"The ambassadors from each race were as follows..."

-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated circa 1952

"I'm still a bit offended that I can't come with," Hermione sighed.

Harry huffed. "What do you want us to do? Last time you ran across one of the Fae, you got kidnapped. Now you want to walk right into their Samhain gathering?"

Hermione shook her head. "I never said I would go," she pointed out. "Just that I'm a bit offended that I can't. I'd certainly like to go." Her mouth thinned in a manner reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall. "But I do understand why I can't. You will ask them for me, won't you?"

"Of course," Daphne promised.

"All right then." Hermione forced a smile. "Try to have… er, not necessarily fun, but…. Be safe. Remember not to eat anything of theirs, and stay as close as you can to Saysa. You have your holly and iron?"

Her friends nodded. Blaise patted his pocket. The iron nails inside it clanged. "We'll be safe, Hermione. Really."

The girl sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just that I can't help but worry. None of our interactions with this world's neighbors have gone well so far."

"That's because they're weird," muttered Harry.

Saysa laid a hand upon his shoulder. "The night is passing us by," she reminded the five students. "If you want to sleep at all, you should come now."

"Good point," Blaise acknowledged. "See you, Hermione."

"Goodbye, all."

Thanks to Firenze's fitness lessons, the five students had become remarkably adept at sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest. Not that sneaking out was difficult. They each possessed a Portkey to the heart of the Chamber of Secrets, which gave them access to an exit into the woods. They had been a bit worried earlier that year when Mark and his friends blew up the main entrance to the Chamber, but enough time had passed that no one went down there to gawk anymore. They still had to be cautious whenever they Portkeyed into it, but they hadn't been busted yet.

That night was no exception. The Chamber of Secrets was empty of life; not even a rat scampered across the floor.

Harry flicked his holly wand. Light burst from its tip, banishing the darkness. Silent and alert, he followed Saysa through the hidden room and into the forest.

The light from his wand kept them from stumbling, even though their fancy dress robes weren't meant for long treks through the woods at night, but it also cast long, twisting shadows. Every crevasse in the trees became a canyon, every branch an arm reaching for them. Harry shuddered slightly at the eerie effect, poured more magic into his light. That only served to make the shadows more obvious, darker by comparison.

He was very, very relieved when they heard the first notes of music in the distance. His relief evaporated almost immediately when he remembered that at last year's Samhain feast, the Fae hadn't had very good lighting. They'd relied on will-o-the-wisps and marsh fire to light their revelry. He had no reason to believe that they would change their ancient tradition.

His prediction proved accurate. Light like moonbeams pooled at the ends of branches, transforming the clearing into a shifting tapestry of light and shadow and blurs of color. And, of course, they had to cross that madly changing dance floor to reach their goal.

The Winter Queen watched in ice-eyed amusement as the children and Saysa approached her divan. "Well met, Pollux Ophion Riddle," she purred, ignoring everyone but Harry.

The Parselmouth stiffened but decided that the pseudonym was better than her invoking his birth name.

Daphne curtsied with an elegant swish of her silver-and-navy dress robes. "Well met, Majesty," she intoned. The Daughter of Frost was in her element. "We greet you." She rose, tall and poised.

"I greet you as well, Daughter of Frost," the Fae woman replied. "And the Prince of Flowers, and the Smoking Mirror." Her eyes settled on Neville for a moment before moving onto Blaise. "But where is Truth's Messenger?"

"One of your people's knights has displayed an unhealthy interest in her," Daphne explained. The sapphires in her ears caught the wisp-light, glittered like ice crystals. She didn't mention that they didn't know whose knight the orange-eyed Fae was- better not to blame the Winter Queen. "We thought it best to leave her behind until an explanation had been given."

"She is to solve the riddle," the Winter Queen said. "And she has the sight of our people."

Harry went white at the thought of Hermione dabbling in Fae magic. The Winter Queen noticed. One side of her mouth arched in a smooth smile. "But fear not, Lightning Speaker, for that sight shall be her salvation."

Blaise nearly staggered under the weight of sudden knowledge. Not understanding what he was saying, knowing only that it needed to be said, he blurted out, "Your word, Majesty."

The music around them stopped. As one, the Fae turned to glare at the young upstart who had demanded a promise of their queen. Blaise shivered under their gazes but didn't take back his words. Instead, he reiterated them, though (he had to admit) in a smaller voice than before. "Your word."

"I do not make oaths quite so lightly as your kind, boy," the Fae declared. "But if you bring Truth's Messenger here tonight and allow her to take part in the restoration of the hollow hills, then I will give my word."

Saysa shook her head, eyes wide in silent pleading, but Blaise was resolute. He still had no idea what he was doing, but by Merlin, it needed to be done. If not…. The part of him that was a Seer shivered, curled up in a tiny ball. "With your leave, Majesty, I will bring her now." Not daring to look at the others, he grasped his Portkey and whispered the password. Moments later, he sprinted out of the Chamber of Secrets, made a beeline for the Ravenclaw dorms.

Hermione, once she'd heard Blaise's explanation, was torn. On the one hand, curiosity compelled her to attend. On the other… "What do you think you're playing at?"

"If she doesn't give her word, something bad will happen," Blaise explained. "I don't know what or how or anything, but I just know that this needs to happen. Please, Hermione. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I wasn't absolutely sure."

She hesitated only a moment longer, for how could she say no to a Seer? "All right, but they'll have to deal with me in my school robes."

"Great." Blaise held out his Portkey. "I came to the Chamber from the grove, so this should take us back to the grove."

Magic tugged at their navels. The Fae surrounded them, their gazes pressing down- but not as intently as the humans' glares.

Hermione ignored them all. She curtsied to the pale, imposing woman on the divan. "Well met, Majesty." Miraculously, her serpent sight wasn't flaring. Perhaps she was getting better.

"Well met, Truth's Messenger," the Winter Queen purred. "I give you my word that one day, you will be grateful indeed for your sight."

Not-colors and not-scents flared, uncontrollable, dizzying, frenzied. The serpent sight had returned with a vengeance, crushing her under its power.

The last thing she heard before passing out was the Winter Queen's laughter.

"Oh, my head."

"Hermione!" four- no, five- voices chorused.

"I'm sorry," continued one of the voices, frantic. "I swear I had no idea that would happen. I just know that the alternative was worse."

Memory returned in the form of a throbbing headache. Hermione groaned. Her stomach heaved. "Bucket."

"Huh?"

Fortunately, Hermione didn't need the bucket, though her poor belly wouldn't settle down for almost another hour. That didn't stop her from accepting the receptacle Harry conjured for her, setting it down upon her lap.

"I'm sorry," Blaise repeated, wringing his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do anything to make it up to you." His brown eyes were wide with concern.

Hermione shook her pounded head, winced as more pain spiked through her temples. "I'll be fine, Blaise. I forgive you. But what was that about?"

The boy's face fell. For once, he looked his age, a child of twelve years. "That's just the thing, Hermione," he confessed, voice saturated with grief. "I still don't know."

Everyone but Remus Lupin himself was unsurprised at how well he had adjusted to taking Tyr's place. In all honesty, it wasn't an enormous job, more ceremonial than anything. He would settle the occasional dispute, oversee training routines, interface with 'Pollux' and his friends (which he'd done anyways), kept track of miscreants, and occasionally called together a 'party' to discuss current events and conspire (their Auror guards now thought that he had become a party animal). Sure, there had been a few incidents when others made up disputes to test him, but that was to be expected.

"I don't get what you were worried about," Sirius said. The two canines were sitting in one of the new cottages on Founder's Isle. The Animagus had created a small village in the past few months, complete with a greenhouse and a castle fort, though the castle fort had been there beforehand. If push came to shove and the werewolves were forced to retreat, they would be able to crowd into these cottages and be safe. Sirius was even thinking about buying up a couple of the neighboring islands so he could eventually expand. "You're a good alpha, Moony, just like you were a good beta."

"I didn't even realize I was beta until Tyr announced it in front of everyone."

Sirius laughed. Remus mock-pouted, which made his friend laugh even harder. "Oh, quiet, you," the werewolf ordered. "As alpha, I command you!"

Padfoot transformed into his dog form. His laughter became suspiciously laughter-like barking. The dog sprinted off, paused, glanced over his shoulder. His tail wagged.

Remus took the hint. He shifted, bones melting, skin sprouting fur. Soon a large wolf stood in his place. The animal shook himself once before charging after his friend.

Had anyone told him a year ago that he would gladly take werewolf form, and in broad daylight, no less, he would have backed away slowly. But this year, he had discovered a love of running in his wolf form. Most werewolves had- there was something about being sleek and swift that made them cut loose. So it was with great reluctance that he finally projected, "Okay, Sirius, we've got to stop now."

The dog whined. He liked running in his animal form just as much as Moony did.

The wolf huffed. His ears flicked back. "Come on, Padfoot. I can talk in this form, but you can't, and I need your advice about something."

The dog sighed one last time but popped into his other form. "Fine, Moony, you win. What can I do you for?"

"It's about Dora-"

"Oh."

"'Oh'?" Remus's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"Just that it's about time you decided to make your move," Sirius declared. "I'm not blind, Remus. I can see pretty dang clearly how much you lo-"

The werewolf erupted into a coughing fit.

"Wow, Moony, that interruption wasn't hopelessly transparent at all."

"I don't require relationship advice," the red-faced lycanthrope informed him, "and even if I did, I wouldn't be stupid enough to consult you. I need to ask your advice because some of the other werewolves still want to turn her. You're good at persuading people. Do you have any suggestions? How can I make them trust her without turning her into another werewolf?"

Sirius's glee vanished. His face became serious and thoughtful, a far cry from his usual tomfoolery. "I don't think that anyone can force trust, Remus," he finally announced. "It's something that has to be earned, not ordered. All you can do is keep them from turning her and let the trust grow on its own."

The werewolf rubbed his forehead, feeling much older than his meager years. "That's what I thought you'd say and hoped you wouldn't," he groaned. "I've had similar thoughts myself."

Padfoot remained pensive. After all, Tonks was his first cousin once removed- not the closest of relationships, but the only family he had who knew he wasn't evil and wasn't evil herself. That mattered to him. "Maybe involve her more?" he suggested. "I don't know. If you had her do some spell training- not that you can make her do anything, as she's not one of your loyal new subjects-"

"Tyr's loyal subjects," Remus corrected.

Padfoot ignored him. "-then they'd probably see that she was on their side. Of course, the really paranoid ones could say that she's scouting for weaknesses by getting really, really close to you."

Remus groaned.

"I honestly don't know," the Animagus sighed. "Whatever you do- or whatever she does- can probably be seen as an attempt at betrayal and espionage. I guess you'll just have to involve Tonks more with people you trust and see what happens. They can spread the word, but who knows who'll believe them?"

"Thanks, Sirius," the werewolf said quietly. "That was surprisingly good advice. I'll have to take you up on it."

Padfoot snorted. "'Surprisingly good'?" he quoted, annoyed. "What do you mean, it's a surprise? My advice is always good!"

"Uh-huh."

"It is. Seriously."

"Could you spell that last word for me?"

"Hah-hah, very funny. But for your information, 'that last word' is spelled T-H-A-T space L-A-S-"

A pop interrupted Sirius's impromptu spelling bee. He and his half-amused, half-exasperated friend jumped nearly out of their skins. Then they relaxed. "Oh, hello, Kreacher."

The house-elf beamed. "Master will be pleased with Kreacher," he announced.

Sirius froze. Remus breathed, "You found him?"

Kreacher's expression was smug. "It was not easy, as the rat-man is good at hiding, but he could not hide from Kreacher once Kreacher looked for him. Kreacher did indeed find the filthy treacherous rat-man." The house-elf extracted a photograph from the tunic Pallas and Apollo had given him and forced him to wear. They hated to see house-elves in rags. "Here is the rat-man, Master."

With trembling hands, Sirius accepted the picture.

It was a clipping from the Daily Prophet, several months old, but still young enough to give the gist of Pettigrew's location. The picture showed a large family (Sirius thought that the two oldest adults looked vaguely familiar but couldn't place them) waving from in front of a pyramid. On the shoulder of the youngest boy stood a disheveled-looking rat. The animal was skinny, its fur in patches, and, most importantly of all, it was missing one finger.

Sirius's smile became feral. "He hasn't aged well, has he, Moony?"

The werewolf's grin was positively animalistic. Something deep inside Sirius recognized a predator with a target. "No, he has not. Wonderful. That makes things even easier."

"The rat-man is with the youngest spawn of the blood traitor Weasleys."

The men's heads snapped up. "He's at Hogwarts?" Sirius yelped. He thought of Harry, deceptive Harry who used his lies to help others, Harry who had saved him from Azkaban.

The house-elf nodded, unconcerned. "Kreacher considered taking the filthy traitor to Master, but Kreacher thought that Master might want to get the beast himself. Kreacher truly does not know. Has Kreacher pleased Master?"

"Yeah," Sirius mumbled. He hadn't been listening. His brain had been whirring frantically, searching for a way to extract Pettigrew without possibly tripping a trap. He hadn't gone to the Department of Mysteries with Saysa, Tyr, and Harry-as-Pollux, but he had seen the aftermath. He didn't want to trigger another trap, especially not one that had been set within Hogwarts itself.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Dumbledore didn't know about Wormtail's Animagus form- but he didn't want to bet on it. Better safe than sorry, so he would assume that this was indeed a trap created to get him captured.

Wasn't Alexander really a Gryffindor? Yeah, that was right- he was a Gryffindor third year named Neville somethingorother. "Kreacher, do you know how old the kid is?" He placed a finger on the face of the boy holding Pettigrew.

"He is being thirteen, Master."

If Neville (or Alexander or whatever he was calling himself) could somehow capture Pettigrew without being discovered, then Dumbledore's trap would fail. But if he was seen… well, he would have a lot of questions to answer, that was for sure.

No, better to have Kreacher- and the other house-elves; they were always willing to lend a hand to 'the great Lightning Speaker's hound'- stalk the rat until he was alone, then nab the beast and bring him to Founder's Isle. Dumbledore, if he was planning something, would expect Sirius himself, not Kreacher and definitely not the other house-elves.

Sirius explained his plan to Kreacher, who nodded spastically and blathered on about his master's wisdom and cunning and foresight before popping off to grab the other elves. Sirius grinned. A weight on his shoulders lifted, dissipating into the ether.

Soon Pettigrew would be his.

"I understand that rulers have difficult schedules," Blaise grumbled. "I understand that it's hard for some of the foreign ones to get over to Britain. But seriously, we have to wait until spring to see them all? That's absurd!"

"Things often move slowly in political circles," Daphne reminded him.

"It's better than next spring, which is probably what Ragnok was originally aiming for," Harry admitted, "but I agree with Blaise. This is absurd. We're trying to save the world. Don't you think that a couple meetings about- about- I don't know, the cleanliness of vaults under Gringotts or a hearing about mining disputes can wait?" He slammed his fist down on a table. "Every moment we delay gives Dumbledore time to get more powerful."

"So let us do the same," Saysa interjected quietly. The humans turned to face her. "Work on your Animagus forms, strengthen the bonds between the Houses, get to know some of the local merfolk, centaurs, goblins, and whomever else you can contact. You don't have to stand still just because your primary goal has been delayed. Besides, doing those things will give you a stronger position when they finally arrive for the conference."

"I suppose," Blaise sighed. "And I suppose it gives Sirius enough time to build the meetinghouse."

"Weren't we just using the keep?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," the Slytherin admitted. "I kind of assumed that Sirius would want to make something. He really seems to like architecture."

"Speaking of structures," Daphne cut in, "what were we going to construct?"

Blank stares.

She sighed, folded her arms. "I don't know what's coming," she announced bluntly. "All I know is that it will be a time of chaos and change. Do you really think that the Ministry of Magic can survive that?"

The group shook their heads.

"In all likelihood, we will end up in control of Wizarding Britain," she concluded. "That means that we need to create a just and sane government for the people. I would prefer to have at least an outline of that government before the meeting this spring."

All eyes turned to Harry, who winced. Why was he always the one people turned to? Oh, right- he was the Lightning Speaker, the nexus and catalyst of change. "Er, Voldemort didn't really think about that. He intended to instate the Death Eaters as feudal-style lords. Everyone would do as they said or suffer the consequences, and they would have to listen to him. Basically he wanted to be some kind of wizard king."

Saysa had grown up in an era of the monarch's absolute power. She was the only one who truly comprehended what Harry had just said. A deep shudder wracked her frame. "A just king, one like Arthur, would not be bad," she volunteered.

"But doesn't that go against the point of the revolution?" Blaise asked. "Besides, no matter how good the first king is, if his title is passed down through blood- which would automatically disqualify Muggle-borns and magical creatures, which is not what we want to do- there'll be a bad egg sooner or later."

"A democracy, then?" Hermione posited. "One like the Americans currently have?" She nodded. "I can do research on their magical and Muggle governments."

"And a constitution," Neville added. "Maybe we could have a draft of it ready for the meeting? Then everyone could ratify it. That's what the Americans did, right?"

"They rallied behind a Declaration of Independence," Hermione corrected. "Their Constitution came later."

Saysa coughed delicately. "What're you thinking?" Harry asked.

"Who exactly are the Americans?"

The group stared. Saysa flushed under their scrutiny. "I am over a thousand years old," she reminded them stiffly.

"In the late seventeen hundreds, a group of colonists on a continent far to the west rebelled against the Crown," Hermione explained. "They formed the United States of America, basing their government on the Iroquois League and European parliamentary practices. Their country has been a world power for the past hundred years or so." She forced a smile. "But we shouldn't be surprised you don't know that- I bet you didn't overhear lots of people talking about our country's defeat during your trips to Hogsmeade, did you?"

"I did not," she admitted, still blushing with embarrassment.

"You can help Hermione research their practices," Blaise decided. "You'll look at it through fresh eyes, while she already knows a bit about it. Two different perspectives will help."

"The rest of us should look at other forms and try to figure out ways to keep corruption out," Harry mused. "And talk to Remus about this. The Great and Almighty Beta of Britain has enough firsthand experience."

"Does the Great and Almighty Beta of Britain know that you call him that?" Blaise asked dryly.

"Of course not. But back to the point, what does everyone want to research? Just please don't say Communism, because Soviet Russia proved that doesn't work."

"Magical races," Blaise commented. "I'd like that."

"Great rulers of the past," Daphne decided. "What did they have in common? What laws did they create?"

Neville tilted his head back. "Um… takeovers?" The others stared. He shrugged helplessly. "Well, they're not going to hand us the keys to the kingdom."

Harry groaned. "That leaves me with law, I guess, unless anyone else wanted it?"

No one did; surprise, surprise.

"Figures. You lot are just fair-weather friends, you know that?" He pouted. "But I suppose it needs to be done. So, do we have a due date?"

"How about when we return from Christmas holidays?" Hermione suggested. "That's when we can write our draft."

"And write some more articles for the VV," Blaise added. "We'll be running out by then."

"So meeting adjourned?" Harry asked.

"Meeting adjourned," the others confirmed.

Where was Lucius?

It had taken Voldemort almost two months to journey from Albania to England. His possessed animals tended to die quickly, and the first owl he'd taken over had been no exception. It hadn't helped that he'd used the bird's body too hard, forcing it to fly too far too quickly. The animal had simply died of exhaustion, its body giving out under stress.

Well, Voldemort had grown exceedingly skilled at finding hosts over the past few years. He took the form of a squirrel and went hunting for another avian form. He'd found it in an eagle that had swooped down from the sky to devour his host body. Before being consumed, Voldemort had managed to transfer his consciousness to the bird.

The eagle had lasted a bit longer than the owl, if only because Voldemort was more careful to spare its strength. However, it had dropped dead right over some Muggle city. Its corpse had immediately been confiscated by Muggles who feared that it might be carrying some hideous, possibly communicable disease- why else would a perfectly healthy bird just die? The Dark Lord hadn't disengaged himself from the corpse- its death had been too sudden. Though he did not die (Horcruxes were handy like that), he was temporarily trapped within a rotting body. It had taken him over a week to get free.

From then on, he'd been paranoid about his host bodies. He would stay in them for no more than a day, stealing their remaining life energy when he transferred to a new form.

Another problem had struck in the middle of November: he had gone too far north. He had to go down the coast of Europe to France, where he took over the body of a seabird to cross the English Channel. He'd spoiled himself by riding on a boat instead of flying, though he snubbed the food offered to him by tourists. He had fallen far, but he was still the greatest sorcerer the world had ever seen. He would not dine on Muggle bread.

The journey to Lucius's country manor had seemed short in comparison. He had come so far, gone through so much, that a couple more days passed in the blink of an eye.

Except that Malfoy Manor lay abandoned, its wards destroyed, its garden gone to seed. What had happened?

Voldemort flew up to the windows. They were grimy with dust and time. Either the house-elves hadn't been doing their jobs or something had happened to Lucius. Since he couldn't imagine his slippery friend (or his slippery friend's neat-freak wife) having mercy on the servants, he concluded that the latter hypothesis was correct.

The Dark Lord sighed heavily in a rare moment of weakness. Then he quashed his weariness. Lucius was not his only Death Eater. The Crabbes and Goyles lived nearby; it would be easy to go visit them. Actually, they might serve him better than Malfoy. Neither was particularly intelligent, but that just made them less likely to turn on him.

It took him forever to make the short flight to Goyle's home. This house had been built as an exact replica of Malfoy Manor, though it was only three-quarters the size of the original. Goyle claimed that it had been built that way due to imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. Other wizards said that the Goyle line had always been too stupid to come up with their own building plans. Voldemort personally ascribed to that theory.

Unlike Malfoy Manor, though, Goyle's house was clearly inhabited. The garden had been pruned, the windows washed. In fact, Mrs. Goyle could be seen in the kitchen, hollering orders at the family house-elf. Though not a Death Eater, she was loyal to the cause.

Voldemort released his hold on his current body. The crow collapsed, its cadaver falling to the ground. The Dark Lord ignored it, phasing through the wall into the kitchen.

Mrs. Goyle (what was her name again? He'd never bothered to remember it) didn't notice him at first. That honor belonged to the house-elf, whose eyes nearly popped out of her head. The servant realized that the red-eyed specter which had just entered their home was no mere ghost. No, it was something much stranger, much fouler.

The elf's mistress realized that her servant wasn't paying attention. She cuffed the elf across the face. The elf's body went flying- like her brother Crabbe and her husband, Mrs. Goyle was thick and bulky and strong. As the elf picked herself up, Mrs. Goyle turned to see what had disturbed them.

And froze.

"I am Lord Voldemort," the apparition rasped. He forced his spiritual form into a rough approximation of his body, focusing especially on his face.

"My lord." The witch dropped to her knees. Her forehead touched the spotless floor. In a trembling voice, she asked, "How can I serve you?"

"In many ways," Voldemort hissed. He was pleased with her prompt recognition, her immediate servility. Once he returned to power, she would be rewarded. "Fetch me your husband, and I will tell you both what you will do."

I'm sorry for the wait. This went through quite a bit of editing- I didn't even have the first 2 scenes at first and had to add those. The next chapter is already with Tetsurga, though, so you don't have to worry. Oh, and it's NaNoWriMo, so that helps too. :)

I'm still taking suggestions for the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Tasks. I'm also taking prompts for Behind and Between (which has a new chapter of fluffy family fluff now, just so you know). If you have any questions you want answered or scenes you want to read, just let me know. Thanks to all the reviewers!

Voldemort's plan and some of the knight's cryptic-ness will be explained later on in the book.

-Antares