhead, sir ?"

Harry thought he understood Snape's character well enough. The potions master was a bitter man, averse to crowds and jealous of his solitude, possibly because of bad experiences in his past. He also seemed to be prone to suspicion, quick to hold in contempt and persistent in his grudges. Surely such a man would make a terrible teacher, despite his mastership of the potion-brewing art, unless he had some redeeming qualities.

So, Harry had gambled on Snape's unknown pedagogical dispositions. As a teacher, he wouldn't deny a student willing to improve himself in his own field of expertise, would he ?

"Then I would have to refuse nonetheless," drawled the potions master with mock regret, "since you didn't bring your own cauldron, and I fear I'm unwilling to risk mine in your clumsy hands."

"How short-sighted of me" smiled Harry. "Fortunately, sir, alleviating your fear is easily done." Then he said: "Twitty, can you please bring me my cauldron and its content ? I've left it next to my bed."

"Of course, mister !" exclaimed the house-elf, who had been 'hiding' behind him. "Twitty will do that right away !"

And she disappeared with a loud 'crack'. Harry looked at Snape expectantly, but the potions master was scowling once again.

"Always quick to use every advantage at your disposal, aren't you ?" he sneered.

"From the head of Slytherin, sir, I'll take that as a compliment" retorted Harry. "Aren't your students supposed to be clever and resourceful ?"

'If only' thought Snape. Too often his snakes lacked any Slytherin qualities – Marcus Flint was a striking example. Instead, they entered his house due to being purebloods and despising every other house. In some case, however, they also lacked any qualities from the other houses. Truly, Hogwarts was full of desperate cases.

"Indeed they are" he answered dryly. "I suppose I could allow you to use my ingredients, if I wasn't so certain they would be wasted fruitlessly."

"If I may, sir, they wouldn't be if you were here to supervise my endeavours."

"Are you suggesting I should give you private lessons, Potter ?"

"To say the truth, sir, that's exactly what I had in mind" confessed Harry.

"How bold of you" sneered Snape. "But why would I do such a thing ? I have nothing to gain from abiding your whims."

"Uh... Not even the pleasure of teaching ?" tried Harry, but the potions master's face was eloquent enough. "No, I thought not" he sighed depressively. "Then I don't know, sir. I don't think I can offer you anything."

It looked like Harry had lost his gamble and had been rebutted. Yet Snape didn't dismiss the boy immediately. Instead, he eyed him carefully, or perhaps thoughtfully, without saying anything. Harry was a little unsettled, but waited for the verdict nonetheless. At worst, it would be a missed opportunity, he reasoned. There was nothing to fear.

A few instant earlier, Twitty had appeared in Harry's room. The boy's pewter cauldron wasn't really hard to find, and so she seized it quickly enough, but not before taking a quick glance inside. Within the cauldron were a silver knife, two gloves and a pair of glasses. The house-elf took the glasses, and then she lifted it in front of her wide eyes, like a young priest lifting a chalice for the first time. But as she was wondering how the young master would look like with glasses on his nose, the door opened and she jumped in surprise, hiding the glasses behind her back.

"Twitty, aren't you supposed to keep an eye on Mr. Potter ?" frowned McGonagall. "Where is he ?"

"The young mister is in the dungeons with the big-nosed master, mistress" answered Twitty. "He asked Twitty to bring him his potion things !"

"With Severus ?" McGonagall seemed mildly surprised. "Is he planning to practice potions before the start of the term ?"

"Yes, the young mister is a hard-working mister" declared Twitty proudly. "Twitty is sure he'll be a great wizard !"

The deputy glanced at the house-elf curiously, and wondered if the strange attachment to Harry Potter the yellow-ribboned servant was showing meant anything more than another elvish behaviour. Sometimes, the tiny creatures were hard to decipher. But finally, she shrugged it off. Surely it was nothing to worry about. House-elves were innocent, harmless creatures, after all.

"I think he will" she agreed. "Can you say him he's done with his detentions ?" They were unorthodox to begin with, as the term hadn't started, but Minerva had felt it was necessary to remind the young boy he wasn't exempt of responsibilities just because he had a difficult childhood.

"Twitty's doing that right away, mistress" exclaimed the house-elf happily. "No more sweeping for the young master, Twitty will do it instead."

And the house-elf disappeared. The next instant she was standing between Harry and Snape. A strange tension was building, but Twitty, being the elf she was, ignored it.

"Mister, Twitty has -"

"Quiet, elf" snapped the potions master without even looking at her. Instead, he narrowed his dark eyes on the raven-haired boy, debating internally whether he should use this opportunity.

Because in Severus' mind, Harry's request wasn't without merit, despite its shamelessness. On one hand, spending time teaching the brat instead of working on his own projects was a rather depressing prospect. It was, after all, a no-win situation: if the boy was talentless, teaching would be a spectacular waste of time, not to mention an endless source of frustration. If he wasn't, then Severus would have given an unfair advantage over his comrades to the son of James Potter, and would have to deal with an all too probable arrogant behaviour the rest of the year.

On the other hand, though, it would help him solve a recurring problem: the first year curriculum. It had to be modified every year, so the older students wouldn't be able to give too much tips to their juniors. Severus thought the chore of changing the curriculum was annoying, but he also recognized it would be boring for him to work on the same potions with the same classes over and over again. The question was, which potions had to be removed ? Which should be added ? Would the newest recipes prove too difficult for the students ? Using the Potter boy as a guinea pig was an interesting idea...

"Very well, Mr. Potter" he declared. "I shall try to teach you the noble art of potion-making. But be warned: if I'm not satisfied with your efforts, I won't give you another chance."

"Thank you, sir !" exclaimed Harry, pleasantly surprised.

Now he had it, an alternative to floor-cleaning. Snape wasn't such an unpleasant individual, after all ! 'Mr. Potter, here's a broom-' 'Sorry professor McGonagall, I can't let my potion burn'. Wasn't it a good excuse ?

"Install your cauldron on this fire" gestured the potions master. "I'll bring you the ingredients needed for your first potion."

When Severus came back from his shelf, the cauldron was installed, and the boy was wearing gloves... and glasses. He scowled. The brat really looked like his father ! With less mirth and more focus, but still, seeing those green eyes on that visage was a burning reminder of detestable days.

"I thought you needed no glass, Potter" he remarked dryly.

"I don't" acquiesced the boy. "I found them in a potion shop. They are mandatory at Hogwarts, aren't they ?"

"For the sixth years and above, not the first. You can take them off, Mr. Potter, they will be useless today."

"I'd rather keep them, if you don't mind" replied Harry. "I've discovered they do improve my sight, if only a little."

"Do as you please" grunted Snape. "Now, take your book page forty-four..."

The potions master put the snake fangs, the billiwig stings and the sprigs of wolfsbane on the boy's desk, and then he realized there was no book to be opened.

"Where's your copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, Potter ?" he frowned.

"In my chamber ?" risked Harry. "Perhaps ?"

He'd never opened his handbooks since his return from Diagon Alley, therefore he barely remembered what the potion book looked like. In front of him, Snape pinched his nosed. It was going to be a very, very long day.

"Never mind. Just follow my instructions, and everything should be fine. First, add six snake fangs in a mortar..."

Sitting on a log on a hill near Ottery st. Catchpole, Evan Rosier was enjoying a few gulps of firewhisky from his personal flask, while watching the sunset and the shadows it cast on the landscape. Every time he managed to obtain a moment of peace and relaxation counted as a victory in his book, even though they were too rare for his taste – such was the life of a wanted criminal.

August was swiftly coming to an end, and the school term would begin soon enough. Jane was probably excited like never before, and he wasn't home to answer her fears and questions, to see her pack her trunk three days in advance, to hug her while whispering how proud of his daughter he was, although he would rather have kept his little girl home one more year. Evan hadn't been with her at Diagon Alley either, and it didn't sit well with him, because instead, of buying his daughter's school supplies, he had been busy being branded a terrorist. Again.

Intellectually, he knew he was fighting for her, for Jane's future. As long as he was alive and free, no one dared to attack directly the true wizarding life-style, like Tonks had done. As long as he eluded every search, the purebloods' pride persisted. But being separated from his family was still hard on him.

At last he had given his daughter a present for the occasion. Well, two, he hoped. Harry had used the portkey, which meant he had met Jane. With a little luck, they would be good friends, even if the boy had seemed weary and mistrustful.

While taking the flask to his lips again, Evan heard a faint breath behind him. Immediately, he spun and took his wand, but the newcomer was faster: a disarming charm and an anti-apparition jinx hit him in quick succession, leaving him defenceless – or so it seemed.

The man in front of him was wearing a hood. To Evan's great relief, there was no magical eye beneath it, and the hooded stranger stood too straight to be Alastor Moody, aka the bane of Evan's existence. Idly, the former death eater wondered how the old Auror would react if anyone else managed to catch him, especially after ten years of a fruitless hunt. Perhaps the scarred paranoiac wouldn't survive the humiliation.

Meanwhile, the newcomer had come closer to Evan, who still wasn't able to discern his face, but could clearly see he wouldn't get the better of the well-built man in a close fight. Well, that was one less option he had.

"Have you gone mad, Evan ?" hissed the hooded man. "Did you think you could touch my godson and come out unscathed ? I've refrained from tracking you down all these years out of respect for Sophia's hardships, but maybe it's time to bring you in. What do you think ? Maybe your head would be enough for Crouch to let me defend my actions."

"I don't think so, Sirius" snorted Evan. "Knowing the crooked bastard, he would send you to Azkaban without a trial the very second I'm in his hands . Moreover, you're still more hated than I, and a notorious traitor, so they wouldn't trust anything you say."

"Even so" persisted Black. "I've sworn I would defend Harry on James' dead body. I've sought him for years because of Dumbledore's idiocy, fighting with Aurors and deaters on his trail. Give me one reason for me not to kill you on the spot, lest you die here and now."

"Let me think... Oh, I've found a very good one. How about I never meant Harry any harm and I'm willing to help you protect him from now ? Do I get to live on ?"

"Are you trying to crack jokes now, Evan ?" growled Black.

"No, but if you want, I know a story about a hag, a centaur and a pretty witch..."

"Don't Dumbledore me !" snapped Sirius. "I know for a fact the scum you call your comrades has tried its best to kill my godson countless times, why would you be any different ?"

"You know, Sirius," said Evan pensively, "I think you'd get along famously with Harry. I'm pretty sure he asked me the very same thing."

But a yellow ray hit him, and he let out a little cry.

"Hey ! That hurts, you know ?"

"You take it far too lightly" snarled Black. "You don't think I'm serious, do you ?"

"Oh, that was a good one... I'll answer, I'll answer, hold your hippogriffs !"

Evan took a quick breath before beginning his self-justification. While Sirius Black was a wizard of exceptional upbringing, a skilled duellist and an outstanding tracker, his patience wasn't his forte. His sense of humour had been, but it was before he had been branded a traitor by all his friends and comrades.

"I didn't lie when I told you I was on Harry's side" he explained in a passionate voice. "I never tried to hurt him, he's my wife's kin for Merlin's sake ! You know me, Sirius. You know how much I value blood ties. Yet my father was killed by the Prewetts, my grandfather perished during the Grindelwald conflict, my grandmother died from the dragon pox and my sister from a scrofungulus. Do I need to go further ? I had three cousins on my father's side. One is mad, another hates me, and the third can't speak any more. I had a cousin on my mother's side, but he died during the war. I'm not plagued by relatives to the point I'd kill one of them !"

"Are you trying to claim the Potters are family to you ?" asked Sirius sceptically.

"They became my family from the very moment I wed the daughter of Marianne Potter."

"Yet you still fought against them during the war."

The blond wizard closed his eyes and winced as if reliving painful memories. When he opened his eyelids again, his expression was one of genuine regret.

"The war was an error" he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I do not abjure the ideals I defended back then. I still think the wizards shouldn't have to hide from the low-lives we call muggles, and the mudbloods" (he ignored Sirius' hiss at the use of this word) "are still a threat to our society. But we should have reacted differently. The Dark Lord's ways were too brutal, too blood-thirsty, and made no difference between his pureblood opponents and the lower-bred. As a result, two generations of the finest wizarding families were decimated. There's no more Prewett, no more McKinnon. Most of the lineages have been reduced to the point where one child is their only hope to perpetuate their glorious histories. What good came of this conflict ? Now I'm fighting my own battles, not the so-called Lord Voldemort's."

"Your ideology sickens me, Evan" grunted Black. "You find relish in past glories and you delude yourself in an unproven blood-based superiority. I left my own family to escape it, so, in the future, spare me your rantings."

"You won't kill me, then ?"

"No, though I was sorely tempted when you were babbling your pureblood nonsenses. You talk too much, Evan. It will be your downfall, one day, but I suppose I can trust your obsession with blood-ties."

"Oh, such generosity, my lord !" mocked the blond wizard. "Am I allowed to take my wand back ?"

"Not while I'm still there. I'm not offering my bare neck to the boomslang's bite."

But he lowered his own weapon nonetheless, and Evan's shoulders relaxed a little. Maybe he shouldn't talk as much as he did, but it often worked when he was trying to diffuse a tense situation. And it made people forget how silent he could get when needed.

"You're one to talk" the former death eater said. "How did you manage to find where I was, let alone sneak on me ? The whole Auror office never succeeded in ten years of unceasing search !"

" I have my ways" grinned Sirius. "No one can elude me for very long."

"Yet Harry did."

It was a low punch, and it made the hooded wizard grimace.

"Yes, he did" he conceded. "Though I was hindered by deaters and Crouch's goons. I was about to find him not too long ago, but the Hogwarts staff beat me to the punch. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. The castle is supposedly the safest place in all Britain."

Evan nodded in agreement. None of his former comrades could possibly get past Dumbledore's defences. The old wizard's skills and vigilance were undeniable, and those who were still free couldn't match them in any way.

"What are you going to do, then ?" he asked. "You weren't able to reach your godson, but he's well protected. What's next ?"

"I'll go to Hogwarts, of course."

"What ?" gawked Evan. "But, you just said..."

"Supposedly safest. I don't trust the old goat any more, not when he could have a hidden agenda of which I'm unaware. Even if he hasn't, safest isn't safe enough, and I must be close if Harry needs my help."

"Do you really think he's in that much danger ?"

Sirius stared at him, and, for the first time, Evan was able to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They were bright, brighter than a man's should be, and more savage too. There was a wilderness in the most wanted wizard of Britain that his fellow fugitive never saw when they were at Hogwarts. Evan flinched. Sirius Black wasn't a man to be crossed lightly. He wasn't a man to be crossed at all !

"You mean you don't know ?" Black laughed mirthlessly. "Some deater you are. Maybe you can be trusted, after all."

"What do you mean ? What do you know I ignore ?"

Now Evan was worried. But the next four words turned the blood in his vein into ice.

"Your lord is alive."

EEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDD

Aaaand that's done. Please review if you have ANY comment you'd like to make.

Next chapter will features the Hogwarts express.