Link had maybe overreacted. In all fairness, he hadn't realized fairies here weren't quite the same as the fairies of Hyrule. Regardless, the hylian had ended up blasting his bowtruckle away the second he'd heard that they ate fairy eggs, fully convinced he'd been handed some kind of evil wood-sprite. Needless to say, Grubbly-Plank had not been impressed.

Thankfully, the bowtruckle had been more frightened than injured, but that hadn't stopped the teacher from giving him detention. So it was with a faint sense of embarrassment that Link made his way to dinner the following evening, after a long afternoon mucking out the hippogriff stable, only to run smack into Fred and George Weasley.

Link eyed them warily, well aware of the bizarre foods and sweets they offered Gryffindors of all years (they may have gotten him with a Canary Cream a week into his stay at Grimmauld, the heathens), as long as they were out of Hermione's earshot. They'd startled him more than once that summer with all their apparating too, and had delighted in repeating the action once they realized the response it would garner.

Menaces, the both of them.

"So we heard something interesting about you yesterday," Fred started.

"About how every day you wander in and out of the Restricted Section of the library as you please," George continued.

"And we were wondering-"

"No," Link said flatly.

"Not even going to let us finish the question? That's cold, mate," Fred sighed dramatically.

"We're just saying, there's a few books that would be particularly helpful-"

"No," Link repeated. Dumbledore was giving him access to as much knowledge as he liked in good faith. Even if he hadn't found much of use yet, he wasn't about to jeapordize that trust for a couple of pranks.

"Very well, then," Fred said, looping one arm around Link's. "Don't take this the wrong way-"

"-but we've also heard another teensy little rumor about you-" George added, repeating the action on the hylian's other side. Link was now feeling distinctly cornered, and the mischievous gleam in the twins' eyes wasn't helping.

"-about your first class with Umbridge," Fred finished blithely. "And, well, we couldn't resist." Link's gut sank in dread as the trio marched their way into the Great Hall and he felt the enchantment wash over him.

"Strike while the iron's hot, and all that," George said cheerfully, and pushed him forward. He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself as the twins sprinted off, cackling.

McGonagall took one look at Link, rose from her seat at the high table, and marched after the redheaded menaces.

The tips of his ears burned from beneath suddenly loose hair as Link found himself under the startled scrutiny of every student in the Hall. In less then a heartbeat, dozens of voices were laughing at him. A few daring students wolf-whistled, and Link risked a glance down.

It would have been one thing if they'd just transfigured his uniform into the girls' version, and at at first glance that might have appeared to be it. But the skirt was too short, the stockings too long, and the blouse ended well above his midriff, the top two buttons (and there were only three) left undone. His red and gold tie hung loose, trailing leadingly to his navel and his robe, when he tugged at it, refused to close.

With what dignity he could muster, Link stalked toward his usual seat by Hermione and sank into it as though nothing in the world were wrong. He was so determinedly pretending that took him a few moments to notice.

The trio weren't laughing. In fact, very few among the Gryffindor table were, and those that had started quickly tapered into awkward silence, followed shortly by the other houses. And then the whispers started.

Links ears twitched, unable to pick out a distinct voice over the rush of murmurs. "What is it?" he asked Hermione, frowning. He reached for a scoop of mashed potato and Dean hastily shoved it his way. The boy looked faintly horrified.

"It's just clothes," Link muttered. The twin menaces hadn't actually given him breasts. While there was nothing wrong with women, Link had no desire to be one. He'd have drawn his sword on the twins if they'd dared. Changing his clothes for a bit of a laugh, though embarrassing, was fine. Or would be, at any rate. It wasn't as though he hadn't worn flimsier outfits anyway - he'd needed to, to see Riju after all.

"It's not that," Hermione said delicately. Her eyes flicked down, seemingly without her consent, and Link finally realized what was wrong.

The pale lines of old scars crisscrossed over his entire torso, faint lines from both before and after his ten decades of sleep painting a telling picture across his body. But none were worse than the trio of starbursts that covered the majority of his side. It was those wounds that had ultimately led to his century-long confinement in the Shrine of Resurrection.

Cut down by guardians after he'd torn his way through dozens of them. Eventually they'd overwhelmed him, their terrifyingly accurate laser-fire tearing through his armor as though it were paper. Had Zelda not activated her own powers in that moment, Link would have died right then, far beyond any hope of saving. Instead her magic had burned through the malice of every guardian still active in Fort Hateno, and she'd ordered him taken to the Shrine.

Though long since healed, even the power of the Shrine had been unable to completely remove his scars.

"Ah," he said absently, tucking into a well-spiced cucco breast. Wait, chicken, that was the word.

"Ah?" Hermione repeated blankly. "That's it? 'Ah?' I'm going to kill those two!" she snarled, incensed.

"It's fine," Link said soothingly, like he might to a skittish horse.

"It's not fine," she snapped, and Link felt vaguely like they'd had this conversation before. "Of all the insensitive-"

"They didn't know," he interrupted gently, "and my scars don't bother me." The whispers did a little, he carefully did not say. That, he was used to, and had been since he'd first drawn the Master Sword. Besides, the poor girl looked stressed enough.

"And if someone less... well-adjusted," she spoke the word as though disbelieving, "had been their target?" she sniped acidly.

Well, Link would hope the twins had better sense then that. They did not seem the mean-spirited sort. Still, he could see her point. He shrugged, willing to let her have the argument.

Harry had not spoken a word throughout their discussion. He sat motionless, transfixed, skin a little pale and gaze unfocused.

Link frowned. "Harry?"

The boy snapped out of his trance with a small shake of his head. "It's nothing."

"Do they really disturb you that much?" Link asked insistently, perturbed.

"No! It's just..." he trailed off, uncertain.

Link waited him out, blue stare focused patiently on the younger wizard. It struck him as funny that this is what it took to get the boy to open up. He was never letting the twins know.

Harry licked his lips before speaking, voice quiet and rushed. "It's just, all of these people, staring at you. Yet you're not bothered at all! And I..."

The hylian took pity on him. "Come with me," he offered, abandoning his plate with a mournful glance. As he stood, the whispers increased in intensity. Link ignored them with an ease born from years of practice, expression studiously blank.

Harry followed. From the corner of his eye, Link noticed Hermione and Ron exchanging a look. The girl shook her head and the redhead frowned, starting in slowly on his meal. They both looked dreadfully curious, but decided to respect their privacy. For that, Link was grateful. This talk would be hard enough as it was; Harry would likely clam up entirely were anyone else around. Link couldn't say he minded fewer presences either.

They'd barely reached an empty classroom when Harry whirled on him, blurting, "How d'you do it? How can you stand having that many people staring at you and talking about you and not care?"

Link crossed his arms, taking a moment to consider his reply. "It's difficult," he started slowly, "when the path your life takes is outside your control. When forces you can't control dictate what others think of you."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, it is."

"I was thirteen when I discovered my destiny," Link continued. "People looked at me differently after that. The ones I knew, the ones I didn't. I was alternately hailed a hero and reviled as the herald of Calamity." The hylian felt far away in that moment, drawn to memories he hadn't thought of in a long time. "The weight of all those expectations terrified me."

Harry visibly withheld a number of questions, settling on, "So what did you do?"

"I trained. Perhaps it would be better to say I reacted. I worked hard every single day to prove that I deserved what praise I got, that I was better than the words of those that would put me down. I pushed everything else aside, my friends, my family, even my own voice, to bear the burden of those expectations."

The younger wizard frowned. "That sounds..."

"Terrible," Link acknowledged. "The only thing I accomplished was pushing others away. You see, Harry, I had nothing to prove. What those people thought was not going to change no matter what I did or said.

"Even though you're doing so differently, you're trying the exact same thing. Trying to prove yourself to people that have already made up their minds."

"But then what do I do?!" Harry burst out, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"Focus on the things you can control. Do your work. Spend time with your friends. Better yourself for when Voldemort does put himself in the open. Don't let the thoughts of the masses dictate how you behave, Harry; you're the only one that can do that."

"It's not that simple. I just... I just get so angry," Harry growled helplessly. He kicked at a loose quill lying forgotten on the floor.

That was perhaps an understatement. Harry had been angry since Link first met him. Still though, he seemed to be listening. "There's a technique the Sheikah taught me once, to help me focus my thoughts and release unwanted emotion. It's been invaluable to me over the years; I think it can help you now. Would you like to learn?"

Green eyes watched Link carefully. "Yes."

Link nodded, relieved he no longer needed to talk about himself. This was easier. "Very well. The Sheikah practice the arts of inner peace and awareness of the self. To do so, you need clarity. What you need is to clear your mind of all distractions. Listen carefully..."

"Did you really run off for a serious talk in that getup?" Ron asked the moment they stepped into the common room. Link rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He hadn't even thought about it.

Harry turned, nonplussed, to stare at the blond as though he'd just realized. "Have I been getting lessons from a guy in drag?" he sputtered. Their discussion must have had him really preoccupied. Ron guffawed.

Link tugged at at his robe. It still wasn't moving from its open position. He had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't have been able to change had it occurred to him to do so. A quick pull at the knot in his tie confirmed that, yep, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"How long do their pranks usually last?"

"Varies," Ron replied. "Could be seconds; could be days. No way to tell with those two."

Hermione scowled. "Professor McGonagall caught up with them in the Charms corridor," she said, grimly satisfied. "They've got detention for a week, and she's written your mother, Ron."

He groaned. "Great. Those two're gonna be unbearable. So's mum. I'll bet you my Cleansweep she sends them a Howler."

"No bet," Harry muttered.

"Regardless," the busy-haired witch sniffed, "they had better apologize. They had no business airing your scars to half the student body. That was a terrible breach of privacy."

"I was hardly keeping them secret, Hermione," Link said dryly. "You just can't see them under the uniform." He wasn't ashamed of his scars, though he didn't exactly go around showing them off. They were certainly bad, even by Hyrule's standards, but they weren't remarkable either. Hyrule was dangerous. If you had no marks on your body, you were a child or a coward.

"How did you get those scars?" Ron asked bluntly.

"Ron!"

"What? We were all thinking it!"

"That doesn't mean you should ask!" Hermione returned crossly. Harry groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose as though to stave off a headache.

Ron puffed himself up, indignant. "He just said he didn't care."

"That is not what he said!"

"Hermione, it's fine," Link interrupted desperately. The rising volume of their argument was causing his ears to ring.

She eyed the hylian sidelong. "Just because you can put up with tactless behavior doesn't mean you should." Goddess preserve, but she actually sounded concerned. Hermione was a fierce little guardian when confronted with a perceived injustice, wasn't she?

"Really, it's-"

"Fine?" she huffed. "It doesn't have to be, you know," she added with a pointed look.

Link stared at her for a long moment, perplexed. A hesitant glance at the boys revealed them to be just as confused. Alright, then. He fiddled absently with one of his topaz earrings, a nervous gesture he thought he'd dealt with years ago. He forced his hand back to his side. "So what did you want to know?"

Harry's green eyes flashed, lips twitching at the corners as though he were biting back a question. Ron interrupted before he could work up the nerve.

"Those were some bloody wicked scars, mate," Ron said, stuck on his earlier question. Link shifted uncomfortably.

"RON!"

"What did I say now?!"

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat.

"I got those scars when I died."

Harry's gaze snapped to Link, and the hylian belatedly recalled how the boy had gotten his iconic scar. Link frowned, knowing he needed to say something more, and so added reluctantly, "My wife and I were ambushed by servants of our enemy. I fell defending her. Thankfully Zelda finished them off."

He should probably have expected the maelstrom of questions that assailed him after that brief, inadequate explanation.

"But what do you mean, you died?!"

"Who was your enemy? Are you in some kind of danger?"

"Hold on, I thought you were our age! What d'you mean, your wife?"

Hyrule Castle's court had been like this, Link thought dimly, when he'd first drawn the Master Sword. He'd presented himself before the King, forced to sit through dozens questions about both himself and the sword that he didn't want to - or couldn't - answer.

These were much worse; all the darkest corners of his mind, all the things closest to his heart.

"Wait, that little girl," Harry blurted with a sudden flash of insight, "was she yours?"

Link felt his throat close up, unable to reply even had he wanted to. The rising discomfort had swelled into the type of anxiety Link hadn't felt in years, and he found himself unable to speak a word.

Zelda was nearly three months pregnant, now, and he'd been away from her side for a third of that time.

And what had he accomplished? He'd read a few books and learned a few parlor tricks, treating this whole mess as a vacation to distract himself from how lonely, how scared, he really was.

Like waking up a century displaced all over again. Only this time he stood to lose so much more.

Three pairs of eyes watched him carefully. "Link, are you alright?" He hadn't realized how fast he was breathing.

He closed his eyes. Deep breaths. 'Center yourself,' Link thought, 'as the Sheikah taught you. Slow your breathing. Quiet your thoughts.'

One, two, three, hold, one, two three, and release, one, two, three. The hylian repeated that cycle three times before opening his eyes. Hermione looked deeply concerned. 'Goddesses guide me,' he breathed a heartfelt prayer for the future, before focusing on the here and now.

"Here," he said, as though nothing had happened. Link slipped the Sheikah Slate out of his pack, deftly flicking the screen to the Compendium. He scrolled through the pictures, stopping at one he'd taken of a mobile guardian.

"Is that some kind of PDA?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed.

"Hermione, what?" Ron asked, baffled. He mimed kissing, making obnoxious smacking noises. Link wasn't sure of the accompanying crude hand gestures, and quickly decided he didn't want to know.

She rolled her eyes. "No, Ron. Personal Data Assistant, not public display of affection. Though Merlin knows what that was."

"You understood what I meant," the redhead shrugged unrepentantly.

"Anyway," the girl insisted, "PDA's are muggle technology, but electronics don't work at Hogwarts."

"Clearly this one does," Harry said dryly. He'd leaned forward for a closer look, unbothered by Hermione's assertion. The witch's curiosity overrode her objection and she followed suit. With Ron leaning over them it was very crowded around the little screen, but they made do.

Link, unsure what "Personal Data Assistant" meant, ignored Hermione's question. "That's a guardian," he pointed at the screen. The thing's blue eye was flashing menacingly; Link had been in the process of dodging laser-fire when he'd daringly snapped that picture. It had been during his first foray into Hyrule Field, trying to find one of the locations Zelda had left him, he recalled. He'd only barely made it out intact, but had managed to both recover a memory and activate a tower, so he counted it as a win. "Incredibly dangerous machines made thousands of years ago. We'd meant them to fight for us, but they were corrupted by Calamity Ganon." He flipped through more pictures, landing on the pair he'd taken of Ganon itself.

Zelda had called him an idiot more than once for taking those pictures. He couldn't find it in himself to disagree, as he'd nearly been skewered for the first, and on horseback dodging veritable seas of malignant flame for the second. In his defense, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Purah and Symin had appreciated it, anyway.

"Is that a flaming pig?" Ron squinted at the image. Link grinned wolfishly.

The hylian exited the Compendium, switching instead to the Album. He flashed an image of Hyrule Castle, steeped in Ganon's Malice, that he'd taken from Satori Mountain. "That was Calamity Ganon." He had another picture saved of the Castle after Ganon had been sealed, though that one had been taken from Dueling Peaks. It was probably the fastest way he could describe those long months (and one hundred years) of his quest to save Hyrule. He showed them the image. "It's not a problem anymore," he added, recalling Hermione's question. Hopefully not for another 10,000 years, anyway.

Link swiped at the screen to show one last picture. This last was Zelda as she'd been a little over a month ago, dressed in a replica of the practical trousers and champion's blue top she'd worn a century prior. Link was pressed to her side, arm draped around her hips, ear-tip brushing hers. Both were smiling brightly, a sight that had been increasingly common in the year after Calamity's defeat. Zelda's arm was up and out of the frame; she'd been the one to take the picture. That had been during one of their rare moments of privacy, directly after Link had learned...

Well. After he'd learned of her pregnancy.

His smile faded into a look of fierce longing. "My wife, Zelda," he said simply.

Hermione was giving him that concerned stare again. Link shoved the Slate into his pack. There was still an hour until curfew. "I'll be at the library," he informed her, and promptly made his escape.

The moment the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut Hermione rounded on the boys, a fevered curiosity lighting her eyes.

It was moments like this that Harry was slightly afraid of her. "What?"

"You don't have any questions?" she asked, disbelieving.

Of course he did. Link had showed them photographs, but his explanations had been lacking. What was Calamity Ganon? What were the guardians? How had they been corrupted? What was that PDA thing he'd used to show them pictures in the first place? If he had something like that then why didn't he know what an oven was, when they first met?

And Link's Boggart. Who was that little girl?

"You just got mad at me for asking questions!" Ron squawked indignantly.

Hermione shot him a withering glare. "No, I got mad at you for asking insensitive ones." She sat back, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "But did either of you realize?"

"Realize what?" Ron asked.

"The photographs!" she exclaimed expectantly. Ron and Harry traded a glance.

"What, the big spider monster or the fiery pig? Hard not to notice, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. Harry had a distinct feeling of deja vu as she continued, "No, Ron, the background. The castle, the volcano. I've never seen such a place."

"I dunno 'bout you, 'Mione, but there's lots of places I haven't seen."

"I know you must have studied geography at some point, Ron," she sighed. "The topography of the landscapes we saw in his photos wasn't like anything on Earth. Not to mention the language. Didn't you see the script on his device?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "It's not that I don't believe you," he started, "but not like anything on Earth? Maybe where he's from is unplottable, like Snuffles' place." How did the girl notice these things?

"An entire continent?"

The boys were forced to concede the point.

"Besides, I've never heard of any technology like what he had either. And those guardians! They looked just like his... pad? Oh I wish he'd told us what it was. I mean, It worked in Hogwarts!" She was working herself into an excited frenzy, and Harry foresaw many trips to the library in their future.

Ron was clearly thinking along the same lines as he bore a clearly alarmed expression. "Hermione, it's only the third day of classes. Do you know how much homework we've got? Haven't we got enough to worry about?" Harry was in silent agreement. With all their schoolwork, his detentions, and Voldemort, he didn't have time to worry about how weird their new friend was.

The bushy-haired witch bit her lip. "I suppose," she said in that way she did when she was absolutely going to do an insane amount of research either way.

"He didn't seem all that against telling us things, " Harry pointed out. That was something he could appreciate, especially after this summer. "Maybe we can catch him again later."

At that, Hermione shot him an incredulous look. "No, I don't think we should bother him with our questions unless we absolutely have to. He was really upset."

About the boggart, maybe, Harry thought. Hermione's mulish expression forbade him arguing, though, and either way Ron was right. They had enough to worry about.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione startled. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

And now he was late for detention. Marvelous.

Link signed his name on yet another essay, shaking his hand to relieve it of an awful cramp. He'd never needed to write much before; even after he'd married into the royal family, Zelda had been content managing most of their political maneuvers, which included legislation and long-distance communication. Link primarily took care of training new soldiers and organizing Hyrule's defenses, though he also took care of much of the face-to-face communication with the different races on Zelda's behalf when she was unable. The process was made simpler by his ability to warp with the Slate and personal friendships with key players across the kingdom, but meant whatever writing he accomplished was through typing on the Slate while on the move.

All that meant he did not write fast. So he was just finishing up homework even he wasn't exempt from, about to start in on a new text from the restricted section, when Harry dragged himself into the common room. Ron followed close behind, furious.

Link set the book aside. "What is it?"

"That Umbridge woman's a real piece of work, is what," Ron glowered. "Look at his hand!"

Though Harry moved to cover it the instant Ron spoke, he wasn't fast enough to escape Link's gaze. Thin, angry red lines scrawled along the back of it, flecked with dried blood. "What happened?" he asked, aghast. He'd promised both Dumbledore and Lupin to watch over the boy, but he'd been so caught up in books and schoolwork that he was already failing.

"Umbridge's detention," Harry explained sullenly. A quill that carved into the skin of the author as they wrote? Link had never heard of such a thing, and to be used as punishment? He'd underestimated how petty and foul the woman would be.

"Come here," Link commanded. It was the same tone he used on his knights, and Harry obeyed before he really noticed what he was doing. Link took hold of Harry's wrist, holding his left palm over the words carved into his skin. There lingered a chill of darkness in the spidery cuts. A soft white light began to shine from Link's hand, and Harry gasped.

"What is that?" he asked in wonder. Link almost smiled. He'd felt much the same the first time Mipha had used her gift on him, back when he was but a child of a mere four years.

The painful cuts slowly closed and faded into nothing. Mipha had not been a goddess, could not heal death, but her gift was such that cuts would heal over in seconds, clean breaks in a matter of minutes. The more severe the wound, the more time it took. It would always take Link longer to heal than it had taken Mipha, but such a small injury was restored in under a minute.

Though her spirit no longer lingered within the magic, Link felt warm at its use. The faint chill had dissipated entirely. No trace of the wound was left.

"That's amazing," Harry said, the same instant Ron blurted, "Wicked!" The green-eyed wizard inspected the back of his hand, mouth agape. "But how?"

"Mipha's Grace," Link said softly. "This was the magic a dear friend left to me when she passed. It's saved my life countless times since," he explained. To do any less would be a disservice to her memory.

"Thanks," Harry breathed.

"Please don't hesitate to come to me if something like this happens again," Link insisted, blue gaze serious.

The younger wizards traded a glance. "Hate to break it to ya, mate, but he's got another detention tomorrow."

"And another three next week," Harry added gloomily, "because I was late yesterday."

"You mean McGonagall and Dumbledore put up with this?" Neither seemed the type, and weren't they in charge of the school? Surely one of the boys had said something, and either the headmaster or his deputy were working to put a stop to it?

"They don't exactly know," Harry hedged.

"I see," Link said flatly. He'd just gotten rid of the evidence, too.

"I don't think they could do anything about it anyway," Harry added hastily. "That toad works for the ministry. As long as Fudge keeps her in power she's going to keep doing what she wants no matter what the other teachers think."

Link nodded slowly, inwardly plotting. Harry was his charge, his safety his priority. That quill would not last.

He stood abruptly, sliding his text into his pack. "I'll see you in the morning," he said to their startled faces, and swept out of the portrait hole.

It took Link perhaps five minutes to change into his Sheikah gear and make his way to Umbridge's office. The door was open, so he took the opportunity to slink inside, keeping to the shadows. Umbridge, at her desk, didn't notice.

She left for bed perhaps an hour later, papers graded and neatly stacked. That was good. The more organized someone was, the easier it was to not only find their belongings, but also to replace them. The following ten minutes were devoted to opening drawers and filing cabinets, quickly examining their contents.

One particular drawer held missives to and from the ministry, and Link skimmed through them without hurry. There was more than one complaint about Dumbledore, Harry, and a few entirely baseless suspicions as to their activities. Some of the letters were not so innocent however, and Link made a mental note to tell Harry to watch what he wrote. A final letter, from the minister himself it seemed, was a smugly-worded notice that Umbridge would be receiving a new job within the next few days, as planned, and proved the boys' worries about the woman's relative power over the school right. It further explained that more changes to Hogwarts were forthcoming, dependant on Umbridge's reports from her new position. That particular missive Link snapped a photo of to show Hermione.

It took another couple of minutes to locate the infamous blood-letting quill, on top of a thin box in her top desk drawer, where she'd made no attempt to hide it at all. The hylian almost rolled his eyes at himself, given that he'd wasted so much time looking everywhere but the obvious. Link slid the quill out of the drawer, examining it quietly. Save for the color and sharpness, it looked like an ordinary quill. What truly made it different was the dark chill he could feel emanating from it, the same he'd felt in Harry's wound. He felt vaguely ill just holding it, and wondered if Harry had felt the same.

Before he put the quill back he opened the box that was underneath, raising a brow when he saw two identical quills placed neatly inside, though one lacked the foreboding darkness the others had. Underneath the quills were a stack of hand-written notes. Link slid the parchments out, frowning as he scanned the witch's neat, precise writing.

They were notes on the quills' construction. She had actually deliberately designed an instrument of torture, Link realized as he read further, specifically to punish those under her authority. Any infraction was to be punished in this manner, which meant she wasn't operating under her disproportionate enmity with Harry. It wasn't the ministry's directive that she act in such a way; just her own twisted personality.

That was good to know. Link set aside that information for future consideration, snapping clear pictures of every single page of notes, and then of the quills themselves. He closed the box.

Link carefully replaced every item he'd moved and slunk back out of Umbridge's office.

He didn't know how many students were currently under fire from Umbridge, but term had just started, so it probably wasn't many. Link fully intended to destroy the quills, but if he moved now the witch would surely blame Harry. First, he had to ensure suspicion would be cast on someone else.

There was no question as to who. Link himself would take the blame, which meant he first needed to do something that warranted detention. That in itself should not be difficult, but he'd rather a swift response than the detention delayed until Harry's were finished. It would have to be something fairly drastic then.

Link considered his options for a long moment. Voldemort was a topic that would ensure trouble, but would also undoubtedly involve Harry. The boy had only meditated once; he was no master over his emotions yet, and nothing invoked his temper like a mention of the evil wizard. A less severe offense would also work, but not as fast as he liked. What to do? ...Oh.

He had just the thing.

Fifth-year Gryffindors had Double Defense on Mondays, their only DADA class all week. While that meant Harry would have to suffer through tomorrow's torture session, it also meant Link could enact his plan during class Monday, before the next round of detentions.

He just needed to do one final thing before then.

The hylian swiftly made his way back to the common room, climbing the stairs not to the fifth-year dorm, but the seventh. While the majority of the students were asleep, two particular boys were unsurprisingly awake.

Fred and George were surprisingly cooperative, and followed after Link curiously with no more than a quiet gesture. When they reached the common area they offered Link guilty expressions. "Look mate, if this is about yesterday, we are sorry," George said.

"We weren't trying to be jerks," Fred added, "just wanted to have a bit of fun, is all. Didn't think about what exactly you'd be showing off there."

"Won't do it again, we solemnly swear," George finished.

Link smirked. "Actually," he said, "I would like you to show me how."