The Ambiguous Artifice

by murkybluematter

Harriet Potter's third year masquerading as a pureblood boy promises to be even more complicated than the last two. All she wants is to get through her studies unimpeded, but with pureblood politics, ancient artifacts, and adolescent hormones getting in the way... well, at least she's up to the challenge. Alanna the Lioness take on HP, book three.

5. Chapter 5

A/N: So: people dislike Leo's intensity toward Harry—I understand, and please note that it is not actually sexual at this point. It's teasing, and it reminds her of her gender for her 'own good' like George from ATL does frequently. Also, in the ATL books there's this 'people get married at 15' thing, so thirteen isn't too young to start thinking ahead. In the wizarding world, too, society is old fashioned. Babies at twenty seems to be the norm, despite the longer lifespans. Yes, I get that the vague references are uncomfortable for some readers. I'm sort of straddling the two cannons on this one, while trying to accommodate for my post-modern audience, as well. Sorry for anyone made uncomfortable in the mean time—but trust me, I am not driving this train down those particular tracks.

Thank you for all the prolific reviews on the last chapter—I don't deserve them, but they do make me so happy. Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy this one as well!

The Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter Five:

Her hair was plastered to her forehead with a gel of perspiration. Dust from clouds of kicked-up dirt stung her eyelids. There were areas of her arms and legs that she couldn't even feel anymore, so many times had she blocked punches and kicks with them. Her heart was racing, her muscles shaking, and Harry had never felt so alive.

Sparring was exhilarating. It was like running—like flying, even—thrilling her spirit and satisfying a physical instinct to just move that she sometimes forgot she had after days cooped up in her lab, but better than running and flying—it was challenging. It wasn't instinctual, and it wasn't automatic. Her mind had to be there, in the fight, every second, striving, pushing, grasping every moment in a vice of concentration and anticipation.

Leo never hesitated, never pulled his strikes when her guard slipped. Her body remembered as well as her mind did what happened when she made mistakes, and it learned how to avoid pain even as her mind figured out how to reconcile strategy with instinct, instead of grappling against it.

She went sprawling across the courtyard when Leo twisted a foot under her guard and into her ribs, and Harry tasted metal where her tongue got caught between her teeth on impact. It was the second time that morning she'd bitten it, and she was seriously considering putting a roll of cotton between her teeth before the next bout.

"That'll do for today, Harry," Leo said, wiping his brow with the bottom of his tunic, "Tomorrow we'll go over low blocks again—you still tend to block higher than necessary when you react without reminding yourself. Good work."

Harry put her fist over her heart in a tired salute to her teacher, then bent over to stretch out her back muscles by reaching toward the dirt and arching. Her flexibility wasn't anything impressive, but she was slowly working her way toward 'limber.'

She turned her mind over the spar, mentally freezing certain moments and acknowledging that Leo was right about the way she blocked. She held her hands high on her chest more often than not, even when the blow was toward her center. Leo was right to correct her, not least because most boys tended toward just the opposite habit—blocking lower than necessary on a purely instinctual basis. Still, Harry felt her mistake was understandable if one considered how sensitive the upper part of her chest was these days. Understandable, but undeniably correctable. Correct it she would.

Her body was growing up that summer, Harry thought ruefully. It wasn't visible, thanks to the modified Polyjuice, which only showed the androgynous body she'd assumed, but Harry felt phantom pain where the changes of her real, presumably more feminine, body would be happening if the potion wasn't suppressing them. She'd read studies that detailed what happened when people with terminal illnesses polyjuiced into a healthy person in an attempt to escape the reality of their condition. They looked healthy, but their true form was still rotting away somehow, and they experienced the pain of that deterioration, even though the body they wore looked and seemed medically fine. A person's true form was something magic couldn't easily get around—it only hid it away or altered it temporarily, most of the time.

Not all of her aches were from growth spurts, though. Most of them came from plain hard work. She could run nearly five miles in one stretch now, if she pushed it, and she suspected that her increased physical endurance was having a positive effect on the temperament of her magic, which had seemed almost docile in the last few weeks. Perhaps willful magic was a bit like lycanthropy, and being strong in body helped with control? She'd have to look into it.

When she and Leo had finished their cool-down stretches, they adjourned to the Phoenix for lunch. She found that she got along even better with Leo now that they'd started sparring. They were still friends, but there was a teacher-student element to their relationship now that added a layer of respect and deliberateness that had perhaps been missing before. She learned a lot from him about protecting herself, though he didn't think her ready to mix magical and physical sparring just yet. Remus had been drilling her in dueling, though, so she couldn't say her development in that subject was being neglected.

It was just she and Leo sitting at their table until Krait slid into the seat across from Harry and thrust a scroll at her.

"Glad I caught you," the man said, "I've got another express order, if you've the time."

"Always time for potion-brewing," Harry said, shoving her half-eaten soup to the side despite Leo's disapproving gaze and opening the more interesting roll of parchment, "The suppressant potion again? I brewed a ton last time."

"He wants more," Krait shrugged, "An army's worth, it seems like, but I told him it'll keep and keep if the bottles are sealed right, so no reason not to order it all at once."

"And if he decides later he doesn't need so much—well, it's not your fault he already bought it, right?" Leo drawled.

"It's a living," Krait grinned like a shark, "So? How soon can you do it?"

"This much?" Harry did a quick calculation of how much free time she'd have if she cut back some of her research hours temporarily. "Three days," she said eventually, deciding to just get it out of the way so she could concentrate fully on her research once more, "But I'll need a lot of bottles, so I'll make several trips over the next three days until you have the full order."

"I'll tell the customer to expect it then," Krait said. He then pointed to a hastily scribbled addendum at the bottom of the order, "He also wants to know if you can modify a potion for him. I told him I'd ask, but you might need time to work out a substitute for the ingredient he wants taken out."

"For an allergy?" Harry guessed, reading over the request quickly. It was for a fairly standard nutrient potion—not one she'd made before, but common enough that she had a vague idea what it contained. She wondered why Mr. Malfoy was having Krait do the nutrient potion—which wasn't nearly as suspicious as a magic suppressant potion, and could easily be procured at a shop that wasn't in Knockturn. She mentally shrugged a moment later, thinking that maybe it was just convenient to get it from Krait, since he was making such a large order already. Seriously, what was with all these magic suppressant potions?

"What's the ingredient he wants taken out?" Harry asked distractedly, "It doesn't say."

Krait frowned, and summoned a quill from Solom's ledger book to jot a note down in the margin, "Sorry about that. It's acai."

"Acai?" Harry couldn't help but jerk slightly and stare at the neatly noted word, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Krait said, "Will it be a problem?"

Harry shook her head slowly, "No…no, I'll just use Ginseng." The market for which had mysteriously recovered in recent months, "The two are interchangeable in most cases. I just…it's the same customer as last time, right?"

"Yes…" Krait narrowed his eyes, "What's wrong? If you suspect something shady, I'll tell him to piss off, kid."

Harry shook her head again, "No. Sorry, don't pay me any mind. I'll have the nutrient potion ready with the rest of it. It won't take but thirty minutes itself."

Outwardly she bade Krait a polite good day, and began eating her soup again slowly, but inwardly her mind was churning.

Draco was allergic to acai. The nutrient potion was for Draco, then, to be sure, and maybe it was a coincidence that Malfoy was buying the magic suppressant at the same time he bought a nutrient potion for Draco…but maybe it wasn't.

She hadn't considered, before, that the suppressant might be for Draco. It was a potion for kids—little kids, usually no older than nine—who had extreme bouts of accidental magic. Harry had taken a similar one herself once, when she was seven, and she couldn't remember much but her parents never gave it to her again, so she assumed it hadn't worked very well. It wasn't a strong suppressant—just enough that if the one taking it wasn't actively trying to use magic, the potion would keep the person's magic from being expressed accidentally.

Harry wasn't sure what would happen if a wizard capable of voluntary magic, like Draco, took the suppressant. It probably wouldn't stop him from doing magic if he really wanted to, so it was very unlikely that Malfoy Sr. meant to give the potion to his son, even in such large quantities—an increased dose of this potion did nothing to increase effectiveness, after all.

Still, Harry's brain niggled at her, and a few minutes later she recalled the Potentialis Potion she'd given Draco for his birthday—his thirteenth birthday, when young wizards were known to sometimes come into unexpected magical gifts.

Could it be that Draco had come into a gift? One he couldn't control? The odds were astronomically low. The potion almost never revealed anything other than a wizard's basic strengths and weaknesses. If a child inherited a magical gift, chances were that it would manifest naturally by the time he was thirteen—like Harry's Parseltongue had. It could be that the potion had revealed a power Draco hadn't known he possessed, but if its passive effects were enough to need a suppressant to control, then the potion hadn't just pointed out an existing gift, but rather activated a dormant one. Draco would have to have some phenomenally strong recessive magic for that to occur. It simply wasn't likely.

Harry shook her head. She would ask Draco when she saw him on the train back to Hogwarts, but for now she wouldn't worry. After all, Draco didn't have her luck with Fate. The chances of him exhibiting a long-buried trait just because of a potion she gave him were virtually nonexistent. She pushed the traitorous little thought that Draco might be a target of Fate because he was her friend right out of her mind. No need to get a big head, Harry scolded herself, Not everything is about you.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry stopped by Mr. Tate's apothecary on her way home from the Phoenix, needing to grab a few ingredients she was running low on, and peered around the familiar shop as she slipped quietly in the door. Mr. Tate was at the counter, his curly hair escaping the confines of its tie as he rang up…Caelum Lestrange. She held in a sigh. It wasn't enough that she passed him in the Guild hallways several times a week? Why did she have to see him at the apothecary, too?

She tried to step into the isles of ingredients before she was spotted, but Mr. Tate glanced up and paused in his measuring and calculating to call jovially across the shop, "There's my favorite customer! How's brewing lately, Miss Potter?"

Lestrange turned at the counter to glare at her, and Harry ignored him as best she could, "Hello, Mr. Tate. Everything's been great, thanks to the excellent quality of your ingredients, no doubt."

Tate chuckled and waved a large hand with false modesty, "Well, look around, look around. There's some wonderfully fresh salamander skin just in."

Interested, Harry peeked at the salamander skin for a few minutes before grabbing a basket and picking out the ingredients she knew she was running low on, including a bundle of ginseng. She eventually found everything she needed, and was surprised to see Lestrange still at the counter when she left the isles.

"Just come down a few sickles," Lestrange was saying urgently, though quietly, "I can pay thirty."

"And it costs thirty-five," Tate said, apologetic but firm, "Either pay the whole, or pick what you can do without."

"I need it all," Lestrange snapped, "I'm a researcher, I can't afford to cut corners on costs—give it to me on credit. I'm good for it."

Harry wondered why he didn't use the Guild's research allowance to pay for ingredients, but then realized he'd probably spent it all—Aconite's Alleviation was not cheap to brew, and the allowance only stretched so far. Harry herself had spent her internship's allowance in the first few weeks of experimenting with Master Thompson.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't extend credit to everyone who comes in here and can't pay," Tate shook his head.

Harry waged a fierce internal debate, one side pleading to let Lestrange go stuff himself and the other reluctantly suggesting a nobler course of action. Her newfound determination to treat Lestrange solely in terms of his brewing ability stepped in, and she couldn't keep quiet, "I know him, Mr. Tate. He's good for the credit."

Lestrange whirled, "I don't need your charity, halfblood! Mind your own."

"Now, that's no way to speak to a nice young lady like Miss Potter," Tate reproved.

"It's all right, Mr. Tate," Harry said quietly, even as her brain railed at her with mental I told you so's for helping the ungrateful git, "Mr. Lestrange likes to poke fun at my parentage when he feels embarrassed—it's sort of an inside joke between the two of us."

"Stop interfering," Lestrange hissed.

"No need to be so proud, Caelum," Harry said, smirking slightly, "Mr. Tate, you really should extend him the credit. He's doing research for the Potions Guild. I'm sure one day when he's a famous brewer he won't forget which apothecary showed him a kindness."

Mr. Tate coughed uncomfortably, but did ring the purchases up at thirty sickles. Lestrange took them with ill grace, but his sneer was missing some of its usual heat as he left the shop.

"Tough nut, that one," Tate said, huffing, as Harry piled her items onto the counter.

She shrugged, "He's a bit unpleasant, but not a half-bad brewer."

"And that's all that matters to you, I suppose," Tate chuckled. He added everything up in short order, "That'll be sixteen sickles, and three knuts. Shall I put it on your school account as usual, Miss Potter?"

"Yes, thank you," she said. She dug in her purse for five sickles and pushed them across the counter as well, "In case he doesn't pay you back the credit."

"Oh, no," Tate said quickly, "I couldn't, Miss Potter."

"If he pays you back, you can credit them toward my next purchase," Harry said, "And if he doesn't, then it's my fault for recommending him. Good day, Mr. Tate."

"You as well, Miss Potter. Don't let Krait overwork you, now."

"I never do, Mr. Tate."

-0

[HpHpHP]

-0

The next day when Harry stepped into the Guild she was startled by the amount of people milling about the lobby. Upon closer inspection, all the strangers seemed to be reporters, armed with dicto-quills and pushy cameramen. Harry wondered what had happened to draw so much attention so early in the morning. Judging by the different languages some of the reporters were rapidly swapping confidences in, the news was big enough to garner international attention.

Harry slipped around the multitudes and trotted down to Thompson's lab. When she walked in, Thompson looked up from reading what looked like one of the Guild's journals, except she could see Professor Snape's striking features on the cover, and he hadn't been on the cover of a journal in several years. Was Thompson reading back issues for research? Unless…

"Is that it?" Harry asked, suddenly excited, "Master Snape's breakthrough on the Wolfsbane?"

"Just published this morning," Thompson said, grinning a bit, "Special edition and everything."

Harry eyed the periodical longingly. Special edition bulletins were only printed for the biggest of potion breakthroughs. She wondered if Thompson would mind if she read over his shoulder, then wondered if she could take the morning off of research to hunt down a copy for herself.

Seeing Harry's torn expression, Thompson laughed and held the journal toward her, "Go on, then. I've read it twice already. Brilliant stuff."

"It's Snape, of course it's brilliant," Harry said distractedly, holding the thin magazine like it was made of fairy wings. She groped blindly for a chair to sit, her eyes already scanning the front page.

Taming the Wolf, the headline of the edition read. Harry snorted at the melodramatic title, and skimmed down to where Snape's actual article title was quoted. "Argument for a New Modification of the Wolfsbane Potion," it was called. That sounded more like Snape—clear and informative.

She settled in to read, and noted with no small amount of pleasure that some of the information in the article she already knew from working on Aconite Alleviation with Snape those months ago. The article essentially outlined the methods and results of Snape's prolonged experimentation with both Aconite Alleviation and Wolfsbane itself. It detailed the exact effect each proposed change in the recipe would produce, and concluded with an analysis of the modification's usefulness and viability.

Some of the modifications called for more expensive ingredients, but that was balanced by the decreased amount of imbued magic necessary to bond the potion in the final stages, so cost-wise the improved version was approximate to the original. Snape had managed to reduce the brewing time by a full fifteen minutes, and provided several alternate instructions for ingredient preparation—Harry was especially interested to find out why heating the fire slugs before mashing them resulted in significantly higher potency in the final product.

More important than the aesthetic improvements, though, were the effects the modified potion would have once ingested. According to Snape, his version of the potion, if taken before the sun set on the first night of the full moon, would remain potent for all three nights of potential transformation. Such a thing was unimaginable before, but Snape had essentially decreased the probability of a werewolf forgetting his potion during the full moon by 2/3rds. Instead of remembering to take it three nights in a row, and paying for three doses of the potion, the werewolf would only need it once a month.

That wasn't even the best of it.

In addition to only needing to be taken once a month, the modified recipe lessened the pain of transformations by an average of sixty percent, and in the few trials performed thus far resulted in significantly decreased reports of tiredness, nausea, and irritability in the days following the transformation as well. Snape had used the full moon to his advantage, incorporating ingredients that were influenced by its cycle, meaning that they activated when the full moon rose and deactivated when it set. It made the side-effects of taking Wolfsbane stronger during the night and weaker during the day.

There were drawbacks, of course, which Snape detailed carefully toward the end of his report. The modified potion acted as a sedative on the transformed wolf. While the human was unaffected during the day, the wolf became extremely docile and sleepy once transformed. While this would seem like an advantage to many—docile werewolves meant fewer attacks, surely—Snape cautioned potential drinkers to secure their resting place carefully before transforming, as the werewolf's ability to defend itself if threatened would be drastically reduced.

Even with the minor drawbacks, the new modifications were more than Harry had expected—more than anyone could have anticipated. Snape had single-handedly changed the way werewolves would manage their illness. A once-a-month potion was the same way most women handled the effects of their menstrual cycles, and from the sound of things the werewolf transformation under this potion wouldn't be much more painful or tiring than severe lower-abdominal cramps could sometimes be. It would still be a struggle for some to afford it, but with the monthly cost a third of what it had been, the new recipe would go a long way toward helping those who had never had reliable access to it before.

On the last page, the New Wolfsbane recipe was detailed in all its complex glory. Harry had to sternly remind herself, as she read it, that she had promised Professor Snape she wouldn't attempt to brew Wolfsbane without a licensed Master to assist her. Her fingers itched to gather the listed ingredients and find out right now how difficult this new recipe was, but she forced herself to calm her excitement and re-read the entire recipe twice so that she would remember most of the major modifications. She couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts and discuss it with her mentor.

She was about to put the article down when a footnote on the very last page caught her eye. She read it with growing disbelief, and then read it again, just in case she'd been hallucinating.

"Credit for the timely release of this modification must be given in part to my occasional assistant, Arcturus Rigel Black."

Severus Snape had mentioned her in his breakthrough article on New Wolfsbane. Master Snape, the greatest potions master in England and possibly the world, had given her partial credit for his success. It might say Archie's name, and it might only be a footnote, but it was there in black-and-white, and she would always know what it meant. Even if nothing else came of her years of study at Hogwarts, even if everything fell to ruin and her reputation as a potioneer was forever tarnished by a discovered deception, no matter what, she'd still have this feeling of complete perfection.

"You look awfully pleased," Thompson said, "Are you secretly a werewolf or something?"

Harry shook her head but couldn't suppress the smile on her face, "This is an astonishing accomplishment, that's all. Every academic in the world should be pleased today."

She went to hand the periodical back to Thompson, but he waved a hand, "Keep it. They'll be sold out most places by now, and you collect them, don't you?"

Harry blinked, "How did you know?"

Thompson favored her with a bland look, "All aspiring Masters collect the Guild's journals. I had quite a collection myself, until I gained complete access to the Guild's archives and had no need to hoard second-hand copies of ancient articles any longer."

Harry smiled a bit embarrassedly, but didn't hesitate to tuck the special edition safely away in her bag. It had her name in it…sort of. She'd probably frame it, after she made Archie read it, of course. If he was getting credit for being part of the process, she'd have to make sure he understood all the pertinent parts of the modification, in case anyone else noticed the footnote and asked him about it.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Although she had drilled Archie on the Wolfsbane potion for over an hour that afternoon, neither of them was expecting the subject to come up as quickly as it did. Lily brought a copy of the article home from work with her, however, and pointed out the footnote with obvious curiosity and puzzlement over dinner.

"I had no idea you were assisting Se—Potions Master Snape," Lily said, "You must be very talented, Archie, for him to single you out among all his students."

"I learned it all from Harry," Archie said, chuckling a bit self-deprecatingly, "But I guess I am pretty good at potions, compared to a lot of people our age."

"But Snape?" Sirius couldn't seem to wrap his head around it, "How long have you been assisting him?"

"It's an on-and-off thing," Archie shrugged, "I didn't mention it because it didn't seem like a big deal."

"He mentions you by name in a high-profile publication," Lily protested, "That sort of press is hard for a journeyman to get. For a Hogwarts student to receive the honor…it sort of is a big deal, Archie."

"Why would Snape make you his assistant?" James blurted out.

Remus shot his friend a slightly admonishing glance and said, "What James means is that Professor Snape must have passed over a lot of older students in favor of your assistance. Do you know what persuaded him?"

Archie looked uncomfortable, so Harry decided she ought to jump in.

"He did it for me," she said, casting a grateful look at Archie across the table, "I love AIM, but first year I was a bit disappointed not to be going to Hogwarts, if you remember. I felt like I would be missing out on invaluable potion instruction by not studying under Master Snape. In exchange for me sending him information about the Healing tract at AIM, Archie approached Snape for extra potions lessons."

"Yeah," Archie chimed in before the adults could comment on the odd exchange of knowledge, "At first he would just give me extra work, but it turns out he needs an assistant sometimes, and he was tired of retraining the NEWT students every time one graduated, I think. He decided just to use me, since I wasn't busy with exam prep, and I wasn't going anywhere for a while."

"Well," Lily said, looking nonplussed, "It's still very impressive that you assisted him with such difficult experimentation."

"It was completely safe," Archie hastened to assure them, "I helped mostly with fetching ingredients and other auxiliary stuff. I'm certainly not allowed to brew Wolfsbane on my own. Honestly, I didn't do much. The footnote was just a courtesy, I think. It was nice of him to remember my involvement, though."

"Nice? Snape?" Sirius sighed, "The world's gone all wonky these last few years."

"Old people always say that when they don't like the way society develops," Archie said archly, "Soon you'll be bitter and judgmental, too, and in a hundred years your great-grandson will roll his eyes at your portrait for being so stuffy and old-fashioned."

"Why you—" Sirius promptly dumped the kale salad over Archie's head, "I'll show you stuffy!"

"Not the vegetables…" Lily sighed, "Why did you have to ruin the only healthy thing on the table?"

"Addy's still eating healthy," James pointed out helpfully.

They all looked at Addy, who gurgled at them around her bottle when she noticed.

Lily sighed, "Hurry and grow up, Adriana. I need more people on my side."

"You assume Addy will be on your side," Archie said, grinning, "But every time she comes over to my house I let her listen to the Weird Sisters. She's going to be on my side, if anyone's."

"But I'm the one who feeds her chocolate," Remus said innocently, "I really think she'll be partial to me by the time she gets old enough to figure out how awful vegetables are."

"Rock music and sweets?" Sirius scoffed, "That's not the way to a lady's heart. I take Addy shoe shopping."

He puffed out his chest proudly, and Lily narrowed her eyes at him. "Were you the one who charmed her shoes to hiss like tiny snakes when she bounces them?"

Sirius's face was too innocent not to be guilty, "Me? I thought you did that, Lily."

Lily raised an eyebrow, "Why would I?"

"So she doesn't get eaten by my courtyard snakes when she comes over to play, of course," Sirius said cheerfully, "They think she's one of them now. They love peering their little faces into her basket while she's sunning."

"Sunning?" This was apparently too much for Lily, "Merlin help you if my baby gets freckles, Sirius. I'll have your snakes for skins, and then we'll see who has a new pair of shoes."

James and Remus couldn't hold their laughter in any longer, and their loud guffaws set off the rest of them. Even Lily rolled her eyes eventually and picked Addy up to cradle her in her arms, "Please be sane when you learn to talk, little one. I can't take much more of this nonsense."

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry cursed as the handwriting charm slipped and smudged the label she was spelling until it was unreadable. She didn't want to spare the time to redo it, but she also didn't want one of the Malfoys to recognize Rigel's writing. She wiped the label clean and reapplied the charm with more concentration, then hurriedly stowed it in the crate with the others. It was the last batch of suppressants she'd been working on for Malfoy, and she was almost past her deadline. She'd said she would have the rest by three that afternoon, and it was twenty minutes till by the time she cleared away her lab station and headed for the floo.

She couldn't move quickly with the crate of potions in her hand, and the alleys were busy with afternoon shoppers, so it was another fifteen minutes before she reached the Serpent's Storeroom.

She nudged the door open with her foot, saying, "Sorry, Mr. Krait. I lost track of time at the Guild this morning."

"Not at all, you're right on time, kid," Krait said, taking the crates from her and setting them in a pile with the other crates, which were waiting by the register. It was then Harry caught sight of Mr. Malfoy sitting behind the counter, looking unreasonably poised in Krait's dingy shop. "Here's the last of them, sir." Krati said proudly, "Quality guaranteed."

"By who?" Mr. Malfoy drawled, "Your little errand boy?"

Harry bristled, but didn't say anything other than, "See you around, Krait."

"One moment, boy," Malfoy said imperiously, "I require a word about the brewer who employs you."

"Krait employs me," Harry said shortly, not interested in letting Malfoy get to know Harry the way he knew Rigel.

Malfoy frowned down at her closed expression, "The brewer who gave you those potions, then."

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you watch him brew the potions?" Malfoy asked.

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging dismissively.

"Is he sober? In control? How many cauldrons does he attempt to brew at once?" Malfoy fired questions at her without giving Harry a chance to answer, "Are the ingredients fresh? Stored properly? Does he—"

"Here now, my brewer is perfectly competent," Krait protested.

"You'll excuse me if I don't simply take your word for that, Mr. Krait," Malfoy sneered.

Harry recognized the sharp edge in Malfoy's eyes, and if she hadn't been convinced at least some of the potions were for Draco before, she was now certain. "Mr. Malfoy," she said carefully, "These potions are perfectly safe. I can assure you that they were brewed responsibly and with proper attention to Guild-recommended safety regulations."

Malfoy shot Krait a rather dark look, "Complete anonymity indeed."

Realizing she'd said Malfoy's name out loud, Harry quickly said, "Don't blame Krait—you're not exactly low-profile, Mr. Malfoy. A picture of you at your garden party was in the society pages just a few weeks ago."

"You read the society pages?" Malfoy sneered skeptically.

"Doesn't everyone?" Harry said, a bit sarcastically.

Malfoy was looking faintly amused now, though he still raised an eyebrow imperiously when he asked, "If you read the article you'll know who did our catering for the party, won't you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow right back. She hadn't read any such article, of course, but there was only one wizarding entertainment company that hired nonhuman waiters and waitresses, and they were quite well-known for it.

"Mystique Event Management," Harry said airily in the face of Krait's nonplussed look, "Usually known for their cutting-edge taste, but I hear the nymphs at your party were rather tackily overdone."

"You insolent little—" Malfoy visibly gathered himself, then said, "Dobby."

Harry was confused for half an instant, and then Dobby the elf popped into the shop.

"Master's crates is being ready?" Dobby asked, half looking up at Mr. Malfoy, half cringing away.

"This stack," Malfoy gestured at the crates, "You know where to take them."

Dobby bowed hastily, and with a snap of his fingers, he and the crates both vanished.

"Good day, Mr. Krait," Malfoy said, inclining his head an infinitesimal amount toward the shopkeeper, "And as for you…" he turned to Harry with a threatening gleam in his eyes, "Since you so earnestly insured these potions' quality, you won't mind if I take any imperfections out of your impertinent hide."

It was not a question. Harry had always known this dangerous, pitiless predator lay beneath Lord Malfoy's socialite exterior, and the only surprise she felt at his threat was that he should bother intimidating a street kid like her, who should rightfully mean nothing to the rich lord.

"Good luck finding any," she said, false sweetness in every note.

He turned on his heel and left the shop without acknowledging her further.

"You've got to stop being rude to my customers," Krait sighed.

"Only that one," Harry said, "And he came back for more, didn't he?"

"It's just not like you," Krait pointed out.

"How well do you really know me, Mr. Krait?" Harry asked, somewhat rhetorically.

"Well enough to know that no matter how rude you are to Mr. Malfoy, he's not going to forget you any faster," Krait said knowingly.

Harry cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Any other orders come in?"

"None that my other brewers can't handle," Krait said, scratching his head as though wondering when Harry had become not one of his brewers, but his best brewer.

"See you around, then," Harry said, waving a bit before slipping out of the shop.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She spent most of that evening researching and practicing the shield spell she would use in her final project, but the last hour before bed was reserved for perusing the Dark Disguise book, as she'd taken to calling it. Since she'd received the book from Leo, she'd mastered the voice-changing spell, along with a spell to thicken her hair—it worked on everything, from the hair on her head to her eyebrows, leg, and arm hair, but unfortunately it only worked on hair that already grew, so it wouldn't help her grow facial hair.

In between learning useful little spells like that, she'd been studying auras. Interestingly, the majority of the chapter on auras was about how to suppress your aura so others couldn't recognize it. Suppressing was supposed to be the difficult part, and projection was only explained briefly as a reversal of suppression. In theory Harry could learn how to project her aura, but it involved undoing the suppression, which seemed like a waste when suppressing was supposed to be so difficult to achieve. Luckily, there was another option. The rest of the chapter covered constructing auras. After suppressing one's own aura, one could apparently learn to project a false aura that, while rudimentary, would fool most aura-sensors.

The Dark Disguise book helpfully broke down the process mentally, and while much of the explanation seemed overly metaphorical, Harry could see how it might work. It wasn't something she'd thought to try, but it made a certain amount of sense. It would require meditation, and she wouldn't know if it worked unless she found someone who could read auras to test it against, but it was definitely doable.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

"Miss," Remus said, flicking his wand to send another disk into the air.

Harry took aim and shot a stunner at it. The disk sailed gracefully through the air like a swan, and the stunner impacted against the wall behind it with a sad little fizzle.

"Miss," Remus commented cheerfully, sending another disk flying.

"I can tell when I miss," Harry huffed, taking aim again and watching the disk serenely reflect the light of the stunner as it passed.

"But you can't talk and shoot at the same time, apparently," Remus said, flicking up another disk.

"I can't shoot regardless," Harry said, missing once again.

"You're over-thinking it," Remus said.

"I really don't think I am," Harry said wryly. Take aim, shoot. Not that complicated a concept, really. The disks were just so small, and the jet of light coming out of her wand was even smaller. It wasn't exactly like aiming bludgers at people-sized targets. More like aiming a needle at a poker chip.

"I suppose you could take a step forward," Remus said, faux generousness oozing from his amused expression.

Harry was too much a Slytherin to turn her nose up at the handicap, so she took a step forward and tried a few more times. All misses.

"I think that one was closer," Remus said supportively.

"I think you're making fun of me," Harry said, raising an eyebrow as Remus simply flicked another disk into the air.

Harry tracked its arc the way she might predict a bludger's movements. She'd watched enough disks fly across the room by now that she had a pretty good idea of their speed and weight, even though she'd never picked one up. When she was fairly sure where it would start descending, she shot three stunners in a row. The first two missed, but the third one was timed just right. The disk turned green and dropped to the floor.

Harry smirked, and Remus sighed.

"That's cheating."

"If it was an enemy, he'd be down for the count," Harry said, "How is it cheating if I win?"

"What do they teach you in America?" Remus muttered. He looked down at the disks, and shrugged, "All right, try this on for size, my little opportunist."

He flicked three disks into the air, and although Harry fired as fast as she could, she only knocked one out of the air.

"So it seems a 33% success rate is only a problem when there are multiple enemies," Remus said thoughtfully. He shrugged artfully, "Ah, well, that probably won't happen."

Harry sighed, "Point taken. Let it fly, Remus."

Remus launched another one, and practice went on.

After aiming practice was dodging practice, and then they cooled down with a couple bottles of water.

"Thanks for the practice, Remus," Harry said.

"You don't have to thank me every time," Remus said, smiling, "You're a good student."

"You're a good teacher," Harry said honestly.

Remus looked hesitant for a moment, then said, "You really think so?"

"Of course," Harry said, surprised that he was uncertain, "You know exactly how to make the lesson stick, without frustrating me or getting frustrated yourself."

Remus's smile widened, "And you know exactly what to say to people. You get that from your mom, I guess."

Harry smiled. It seemed like anytime someone recognized something good in her, they inevitably suggested she'd gotten it from one of her parents. Even at school, she heard teachers wondering whether it was Sirius or Diana who contributed to Rigel's talent for transfiguration or polite disposition. As if children didn't have any light of their own, only reflecting their parents' rays.

"I've been offered a job," Remus said suddenly.

Harry looked over at him with interest, "A paying job? Is it an independent company?"

The ministry had laws against employing dark creatures, but there were some corporations that got special dispensations, provided they didn't employ them the week of the full moon.

"Something like that," Remus said. He looked hesitatingly at Harry from the corner of his eye, "It's…Hogwarts, actually."

Harry couldn't stop the jerk she made in surprise, and to her dismay Remus misinterpreted it immediately, "I know how badly you wanted to go when you were younger. I don't want you to feel like I'm rubbing it in, or—"

"Remus," Harry said quickly, "Don't. I'm not—I'm happy for you, Remus. I'm amazed, actually. How did this happen?"

Remus ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, "The New Wolfsbane. If it does all Snape says it does, Dumbledore feels there's no reason not to hire me."

"Is the ministry reconsidering the anti-werewolf laws because of Snape's potion?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Not yet," Remus said, "But Dumbledore controls personnel at Hogwarts, so they can't stop him unless, well, unless I give them a reason to."

Harry's eyes widened, "Remus, this is huge. I mean, this is landmark. The first high-profile werewolf hiring in a decade, a live test of Snape's new recipe…if nothing goes wrong, it will show everyone how ridiculous the prejudices against werewolves are!"

"If nothing goes wrong," Remus said bitterly, "And if something does…it could ruin the pro-werewolf campaigns for years to come."

"You have to try," Harry said, gazing worriedly at her pseudo-uncle.

"I do, don't I?" Remus sighed.

Harry leaned her head on Remus's shoulder, ignoring the sweat, "You'll make a brilliant teacher, Remus. Nothing will go wrong." She would be there to make sure of it, somehow.

Remus huffed out a laugh, "I hope Archie feels the same. I haven't told him I'll be coming to Hogwarts yet."

"I'm sure he'll be as excited for you as I am," Harry said.

"Excited?" Remus sounded skeptical, "I can't think of many teenagers who'd be excited their uncle was going to be tagging along to their boarding school."

"Archie isn't like that," Harry said automatically, the rest of her mind busy catching up to what a huge problem it was going to be for the ruse if Remus came to Hogwarts.

"You're right," Remus said, bucking up again, "You're always right, Harry. I'll tell everyone tonight at dinner."

He did.

Archie spouted effusively about how great it would be to have a real Marauder back at Hogwarts to witness his 'work,' all the while shooting discreetly panicking looks in Harry's direction. Harry eyed him steadily over her peas and silently conveyed calm acceptance. This was unforeseen, she told him with her eyes, but not unmanageable.

Archie settled down, and managed to keep the conversation lively until they were both excused from the table.

They met up in Harry's room, and Archie rolled his eyes as he moved several stacks of books off one side of the bed so they could both sit.

"Where do you sleep?" Archie asked playfully.

"On the other side," Harry said, "Obviously."

"How do you pull back the covers?"

Harry opened her mouth, then shut it again, thinking. When was the last time she'd slept under the covers? She was so excited at the prospect at the beginning of the summer, but sometime over the last few weeks, she'd just…stopped.

"I don't," she said eventually, "Got used to sleeping on the spread, I guess."

"That's sad," Archie commented.

"What's sad is your acting abilities, cousin," Harry said, "I think Sirius noticed you had mixed feelings down there."

Archie shrugged uncomfortably, "I'll play up the forlorn prankster angle—I want to spend more time with my uncle, but I don't want my friends to think I'd rat them out to a teacher, and I don't want anyone to think I get special treatment, etc. Dad will comfort me, and I'll agree with him, summon up a cheerful smile, and then he'll feel better, and useful as a parent, and forget I ever acted strangely."

"All right," Harry said, pretending it didn't make her sad that someone as innocent and earnest as Archie was becoming so manipulative, "I can work that angle at school, too. Avoid Remus for the most part, pretend to be uncomfortable—but apologetic about it, of course."

"What about in classes?" Archie asked, "If this new potion does all it says, Remus will be teaching the week of the full moon. His senses won't miss that you don't sound or smell like me."

"Sound I can fix," Harry said, taking out her wand and pointing it at her own throat, "Mutare Vocem."

"What's that do?"

"What's that do?" Harry mimicked. The sound was virtually identical.

"That's pretty good," Archie laughed, "Say something else."

"I don't take orders from slimy Slytherins," Harry drawled.

"Oh, very nice," Archie said, "It's not perfect, though. Remus would be able to tell the difference."

"If he heard them next to one another," Harry agreed, "But I'll try to go as long as possible without speaking to him once school starts. That way, his memory of what you sound like will be a little dull."

Archie nodded, "I'll minimize the words I say to him in the weeks before school starts. He'll second-guess himself before he guesses the truth. And he'll be on that new potion—he might attribute the change in his senses to a side effect."

Harry nodded, "That will help with smell, too, but I'm still going to need several vials of your sweat."

Archie stared at her for a beat, "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Harry said, blinking. Wasn't the solution obvious? "I'll distill your scent and make a musk out of it. I'll just spray it on my clothes before I go to Defense class."

"You're going to make a perfume…out of my body odor?" Archie looked torn between laughing and gagging.

"Have any better ideas?" Harry asked.

"Well…no," Archie said, "But do you have to make me the smelly kid?"

"It's only one class," Harry said, exasperatedly, "And it probably won't be strong enough for anyone but a werewolf to smell."

"Won't Remus wonder why you're so sweaty?" Archie asked, clearly not thrilled with the idea.

"I'm going through puberty," Harry said sweetly, "A growing boy. It's not my fault my hormones are out of control."

"Okay, just stop," Archie stuck out his tongue, then let his face relax tiredly, "So you really think this is going to work?"

"If it doesn't we'll need to start collecting blackmail material on Remus," Harry said, a slight smirk on her face.

"I can't tell if you're joking," Archie said, "And that worries me."

"Me too, Archie" Harry said, no longer smiling, "Me too."

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

When Harry walked into the Guild Library, her fellow interns were both already there, feverishly paging through various manuals and journals, searching for theories and experiments that would lace their work with the credible tint of authority.

Harry joined them, pulling out a few instruction booklets on advanced brewing techniques to try and find ones that were similar to imbuing shaped magic. She thought there ought to be a few wandless brewing techniques, like the one Snape had shown her while brewing Aconite Alleviation, that would be comparable.

She'd only been reading for twenty minutes when Master Hurst came into the Library and beamed at finding them all there.

"All hard at work, I see," Hurst said lightly, "Very good. I've come to see how many tickets you'll be needing for the Open House. The caterers need to have an estimate for the buffet, and I think there's been talk of seating charts, though considering we don't own any chairs, Merlin knows how they'll work that out."

"I require three," Casillas said at once, "My parents and my elder brother will all be attending."

"All right," Hurst said, noting the number down, "Miss Potter, I assume your parents are both still planning to attend?"

"Yes," Harry said, "And could I have three additional tickets for my cousin and uncles?" There was no need to get a ticket for Addy, as Lily had arranged for Alice Longbottom to watch her that day.

"Certainly," Hurst said, smiling, "Mr. Lupin will be excited to see Mr. Lestrange's project as well, I imagine."

"I daresay he will," Harry agreed.

Lestrange had a bored look on his face, "At least one person will be seeing it then. I don't require any tickets, Master Hurst."

"None?" Hurst looked taken aback, "Well. If you're sure. You can always change your mind later, Mr. Lestrange."

"Thank you, Master Hurst," Lestrange inclined his head, and went back to his reading.

Harry wondered why his parents wouldn't be coming to the event. Maybe they had a prior engagement? She shook her head and reoriented herself in the materials she was looking through. It really wasn't any of her business.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

It was Saturday morning, two weeks before the Open House, and although Harry had planned to spend the morning experimenting, Archie had other plans.

"You're birthday is in sixteen days," Archie reminded her as he bounced around her room, picking up various things and placing them on her bed, "And I don't have a present for you yet."

"That sounds like your problem," Harry noted, "I have work to do."

"You always have work to do, so that's not an excuse," Archie said, tossing her shoes on her bed next, followed by her coin purse.

"Always being true actually makes it a very reliable excuse—"

"You have to come with me to Diagon Alley to pick out your birthday present!" Archie insisted.

"Won't it ruin the surprise?" Harry said absently, thumbing through the copy of Snape's article that Thompson had given her. She'd read it several times, but she hadn't memorized it yet, so it was still interesting.

"Surprise is less important than enjoyment," Archie said, "You can be surprised by other people's gifts—I want you to like mine."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and thought it over, "If I have to pick out mine, you have to pick our your birthday present, too."

"Deal," Archie said, grinning, "Now put your ugly shoes on, and let's go."

"They're serviceable," Harry said, pulling on her fire-proof, acid-proof, water-proof boots.

"They're inappropriate for summer," Archie said, "But it's your feet that have to suffer."

"Anti-sweating charms," Harry said.

"Too much information," Archie drawled.

They told their parents where they were headed—or rather, Archie told them, and Harry didn't protest—and emerged from the Leaky Cauldron floo into a veritable herd of people milling around the pub.

"What a crowd," Archie said, tugging Harry along toward the alleys, "Is it always like this on Saturdays?"

"No," Harry said, frowning, "There must be some kind of event going on."

"You think Lockhart's signing books again?" Archie wagged his eyebrows.

"If he is, you won't be getting a book for your birthday," Harry said, wrinkling her nose at the thought of wading through people to get to the shelves.

"Who wants books for their birthday?" Archie asked incredulously.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, no," Archie shook his head, "You're getting something fun this year—and don't say 'learning is fun' or something like that."

"Let's get your present first, then," Harry said, "It'll give me time to come up with something."

"Quality Quidditch it is," Archie grinned, "Come on!"

He led her through the throngs of people, as though she didn't walk through the alley every day. She could probably find all the shops on the alley blindfolded, by now. They slipped into the shop, but the press of bodies inside made it even harder to maneuver.

"Is there a sale?" Archie wondered, looking around, "I don't see any signs."

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure what's going on, but let's find something quickly."

"I already know what I want," Archie grinned, "Check this out, Harry."

He moved over to a brightly lit display, where a sleek new broom model was proudly advertised as 'the fastest on the market.'

Harry looked it over, impressed by the stats quoted on a plaque at the base, "The Firebolt?" she said curiously, "This is new."

"Just released," Archie said, "I hear it's going to be the official broom of the World Cup."

"That's not until next year," Harry said, "It's that advanced?"

Archie nodded, "Nothing's going to top it in at least two years. They've got patents for miles on the spellwork designs."

"It's beautiful, Arch," Harry said softly, "But I don't think I can afford one for you."

Archie laughed, "You're not buying me a broom, Harry. I asked Dad for it, anyway."

"Of course you did," Harry smiled, "What do you want from me, then?"

Archie pulled a bright yellow piece of paper from behind his back and handed it to her somewhat bashfully.

"A subscription form?" Harry said, reading it over.

"It's for a year's subscription to Quidditch Weekly," Archie said excitedly, "See, if you fill it out with all your schooling information, it'll come to me at AIM all year."

Harry smiled, "Clever. What will I say when our parents ask what I got you? A subscription for myself?"

Archie laughed, "Yeah, you always were the selfish one."

"Careful," Harry said archly, "Or I'll sign up for a subscription to Witch Weekly as well."

"I'd just say I got it for Hermione, and she'd sigh over my misguided, well-meaning generosity," Archie said, unrepentant.

"Give it here," Harry said, shaking her head with amusement, "Do you have a quill?"

"There's one at the front desk," Archie said, craning his neck to see over the heads of those around them, "You can fill it out while you pay."

"Let's get in line, then," Harry said, "And get out of this madhouse."

They wove through the crowd, and were almost at the registers when Harry heard someone saying, "Rigel, Rigel!" over the noise around them.

She froze for half a second, then said, "Archie get out of here."

"What?" Archie said, "No, I can wait with you."

"Archie, someone who knows Rigel is here," Harry said, "You have to go."

"Can't we just switch places?" Archie said, alarmed, "I'll be you and—"

"Our eyes are the wrong color," Harry hissed, "Make for the door, I'll meet you at Fortescue's when I'm done here."

"Okay," Archie shot her a worried look before he melted into the crowd and disappeared.

Harry kept her face impassive, shifting in a show of casual impatience as she shuffled forward in line, even as she heard, "Rigel!" more pressingly behind her.

"Rigel?" The last came with a hand on her shoulder.

Harry affected a start of surprise as she glanced over her shoulder with a politely inquiring expression, "Yes?"

Theo's face blinked at her as he took a step back, "Uh…sorry. I think—you look like someone I know."

"Oh?" Harry let her face relax into a smile, "That's the second time someone's said that this week, actually. You mistook me for my cousin Rigel, didn't you?"

"I did," Theo's expression melted with relief, "Thought I was crazy, but you do look like him."

"Yes, it's uncanny, I'm told," Harry said, adding in a low laugh for good measure.

"So," Theo said embarrassedly, "I'm Theodore Nott, a friend of Rigel's at school."

"He's talked about you," Harry said, still smiling in a friendly way Rigel wouldn't usually bother with, "You room with him, right?"

"Yes, that's right, uh…" He trailed off, looking a bit uncertain.

"Harry Potter," Harry offered her hand for him to shake.

He looked at it for a moment, "Potter…"

Harry offered her best self-deprecating grin, "I know, I don't look like a girl. It's the hair, I think."

"Not at all," Theo said, clasping her hand gently, "Very pleased to meet you, Heiress Potter."

"Just Harry," Harry said with an artless shrug. She thought she was doing rather well at portraying a relaxed, confident girl who wouldn't remind anyone too much of Rigel's reserved, stiflingly polite manner.

"Then call me Theo," Theo said, moving up with her as the line crawled forward, "Forgive me for saying so, but I didn't think your family supported the SOW Party."

"What?" Harry tilted her head curiously, "Why would you think they did?"

Theo looked incredulous, then tossed his head in a gesture that encompassed the crowd milling around them, "This is an SOW fundraising event. Why did you think all these people were here?"

Harry blinked, "Oh. I just figured Lockhart was doing another book signing."

Theo laughed, "Really? You know we had him at Hogwarts last year—utter idiot."

"No kidding," Harry said, "So what's the event? Is there a booth somewhere?"

Theo grinned at her, "A booth? Funny. Lord Riddle's arranged it so that a percentage of all the sales in Diagon Alley today go toward the Party's campaign fund."

"What kind of incentives do the shopkeepers get for participating?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"I'm not sure," Theo shrugged, "Probably guarantees that the Party members will advertise their services or something to that effect. Plus a lot more business than they'd get otherwise."

"Interesting fundraising strategy," Harry said, "Does it only apply to Diagon Alley, or are Knockturn and the Lower Alleys participating as well?"

Theo raised an eyebrow, "Why? Going to take your business to Knockturn if it's not participating?"

Harry laughed a little, "I doubt my paltry patronage will make much of a difference in the Party's proceeds today. I just wondered if I should expect large crowds over there as well."

"Well I think it's just Diagon," Theo said. He jerked his head a moment later, saying, "Looks like you're up."

"It was nice to finally meet one of Rigel's friends," Harry said.

"Likewise," Theo said, inclining his head to the correct degree with an ironic grin, "Enjoy your day—try not to spend too much money."

"I'll do my best to resist the urge," Harry laughed easily, giving a little wave before hurrying over to the counter to pay for her subscription.

She finished getting Archie's present squared away, and she surreptitiously glanced around the alley as she left the shop. She spotted a couple of Leo's folk hanging about, keeping an eye on the swarm of people, but didn't see Theo anywhere. Figuring it was safe, she made a beeline to the ice cream shop and spotted Archie at a corner table with his head down.

She slipped into a seat across from him and sighed, "That was too close, Arch."

Archie grimaced, "I know. What are the odds one of your friends was here at the same time as us?"

"It's apparently a Party fundraising event," Harry said.

"Oh," Archie glanced about, "That explains why half the people here look too stuck up to shop in the alleys."

Harry snorted, "And it means there are probably other people here who know me. We should go."

"But your present…" Archie looked very disappointed, "I really wanted to get you something good, and I know you won't have time next weekend, because you'll be preparing for the presentation."

Harry hesitated, not really wanting to take more time for shopping that day, but the look in Archie's eyes made her say, "Why don't we floo to Hogsmede?"

Archie brightened immediately, "You mean it?"

"If everyone supporting the Party is here today, it's the perfect time to go," Harry said.

"I bet it'll be empty," Archie said excitedly, "Great idea, Harry! Let's go."

They moved quickly through the waves of bustling witches and wizards, and before long joined the cue for the outgoing floo.

"See you there," Archie said, tossing powder into the grate, "Three Broomsticks!"

Harry stepped up to the clay jar, measuring out the necessary floo powder carefully. She tossed the powder into the flames, turning around so that she would be facing outward when she arrived. Just as she opened her mouth, she looked up, and her eyes caught those of Master Snape, who had just stepped out of the incoming floo beside her.

"Three Broomsticks," Harry managed to say through numb lips, and before Snape's eyes could do more than narrow at her, she was whisked away through space.

She stumbled out of the floo like a drunkard, but Archie, who knew only too well how clumsily she floo-traveled, was there to catch her and drag her out of the pub.

"So I was thinking we could go to Zonko's, because you can always find something good there, and—Harry? What's wrong?" Archie stopped watching

"Nothing," Harry shook her head, "I mean, Professor Snape walked into the pub just as I was flooing out. It was a close call."

Archie paled, "Too close. You haven't figured out the aura thing, have you?"

"I'm working on it," Harry said, "But no…not yet."

"Okay," Archie said, "Well, the room was crowded. There's no way he recognized you."

"Right," Harry said, "Okay, so, Zonko's?"

They headed down the street, which was virtuously empty compared to Diagon. Zonko's was well stocked with fun new products for the school year coming up, and Archie had a blast suggesting various things Harry might like for her birthday.

"How about this one?" Archie said, holding up a handkerchief that would turn its user's nose blue.

"No one would fall for it," Harry said, smiling slyly, "The Black Heir with a handkerchief that wasn't monogrammed? Unlikely."

Archie rolled his eyes, "I'll give you that one, but I'll have you know that monogrammed handkerchiefs are very useful when you hand them out to crying girls as often as I do."

"I don't think Hermione is going to forget who gave her all those handkerchiefs," Harry teased.

Archie sniffed, "I give other girls handkerchiefs."

"Really?" Harry affected a hurt expression, "But you've never given me a handkerchief, Arch."

"You never cry," Archie pointed out.

"Plus, I have my own monogrammed handkerchiefs," Harry smirked.

Archie laughed, and picked up a different product, "How about this one? It's called a teacher-tracker. Hmm, looks useful, actually."

Harry looked it over. The package contained three small, black disks. They were all extremely thin, and about the size of Harry's smallest fingernail.

"It says you put the disk on a teacher's robe, and activate the sticking charm with the pass-code in the box. That piece of paper in there is connected to the disks somehow—maybe a modified Protean charm?" Archie shrugged, and kept reading, "Once the sticking charm is activated, the map shows you where it is in relation to itself—so if you're holding the map, it will tell you how far, and in what direction the teacher you stuck it to is."

"How would you stick it to a teacher without them noticing?" Harry asked, "They're small, but the teacher would see it eventually and just un-stick it."

Archie nodded, "Yeah, I wouldn't use it for teachers, though. You could track your friends with it—or your enemies."

"I have the Marauder's Map for that at Hogwarts," Harry said.

"But it doesn't show everything," Archie said, "If you'd gotten one of these on the basilisk last year, you could have tracked it."

"Yes, Archie, why didn't I think of putting a tracking device on the basilisk?" Harry scoffed, then paused, "Actually, it could be useful outside of Hogwarts. We could put one on Addy when she gets older."

"Planning on losing her?" Archie asked.

"You never know," Harry said wryly. Then, a little more cheerfully, "I could put one on Leo. If I put it on his shoes, it might take him weeks to figure it out. He's always popping up behind me—let's see how he likes it."

Archie grinned at her sidelong, "You've been hanging out with this Leo bloke a lot. He's older than you, isn't he?"

"A few years, yeah," Harry said, tucking the teacher-tracker package under her arm.

"And pretty good looking, if I recall correctly," Archie said lightly.

"Not as good looking as you, Archie," Harry said, rolling her eyes as his lack of subtlety.

"Oh, come on," Archie wheedled, "You liiike him, don't you?"

"He's my friend," Harry said dismissively.

"He's your boy friend," Archie said.

"I have a lot of male friends," Harry said.

"Most of them don't know you're a girl," Archie returned.

"Leo doesn't care that I'm a girl—he thinks I'm funnier as a boy, actually," Harry laughed, "Give up, Archie. There's nothing there to tease me about—now you and Hermione on the other hand…"

"Oi!" Archie backpedaled quickly, "Hermione is completely sexless to me."

Harry winced, "Don't ever tell her that, if you want to keep your face the way it is."

Archie blinked slowly, "Yeah…maybe forget I said that."

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Sunday morning she ate a big breakfast, asked her parents not to disturb her until dinner, and settled into a comfortable position on her bed to meditate. It was time to get this aura thing straightened out.

She entered her mindscape. It was odd how satisfying she found it that every time she came back it was just the way she'd left it. Like her own private world that no one else had access to. She entered the hidden cave, and wondered, as always, what she was going to do with the manikin boy who just sat in one of the armchairs by the fire, waiting for a mental intruder who would hopefully never come.

In the space room, she got to work. She'd always sort of taken for granted the floating orbs that represented various aspects of her mind—memories, personality traits, ambitions, fears. All the Occlumency books said every mind was different, and not to be surprised by what you found in your mindscape. She hadn't thought her ice mountain was odd, but the fact that when she'd found her mindscape her mental manifestations of self—the orbs—were already inside the mountain was, according to the Disguise book, very unusual.

Most people started Occlumency with their manifestations out in the open, and it took a lot of time and effort to gain the mental flexibility to develop safeguards for them. The process of hiding the manifestations behind a layer of mental defenses, was, in fact, the art of suppressing one's aura. The reason Harry had never had an aura was because her manifestations naturally existed behind barriers. Through Occlumency, Harry had simply elaborated on and complicated the defenses her mind had already unconsciously developed.

Projecting the aura was apparently as simple as removing the protections on the mental manifestations one wanted to let project. Harry thought this would be a waste, however, since her mind was already fairly secure. It was also apparently very difficult to move pieces of your mind around, or to drastically change the landscape in order to shield them, so it would be easiest to simply leave the orbs where they were.

That, and it felt wrong to even imagine exposing the bits of her mind like that after keeping them cloistered for so long.

Instead, she could learn to construct an aura of her own design. She was in the space room to learn to identify all the important mental manifestations, so she could create her own, fake manifestations and allow them to project the facets of her new aura.

It was a tedious task, examining all the orbs of a decent size and trying to first figure out what they were, then, if they were one of the facets the book said most people could recognize in an aura, making a credible facsimile of the thing.

She created copies of the orbs that designated her age, various bits of her personality that she liked—her patience, drive, and determination, to name a few—and some of the obvious features she and Archie shared—dark hair, fair skin, relative health and fitness. It was amazing how many things that represented her had a mentally represented equivalent in the orbs. When she came to the orb that embodied her femininity, she hesitated, but in the end reproduced it faithfully. Harry Potter would have an aura, and it should be female. She could always pick through Archie's mindscape to figure out how to make it male later, if she really needed to.

The only thing she didn't reproduce faithfully, which the book said would be very obvious if omitted to anyone who could read auras, was her magical power level. If her magical core was shielded, her power level wouldn't manifest in her aura. The books that said a person's aura was a combination of physical and mental magical energy were correct, but they didn't explain that the physical energy got transferred through the mental manifestation of the magical core. Because her core's manifestation was contained deep within her ice mountain, it didn't get projected.

She couldn't have an aura without any magic being projected—that would be suspicious, and obviously contrived. She also couldn't just move her sun out into the first level of her mindscape—it would be vulnerable, and it would tell everyone who could sense auras exactly how much magic she was capable of producing. Rather than have her enemies know her exact strength, she would make them underestimate her.

She held out a hand toward her sun, and curled her fingers coaxingly, "Come on. Just a little, please."

A small stream of fire drifted into her palm and wrapped itself into a ball of flame that danced between her fingers. She carried it before her like one of the Black's starlights, and the copied orbs she'd been creating trailed after her like a bizarre, ghostly parade of burning souls.

She stepped out onto the mountainside, but despite the raging storm, her train of lights didn't flicker. She spent the next little while setting the orbs up in a parameter around the mountain. When she'd willed them all into the sky they formed a circle around the mountain, but well away from the mists that enclosed the edges of her mind. With an effort of will, she set the false orbs in motion, orbiting the mountainside at a steady, almost mesmerizing pace.

Alone with her handful of flames, she climbed the mountainside to the very top.

At the summit, she shaped the rock upwards into a thin protrusion that ended in an upwards-grasping claw. Amused at her own sense of drama, Harry deposited the small ball of flame into the clawed torchbearer, and watched it rotate in place for a moment, as though the magic were getting comfortable in its new home.

As she waited to make sure it would stay, the flame settled, then slowly began to expand. By the time it seemed to be done expanding, it was a little bigger than Harry's head, and could be seen no matter where she stood on the mountainside.

Finally satisfied, Harry left her mindscape, and woke to sweeping pins and needles throughout her limbs. She groaned and moved her body very, very slowly, blinking as she stretched her neck and back.

She wandered downstairs, wondering what time it was. She was starving, so it must be almost dinnertime.

The house seemed unusually quiet until Harry realized that it must be so late that Addy was already asleep. The kitchen light was on, but the rest of the house was dark and still.

"I guess I missed dinner," Harry said softly, padding through the kitchen toward the pantry. She half-hoped that Lily had left something under a warming charm for her, but the counters were clear. Her mother probably assumed Harry could fend for herself—and she wasn't incorrect. It was the work of a minute to put together a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk.

She shut the lights out on her way back upstairs, and flopped on the bed, nudging aside the spines of books where they poked her in the side. She had trouble falling asleep, whether because her body had been essentially resting all day or because her mind was restless without exhaustion brought on by a day of hard work and research to distract it.

Two weeks until the Open House. Two weeks until she stood in front of everyone she'd ever respected and admired and tried to make them see why she was important, to convince them that someday she would be worthy of respect and admiration. Even though she was a woman. Even though she was twelve years old. Even though she was trying to explain methodological theory that apparently didn't even exist.

Harry groaned into her pillow and tried not to imagine all the things that could go wrong.

Two weeks until it was all over, at least.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

"Stop pacing," Thompson said, his eyes tracking her movements across the lab.

"I can't," Harry said absently, mind racing and palms sweating.

"You'll be fine," Thompson said, unusually reassuring, "Better than fine—your project is going to blow them away. You just need to calm down."

"What if no one gets it?" Harry asked, "What if the demonstration doesn't work?"

"You don't think your potion works?" Thompson asked.

"Of course it works," Harry scowled, "But what if—"

"Miss Potter, sit down," Thompson snapped.

Harry sat. "Thank you," she said.

She was down in Thompson's lab, because she couldn't bear to be up in the Guild's event room, watching the assistants setting up chairs and twitching every time someone glanced at her presentation materials. The Open House started at four, and Harry thought it was sheer torture on Aldermaster Hurst's part to make the interns arrive over two hours early. It had taken Harry under twenty minutes to set up her materials to her satisfaction, and the rest of the time had been spent reading and rereading her speech, and then driving Thompson up the wall with her pacing.

"Don't let yourself get riled up," Thompson said, his tone soothing, as though she were a wild beast, "When we go up, most of the Masters will already be present. These are very busy people, and they don't like to waste their time. Keep your remarks short and to the point. The demonstration will speak louder than anything you say, and most of them would rather peruse the theory at their own leisure—that's what the paper you'll write in the next two weeks is for."

"Okay," Harry said, starting to psych herself up, "I'll just introduce the concept, then demonstrate. Results are more important than theories."

"Exactly," Thompson said, "Your paper will be picked over for the exact methodology and theory later, but for now the buzzards just want to see what your project can do."

Harry nodded, "I can do this."

"You can," Thompson agreed, "If you don't panic."

"Easier said," Harry muttered, "This is only my future career on the line."

"Go ahead and panic, then," Thompson shrugged, "But don't you dare show it. No one likes a nervous potioneer. Nervous people make mistakes, try too hard, and usually get someone killed. Present a calm, dignified façade. You know what your project is worth—make sure they know it, too."

Harry took a deep breath and summoned up the calmest mask she could find. Her muscles settled into smooth planes, and her eyelids shuttered the dilated wildness of her pupils. "What's the presentation order, again?" Harry asked, voice even.

Thompson's eyebrows rose, "That's eerie. You ever thought of becoming a player?"

Harry shrugged fluidly, "Who has the time? The presentation order?"

"You're last," Thompson said, "I expect the Aldermaster arranged it that way—he's quite excited to see the results of your project."

"I'll try not to disappoint him," Harry said. Her breathing had slowed, and rising up over the panic came a steely determination that she was completely familiar with. This was her day. She deserved this moment, and she would make the most of it.

With those thoughts in mind, Harry was utterly poised by the time Thompson led her upstairs.

-0

[SsSsSs]

-0

Severus Snape despised social events, but a man in his position could not afford to ignore politics, be they Party or otherwise. That said, the Guild's annual Open House was perhaps the most odious event of the summer season. Every year three unfortunate adolescents were paraded before the Masters of their field and made to feel as though, somehow, the project they'd worked on for a couple of lazy summer months mattered to the potions community at large.

Inevitably, the would-be potioneers chose ambitious and impractical topics, spurred on by their softhearted mentors and deluded with visions of intellectual renown. They presented their hasty research on notorious potions their immature brains could not possibly comprehend, and the Masters clapped and smiled as though they'd learned something listening to snot-nosed upstarts lecturing them on the subtleties of their own art.

It was sickening, but the press adored the spectacle, and Aldermaster Hurst could have been given a Mastery of Manipulation for the way he played on the imagination of the masses. The Potions Guild was so supportive of today's youth, furthering intellectual horizons everywhere. It was enough to turn his stomach.

The decorations were as drab as ever, and no doubt the catering would be somehow worse than last year's slop, but there was one thing Severus admitted to anticipating at this particular Open House. This year James Potter's whelp was one of the upstart brewers, and it would be deliciously amusing to watch the child stutter and blush her way through an embarrassingly patronizing and tedious presentation. Miss Potter would be unlikely to appreciate the mortifying irony of the spectacle, but that didn't mean Severus couldn't privately revel in the pathetically inane speech his rival's offspring would no doubt attempt to deliver.

"Severus!" there was Hurst in all his press-mongering glory, "So pleased you found the time."

"How could I miss the opportunity to witness the next generation of potioneers on the rise?" Severus drawled. He doubted the member of the press corps currently drooling over the Aldermaster's shoulder caught his sarcasm, but Hurst's eyes flashed with amusement.

"You won't be disappointed," he said, smirking in a way that said he knew exactly how low Severus' expectations were, "We've found particularly innovative interns this year."

"I'm sure," Severus said, holding back a sneer, "What potions did they attempt to improve this time? Polyjuice, again?"

"No, not exactly," Hurst smiled in rueful acknowledgment of Severus' unspoken critique, "One young man did attempt to improve the shelf life of the Draught of Peace."

"Really?" Severus murmured, when what he dearly wanted to ask was why? Who would bother storing a Draught of Peace long-term, in case it was suddenly needed one day? That's what Calming Draughts were for.

"Mmm," Hurst said, still smiling slightly, "And another one of our interns researched the effects of Wolfsbane on long-term users. No doubt you'll be interested in that."

As if there was something a child could discover in two months that Severus hadn't learned in his decade of research on the subject.

"That would be Potter, I assume?" Snape did sneer a bit this time. No doubt the girl had used Lupin as her test subject. Only a spawn of James Potter could choose so arrogant and presumptuous a topic for their first project.

"No," Hurst looked slightly surprised, "Mr. Lestrange did the work on Wolfsbane, actually. You are acquainted with Miss Potter, though? Wonderful girl—bright young mind, and such drive—"

"Please excuse me, Aldermaster Hurst," Severus cut in, semi-politely, "I've just seen someone I must catch up with." He could not listen to the drivel coming out of Hurst's mouth another second. He would speak to the man later, when he was not performing for the cameras.

Most years he could easily fade into the background at such an event, but this year his breakthrough on the New Wolfsbane, as it was being called, was too fresh, too sensational. Some of the congratulations and proclamations of esteem came from those he considered something like friends at the Guild. Most came from people eager to learn his story, the secret to the success he enjoyed in the community. As though hard work and mind-numbing perseverance were somehow mysterious forces for fame and glory.

Because he had not arrived earlier than absolutely necessary, he did not have to bear the weight of attention for long.

At precisely four o'clock, Hurst claimed the stage at the front of the event hall and addressed them all through a Sonorus Charm.

"Welcome friends, family, and potioneers young and old to this year's student showcase," Hurst said, smiling rather grandly. There was a brief round of applause, which Severus somewhat reluctantly participated in. He could already tell it would be a long afternoon.

"For those of you new to our Open House, the format will be as follows," Hurst said, finally getting to the point, "Each intern will present his or her project, after which he or she will take questions from the crowd—try not to be too hard on them!"

Severus was disgusted by the number of people who laughed at that. So much for peer review. He also noted that Hurst was taking much too great a pleasure in adding 'or she' to the end of everything he said, as though having a female intern were really something so novel. He wouldn't be surprised if Potter's chit had gotten her internship on sheer novelty alone. Who'd ever heard of a thirteen-year-old intern? If Severus had known the Guild was so desperate for interns, he'd have nominated Rigel Black in a heartbeat. At least the boy had talent, for all his youth made him a bit volatile.

"After the presentations there will be a chance to mingle," Hurst said, still smiling in a way the press no doubt found charming, "Really get to know these youngsters—they are the potioneers of tomorrow, the artisans of future progress, and the vessels of our field's longevity."

Severus mentally resigned himself to seeing that quoted in every sensationalist media outlet the next day.

"First up is Renaldo Casillas," Hurst began the applause as he exited the stage, and a young man that appeared to have no idea how useless his topic was began to wax poetic about the importance of extending shelf-life of potions, presumably so that potioneers could grow lazy in never replacing the ones that went sour.

After the first mind-numbing presentation came Caelum Lestrange, Bellatrix and Rodolphus' boy. In some ways, the Lestrange Heir's speech was less mind-numbing than his predecessor's—there were a few conclusions that would have required at least a modicum of intelligence to come to. In other ways, however, it was more annoying, because as the leading expert on Wolfsbane in the field, Severus was required to maintain a facade of polite engagement despite his growing boredom.

There was also the political fallout to be dealt with should Severus publicly snub the Lestrange Heir, and with that in mind Severus found himself doing the unthinkable as Lestrange finished his self-important presentation. He asked a question.

A moment after asking it he'd already forgotten what puerile utterance he'd probably undermined his own credibility to give voice to, and he didn't bother to acknowledge the answer beyond a faux-solemn nod, but the gesture had done its duty. The Lestrange boy was puffed up with satisfaction, and the Aldermaster sent Severus a grateful smile. He would collect that debt at a later date.

He toyed with simply leaving after that. He'd done his part to make the event a success. Whatever the third intern's project was, he doubted it would have anything to do with his specialties. He'd been seen and heard, and he doubted anyone would notice if he slipped out between speakers.

He hesitated, though. He could admit that some small part of him was…curious. This Potter girl was Rigel's pseudo cousin. Rigel spoke rather highly of the girl, likely due to residual affection left over from mutual childhood bonds. Rigel's estimation of the girl was likely to be exaggerated because of his biased opinion of her, but all the same the boy may be…disappointed to learn that Severus had opted not to remain and hear his cousin's presentation out. In fact, the boy may be here now, come to support his cousin's first foray into the potions community. He really ought to stay, if only so that after the presentations he could seek Rigel out and discern how his summer assignments were progressing.

When Harriet Potter stepped on stage, it was not immediately apparent that she was the female Hurst was so proud to have appropriated for the Guild's good press. Her hair was as short as any boy's, her bearing relaxed and unselfconscious—very unlike the demure, half-cringing nature of most adolescent females who roamed the halls of Hogwarts.

There was something annoyingly familiar about her. Beyond the Potter hair and chin, of course. Severus sharpened his senses and examined her aura, but it was utterly unfamiliar to him—not to mention vague and rudimentary. She looked to be barely above squib-levels. He took slight amusement in the knowledge that the girl's magical power was somehow stunted. No child of Lily's should be so mundane, but that was the price for procreating with an idiot like Potter, wasn't it? Though now that Lily was in his thoughts…

Those eyes. Severus hated himself for recognizing something in them. They were duller than the ones in his mind's eye, but they burned him all the same. He begged Merlin to make her presentation even slightly engaging. Anything to distract his mind from the dark paths it wanted to travel.

In this, at least, his wishes were granted.

"My name is Harry Potter," the girl began, "For my project I invented a new way of conscious imbuing."

An inventor? Severus raised an amused brow. The field could certainly use a little genuine innovation, but a new imbuing method? The one they used worked just fine. Unnecessary innovation was almost as bad as no innovation—worse, if you counted time and materials wasted.

"I know," the Potter girl smiled wryly, "Why a new method of imbuing when the one we have is perfectly adequate to our needs? Simply, our needs are not the reflection of our reach. This new method of imbuing broadens the very definition of what a potion is, and expands the possibilities of what a potion can do beyond the currently accepted limits."

She certainly had a way with words, he reflected sardonically, but he would wait for substance before he deigned to be intrigued.

"I call it Shaped Imbuing," Potter said, her speech cadence quickening as though she knew how tedious the crowd would find her explanations, "It is essentially the imbuing of already shaped magic into a neutral base."

What? Severus sharpened his attention without consciously recognizing that he was doing so. Surely he had misheard.

"This is not like casting a spell on a potion," Potter said, anticipating the objections many were mentally making, "Nor is it the same as imbuing free magic into a potion. It is a wandless brewing technique that necessitates great control over one's magic, but which yields many and varied results. Imbuing a potion with shaped magic has advantages over both potions and spells—the results are more specific than potions alone can sometimes achieve, while also being cheaper and simpler in some ways to create. In addition, the results last longer than a spell, and are not dependent upon their castor. The method will be explained thoroughly in the paper released through the Guild's newsletter, so for now I will conclude with a demonstration."

Many in the crowd perked up at those words—demonstrations were rare, and generally more attention grabbing than dry speeches. Severus was still attempting to comprehend what the girl had just proclaimed. Imbuing shaped magic? Was such a thing even possible? He eyed the young intern as she collected the materials she would use from a stand at the back of the stage. No doubt the demonstration would be rather ordinary, achieving something she would claim came from her 'new' imbuing method, but in reality was probably effected some other way.

Potter placed a small, glass figurine on the floor of the stage, and with a quiet spell enlarged the glass doll until it was almost waist high. "This unfortunate fellow, call him Stan, is many things. He is a toddler who tends to wander at night. He is a wizard caught outside collecting herbs on a full moon. He is—well, you get the idea."

Several people chuckled at the girl. What imbeciles. Could they not see what an outlandish claim she was about to make?

"A mother could cast a barrier charm around the child while he sleeps, but the charm would fall as soon as the mother fell asleep herself," Potter said, pacing the stage slowly, "She could set wards around him, but she would spend an hour every evening setting them up, and longer each morning to dismantle them. Or," Potter held up a vial of clear liquid for all to see, "She could pour this around his crib."

She poured the liquid in a steady stream around the child, connecting one end to the other to form a complete circle. She set the vial down at the back of the stage, then without warning brandished her wand and said, "Stupefy," and fired a stunning charm at the glass figurine.

Many people close to the stage ducked, but the glass didn't break. A shimmering, ward-like projection intercepted the light where it tried to cross the circle of potion, and it fizzled out harmlessly. There were a few impressed claps, but most people waited for the explanation.

"This potion has had a Fortis Shield imbued inside it through the use of Shaped Imbuing," Potter said, smiling a bit proudly, "It doesn't cause damage to anything that touches it, but neither will it allow anything to pass through it. This includes both magic and physical objects, as those of you familiar with the Fortis Shield might have guessed. The toddler can't wander, and neither can he be abducted or attacked until the shield dissipates, or the antidote is applied."

She took out a knife and attempted to penetrate the barrier physically, showing how the shield snapped into place everywhere the circle was approached, all the while speaking clearly and confidently, "If Stan is caught out on the full moon, he can cast the potion on the ground around him, and stay safely ensconced in the shield for up to twelve hours—much longer than most wizards and witches could ever hope to hold a Fortis Shield. It will hold against Vampires until the sun rises. You can take it camping to protect your food from wild animals, or use it in your dormitory to keep your roommates out of your things."

More laughter. The girl knew how to work a crowd—though he supposed that wasn't surprising. James Potter had always been a blowhard. More importantly, her potion appeared to work. A mobile, ready-made ward? It was remarkable to say the least, particularly if it really would hold for half a day.

"There are several obvious drawbacks," Potter acknowledged, carrying another vial over to the circle, "The antidote negates the shield immediately, so I would not recommend its use against other wizards, or as a substitute for real, solid wards around one's home. It is designed for temporary use, not permanent, but if the antidote is misplaced, little Stan might be very hungry by the time his mother manages to reach him again."

She poured the second vial, this one orange in color. She poured it across one section of the original circle, and immediately the entire ward wavered under a barrage of orange sparks before flickering out completely. "The antidote is imbued with shaped magic as well," the girl informed them, "A ward-disruptor, this time."

The Lightning Jaw, if Severus didn't miss his guess. All and all it was a very interesting performance. Perhaps Hurst was not wrong to recommend her, despite her young age. He still had doubts that her methodology was all it appeared to be, but he would definitely be reading the full report.

"This is just one example of what Shaped Imbuing can accomplish," Potter concluded, re-shrinking the figurine and vanishing the potion residue on the floor efficiently as she spoke, "I hope that through relentless experimentation and careful understanding we can push the boundaries of what potions makes possible even further in the coming years. Thank you. I will take any questions you have now."

There were no few inquiries.

"Will you publish the recipe for the base, Miss Potter?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not looking to patent this process."

"Have you experimented with any other special-imbued potions?"

"A few. I've experimented with simple imbued magic, like color-change spells, and even combining Shaped Imbuing with potions that already have an intended purpose. The results were, in general, very successful."

"Are there any noticeable commonalities among different kinds of shaped-imbued magic?" People were clearly fumbling over the new terminology.

"It is generally the case that imbued shaped magic lasts longer, but the effects of some spells may be muted in potion form."

The questions died out once it became clear that they'd have to read the exact theory and methodology in order to gain any in-depth understanding of the process, but the atmosphere was excited as the interns each took a final bow and exited the stage.

It was the first time in a long time that Severus could remember impatiently anticipating another brewer's work. Perhaps true innovation had returned to the English potions community at last. At the very least, Harriet Potter's potions career promised to be intriguing.

A halfblood with a modicum of talent and original ideas? Severus smirked. Not a bad combination at all.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry's face hurt from suppressing the foolish grin she wanted to release, but she held her poise until the last of the guests had gone. Her family had offered to stay and wait out the crowd with her, but she sent them off with a self-deprecating smile.

"It'll be boring for you," she said earnestly, "I'll just be answering questions for the next hour and smiling with the other interns for the press."

"We'll celebrate properly when you get home," Lily said, fixing Harry's hair absently.

"And we'll eat while you finish up," Sirius said, lowering his voice, "Because the food here stinks."

"Sirius," Remus shook his head, "Never mind. Well done, Harry. Very nice speech."

"Thanks," Harry said, "I practiced for ages."

"She really did," Archie sighed, "This is the fourth time I've heard it, actually. Can we go now?"

The adults shot Archie an exasperated look for his impatience, but Harry knew he was just nervous. If Professor Snape came over to this side of the room, he would have to hightail it out of there. Until Archie learned to suppress his aura, there was no way he could pass as Rigel around Professor Snape.

Harry's aura, on the other hand, seemed to be working perfectly. She'd seen Snape in the audience watching the presentations, and while he didn't look as riveted as her ego would appreciate, he didn't look suspiciously at her, either. There was no obvious recognition in his eyes, only quiet evaluation.

All and all, Harry thought her first debut into the potions community had gone rather well. She felt invigorated long after the event hall was cleared and her presentation materials were all safely relocated in Thompson's lab.

"Well done," Thompson said, sinking down into the chair behind his desk when it was all over, "Very well done. You sparked just the right amount of curiosity and speculation. The next two weeks will be spent drafting and editing the final paper, but I expect you won't need much of my help for that. Essentially, your internship ends here."

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Harry asked, smirking a bit.

"Brat," Thompson sighed, "I'm well rid of you."

"Oh, you'll see me around," Harry promised, "My uncles are going to sell some of the more harmless potions I made with Shaped Imbuing in their prank line, and I'll need the Guild's safety division to approve them."

"And you'll need someone to help name them," Thompson chuckled.

"I am perfectly capable of naming my potions," Harry said.

"What was it again? The 'Modified Weightless Draught?'" Thompson grinned, "What are you going to call the Shield Potion?"

"The Ward Maker," Harry said, "Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"But it's got no flair," Thompson shook his head, "How about, 'Potter's Portable Protection Potion?'"

"That's awful," Harry wrinkled her nose, "What a mouthful."

"You've got to put your name in it, though," Thompson said, "Otherwise people will forget who invented it."

"So what?" Harry said, "The name should be descriptive, so it's obvious what it does."

"Potter's Portable Protection Potion is perfectly descriptive," Thompson defended.

"I'll think about it," she said, smiling a bit fondly, "Goodbye, Master Thompson. Thank you for all your help, sir."

"Thank you, Miss Potter," Thompson said, "For not wasting my time this summer."

Figuring that was about the highest form of praise she could get from the man, she bowed her thanks, and left the lab.

She saw a light on in a lab down the hall, and as she approached the stairs she realized it was the lab Lestrange had been using. She started to climb the staircase, but something indefinable slowed her steps to a stop. She stood there, halfway to the landing, and closed her eyes. She should keep walking. She should go home, have dinner with her parents, bask in their approval and pride, and forget she ever saw the light coming from Lestrange's lab.

But she didn't.

She turned around slowly, mentally berating herself all the way down the stairs and up the hall. She stood outside the door for a long moment. Am I really doing this? She knocked. Apparently so.

She had a fleeting thought that perhaps someone had simply left a light on, but then the door opened, and Lestrange's sour expression glared out at her.

"What?"

Harry gave a casual shrug, and nudged the door open with her foot, striding past Lestrange's irritated huff. "I'm glad I caught you," Harry said, turning back to see Lestrange still scowling from the door.

"What do you want, Potter?" Lestrange said, shutting the door with a resigned sigh. He almost sounded tired.

"Just to tell you how much I liked your final presentation," Harry said.

Lestrange scoffed, "Don't bother—I know no one was actually listening. This showcase was a waste of time. Anyone important will just read the actual reports."

"I was listening," Harry disagreed, "As were many others. You got some good questions at the end."

"I got patronizing questions at the end," Lestrange sneered, "And you were too busy preparing your own presentation to listen to mine."

"Not so," Harry said, "I thought you made a really insightful point about the connection between long-term survival rate and mental acuity. Too many people overestimate the role of physical fitness in werewolf health. It's important, but not as important as mental agility and sheer willpower. The curse affects the mind of the werewolf even more than it does the body."

Lestrange narrowed his eyes at her, "Maybe you were listening, then. Doesn't mean anyone else was."

"Even if no one listened, it was a good presentation," Harry said.

Lestrange seemed to fight himself for a moment, then the word, "Thanks," twisted from his mouth like a live mealworm.

Harry smiled a bit, "You're welcome."

"Is that all?" Lestrange drawled.

"No," Harry said, "I'm going to grab a bite to eat—"

"Good for you."

"—and I'm inviting you." Harry finished doggedly.

"Notice you didn't claim you'd like it if I came along," Lestrange sneered once again, "Go home, Potter. Go have dinner with your precious little family, so they can all tell you how proud they are."

It was eerie how similar his words were to what she'd been thinking just a moment ago. Also unsettling was the slight pang of agreement she felt at his all-too-derisive snort.

"I could," Harry said slowly, "But I'd rather have dinner with someone who understands what I've spent all summer doing, rather than someone who's proud of the idea of what I've been doing." As soon as she said it, she realized why it was partially true. She was glad her parents had come and supported her, but at the same time…it was a little annoying, seeing their politely blank expressions as she'd tried to go over some of the finer points of her methodology with them before her presentation.

Lily was good at potions, and even she seemed a little lost when Harry started in on imbued magic vs. ingredient magic differentials. She didn't blame them for not being potions experts, of course, but she couldn't deny that their praise didn't really mean as much as it might have if they were. She would always be grateful for her family's support—and more so in the face of Lestrange's family's obvious apathy—but what did abstract, expected platitudes really amount to?

She shook her head. She was being too hard on her parents again. They gave her everything she needed to facilitate her goals, and they showed up to support her when given the chance. It was unfair to ask for more, despite the tiny part of her that craved a real connection to her parents, achievements they could share, rather than ones that went over their heads or that they could never know about.

Lestrange appeared to think about her offer for a good minute, but in the end he sniffed, "I don't date halfbloods." After a moment's pause, he wrinkled his nose, "Or children, for that matter."

Harry barely suppressed a grimace of disgust, "And I don't date bigots."

"You don't date anyone," Lestrange guessed shrewdly.

"Neither do you," Harry shot back, confident that it would take more than good looks to keep a love interest with a personality like Lestrange's. "So I guess it's a good thing it isn't a date. It's just dinner, Lestrange. Would you rather go home?"

Immediately, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Lestrange's face shut down completely, and he said, "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Harry said, lying just a tiny bit. It was pity, mostly. Lestrange apparently saw through her, and sent her a withering glare. She grimaced, and tried, "I'd like to be friends."

"I don't have friends," Lestrange scoffed.

"Maybe that's your problem," Harry said lowly. When Lestrange narrowed his eyes at her, she mentally apologized to Krait and Leo, and offered, "I don't have any friends who brew, either. Wouldn't it be…nice to talk to someone about potions after the internship is over?

"I am not being friends with a halfblood," Lestrange said bluntly.

"Pretend I'm a pureblood," Harry rolled her eyes.

Lestrange actually spluttered, "That's absurd."

"Not really," Harry started to smile, "My kind doesn't look any different than yours, you know. Actually," she was full on grinning now, "I am a pureblood. Didn't I tell you? My mother's a descendent of a very respected pureblood family that was thought to have died out a few generations ago. Turns out my great-grandmother was their long-lost squib descendent."

"You can't just make things up like that," Lestrange snapped.

"It could be true," Harry said, blinking innocently up at the pureblooded boy, "Pureblood families don't keep track of their squib children very well—if they keep track of them at all after putting them on some muggle's doorstep. I might be more pureblooded than you, Lestrange."

"Just stop," Lestrange groaned, "You're giving me a headache."

"It's probably a hunger headache," Harry said wisely, "Come on, Lestrange, we'll get you something to eat."

She started to shoo him toward the door, but the older boy drew himself up sharply, "I am not eating dinner with you."

"Yes, you are," Harry said, "If you don't, I'll tell everyone you did anyway."

"Who would you tell?" Lestrange drawled, "Even your mudblood friends wouldn't believe you."

"I'll tell my cousin Rigel," Harry said, "He'll tell all his friends at Hogwarts, who will in turn tell their parents, who will ask your parents why you're such good friends with a halfblood, and what will you say? That Lucius Malfoy was lying?"

Lestrange gaped at her, "You—you really would, wouldn't you? Crazy bitch."

Harry rolled her eyes, "The insults get boring after a while, Lestrange. Just come eat with me. You might even enjoy having someone to argue with over dinner."

"Why are you so determined to do this?" Lestrange asked, seeming genuinely confused at this point. Harry counted that as a big step up from openly hostile.

"I don't like having enemies," Harry said after a moment, "The more enemies I can turn into friends, the easier my life will be in the long-run."

"I'm not going to make your life any easier," Lestrange argued.

"You might stop making it more difficult eventually, though," Harry reasoned.

"You're just trying to assuage your ridiculously maudlin conscious somehow by pretending to be nice to me," Lestrange accused.

"So what?" Harry dismissed his objections, "Say you're right—you should still come and get free food out of it."

"I don't need charity," Lestrange said exasperatedly.

"Never hurts, though, does it?" Harry said cajolingly, "Come on, it won't take long."

She started walking toward the door, and obligingly held it open for Lestrange to follow.

He stared at her, an unpleasantly torn expression on his face.

"Tell you what," Harry said, "You come eat with me, and if you can convince me by the end of the meal that it was a bad idea, I'll never bother you again."

Lestrange bit out a harsh laugh, "It is a bad idea. You're willingly inviting me to torture you for the rest of the evening."

"I'm inviting you to try," Harry said sweetly.

To both of their surprise, Lestrange accompanied her out into the alleys without another word.

"Where are we going?" he asked eventually.

"Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, waving absently to the old lady who sold good luck charms and cinnamon twists.

Lestrange jerked to a halt, "I'm not eating in a muggle establishment."

Harry sighed, "We're not going through, I just have to floo call my house to tell my parents I'm not coming home for dinner."

Lestrange shot her a dark look, "You lied. You said you were already planning on getting food out."

"Yes, I lied to you," Harry said wryly, "I lie a lot, actually. You should get used to it if we're going to be friends."

"We're not going to be friends," he muttered, trailing after her like a disgruntled ghost who was obliged to haunt someone he hated.

Harry said a quick hello to Tom, who was too busy with the dinner shift to stop and chat. She used the outgoing floo to call home and explained quickly to her mother that one of the other interns had invited her to dinner, and she felt compelled to accept. She excused herself before her father could ask which one—she somehow didn't think he'd appreciate the potential she saw in Lestrange. In fact, she wasn't sure she could explain it even if she tried.

When she brushed the soot from her hair and looked around the pub, she half-expected Lestrange to be gone, but he was leaning broodingly against a nearby pillar, and he straightened when she approached.

"What are you hungry for?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Lestrange said sourly.

"My choice it is, then," Harry said, smiling slightly, "This way."

She led him back through Diagon Alley, and stoically ignored the incredulous glance he shot her when they turned down Knockturn. She led him along Kyprioth Court, but they didn't take it all the way to the Dancing Phoenix. She didn't really want to introduce Lestrange to her friends, since he was certain to be insulting given half a chance.

Instead, she gestured him down a side street, which led to an alley a bit smaller than Knockturn, but much better lit. It was called Aroma Alley, and it boasted more restaurants in a square mile than any other place in London. There were restaurants stacked on top of other restaurants, squished between and behind one another, and the number of signs and arrows trying to direct people to different establishments was frankly overwhelming if you didn't know where you were going.

"What in magic's name is this place?" Lestrange asked, looking around in something like awed incredulity. Harry was pleased to note he was so distracted by their haphazard surroundings that he'd forgotten to sound sarcastic or snide.

"Aroma Alley," Harry said, "But folks around here just call it the Eating Place."

"How quaint."

Ah, there was the snideness she'd been missing.

"Over here," she said, leading Lestrange into a narrow gap between two Italian restaurants that were always in fierce competition with one another, for all that they were owned by the same family.

There was a red cloth at the end of the little alley they slipped into, and Harry held it aside grandly, sweeping her hand to allow Lestrange to walk in first.

"If this is a trap, my mother will torture you into insanity," he informed her as he passed.

"Okay," Harry said faintly, wondering just how many layers of issues the older boy was dealing with. Then she remembered what Malfoy had said the first time she led him through a secret passageway, and decided paranoia might be a pureblooded thing.

She followed Lestrange behind the curtain, and down the set of steep stairs that led down into the restaurant proper. At the end of the stairs, all they could see was a giant, semi-circle fish tank, and Lestrange turned to her with a raised eyebrow. She smiled back at him, and walked through the glass tank wall. It was a funny bit of magic that allowed them to walk through the fish tank. It wasn't as instantaneous as the barrier that protected Platform 9 ¾, so there was a confused moment when all they could see was murky blue matter before they emerged on the other side.

The restaurant was bright and cheerful on the other side of the fish tank, with red and gold decorations on the walls and more fish swimming in bowls that glowed with warm light and floated around the ceiling like watery torches.

"A seafood restaurant?" Lestrange guessed, following her over to a table.

"Actually, it's a Chinese restaurant," Harry said, "Fish are lucky in China."

Actually, fish represented a homophonic pun in the Chinese language that made them symbols of prosperity and excess wealth, but she didn't think Lestrange was the type to appreciate cultural nuances.

"So you can't eat them?" Lestrange asked, eyeing one of the swordfish in the wall-tank with interest.

"No, you can eat them," Harry said, "That's good luck, too."

Lestrange rolled his eyes, but he did order the swordfish when the waiter came over. Harry got pork dumplings. The waiter was a man of few words, and set their tea down with little ceremony.

"We didn't order tea," Lestrange said.

"It's free," Harry said, "Anyway, what do you care? I'm paying."

Lestrange sighed, "It's just poor business practice to give things away unprompted."

"Know a lot about business, do you?" Harry asked, amused.

"Of course I do," Lestrange said, "My father and uncle together own more businesses than the Zabini family."

Harry had heard that somewhere, though she'd also heard the Lestranges didn't manage their businesses half so well.

"Then you know that the principle of reciprocity compels people to feel beholden when given something for nothing, prompting them to be overly generous in return. Because he gives tea for free, he gets better tips, and the restaurant earns more in general," Harry explained.

"But as we are aware of this tactic, it fails," Lestrange said, "And he gets nothing more than he would have."

"Maybe if you were the one paying," Harry said, smiling, "I quite appreciate the free tea."

"Your Good Samaritan act is making me sick," Lestrange said, toying with his chopsticks absently.

"I'll eat your fish if you don't feel up to it," Harry offered sympathetically.

"Does it ever get tiresome, being so pointlessly nice all the time?"

"Not really," Harry said, "Why, do you get tired of being such a jerk?"

"I'm not a jerk," Lestrange said, eyebrows rising.

Harry waited a beat, just to make sure he was serious, "You…sort of are."

Lestrange actually shrugged, "Only to those who deserve it."

Harry couldn't stop an incredulous snort, "Don't try to justify it like that—like you're mean to people for their own good. You do it to satisfy something inside of yourself."

"So what?" Lestrange threw her words from earlier back in her face, "Maybe you're right, but that doesn't mean I'm not right, too. Most people do deserve it."

"Including me, I suppose?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"Yes, including you," Lestrange said, his lip curling, "Someone had to wake you up to reality. Admit it," he leaned in to pin her with a taunting gaze, "You walked into the lab that first day thinking no one would care you were a girl, and a halfblood, and years younger than all the other applicants. If you'd listened to me right off, you'd have suspected Casillas would try and blow up your cauldron."

Harry glared, "If I listened to you, I would have gone home before I started."

"That too," Lestrange smirked, "No harm in intimidating the competition while I'm doling out life lessons, is there?"

She couldn't help it—she laughed. His audacity was really too much. "I suppose you've never heard what muggles say about living in glass houses?"

"Why would anyone build a house out of something so fragile?" Lestrange shook his head, "Stupid muggles."

"I just mean, do you really think you're the one best qualified to judge others?" she asked.

"If not me, who?" Lestrange's face took on a bitter tinge, "Most people are too busy being polite to really take a hard look at the world around them, at the people around them. All the idiots and pigs continue to be so because no one wants to risk unpleasantness just to tell them what's what. I, on the other hand, am perfectly accustomed to unpleasantness. I don't care if everyone hates me, so I'm not afraid to say what I think."

"What if what you think is wrong?" Harry said.

"Then someone else better have the gumption to tell me so," Lestrange smiled mockingly, "How else will I learn?"

Harry narrowed her eyes at his childishness, "What about Rigel Black?"

Lestrange scowled immediately, "Brat. What about him?"

"I heard you were horrid to him the very first time you met," Harry said, fighting a scowl herself at the memory, "How can you have judged him so quickly?"

"Rigel Black is an idiot," Lestrange said, "No—don't interrupt. You asked, and I'm telling you. He showed up at a Dark pureblood event like he wasn't the son of a traitor. Did he really think no one was going to say anything? He didn't belong there, no matter whose kids he goes to school with. His naiveté was sickening. I just did him the courtesy of saying it to his face, while so many others would only whisper behind his back."

"You should get to know Rigel," Harry said, "He's not as naïve as you think."

"Then he's a knowing idiot—how grand," Lestrange drawled.

Harry sighed, giving up on the subject for now. The sad part was, Lestrange probably believed everything he was saying. It even made a twisted sort of sense, which Harry hated herself for understanding. As messed up as Lestrange's attitude was, there was something about his rudeness that was beginning to grow on her. In a perverse way, his demeanor was a bit like honesty. He reminded her of Ginny, sometimes, who simply didn't see the point in not saying whatever was on her mind.

She didn't think Lestrange was ready to hear that comparison made out loud, however.

Their food came quickly after that, and Harry asked if Lestrange was going to continue his research on Wolfsbane.

"What's the point?" he said, "Snape's breakthrough is going to change the whole field. My research is already outdated."

"It's not outdated until there's a cure," Harry said.

Lestrange snorted, "There's never going to be a cure. Your fag uncle is going to be a werewolf forever, so get used to it."

Harry flicked a bit of soy sauce at him, "You don't know that, just like you don't know my uncle is homosexual. This is what I mean—you're not 'telling the truth' now, you're just being ugly."

"I'm too pretty to be ugly," Lestrange smirked.

"You're really not," Harry muttered around another dumpling.

"Anyway, lots of people assume your uncles are lovers, didn't you know?" Lestrange commented.

"Remus and Sirius?" Harry shook her head, "Who thinks that?"

"People with too much time on their hands," Lestrange said, sounding disgusted, "But people whose opinions, unfortunately, mean something. Me repeating them just makes you aware of them, so you can deny them in the open if you want."

"Stop," Harry said, exasperated, "You can't justify meanness. Just admit you can't go an hour without belittling someone."

"I do admit that," Lestrange said, "Nor should I have to. There are so many people in the world to be belittled, and so little time, really. This fish isn't bad," he added thoughtfully.

"Careful, Lestrange," Harry said, "That was almost a complement."

"I'm perfectly capable of complements," Lestrange said.

"Do another one," Harry prompted.

"One's my daily limit," Lestrange rolled his eyes.

"I don't believe you," Harry said, grinning, "There's no way you give a compliment every day."

"You'll never know," Lestrange sniffed, "I don't compliment halfbloods."

"I'm secretly a pureblood, remember?" Harry reminded him.

"You're secretly annoying," Lestrange said.

"I grow on people," Harry said.

"I bet people just tell you that, so you'll go away."

Harry thought about that, "I guess I won't know until you say it—you'd never lie to me, would you, Lestrange?"

"Everybody lies," Lestrange said.

Harry shrugged. She couldn't very well argue with that.

"What? Goodie girl actually agrees with me?" Lestrange gazed speculatively at her, "Well, well, what are you lying about, then?"

"It's not really lucky to eat fish in China," she lied.

Lestrange smiled—really smiled—and shook his head, "Maybe you do grow on people. Brat."

Harry wondered if brat could be considered a step up from halfblood. It was probably about the same, she concluded, but the heat seemed to have gone out of his insults.

"So why are you really here with me, and not at home?" Lestrange asked, "As far as I can see, your parents adore you—did you see them there today, smiling like fools while you presented? Bet they're so proud of you. Bet they think you're so perfect. So why are you sitting here, perfect girl?"

"They are proud of me," Harry acknowledged, "No matter what I do. In some ways, they don't really care what I do—they'd be proud either way."

"Lucky you," Lestrange muttered, stabbing at his fish with his chopsticks, "Your parents pay for your potions indulgence, then?"

"Yeah. Yours don't?" Harry said, guessing by the way he said 'indulgence' that his parents had thrown his expenses in his face more than once.

"I get what I ask for," Lestrange shrugged, a bitter twist to his mouth.

Harry understood immediately. The feeling of always asking for things wasn't a pleasant one. She hated asking favors of people—to have to ask for every ingredient and material would be stifling. How many projects would she let fall by the wayside simply because she felt their cost to be an encumbrance once she was made constantly aware of it?

"So what do you do when you aren't brewing?" Harry asked eventually.

"None of your business," Lestrange said, "Why, what do you do?"

Harry laughed, "I don't do anything besides brew."

"Really." Lestrange looked skeptical.

"What else is there?" Harry asked.

"What else indeed."

They weren't friends when they left the alleys behind, but Harry thought they weren't quite enemies, either. That, or Lestrange really had just come along for the free food.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Harry's thirteenth birthday started very quietly, and ended…not so quietly.

Archie kept nagging her to take a PotentialisPotion, but Harry didn't see the point. All it did was reveal the magical potential in a person, and Harry already knew where her strengths lay—in potions. She didn't need her path laid out for her, or even a nudge in one direction or another, like she'd thought Draco could have used. Her future was clear, no matter what the potion indicated she ought to concentrate on. She would make it for Archie on his birthday if he wanted, of course, but Harry knew it wasn't for her.

For breakfast, Lily and James made all her favorites. It was rare that they ate breakfast together, just the three of them—four if you counted Addy, though Harry wasn't sure she was big enough to count yet.

It was nice, but curiously, Lily kept shooting her strangely wary looks when she thought Harry couldn't see her. What Lily didn't know was that Harry's vision was perfect while under the influence of the Modified Polyjuice, and so even though she still wore her 'glasses,' her peripheral vision was crystal clear, unlike James, who couldn't see anything out of the corner of his eye. She didn't know why Lily looked so concerned, but she assumed her mother would tell her when it became important.

Sirius and Remus baked her a cake, and it didn't blow up when they ate it that night, though it did keep singing the happy birthday song even as they devoured it, its voice becoming more and more frantically high-pitched as it was slowly consumed.

Her parents gave her their present after dinner, and to Harry's utter astonishment it was a Firebolt.

"I can't…" Harry just shook her head, a slow smile blooming across her face, "How—I'm not even on a house team, like Archie. Are you sure?"

"Sure?" James ruffled her hair, "You're holding it, Harry! Do you like it?"

"It's amazing," Harry breathed, "It's the broom of the world cup next year, Dad, I mean—thank you."

She hugged James, then hugged Lily too, careful not to squish Addy while she was at it, "Can I try it tonight?"

"In the dark?" Lily laughed, "Surely tomorrow will be soon enough?"

"Oh, I see," Archie grinned, "They waited until now to give it to you because they knew you'd never come in for dinner if you had it this afternoon."

"We wanted to see our girl on her birthday," Lily said, one arm around Harry, the other holding Addy to her shoulder. Her words were sweet, but there was something almost falsely chipper in her tone. Harry wasn't sure what was making Lily so on edge that day, but she hoped it resolved itself soon. Maybe there was trouble at work.

She went to bed that night thinking about what a nice day it had been, just she and her family hanging out quietly at home. She really should have known it was too good to be true.

It was darker than the darkest place she'd ever imagined. She knew she was there, but she couldn't see any part of her—not her feet or limbs or even the tip of her nose. The blackness was too complete for sight. There were other senses, though. It was cold, and quiet, and even though she couldn't see her torso, there was an aching in her gut that she couldn't explain.

Slowly, a light appeared. At first, she didn't notice the lightening landscape, so great had the pain in her stomach become. After a few moments, though, she began to blink against the growing brightness. It was coming from her middle, spilling out through the fingers she had pressed over her gut, and it was warm.

No, not warm—hot. Flames licked at her stomach, burning, scorching her insides. The light spilled out of her to illuminate the pressing blackness, but she barely saw the stars answering in the distance before a white-hot pain consumed her.

She woke to a scream, and it took several confused moments of pain and disorientation before she realized it was her own. The world seemed to be shaking itself apart around her, and as she doubled over in agony she heard books falling from their shelves all around her. Her headboard rattled against the wall, and her gut screamed at her in pain, and she screamed back until her throat closed up in protest. She'd never felt such pain before, and she barely registered her bedroom door flying open and her worried parents rushing in half-dressed.

"Harry? Baby? Harry!" her mother's voice was frantic with worry, and it drew Harry back from the world of pain she'd been inhabiting.

"Mom," she choked out, eyes blurring with the tears streaming down her face, "It hurts. I think my insides are burning up."

"Merlin," James drew her into his arms, his voice helpless as he said, "It's going to be okay, Harry, I promise it'll be okay."

"No," Harry said, "I think something is killing me." There could be no other explanation for all the pain.

"Harry, sweetie, it's your birthday," Lily said, stroking her sweaty hair back from her face, "Your magical core is expanding. I thought it might not happen, but—oh, Harry, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. It's going to hurt, baby, but it will pass, I promise."

Harry wanted to believe her, but all she could focus on was pain. She dimly heard James say, "I'm putting her out," before his wand poked her in her ribs, and she knew no more.

-0

[HpHpHp

-0

She dreamed of fire and pain, and when she woke up some hours later, she was drenched in sweat. Her mother was humming some mindless tune, holding her hand in her own. Harry smiled a bit in relief when she realized the pain was almost receded. Her stomach felt oddly stretched, as though she'd eaten too much for dinner, but it wasn't on fire anymore.

"You don't have to sing anymore, Mum," Harry said tiredly.

Lily immediately called for James and cupped Harry's face in her hands, "Harry, honey, I'm so sorry you had to go through that. How do you feel now?"

"Bloated," Harry said, frowning a bit, "Like I swallowed a watermelon. Does that happen to everyone on their thirteenth birthday? You'd think they'd warn us."

Lily let out a choked laugh, "Oh, sweetie, no. Most people get mild stomach cramps at the most. Many sleep right through it. I had hoped…well, I'm afraid I misjudged your magical potential, Harry."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Your core is fully matured now," Lily said softly, not looking terribly happy about it, "The pain you felt was the influx of magic filling the expanded space. Your core was working hard to produce so much magic in a short period of time."

"Is that why I feel top-heavy?" Harry asked, trying to sit up, "Because I'm full of more magic than I'm used to?"

"Yes," Lily said, frowning, "You shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, though. Is it bad?"

"Not unmanageable," Harry said honestly, "I'll get my equilibrium back soon, I suppose. So it should have gone away by now?"

Lily bit her lip, then moved her fingers up Harry's wrist to stroke a beautiful golden bracelet that circled her forearm. It was a bracelet Harry had seen many times before, but it was not hers.

"Mom?" she asked, confused as to why she was wearing the bracelet James had given Lily the day Harry was born. If she twisted it, she could even see the name engraved on the inside of the band. It said simply, Harriet.

"Harry!" James came running in and took Harry's shoulders in his hands, staring into her eyes worriedly, "Are you all right, little fawn?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Harry said, summoning a smile, "Sorry I worried you."

"I'm sorry we didn't think this might happen," James said, looking remorseful, "You mother went through something similar, but mine wasn't so bad, so we hoped…well, we should have said something, but we didn't want to worry you."

"At least now I know why mom kept sending me anxious looks all day," Harry said bemusedly.

"Dear," Lily said softly, "I think Harry and I need to have a talk."

James looked from his wife to his daughter, and nodded slowly, "All right. I'll go make breakfast. Somehow I don't think we'll be getting any sleep after this."

He left after kissing her forehead gently, and Harry turned her gaze to her mother. She had conjured a stool by Harry's bed, but Harry scooted over to make room for her on the mattress, "What's wrong, Mom?"

Lily slid in next to her and breathed slowly in and out. Then, she began to speak.

"When I was a little girl, my parents thought I was possessed by the devil," her voice shook only slightly, but Harry clutched her mother's hand tightly between her own, shocked at what she was hearing. "They didn't know what magic was, but strange things were always happening around me—dangerous things. Some kids have three or four major accidental magic incidents when they're young. I had an incident at least once a month. They home schooled me until the letter from America came." Lily took a deep breath, and let it out on a sad little laughed, "They were so relieved when they realized there were others like me, who would deal with me. They showered me with attention when I was home, to make up for their fear and guilt, I think, neither of which ever really went away."

Harry hadn't realized why they never visited Lily's muggle relatives very often, even though she had a cousin her age. Perhaps Lily's sister was as afraid of her as her parents were?

"Did you know that muggleborn witches and wizards generally fall into one of two categories?" Lily asked. Harry shook her head silently. "The majority of muggleborns—about eighty-five percent—are magically below average. There's a stereotype that muggleborns have low stores of magic, but high control of the magic they do have. That's true for many, like your friend Hermione, I suspect. The other fifteen percent, however, are born with vastly overpowered stores of magic, and very little control. I was one of the later."

"Fifteen percent is still a lot," Harry said slowly, "Why don't we hear about more muggleborn Mage or Lord-level witches and wizards?"

"The high levels of magic aren't tempered by generations of refinement as they are in the old pureblood families," Lily said softly, "By the time I got to school, my magic was nearly beyond my control. I almost had to repeat my first year, because I couldn't get my magic to do any of the spells right. It was wild, like an animal that refused to be trained."

Harry couldn't believe how eerily familiar her mother's words were. Hadn't she felt like that? Like she had a monster inside of her at times? Except Harry could control hers sometimes—controlled it too well, sometimes.

"My temper didn't help," Lily admitted, "My emotions were all over the place during puberty, and my magic responded to the slightest ire. It was the worst right after my thirteenth birthday. I dunked my best friend in the duck pond behind our houses one day. He nearly drowned. To this day I believe Severus still hates deep bodies of water," she added regretfully.

"Master Snape?" Harry asked incredulously, "You dunked Master Snape in a duck pond?"

Lily smiled, "Oh, don't tell him I told you that, if you ever do meet the man. We were the best of friends, before…well, before James and I became the best of friends."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Harry moved to change the subject, "So when did you get control over your magic? Will it take long for me to adjust to it?"

Lily looked miserably down at her, "I didn't, Harry. I thought I did—I was sure I had, by the time I left school, but…" she took a sharp breath, and began speaking faster, "You have to understand, Harry, one of the reasons I married your father is how in control I felt around him. The Potters have always been known for their magical precision—declared Light for as long as anyone can remember. Their family magic is just too controlled to be anything else. When I was with James, I didn't have violent outbursts. Sometimes my magic lashed out at him if I was really annoyed, but it never hurt anyone. It—it lashed out in a controlled way, if that makes sense."

It made perfect sense, to Harry. She recalled Remus' story of a young Lily sending James hurtling through a crowded train station and locking him in a compartment without a scratch. She also remembered her outburst at the SOW Party's New Year's gala, where she had so precisely moved Lestrange backwards in her anger. It sounded like a nightmare, though, living with that uncertainty for so many years. Was that her future, too?

"We married, and my magic settled down even further once it was bound to James', and I thought everything was fine," Lily said. She swallowed and stroked Harry's hair, "Then I got pregnant."

"With me," Harry prompted, when Lily paused to collect her thoughts.

"Yes, with you. Harry, Remus tells me you know the Despaco shield," Lily said tentatively.

"Yes," Harry said, grimacing, "I'm not sure where I picked it up, but my magic…likes it." She waited for Lily to dismiss her explanation of ridiculous, but instead, her mother started to cry. Big, slow tears welled up and trailed sadly down her cheeks. "Don't cry, Mum, please. What's wrong?"

Harry rubbed Lily's hands fretfully, not sure what else to do.

"I'm afraid that's my fault as well," Lily said, hiccupping through her tears, "I learned that spell in my seventh year, and my magic took to it instantly. I don't know what you know about the shield, but despite its power, it has a very simple magical pattern. It takes a lot of energy to keep it going, but it's one of the fastest defensive spells around, because the magic takes almost no time at all to assemble. When I was pregnant with you, I lost count of the number of times I used it accidentally. I was a little paranoid that something would bump my stomach and hurt you, and my magic took that worry to a dangerous level. In the last three months, it was on a hair trigger, Harry. James was wary about even touching my stomach. It was…it was not a good time, for us."

Harry tried to imagine loving someone, and not being able to get close to them for fear of their magic. She couldn't, but she could imagine being the person no one could get close to. She had never sympathized with her mother more. She wrapped her arms around Lily's waist and leaned in. It took a moment before Lily started talking again.

"The night you were born, my magic went wild," Lily's voice was almost a whisper. "It flared up as soon as I went into labor. The Mediwitch wasn't sure what would happen if I attempted magical transportation like the floo, and apparition was out of the question, so the Mediwitch came here and delivered you in our guest bedroom."

"I didn't know I was born in this house," Harry said, surprised and a little grossed out.

Lily nodded, "You wouldn't have recognized it then. We had to redo most of the bedroom after the birth. I had no control over my magic that night. It rained from the ceiling for over an hour, nearly flooding the place, and when the water cleared there were huge tangles of vines growing over everything, even the bed frame. At one point I nearly passed out from the pain, and when the blackness started creeping in the edges of my vision, I panicked. My magic flared, and a light so bright came out of me that James, who was standing closest, was blinded." Lily sobbed a bit, "I didn't mean to, but he screamed so loudly I thought I'd killed him. The Mediwitch took him away, flooed him to St. Mungo's, and she told me he'd be fine, but I didn't know if she was lying to me to keep calm or not at that point. When you were finally born, the Mediwitch didn't even stay to clean you up. She was so frightened, I think. She said she'd send someone to check on you, but no one ever came."

Harry had never realized the circumstances of her birth were so unusual, "Did Dad get his eyes fixed that night?"

"He did," Lily said, "But it took a long while. I gather the hospital was very busy that night. It was the full moon, so Remus wasn't there. Sirius took Diana and left when things started getting out of control—she was due any day as well, you know, and the Mediwitch didn't want her exposed to the magic being thrown around."

"So it was just you and me there?" Harry asked, disturbed, "What if you'd gotten sick?"

"The Mediwitch did check to make sure we were healthy before she left," Lily said, smiling slightly. "I barely noticed her poking and prodding. All I could see was you. I held you, and stroked your curly little hair. You looked like James right from the start. His hair, his chin, and…his eyes."

Harry blinked. That wasn't right.

Lily sighed, "Beautiful little blue eyes. The nurse forgot to put the eye drops in, and you just looked and looked at me, like you'd never look away. It was so hard, that labor. James was gone, and the Mediwitch was gone, and I was so tired, and I wished, just for a moment, that you had something of mine, Harry. Something that proved I had helped create you."

Harry could see where this was going, and she went very still.

"My magic—it was all around us," Lily said shakily, "As soon as I had the thought, it acted. It was a fleeting wish, Harry—you were perfect and beautiful and I didn't really want to change a thing, but…"

"The magic ran with it," Harry said.

Lily nodded, clinging to Harry hard, "Before I even realized what was happening, your eyes were green. The brightest, clearest green I'd ever seen. I tried to undo it—to change them back, but the magic wouldn't listen to me."

Harry wondered if that was the case, or if, deep down, Lily didn't really want the color to change back.

"I waited for weeks for them to turn back, for the magic to fade, but it never did," Lily said, "Haven't you ever wondered why your eyes were so unnaturally bright as a child? They've faded the last couple of years, I've noticed. I suppose the magic might finally be wearing off. Maybe they'll be back to blue in a few more years."

But it wasn't wearing off, Harry knew. She and Archie had simply been wearing green contacts the last year or so, and no contact could match the eerie brightness of her actual eyes. They'd thought they'd been so clever, avoiding eye contact with their parents while wearing them, not knowing their parents had attributed the change to something else entirely.

"When we found out you needed glasses, I was devastated," Lily said, sniffing, "I thought I'd damaged your eyes somehow. James assured me that poor eyesight runs in his family, but I've never been sure—what if you'd had my good vision, and I'd ruined it? The point is I could have damaged you. My magic changed you, on a whim. That's when I had this bracelet made." She fingered the bracelet now clasping Harry's forearm.

"I thought Dad got this for you," Harry said, "To commemorate your first child together. It has my name on it."

Lily shook her head, "It's not just a piece of jewelry. It's a magic suppressor—a powerful one. I put it on a few days after you were born, and I've never taken it off until now. I didn't want to take the chance that anything like that would ever happen again. Your name is engraved on it to remind me why it's necessary. So that I never forget what I did to you, to my baby."

Harry didn't know what to say. It wasn't as though she minded having green eyes instead of blue—it didn't matter either way to her. Lily was obviously still distraught over it, however, even after all these years. She never imagined her mother was living under this kind of guilt and pressure.

"Even with the bracelet," Lily said, "My magic is too strong. I have to use it almost constantly, just to keep it under control."

"I thought you just liked using magic," Harry said, feeling stupid. She'd honestly assumed Lily simply appreciated magic, not that she had to use it in order to control it.

"I do," Lily said earnestly, "I'm not trying to scare you, Harry, magic is wonderful. It's different for you, Harry, and for Addy. You don't have to worry about the kind of things I did. With your father's blood in you, you won't lose control like I did. You can control your magic, Harry, it's just going to take a little time."

Was that true? Harry wasn't sure. The combination of Lily's wild magical reserves and the Potters' magical control might result in the strange presence and lapse of control in Harry's magic, but she didn't think the explanation was that simple. Could her magic really have imprinted the Despaco shield from the womb? Would her eyes stay green or fade eventually back to blue? Could she cope with an even greater amount of magic in her core than she was used to? She just wasn't sure.

She wasn't sure of a lot of things, anymore.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

Once she'd calmed down, Harry had to give the magic sealer back to Lily, and start re-learning to control her own magic. It was much harder than it had been the first time, and much more frustrating. Several weeks later, she was no closer to managing her swelled reserves, and she was at her wits end.

Her parents thought she was doing wonderfully—and Harry supposed by Lily's standards, she was. There were no violent outbursts after the first night, no outward manifestation of her magic. It was relatively containable, until she tried to use it. The trouble was, she couldn't let a little bit out without letting a firestorm out. She tried a levitation charm, and no matter how gently she directed the magic, whatever she was lifting slammed into the ceiling. The more powerful spells she tried were, if anything, worse. She got trapped inside her own shield charm for half a day, too afraid to try a ward-disruptor from the inside.

She was lucky she'd finished her mail-order schooling before her birthday, or she'd be way behind on the practical work. As it was, she was dreading the coming school year. What would she say when she suddenly couldn't perform any of the magic they'd learned last year?

But the worst of it, the absolute worst, was that she could no longer consciously imbue. When she tried, she overloaded the potions with so much magic the ingredients actually started spontaneously transforming into other things. It was a mess, and she melted four cauldrons before she gave up. It nearly broke her heart to have to tell Krait she was taking an indefinite leave of absence as one of his brewers, but she couldn't brew anything more complicated than a sleeping draught if she couldn't imbue. She had her summer work done, and more than enough to cover the rent on the apartment in the lower alleys for another year, but without brewing she had nothing to do except brood until school started up once more.

She went flying a lot with her new Firebolt, and her new broom was admittedly brilliant, but even that couldn't quite dim the sense of utter uselessness she felt at having wasted weeks of potential brewing time.

The final paper for her internship had gone as well as could be expected. She explained the process as clearly as possible, but as she could no longer demonstrate the process herself, she was worried experimentation in shaped imbuing would be stalled for the foreseeable future. She had been very careful to omit any references to her own gender from either the intern profile or the paper itself, both of which would be published by the Guild. There was a small chance the Potions Master at AIM would read it, and Archie had to be able to pretend it was his.

Addy had gone back to ambivalence around Harry, who couldn't perform the fun little magic tricks with her anymore, for fear of hurting her. Remus was preparing for his new teaching position, Sirius and Archie were spending as much time together as possible before he went back to school, and although Lily and James asked after her magic-controlling progress every day at dinner, Harry was left largely to her own devices for the month of August.

Since magic was beyond her capacity at the moment, Harry turned to non-magical pastimes to keep her busy, primarily self-defense training with Leo. She spent her days in the lower alleys, careful to avoid hanging around Diagon Alley while all the kids going back to Hogwarts were school-supply shopping. She didn't want another run in with someone she wasn't supposed to know.

Her lower blocks were getting stronger, as her body learned to forget that it was female and simply react appropriately to the threat coming her way. She was tanner than she'd ever been in her life, traipsing around outside all day, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the courtyard behind the phoenix was somehow lit with real sunlight, despite the open air being an illusion. She had actually gone so far as to make Archie sunbathe whenever he had free time, just so that their skin tones wouldn't be too different when they switched places.

"Higher," Leo said, catching her foot easily as it tried to connect with his shoulder. He held it there, keeping her off-balance as he lectured—he often did that, claiming the uncomfortable position would make her remember better. "See where I blocked your foot? It's at my shoulder, so my arm is across my chest, still in a good position in case you follow up with a punch or elbow. If you kick higher, aiming for my face, you force my block higher, leaving my torso open to counter attack. Also, many inexperienced fighters instinctually panic when something comes toward their face, so you have a greater chance of catching them off guard."

He released her foot, and Harry shook her leg out before getting back into the guard position. "What if I'm fighting someone much taller than me, and my foot won't reach his face without putting me off balance?"

Leo tilted his head, "You could jump, but you'd be better off going for his feet at that point. Tall people are often naturally unstable."

Harry couldn't tell if he was joking about that last bit, but before she could ask Leo's fist was coming toward her solar plexus.

At the end of their session, they ate lunch in the Phoenix, for once just the two of them. Harry supposed everyone else was out and about.

"You're headed back to America soon," Leo commented, "Excited?"

Harry shrugged, "I would be, but my magic is all wonky still."

Leo frowned, "It shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks to settle after your thirteenth. Have you seen a Healer?"

Harry shook her head, "I'm within the range of normal for my family, unfortunately."

"What are you doing to adjust? Just practicing magic all the time?" Leo asked.

"I'm not supposed to use magic over the summer," Harry said, smiling slightly.

"Funny," Leo said, "Really, though, are you working on it?"

"Every day," Harry sighed, "But it doesn't seem to help. Every spell gets overloaded and goes haywire."

Leo grimaced, "It's a shame—you were so good with your magic just a few weeks ago. Have you tried exhausting yourself and then trying a few simple spells?"

Harry nodded, "I can't spend the magic fast enough to deplete it before it replenishes itself."

"That's a problem many would kill to have," Leo said quietly, laughing a bit.

"Doesn't do me much good, since I can't actually use any of the magic without blowing myself up," Harry said, a bit disheartened by the whole situation. She had worked so hard to get comfortable with using her magic, and just when she seemed to really be getting the hang of things, she was back at square one.

"How does your family usually deal with it?" Leo asked.

"My mother wears a band that suppresses her magic to a manageable level," Harry said. She bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, "Do you think that would work for me?"

Leo looked hesitant, "I don't think that would be a good long-term solution, no. If you become too dependent on it, you'll never be able to handle the full capacity of your magic."

Harry thought about that, "Do I really need to? I mean, just having access to normal levels of magic would be perfect for me. I just want to be able to brew again—it's driving me mad, Leo. I can't even bring an Allergy Relief Potion up to par anymore."

"Don't you want to realize your full potential?" Leo asked, peering curiously at her.

"In some areas, yes," Harry said slowly, "But in other areas…not if they make me a danger to myself and others."

"You're only a danger if you're out of control," Leo said, "But if you really want a sealer, I know a guy who can help. Be sure, Harry. I think you're old enough to make your own decisions, but you need to decide if short-term relief is worth it, in this case."

Harry closed her eyes and imagined her life moving down two paths. On one of the paths, she got the sealer, and became for all intents and purposes a perfectly average member of the wizarding community. On the other path, she worked at controlling her magic for months, maybe years, with no guarantee that she would ever obtain full control. On the second path, she accidentally hurt people sometimes. They forgave her, probably, but they didn't get so close the next time. On that path, she became a wild card. People noticed her, expected great things from her, and people like Sirius began asking questions when everyone said Rigel had powerful magic, but Archie never exhibited any such signs.

The choice was easy, really. There was only one path that would contribute to her future goals. The other may well destroy them.

"I'd like to get the sealer, Leo," Harry said firmly. She opened her eyes and pinned her friend with her most determined look, "I'd rather be an ordinary wizard, if it means I can be an extraordinary potions brewer."

"I won't pretend to understand why you can't be both," Leo said, "But I'll respect your decision." He waggled his eyebrows a bit after saying that, as though wanting her to notice how especially considerate he was being of her choices.

Harry rolled her eyes, "Thanks, Leo. I've never had a friend like you."

"You sound more sincere when you say that in my dreams," Leo mourned.

Harry just shook her head, "Can we see that guy you know today?"

Leo thought about that, "I've got time. He should be open until three o'clock today, at least."

He led her deeper into the alleys, toward his mother's clinic, but they veered off a side street before they got that far. The doorway they stopped in front of had a simple sign hanging from a nail that said, "Custom Metalwork and Repairs."

"This chap can fix anything," Leo confided as they opened the door, "From Goblin-made armor to Fairy-forged silver, but he specializes in custom jewelry."

"Singing my praises?" came an upbeat voice from the back of the tiny shop. Every wall was lined with shelves, which were filled with the kind of containers you might use to sort beads in. Each tiny drawer was labeled with symbols that didn't make much sense to Harry, but which seemed to be meticulously organized.

The man who stepped out through a shadowed doorway behind the counter was middle-aged and very short. His red hair could barely be seen over the register when he passed behind it, but he seemed not at all perturbed that he only came up to their waists. On the contrary, he beamed happily up at them. "What can I do for you today?" he asked, "Looking for a new holster, Leo? Or maybe a nice pair of boot buckles for your young friend?"

"We need a sealer," Leo said, smiling down at the man, "Harry, this is Frein. Frein, my friend, Harry."

"A pleasure to meet you," Frein said, bowing low.

"The pleasure is mine," Harry said, bowing back.

"I like this one, Leo," Frein said, "Most of your friends aren't so polite. A sealer, you say? What level?"

Leo looked at Harry, who shrugged slightly in confusion. There were levels?

"We'll need to have you tested, then," Frein said, stepping back a bit and sort of squinting at Harry, "Just hold still, I'll read your aura in a jiff."

"My aura?" Harry said nervously.

"It won't hurt," Frein said absently. That wasn't exactly what Harry was worried about. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry for assuming you were male, Miss."

Harry waved it off, "Everyone does."

"All the same…" The little shopkeeper frowned, peering intently at her, then said, "Are you sure you need a sealer? No offense, friend of Leo's, but I can't see anything in your aura to indicate either an excess of magic or a new, uncontrolled gift."

Harry grimaced apologetically, "I'm afraid my aura may not be entirely reliable on this matter. Is there another way you can test my levels?"

"Oh-ho!" Frein smiled mischievously, "Got yours recalibrated, eh? Don't see that much these days, but a very good habit to get into, Miss."

Harry supposed by 'recalibrated' he meant she was projecting a false one, and nodded a bit embarrassedly. She'd only had her new aura for a month or so—she never expected to be called out on it so soon. Leo was giving her amused, sidelong glances, which she ignored with the ease of long practice, but she could tell he was filing away the information for a later day.

"Not to worry," Frein said, still cheerful, "We'll just do it the old-fashioned way. Over here, child."

He gestured her toward the counter and ducked behind it to retrieve a device that looked like a long, crystal tube that was fused to a metal sphere on one end. Frein held it up and said, "Put your wand hand on the end of the cylinder, and channel you magic through it—do you know how to do that?"

Harry nodded hesitantly. She imagined it was just like imbuing, but… "What if I break it?"

Frein chuckled, "Not even dragonfire could crack this beauty. The tricky part is to keep channeling your magic through the tube for as long as you can. The sphere at the end of the tube will absorb the magic, measuring the speed and strength of the flow, as well as the endurance of your reserves. I must warn you—the process can be extremely draining, as you will not get the magic you spend back until it replenishes itself naturally. You'll probably feel woozy for a few hours, and weakened for up to a week."

Harry blinked, but nodded, "I understand." It wasn't as though she had anything much to do that week, magically speaking. She didn't go back to Hogwarts for another ten days.

"Whenever you're ready, then," Frein said, handing her the strange object.

She clasped the crystal end in her right hand and held it upright, so that the metal ball was pointing toward the ceiling. It was a bit like holding a very thick, improperly balanced wand. Harry didn't need to concentrate very hard to start the flow of magic—she was good at imbuing by now—but she did need to hold on tightly. The force of the magic shooting through her fingers was like a flash flood, sudden and overwhelming. Harry held on and poured as much of her magic into the measuring device as she could, as fast as she was able.

After a minute, she began to lose the strangely bloated feeling she was still getting used to. She felt almost normal, and began to smile as she pushed more and more magic into the tube. It was relieving, she noticed with delight. Like taking the lid off of a cauldron just before it boiled over.

The crystal was beginning to vibrate in her hand, but she clenched her fist tighter, and kept pouring out her magic. There was no control to the process, no finesse. It was as simple as tipping a giant bucket upside down, and as satisfying as squeezing the jelly out of a fireslug.

She could have kept going, but Frein cleared his throat loudly and said, "I think that's quite enough, Miss."

Harry reigned in the stream with an ease that surprised her. She gaped at her own hand for a moment, then pulled out her wand excitedly. "Lumos," she said, bracing herself in case the blinding light of a thousand suns suddenly appeared. Instead, a small ball lit the end of the wand, and Harry laughed out loud, "It works! My magic works, Leo."

Leo had an odd look on his face, but he summoned a smile for her, "That's wonderful, Harry. I suppose you've so little of it left that it's easy to control, now."

Harry turned her senses inward to get a feel for her magical core. It was much smaller than it had been in months. "You're right," Harry said, "I suppose it was as simple as draining the excess off after all—I just have to do it fast enough. Do I still need the sealer?"

"Unless you'd like to be throwing that much magic around all the time, missy," Frein said, "I think you might consider one."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, "I suppose it would be hard to use that much magic all the time. It would probably alarm some people, in fact."

"That's certainly true," Frein said, looking at the measuring device with something akin to awe.

It was a brilliant purple color that she'd never seen metal turn.

"What does the color mean?" Harry asked.

"The device is charmed to portray the level at which a wizard's core registers as a color on the light spectrum," Frein explained, scratching his head as he looked at the violet orb, "Red is near-Squib level, yellow-green is about average, light blue is a solid Mage-level registry, and anything above indigo is…Lord level."

Harry blinked. She'd heard the term before, but she didn't have a good grasp of what it meant. All the most famous powerful witches and wizards were said to be Lords or Ladies of Magic, but Harry didn't know if that was based on their magical ability or their political resources combined with magical potential, or if it there were other indicators entirely. "How common is purple as a magical register?" she asked.

Frein shrugged, "I saw a light lavender color once, many years ago. It was a muggleborn boy about your age, one of the powerful ones that crops up every now and then. Other than that, you're the first I've seen. Are you muggleborn, too?"

"My mother was," Harry said, "I get it from her, as far as I can tell."

"You're lucky," Frein said seriously, "The lavender boy was emitting magic like crazy when he showed up. Rattled half the things in here off their shelves. For someone without a sealer yet, you've managed fairly well."

Harry smiled self deprecatingly, "I can clamp down on it fine, but once I've suppressed it, I can't use a little bit of it without letting all of it out in an uncontrolled stream. I'm hoping the sealer can lock enough of it away that I can work with whatever is left."

"Ah," Frein looked excited once more, "A partial-suppressant, then? And a powerful one at that. Very tricky…might need to be custom-made. Can you wait a few more days?"

"I go back to school in ten," Harry said.

"That's plenty of time," Frein said, "What specifically were you looking for? Bracelet? Necklace? If you want a pendant, you can choose the stone yourself."

Harry considered it, "Could you make it small, like a ring?"

Frein nodded slowly, "I could. You wouldn't lose it?"

"Don't you take your rings off for potion-brewing, Harry?" Leo asked, frowning.

Harry shook her head, "I never take this one off," she held up her hand with the basilisk ring on it, "It's spelled to never slip off. I'll do the same to the sealer."

"What sort of spell?" Frein asked interestedly.

Harry shrugged, "It's house elf magic, so I'm not sure. I'll ask one of the elves at school if they'll spell the sealer as well, though."

"Know many house elves?" Frein asked, amused.

"A few," Harry said honestly, "I find them nicer than most folk."

Frein scratched his red hair again, "Never thought of it like that, Miss. So what material did you have in mind? I could make it to match the ring you've already got. Is it polished jade…?"

"Basilisk scale," Harry mumbled, "Jade would be fine, though."

"Ah…" Frein peered interestedly at the ring, "Scale, you say?" He grinned a bit mischievously, "I've got just the thing."

He climbed up one of the many stools and rummaged around on a nearby shelf, pulling open drawers and shutting them with a tut here and there. Eventually he descended the stool with a triumphant expression, waving around something clutched in his little fist.

"How's this one?" he asked, holding it up for them to see, "Not the same shade of green, but not too different—just enough that they'll look like a matched set, but you'll be able to tell them apart."

It was a green scale, deeper in color than the basilisk's, but a little smaller. "Dragon?" she guessed, admiring its sheen.

"Welsh green," Frein agreed, "Will it do?"

"It's perfect," Harry said.

He took her left hand and measured the space above where the basilisk ring rested. There was room enough that a second slender ring would sit comfortably below the knuckle.

They left the shop, promising to return in three days. Harry felt light for the first time in weeks, free of the weight of extra magic swimming in her gut, free of the worry of wondering if she'd be able to learn anything at all that year, and free to resume brewing, at least until her magic replenished itself later that day.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

[end of chapter five].

A/N: Next chapter it's back to Hogwarts! I hope you enjoyed this modest installment (27,300 words). Thank you for reading. And in case anyone cares, my birthday is tomorrow! So I'm not saying your reviews would be the best birthday present ever, but…they would mean more to me than the stars. I hope everyone is having a fantastic summer.

All the best,

-Violet Matter