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.

10. Chapter 10

A/N: So here's the start of winter break. For those of you who wished the last scene at the Burrow had been longer—you're welcome. To everyone else—just bear with it. This chapter will disappoint some of you, because there's no gala (sorry), but I promise all of this filler stuff will be important! Eventually.

An Ambiguous Artifice:

Chapter 10:

When Rigel stepped off the train at platform 9 ¾, she'd barely taken three steps when she was scooped up in a fierce hug that stole her breath and tugged her off-balance completely. Laughing a bit, she hugged Sirius back, saying, "Miss me, Dad?"

"More than ever," Sirius said, leaning back to get a look at her. "You haven't grown much, Sport. Been eating your vegetables?"

"I'm saving up my growth spurts for the summer," she said, grinning easily, "That way I don't risk getting new robes for Yule."

"Wouldn't want that," Sirius agreed, "Then I'd have to keep that new sneakoscope for myself."

"Dad!" she affected an appalled look. "Don't ruin the surprise!" Archie had a thing about surprises and people who spoiled them prematurely.

"I'm just kidding," Sirius said, slinging an arm over her shoulders and steering her toward the porthole, "Sneakoscopes are for people with enemies. Everyone loves the Black boys."

"Does uncle Regulus know you call us that?" she asked.

"Reggie doesn't have room in his head for such trivial details," Sirius said, "Too crowded as it is up there."

"What with its being stuffed full of his own consequence," she said, raising one eyebrow.

"What a caustic young man you've grown into." Sirius sighed dramatically. "It's my fault, really. I let you spend too much time with Harry as a child. Should have sent you to play with that Longbottom boy, instead. I hear he's very nice."

"Harry's not that bad," she said, "She's never mean to anyone."

"Not to their faces anyway," Sirius laughed, "I love our Harry, but you have to admit she's got a critical streak a mile wide."

Did she? Perhaps she used to, before it had become so difficult to live up to her own standards. These days, no matter the internal critiques her mind sometimes offered, she didn't have the hypocritical gumption to level any true condemnation at other people when her own life was such a mess.

"I think she's gaining some compassion in her old age," she said after a moment's contemplation.

"More like gaining some control over her tongue," Sirius said with a short bark of laughter.

"That too," she agreed. Looking for a change of subject, she asked, "Why didn't you send me to play with Neville as a child? Aunt Lily is good friends with Mrs. Longbottom. Did you just think Harry was enough of a playmate for me?"

Sirius gave her an odd look. "We did have the Longbottom kid over once. Don't you remember?"

She blinked, completely taken aback. Archie had had a play date with Neville once? Why hadn't he mentioned that? After the Flint disaster, she would have thought he'd mention any other distant pre-Hogwarts acquaintances who might expect her to recognize them.

"I don't really…" she trailed off, wondering how she was going to explain this one.

To her surprise, however, Sirius dropped it immediately with a somewhat awkward, "Never mind, Arch. I'm probably misremembering."

They walked in slightly strained silence until the apparition point, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually she decided to just ask Archie about Neville and see if there was anything important for her to know.

Sirius offered to get started on dinner when they reached number twelve, and she gratefully took the chance to retreat to her room and 'unpack.' In reality she simply un-shrunk her trunk and opened it up on the bed to give the impression of unpacking and settled in to mentally review everything she had to tell Archie about the last semester before they officially switched back.

It was half an hour before the door to Archie's bedroom whooshed open and Archie darted in, nearly slamming the door behind him in his hurry. She had to laugh when she took in his appearance—he was bundled up like a nomad fresh from the tundra, knit hat pulled low over his brow and a thick scarf pulled up over his nose and cheeks.

"Cold?" she asked, chuckling as he struggled to unwrap himself.

"No," Archie huffed, "Unless Lily asks, and then yes, you were very cold on the way here."

"They're going to see our faces eventually," she said, perplexed by Archie's strange and unnecessary maneuver.

"Not until I fix mine," Archie said, grinning with more mischief than she was ready to deal with so soon after coming home.

"You said you had a plan for our disguises," she said slowly, "You going to tell me what it is, now? I was sort of thinking we'd have to just pretend not to grow at all this year, and then somehow arrange to go away at the beginning of the summer and take the Polyjuice before we get back, or…something."

"Don't worry another moment," Archie said, nearly bouncing with excitement, "I've got a solution and you're going to be so impressed, because I worked really hard on it all semester."

"What is it?" she asked, more than a little curious now. How on earth did Archie have time to research new disguise methods on top of everything else he had to do that semester? Maybe AIM gave time-turners to its students, too?

"It's a surprise!" he said, "So close your eyes."

She did so, trying not to smile too fondly. It would only encourage her playful cousin to keep her in suspense. What felt like several minutes later, Archie gave her the go ahead to open her eyes again. She blinked, and found herself looking into a mirror. It wasn't the first time she'd used that expression to describe how eerily alike she and Archie looked, but it was the first time she hadn't been exaggerating.

"Is it an illusion?" she asked, turning her head this way and that to admire the angles of Archie's new look. It was uncannily accurate, though there was something…off about it. "I think it's on backwards."

"What?" Archie lost his smug little smirk with a disheartened slump. "It's symmetrical," he whined.

"Not perfectly," she pointed out, "Come look at the mirror with me." She dragged him over to the bathroom and gestured to their reflection. "See? It's flipped, because you were picturing what I look like when you look at me, weren't you? But when you see the slight quirk in my right eyebrow, it looks to you like it's on the left."

"Oh, duh," Archie groaned. Looking in the mirror between their images, he furrowed his brows and pressed his lips together in concentration. A moment later, without any noticeable wand-work that she could see, the faces in the mirror matched perfectly.

"How are you doing that?" she asked, frankly astonished, "It's much more solid than any illusion I've ever seen."

"Thank you," Archie said, smirking again, "That was the level of amazement I was looking for the first time."

"Maybe if you'd gotten it right—"

"Anyway! Remember when you gave me a Potentialis potion after our birthdays?" Archie said, grinning widely.

"Oh, no," she blanched. Not Archie, too. Draco's gift might have been a coincidence, but two gifts conveniently unlocked after two Potentialis potions? Unlikely. She would have to seriously look into what she was doing wrong with that recipe.

"Oh, yes!" Archie actually jumped in excitement, "I mean, I knew the metamorphmagus ability ran in the Black line, but the only case in the last two generations was Andromeda's daughter."

"The only documented case," she said.

"You think there were others that hid their gift? Why?" Archie's brain caught up with his voice abruptly and he said, "Oh. I guess for the same kind of reasons my ability will be undocumented, too."

He looked a bit down at the prospect of hiding such a major magical development from his father, so she said quickly, "It's really amazing, Archie. This is…beyond anything I imagined. Our ruse is going to be nearly indestructible, now. We can never be caught out as one another, because there's no way to be sure—" she broke off with an embarrassed laugh, "Well, only one way to be sure, I guess."

"Actually, I can become a girl now," Archie said seriously.

She leveled an amused stare at him. "Been practicing?" Her cousin flushed pink from ears to cheeks. "I bet your anatomy scores have really improved," she pressed, fighting a laugh at the mortified expression on his face, "Does Hermione help you practice?"

"Don't talk about Hermione like that!" Archie blurted, "It's not—I don't—stop laughing, Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry," she said, wiping one of her eyes discretely, "It's good, Archie. Really. I mean, now they really can't prove anything on your end. Me…" She sobered up quickly. "Well…maybe it's time I started considering taking the male version of the Modified Polyjuice. The older we get, the bigger the risk of someone realizing my hips are just a tad too wide becomes, right?"

"You said it was dangerous to suppress the reproductive organs' natural shape over a long period of time," Archie said, frowning.

"In theory," Harry shrugged, "I don't have any concrete data on it. Anyway, this whole thing is dangerous. It might be unavoidable at some point. This summer, maybe—I'm growing a lot this year, Archie. I can feel it, underneath the Polyjuice, growing pains all across my ribs and lower back."

"It'll be suspicious for different reasons to your parents if you suddenly turn into a boy, though," Archie argued worriedly, "I mean, what if Sirius throws another swimming pool party? What if your mom wants to come into the changing room with you at Madam Malkin's? It's too big a risk."

"I suppose there's time to figure something out," she said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, "Anyway, I'm really proud of all the work you must have done this semester. Coming into a new gift isn't easy."

"It was a lot of fun, actually," Archie said, shrugging, "I can turn my hair pink. Want to see?"

"Maybe tomorrow," she said, smiling at the mental picture, "Our parents will be expecting us for dinner soon. We need to hurry and change clothes, and I've still got to put my contacts in."

"Sucks to be you," Archie said, smirking, "I never have to wear contacts again."

"You might have to wear a bra, though," she smirked, "Maybe you should go as me to the gala—you can look more like a girl than I can right now."

Archie shot her an unimpressed look, "Yeah, like Harriet Potter would go to the gal—why are you looking at me like that?"

Grimacing, she wondered how she could have forgotten that she had tons of explaining to do. Now she would have to rush through it before Sirius came up to get them. "Change first," she sighed, "Then I'll explain everything."

"First you might want to drop that voice-changing spell," Archie suggested, "And undo whatever thickening charm you've been using on your eyebrows, or James and Lily may have a few concerns about the direction your adolescence is taking."

"They'll have a few questions, anyway." Harry rolled her eyes as she performed the cancellations. "I look like someone cast a stretching charm a ten-year-old boy."

"Your shoulders are much wider than a ten-year-old's," Archie said.

"Oh, good," she smiled, "Then it won't be suspicious when I start growing facial hair."

"You aren't going to grow facial hair," Archie laughed, "You'll have to pretend to, though. I recommend cutting your jaw a bit and then dabbing at it embarrassedly when your roommates are looking."

"Somehow, when I envisioned the future of our deception so long ago, this wasn't what came immediately to mind," Harry sighed. She changed quickly from Archie's familiar robes to her own somewhat alien outfit. Her clothes always felt too small the first few days after switching roles. Archie's male-cut robes were just so much more comfortable than the snug-fitting swaths that passed for feminine ensembles. At least she would be back in her brewing robes soon.

"So what's the scoop?" Archie asked once they were both suitably attired.

"It's complicated, but the long and short of it is that both Rigel Black and Harry Potter need to attend the New Year's Gala this year," Harry said. She launched into an explanation about Snape's demanding to meet her as Harriet at the gala as well as his plan to confront Sirius about Rigel's apprenticeship, then segued into her friends wanting to meet Harriet as Rigel's betrothed, and finally her fear that it wasn't going to be enough if she went alone that year. "I mean, you could in theory pretend to get violently ill the night of the gala and leave me to go as Harry—myself, I mean—with Sirius, but without using the Modified Polyjuice, Harriet is going to look exactly like Rigel. It'll be a bit suspicious, don't you think, if Rigel just happens to be sick and Harriet shows up looking and acting uncannily like him? I'm afraid Professor Snape will assume that Rigel is pretending to be Harriet in order to convince Snape to let Rigel keep helping Harriet with potions, which of course is going to make Snape think Harriet isn't actually any good at potions and Rigel has actually been covering for Harriet this whole time and—"

"Whoa." Archie held up his hands with a confused look on his face. "First of all, stop talking about yourself in two different third-persons—it's freaking me out."

"Sorry," she said, taking a breath.

"That's okay," Archie said, "I think I understood most of it. I'm just thinking—and bear with me here because this is going to sound crazy, but—why don't we both just go as…ourselves?"

Harry blinked slowly, "You think? I was going to research mind magics and see if there's a way to mentally connect our surface thoughts temporarily so we could feed each other information about credible responses to awkward situations in real time."

"That…sounds awesome," Archie admitted, "But I think in this case, the simple answer is better. You be you, and dazzle your Snape with a galore of potions expertise, and I'll be me, and dazzle everyone with my stunning good looks and charm."

"Except for the part where you look like me," Harry said.

"Our good looks, then," Archie waved a hand dismissively, "The point is, all 'Rigel' really needs to do at the gala is introduce Harriet—I mean, you, damn this is complicated—to people and not blurt out any terrible secrets in front on the entire Wizarding ton. Piece of cake."

"I'm not sure you can pretend to be me for so many hours, though," Harry said, biting her lip, "My friends are pretty observant. One of them can feel your very emotions, now, so you'll have to be convincing on more than just the surface level."

"Because you're so unique," Archie said, voice thick with irony. She had said something similar to him once, she thought, and maybe he had a point. There weren't many things, she had come to realize in the last few years, that couldn't be faked. "Besides, I'm pretending to be me, remember? It would literally be impossible for anyone to call me out on not being Arcturus Rigel Black."

"True," she conceded. Still… "What about your aura? Snape, Malfoy, and Riddle can all read them, and they all know I don't have one. I can fake one as Harriet, but you don't know how to suppress yours."

"I'll learn." Archie shrugged. "We've nearly two and a half weeks until New Year's. If I put all my time into studying aura-suppression, I'm bound to get somewhere."

Harry frowned at his confidence, but agreed that it was possible. She'd have to do something about her aura, as well. Now that she knew her diminished magical core wasn't strong enough to support shaped imbuing in practice, it would be incredibly foolish to appear in front of Snape with an aura that contradicted the words that would be coming out of her mouth.

"Kids! Food!" came echoing down the hall, and they wrapped up their plans for the moment.

"You remember all the topics I told you Remus covered in his lessons?" Harry asked Archie as they headed for the stairs.

"Got 'em," Archie said, "You read over all those letters Aunt Lily and Uncle James sent?"

"Twice," she said, grimacing. She would not be slipping up in that department ever again. Being held at wand-point by her own father had had a strong motivating influence on her ability to memorize those letters' contents.

"Let's go reclaim our rightful identities, then," Archie said cheerfully, bounding toward the smell of dinner with a look of hedonic ambition on his face.

Harry followed close behind, ready to get the looks of bewildered amusement that would blossom in the wake of she and Archie's stunning similitude out of the way, at least. Then she would lay claim to a large helping of what smelled like her mother's vegetarian lasagna. That conquest, at least, wouldn't leave a sour taste in her mouth.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

The next day saw Harry and Archie holed up in the lab beneath Potter Place, pouring over the dark disguise book. She'd read the chapter on auras before, but as her aura had already been suppressed at the time, she hadn't paid very close attention to the details in that section.

"This sounds like Occlumency," Archie said, frowning.

"It is, basically," Harry said, "You'll need to access your mental landscape, then essentially use your magic to construct something that conceals the main portion of it from the mists. Near as I can tell, what's on the first level of your mindscape is what people can read from your aura."

"So it's like putting your things inside a house, so people can't see them when they drive by," Archie said.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "And Occlumency is the process of building and defending that house, while Legilimency is the art of breaking into other people's houses."

"Sounds fun," Archie said, "Only how do I access my mindscape?"

"It usually takes a lot of meditation," Harry said slowly, "But I have an idea…I don't know if it will work, but it might be a huge shortcut."

"Is this like the time you had an idea to raise a baby fox in my closet without telling me?" Archie asked warily.

"I told you," Harry protested.

"After it ate the aloe plant on my windowsill and got sick all over my blankets," Archie reminded her.

"If Mum hadn't started wondering where all our milk was going it wouldn't have been so hungry," Harry said, feeling rather guilty about the blasé sense of responsibility she'd had as a child.

Archie sighed, "The point, though, is…are you sure your idea is a good one?"

"Not entirely," Harry said, "But I don't think it's going to hurt you."

"Has anyone ever told you how terrible you are at reassuring people?" Archie rubbed his jaw. "Okay, shoot."

"Remember when I showed you your magical core?" Harry said at once, actually a bit excited to see if her idea was going to work.

"You mean when your magical core tried to roast me? Yeah, I remember," Archie didn't look impressed.

"Well, I told you about how during the Sleeping Sickness I could access people's mindscapes through their cores, right?" she said, leaning forward, "Even though accessing other people's cores is somehow something only I can do, everyone should be able to access their own cores without a problem. So in theory I can pull you through your core into your mind."

"And you'll be able to direct me in constructing some kind of aura-containment field," Archie said, eyes widening.

"I could probably even help you," Harry said, "I think anything I made in your mind with my magic probably wouldn't last very long, but I might be able to direct your magic to help you create something."

"That actually sounds worth a shot," Archie said, starting to grin, "Can we try it now?"

Harry nodded, smiling back, "Sit with your back against something so you don't fall over. Then we'll begin."

They got into a comfortable meditation position, then focused their attention inwards.

"Do you remember how to project your consciousness toward your core?" she asked, eyes closed.

"I think so," Archie said. After a long moment of silence, he sighed happily, "Found it."

"I'll meet you there," Harry said. She focused on the secondary layer of her core, the writhing coils of fire that snapped out, whip-like in reflex, in answer to her focusing attention. As her avatar fully materialized beside the core, she fought a flinch of unease. It looked for lack of a better term denser than she remembered. She supposed that was the suppressor, compacting her magic as it locked the deepest parts of it away. She expected the core to look smaller, though, if it was being compressed by the suppressor. Instead it merely seemed darker, wilder, and hotter. She felt a frisson of fear as she stretched her hand toward the outer coils. Was she still welcome here? But no, this was her core. It couldn't resent her for suppressing it—magic didn't think that way. Everyone said so.

She coaxed a coil forward, wrestling a bit to get it to go in the direction of Archie's core. Once she felt the twang of connection, she followed the line with confidence. Projecting her consciousness got easier each time, and she hadn't lost the knack for it, despite not having occasion to practice since the Chamber of Secrets.

Archie's magic was as she remembered, wrapped in soft, swirling mist that seemed to invite even as it concealed. She followed her cousin through the gentle wafts of magic, parting the mists before them until they reached the babbling river of cheerful blue that made up his primary core. It flowed in a whimsical circle, uniform yet free. What a contrast it made to her own disgruntled and repressed core.

"Do I have to swim upstream?" Archie asked, letting his fingers dangle in the current.

"Only if you want to lay eggs and then die on the upper banks," Harry said, reaching out her own hand to dip in the stream, "We just need to push through the center. I guess in this case we dive in and swim until we hit the other side."

"Do we hold our breath?" Archie asked.

"Have you been breathing?" Harry smirked.

"Oh," Archie blinked as he realized that as a projected consciousness he didn't, in fact, need to breathe, "Weird."

She guided him forward, plunging them both into the rushing blue. When they emerged on the other side, Harry had to pause for a moment and stare at the world she'd just stepped into.

If she hadn't swam through his core herself, she might have assumed Archie had an air core, so full of light and atmosphere was his mindscape. There was no clear light source, yet everything she saw was bathed in a golden glow that offset brilliantly against the intensely blue sky that seemed to swallow up most of the horizon. She and Archie had emerged on a sandy bank littered with glass-like pebbles that sparkled in the light. The river in Archie's mind mirrored that of his primary core, flowing in one large, continuous circle that dominated the center of his mental landscape.

"What are those?" Archie asked, pointing upwards.

She craned her neck and couldn't believe she hadn't noticed them before. Filling the sky above their heads were bubbles—not filled with air, but with water. They skimmed along in an invisible breeze, large and small, each a self-contained pocket of crystal-clear river water that sloshed and swirled as it floated around.

"They must be your manifestations," Harry said, running a hand through her long hair thoughtfully. How were they supposed to even access those things, much less suppress them beneath a layer of secondary Occlumency?

"My mind is awesome," Archie declared, grinning proudly, "I bet nobody in the world has a mind this cool."

"And to think we haven't even done anything with it yet," Harry chuckled.

"Why mess with perfection?" Archie said airily.

"Because you have to pretend to be me, and my mind is considerably less…open," Harry said, gesturing at the blinding expanse of sky.

"Right," Archie said, rubbing his hands together, "Where do we start? Can we just gather all the bubbles in one place?"

"I think we have to cover them with something," Harry said, "The idea is to veil them from the first layer of your mind, from the 'view' of the mists. Anyone using aura-sensing or non-invasive Legilimency essentially scans the primary layer of your mind, so anything out in the open is 'visible' to them. Make sense?"

"Yeah, but… how are we supposed to cover a whole river?" Archie asked.

Harry looked at the expanse of water flowing peacefully. "It is pretty big." Her miniature sun seemed positively portable in comparison, in fact. "We have to cover the bubbles, too."

"We could build something to put them in, I guess," Archie said, looking around, "Right in the middle of the river-circle-thing. A dome or something…" He scrunched up his nose. "That would be pretty out of place, though."

"It doesn't have to be aesthetic," Harry laughed.

"Why shouldn't it be?" Archie asked, looking offended, "It's my mind. I want it to be all tranquil and stuff. Maybe it'll help me think."

"Occlumency does make your thought patterns more efficient," Harry agreed, "It's a side-effect of a well-organized mind."

"Well let's organize mine, then!" Archie looked excited to get started, but utterly unsure where to begin, exactly. "What if we just put, like, a privacy screen up along the outer border of my mind?"

"That's a lot of surface area to cover," Harry frowned, "And the mists extend pretty far up along the edges of your mind. But maybe we could grow some sort of…privacy vegetation. The ground along the banks looks pretty solid. I think it would take roots."

"Trees!" Archie gushed, "Yes, that's perfect! We'll plant trees all along both banks and the canopy will block out the river!"

"And we can attach the bubbles of water to the branches," Harry said, "So they can't be seen from outside either."

"They're so…free, though," Archie sighed, "Do we have to tie them down? What if we just moved them into the river, instead? Then they could flow freely, but still be hidden by the canopy."

"That could work," Harry said slowly. She wasn't sure if you could put aspect Manifestations inside the representation of your core, but she didn't think there was any harm in trying. Archie's magic couldn't harm his own mind. "Let's try it."

They stood for a moment, just staring up at the many globes of watery whimsy. "How do we get them down, again?"

"You should have some control over them, since it's your mind," she told him, thinking of how she managed her own mindscape. "Just focus on a bubble and think of what you want it to do."

Archie turned his attention to the nearest sphere, a small bubble about the size of his fist that wobbled in the air like a bobber in choppy waters. He lifted a hand coaxingly toward the little blue ball, then slowly retracted it like he was reeling in an invisible line. The bubble swerved through the air almost curiously to hover at Archie's nose. He laughed and caught it between his hands carefully.

The moment it was clasped between his fingers a peculiar look came over his face. "It's a memory," he said, sounding a bit breathless, "It's—I can feel it, like I'm really there. Remember when we made those snow-ghosts?"

"In Mrs. Bagshot's yard?" Harry smiled, "We surrounded her house with them. The glow-powder we sprinkled in their eyes lasted over a week, I think."

"Yeah." Archie smiled down at the memory bubble fondly. "That was a good prank. Even though Aunt Lily made us apologize when she found out."

"I think old Bathilda enjoyed it," Harry said.

"She did leave them up until they melted," Archie agreed. He walked to the bank of the river and knelt down. Gently, he released the ball of memory into the stream. The bubble seemed to slip into the river almost delicately, not sinking to the bottom like a stone but winding its way through the water easily of its own accord, matching the current, yet outside of it, clearly making its own path.

Archie turned his attention to the next bubble, and Harry took a moment to consider how she could best help. She didn't really want to handle Archie's Manifestations. It was a very personal part of the mind, and even though she knew almost everything about her cousin, it still didn't feel right to interact with his memories in that way.

She moved a short distance away, instead, and bent her will toward the water in Archie's river. In theory she could use her own magic to build something, but there was no telling how long it would persist in Archie's mind, or what it might do once she stopped concentrating on it. Better to ground his defenses in his own magic.

The water flowed at her command, as though eager to be useful. She directed a small trickle away from the stream with a thought, drilling it down into the sandy bank as though she were planting a liquid seed. Another moment of concentration, and the water hardened and darkened, sticking fast below the sparkling pebbles and shooting upwards in a fountain that solidified even as it blossomed toward the sky. She fed it more bits of magic as needed, guiding the offshoots into trunks and branches that burst into brilliant green at their edges. In a short time, a supple river birch stood before her, several distinct trunks together spreading a multitude of cheerful leaves whose shade gave another dimension to the babbling stream it overlooked.

Harry rand a hand over the curled bark with a satisfied smile. Archie's mind was going to be lovely, by the time they finished.

"That's great, Harry!" Archie called from where he was herding a string of memories along in a strange parody of follow-the-leader.

Harry waved back in acknowledgement, then got to work on the next tree. They still had a long way to go.

She didn't know how long they worked, but eventually, when about a third of the circular bank was covered in canopy, Harry noticed that the water level in the river was significantly depleted. She jogged to where Archie was still ferrying bubbles into the river and said, "I think we should stop here for today."

Archie nodded. "The river is starting to get a bit crowded," he said, gesturing to where entire schools of memory orbs were swimming around one another even as they floated along with the current around them. "I feel tired, too, like after I practice a spell too many times. Only I haven't done any magic—it's kind of scary that you can use my magic like that without my input."

Harry blinked. "I think you could forbid me…probably."

"No need." Archie shook his head, amused. "Could you access my core without being in my mind, though? I mean, could you tap into someone else's core just by being near them?"

Harry recoiled from the idea. "Surely not. That would be…" Well, she couldn't call it impossible. Magic seemed to make most things possible. Still, it was the sort of idea that made her feel slightly ill. Using someone else's magic to help them was one thing. Using someone's magic against their will was unthinkable. Magic always answered to the will of its owner. To even think that she might be able to circumvent that will was… "Dangerous."

Archie shrugged, but she thought it seemed a bit forced.

"Let's get back to our bodies," Harry said, eager to change the subject. "Do you think you could find this place again with meditation, if you need to work on it while I'm not around?"

"I think so," Archie said, looking around as though to cement the view of his mindscape in his imagination. "Yeah. Let's go."

They dove back into one of the rivers and let the current carry them out.

The first thing Harry heard upon opening her eyes was a loud "ouch!" from Archie. She opened her eyes to find him clutching at his neck and wincing. "Cramp," he whined, grasping for his wand with his other hand. A moment later he was muttering a muscle relaxant charm under his breath and sighing with relief.

Harry smiled. "Wish I'd known that spell back when I started meditating. It took forever to figure out how to hold my head so it didn't kink."

"Someday your trials will inspire Rita Skeeter to write a biography," Archie said solemnly.

She considered throwing something at him, but everything in reach was something she needed undamaged for her lab.

They stretched out their muscles and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. "Please let Aunt Lily have left sandwiches from lunch," Archie prayed under his breath as they poked their way into the fridge.

"Lunch?" Lily breezed into the kitchen from the other room, "Archie, it's nearly five—they're setting the table at Grimmauld as we speak."

"Did you come to collect us, Mom?" Harry asked, shutting the fridge sheepishly.

"Of course," Lily said, "You've been in the lab all day. I got a little worried that it was too quiet down there, but when I checked you guys were just meditating. Have you been at it all day?"

"I read that meditation can help you learn things faster," Harry said, "The study said that meditating for an hour every week can cut down the time a student spends studying by as much as two hours a day."

"So you two thought if you spent a whole day meditating you'd learn at the speed of light?" Lily guessed, smiling, "I'm not sure it works like that."

"Can't hurt to try," Archie said, grinning impishly.

"Just warn me if you decide to take up Legilimency," Lily sighed, "I'll have to Obliviate the knowledge of where your Yule presents are hidden."

"We'd never use our powers for evil!" Archie said, looking aghast at the very prospect.

Harry wondered how Archie could possibly classify 'peeking at presents' as 'evil.' Especially compared to some of the other things they'd done. She supposed Archie just didn't think of their deception as something bad, in the grand scheme of things. Neither did she, of course, but she did feel nearly constantly guilty about it all the same.

She and Archie flooed over to Grimmauld Place and were met with the glorious smell of food cooking as they wandered in from the floo-room. Before they reached the kitchen, however, Sirius intercepted them.

"I need a word with Arch, Harry," he said, looking determinedly cheerful in a way that only made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'll help Remus finish up," she offered, scooting past her uncle in the hallway and wondering what had Sirius so awkward-looking. She didn't think he'd ever met a conversation he couldn't gracefully skate his way through.

-0

[AbAbAb]

-0

Archie watched Harry slink away toward the kitchen with nary a look back and wondered if she knew how utterly unconcerned she often seemed.

His dad gestured him toward the library, so Archie followed, taking a seat in one of the terribly old upholstered chairs and wrinkling his nose at the smell coming off the fabric. They really should update the decorating sometime.

"What's up, Dad?" he asked, tilting is head to invite his father to say whatever was on his mind.

"Son," Sirius said, his eyes roaming Archie's face restlessly, "Lately I've been thinking."

"About?" Archie prompted when his dad lapsed into silence once more.

"You look a lot like Harry," Sirius said slowly, "I mean, before there was a bit of a difference, sometimes, but now…you look almost exactly the same."

Archie nodded, knowing it would be absurd to deny the obvious. "I've noticed. I accused Harry of playing a prank on me last night, actually, but I checked and she definitely goes longer than an hour between drinking something so I know it isn't Polyjuice—"

"I don't think it's Harry," Sirius said, grimacing a bit. "I think…you may have inherited some latent metamorphmagus abilities."

"Me?" Archie chuckled in disbelief, absolutely stunned that his dad had put that together so quickly. Too bad he could never know how right he was. "But I can't change my appearance, Dad. And if I could, I'd definitely use it to look like the keeper for the Abbleby Arrows, not…Harry." He tried to make it sound as thought the very notion were amusing, but Sirius didn't laugh.

"I don't think it's a conscious ability," Sirius said, frowning a little, "It's rare, because usually magic genetics is an all-or-nothing deal, but sometimes an ability can manifest passively. I can't think of any other explanation for why you and Harry continue to grow more similar instead of less."

"Why would it fixate on Harry?" Archie asked, thinking quickly. Maybe he could use this. If Sirius set upon a plausible explanation that didn't endanger the ruse, well, why not let him? It would stop his dad wondering about the strangeness of it, at least.

Sirius shrugged a bit helplessly. "I suppose, since you spent so much time together as children, you might be a bit…attached to Harry. Perhaps your latent ability has latched onto her as a sort of model for your own growth."

"What does that mean for me?" Archie asked, trying to look as though he were considering the possibility.

"Maybe nothing," Sirius said, "Maybe…well, it depends on whether it bothers you, I suppose, that your appearance might be shifting to match hers."

"You calling me ugly?" Archie squinted at his dad until Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"No, and don't let Harry catch you implying she is, either," Sirius said ruefully.

"She wouldn't care." Archie waved his hand dismissively, then paused. "Do you care? I mean, does it bother you that I might end up looking like James instead of you?"

Though to be honest Archie rather thought Harry and he looked more like Sirius than James.

"It doesn't bother me," Sirius said, and Archie thought he was probably being honest, "I just worry it may not be healthy. I'm not saying you depend on Harry, because you're both very independent, strong-willed young adults. It might be that you need some…distance, though. For both your sakes."

"Distance?" Archie scrunched up his nose. He wasn't sure he liked that idea. Harry and he were a team.

"You spend a lot of time together," Sirius said, "Which isn't bad necessarily, but you also sacrifice a lot for one another. Harry studies Healing for you, you study Potions with…Snape….for her. It's just—you're very committed to one anther, for being so young."

"Neither of us is doing anything we don't want to," Archie pointed out.

"That may be true, but you're still doing a lot for one another," Sirius said. He rubbed his chin. "I just think you need something for you, Archie. Harry had her internship last summer. Maybe this summer…you can do something by yourself?"

He said it more as a question than a suggestion, but Archie nodded easily, growing excited as the implications turned over in his mind. "If you think it's best, I'll start looking into opportunities. It could be really fun to have a project of my own next summer." In fact, Archie thought, maybe he could find an internship abroad. Without the chance to update their Polyjuice over the winter break, there would be a very noticeable difference in looks when they next took it. Harry's sudden change could be explained by a growth spurt while she was in America, but with Remus at Hogwarts…maybe a little time away from his family was just what he needed. Or what their artifice needed, rather.

"Good." Sirius looked quite relived, and Archie concluded that his supposed passive metamorphic talent must have been bothering him more than he let on. "So. Dinner?"

"Race you," Archie grinned, taking off like a shot. It was only partly to escape the awkwardness of ending that heavy conversation; he was also really hungry.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

It took the rest of that week, working on and off, to get her and Archie's mindscapes straightened out. In addition to suppressing all the Manifestations of Archie's mind, she'd helped him set up a few rudimentary defenses to casual prying. She doubted anyone would try to Legilimens him at the gala, but she'd found that you never actually knew, with purebloods.

Once Archie's mind was shored up, Harry turned her attention to herself. She really needed to flesh out her projected aura a bit, just enough that it wouldn't be obviously fake to anyone familiar with reading them. Toward that end, she convinced Archie that it would be in their best interest to visit Frein's shop in the Lower Alleys. She had followed the instructions in the dark disguise book as best she could, but as she had no way of sensing her aura for herself, she didn't know if it would pass muster or not.

Frein had read her aura easily last summer. He would be the perfect, innocuous candidate to test her new, improved aura on. Archie's too. She thought the canopy they'd built would be very effective as a suppressant, but she wanted to double check before they showed up at the Parkinsons' on New Year's Eve.

"How much further in is it?" Archie asked, looking very uncomfortable as they turned onto yet another side alley.

"Not much further," Harry said, "See that fountain? It's just down the alley that opens alongside it."

"You know your way pretty well down here," Archie said, voice carefully neutral. "Last time I came to Knockturn with you we stayed on the beaten path."

"It's been two summers since I started working with Krait," Harry said, smiling a bit, "I know the alleys much better, now."

"I thought you meant the craftsman alleys," Archie said quietly, "Or maybe the more questionable retailer alleys off of Knockturn. I didn't know you'd been running around…way back here, Harry."

"This is where my apartment is," Harry pointed out.

"Really?" Archie looked dubiously at the ramshackle buildings around them.

"Not here," Harry rolled her eyes, "It's further in, in one of the residential districts: certainly not in the commercial areas close to Diagon."

"Is it nice, at least?" Archie asked, looking as though he wasn't sure he was allowed to ask that question.

"It is." Harry smiled. "Want to see it?"

"That's okay," Archie said, "I'll take your word for it."

She supposed he was even less comfortable in the lower alleys than he seemed. She couldn't blame him—she still remembered getting hopelessly lost the first time she'd ventured beyond Kyprioth Court.

They turned one last time and found themselves in front of a familiar sign reading "Custom Metalwork and Repair."

She opened the door to the shop and ushered Archie inside. It was as fantastically cluttered as she remembered, walls of miniscule boxes organized according to some mysterious schema. "Mr. Frein?" she called, stepping up to the counter, "Are you here?"

"Be right with you!" came a cheerful voice from the back of the shop.

"Are those fairy rings?" Archie asked, awe in his voice as he took in a glass display case under the counter.

"He works with all kinds of materials," Harry said, "Leo says he's a genius."

"Leo is too free with praise," Frein said, finally stepping out from the back room. His face was lightly lined with signs of frequent mirth, and he hardly had to stoop to scoot under the counter's divide, so short was he.

"He simply has excellent taste in the people he chooses to speak about," Harry said, "How have you been, Frein?"

"Very well, young miss, thank you." He gave a little bow that gave them a full view of his bright red hair. "What can I do for you today? Trouble with that ring of yours?"

"No, although I wouldn't mind if you had time to tweak it this week," Harry said, smiling a bit sheepishly, "I was thinking I'd like to have access to just a bit more of my magic—there's a brewing technique that's very hard to achieve without sufficient magical reserves."

"It shouldn't be too much trouble," Frein said, "May I have a look?"

Harry pulled off her glove with only slight hesitation. She could easily hand it over for a few days—she just wouldn't do any magic in the meantime. As long as she didn't use her magic, she could contain it just fine on her own.

He turned the ring over in his fingers once she'd pried it off and hummed a bit under his breath. "I can have it adjusted by four this afternoon, does that work?"

"Are you sure?" Harry frowned, not intending to inconvenience the man. "I don't want to rush you."

"If I say I'm sure will you wipe that ridiculous half-guilty expression off your face?" Frein laughed. "You honestly look very pitiful like that, child."

Harry's face relaxed in open surprise. Archie hooted with laughter. "He's got you there, Harry. Just let the man do his job when he wants to do it."

"All right. Four, then," Harry said, shaking her head.

"Was there anything else?" Frein asked, pocketing the jade ring.

"Yes," Harry said, wondering how exactly she could phrase her request.

"Can you read our auras?" Archie blurted, leaning forward excitedly.

Frein nodded easily, not even questioning their motive as he took a step back and squinted at them each in turn. "Interesting," he said, smiling widely, "Very interesting. You, young lady, have no aura at all! Have you suppressed it intentionally?"

Archie exchanged a look with Harry, then said, "I'm…a guy."

Frein looked acutely surprised. "Ah, I've done it again. I'm terribly sorry, young man, but I assumed the two of you were twins—you are identical, are you not?"

Harry and Archie both laughed, a bit uneasily. "We're related, but not twins," Harry said, "Though people do confuse us quite often. So you can't see his aura at all? Not even a little bit?"

"Nothing," Frein agreed, still smiling. "I'm guessing that is good news?"

Harry smiled enigmatically, but didn't answer. "What about my aura?"

"It's matured since I saw it in August," Frein said, raising a bushy brow knowingly, "Been working on it?"

"A little," Harry said, smiling back. In fact she'd added quite a few more of the supplementary Manifestations to her outer mindscape, and very carefully siphoned a bit more magic to the torch-like manifestation that sat atop her mountain. People would expect for her core to have expanded after her thirteenth birthday, and she felt her aura should reflect that. Even if nobody had probably been paying attention to it at the showcase, anyway. "Is there anything noticeably off about it? I'd like it to be as natural as possible—in the interest of academic curiosity, of course."

"Of course," Frein said, face serious. He squinted at her some more, but eventually shrugged. "I see nothing wrong with it. It's a little on the uncomplicated side, but not everyone has a complicated aura. Some say a simple aura is the sign of a simple mind, but in truth it is only the sign of a very clear-thinker. It will pass muster, I think, whatever you're preparing it for."

Harry had to try very hard not to laugh maniacally. It was all falling together. For once. With their auras in check, no one who could read them (i.e. all the most dangerous people she knew) would associate Harriet Potter with Rigel Black.

"Thank you, Frein," Harry settled on saying, "We really appreciate it."

"Come by anytime," Frein said jovially, waving off her thanks, "Four o'clock, in fact."

"Will do," Harry said, bowing her head once again in thanks as she and Archie made their way out onto the street.

They exchanged triumphant looks as they set off toward home. "I think we might actually pull this off," Archie said, looking like he wasn't sure whether to relax or keep an eye out for something to go wrong.

It was a little after two and they'd had an early breakfast, so Harry asked Archie if he wanted to stop at the Dancing Phoenix for lunch. "It's much closer to the main alleys," Harry said, "And you might be able to meet some of my friends, if they're here."

"Oh, sounds fun," Archie said, managing to summon a genuine-looking smile for a moment. "Do they take well to strangers around here?"

"You aren't a stranger," Harry laughed, tugging him along, "You're with me."

Archie looked like he wasn't sure what to say to that, but he followed her to Kyprioth Court nevertheless. He seemed to relax into the idea the longer they walked, and by the time they approached the Dancing Phoenix Archie seemed almost excited at the prospect.

"What kind of food do they have here?" he asked, rubbing his stomach exaggeratedly, "I'm starved."

"Solom makes the best shepherd's pie," Harry bragged as they ducked through the front door, "And since it's cold out he'll probably have lamb stew on today—it's to die for."

"Ain't a one died on me yet, though," Solom called from where he was wiping down a table by the stairs.

"He says," Rispah, sitting with her feet up in a chair before the fire, laughed softly.

They seemed to be the only people about at the moment, so Harry waved a greeting to Solom, then steered Archie to the table closest to where Rispah was sitting and said, "Sit. I'll put our orders in to the kitchen staff." No sense in making one of the serving boys traipse all the way out to the dining area when it was just them. "Rispah, this is my cousin Archie. Archie, this is Rispah, Lady of the Rogue."

"You didn't tell me you had a brother, Harry," the older woman said, setting a cup of something hot aside.

"He's not my brother," Harry said, shaking her head amusedly as she ambled out of the room.

She saw Rispah gracefully gain her feet and saunter over to Archie's table. She wondered if it was okay to leave Archie alone for a moment, then mentally shrugged—he'd be fine. Rispah was perfectly nice.

She chatted with a few of the cooks she'd grown familiar with over the summer, then collected a couple cups of milk and headed back to the dining room. She had to hold back a snort when she saw Archie sitting several feet closer to the end of the bench than when she'd left him. Rispah was sitting beside him, leaning on the table in a way that angled her body almost threateningly toward her poor cousin. It didn't help that Rispah, despite the winter chill, wore a supremely flattering but barely-there bodice that caught the eye with dozens of carefully embroidered sequins half-hidden among the laces.

"I hope you're playing nice, Rispah," Harry said, taking a seat across from them.

"She's not," Archie said, clearing his throat in the general direction of the tabletop.

Rispah chuckled, low and calculated, "This is nice, lad."

"My name's Archie," her cousin sighed, "Harry, I don't think your friends like me."

Harry was startled into a laugh at Archie's bald statement. "You've only met the one so far, and I'm sure Rispah's just teasing you. She likes most people."

"I don't either," Rispah smiled, shaking her pretty head of curls ruefully, "But I make exceptions for Leo's friends. And I suppose friends of Leo's friends—if they're nice to me." She said the last with a smile that Harry thought should be put on a list somewhere for unexpectedly lethal things. "What brings you and your friend this way today, Harry?"

"We're picking up an item I ordered later, so I thought we'd lunch here," Harry said, not too concerned with whatever was provoking Rispah's slight hostility. She probably just needed to get to know Archie. "I wanted Archie to see where I spend so much time, too. The Phoenix was sort of my home away from home last summer."

"I thought she was holed up in the Guild all those afternoons," Archie put in, looking determined to participate.

"How do you feel, knowing Harry was here, with us?" Rispah asked. Her voice seemed just a tad too sweet, and Harry wondered if Rispah was actually feeling defensive for a moment. She tried to see Archie from an outsider's perspective. His winter robes were finely made, the silver chain of a watch dangling from one pocket. His face, like hers, was aristocratically cast, for all its somewhat odd androgyny. He looked like a young Lord, from his carefully arranged hair to his upscale shoes, and Harry wondered how she hadn't realized he'd stick out. She'd just grown so comfortable in the lower alleys, she forgot sometimes that other purebloods usually didn't trespass these streets, and generally weren't welcomed anyway.

"I feel I ought to have guessed," Archie said, smiling in an unconsciously affable way, "I mean, Harry was always the adventurous one when we were kids. If anyone could find a gem like this in all these twists and turns, it'd be him. I'd have gotten hopelessly lost."

Rispah looked intrigued despite herself, "You two grew up together?"

"Of course," Archie said, grinning, "Harry really hasn't mentioned me? I'm wounded. We're cousins, but we grew up closer than siblings—it's like he's ashamed of me!"

"I am," Harry said, completely deadpan.

"Cousins?" Something in Rispah's face relaxed minutely.

"Of a sort," Harry shrugged, "Our families are very close. And we are related a couple of generations back."

"It's like that in most of the old families, I hear," Rispah said, gazing at Archie shrewdly.

"Some more than others," Archie said, a bit of embarrassment creeping into his voice, "My family is infamous for interbreeding. And lunacy. And those things probably aren't related if you ask my grandmother's portrait."

Rispah let out a full-throated laugh. "Does anyone ask her?"

"Actually, we put her in the attic," Archie said, ducking his head as though ashamed, "There's just no respect for the elders anymore."

Rispah laughed again, this time slapping her skirts heartily. "Aye, you'll do fine here, lad."

"Course he will," Harry said, smirking a bit, "He's related to me."

"You fit in too well here," Rispah said, flicking her curls and pinning her with a serious look, "It's not safe here in the alleys of late."

"You mean the raids?" Harry asked, sobering quickly.

"Raids are just the Ministry's way of pretending their law means anything down here," Rispah said, leaning closer, "It's the reaction to the raids that's the problem. Folk are getting restless. Angry. Shopkeepers are growing bitter over all the disruptions, threatening to take their business underground. The vampire covens are organizing. And Leo hasn't been getting challenges."

"Isn't that last one good?" Harry asked, frowning. If Leo wasn't being challenged for his title of King of Thieves, it must mean people were satisfied with the way he was running things.

Rispah shook her head. "There's always challenges, except when someone's plotting foul play. If no one's trying to take Leo's crown in the open, you can bet there's something sinister a foot behind closed doors."

"Like Claw?" Harry asked, blanching a bit.

"Mayhap," Rispah muttered, "Mayhap not. Difficult to tell. A lot of people are upset 'round here—one more might not attract the attention it ought."

"Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked, unconsciously including Archie as a matter of course.

"Be a little more careful than you usually would," Rispah advised, "Stay to the alleys you know, the ones close to the clinic or the Rogue. And don't traipse about after dark. Especially if you're gonna be traipsing with outsiders—no offense, young lad."

"None taken," Archie said, eyebrows raised. He didn't seem to know what to make of such a serious conversation. "How long until I'm…an insider?"

"Well, you'll have to meet Leo, first," Rispah said, smiling a little once more, "He's in charge of these parts."

"We've met," Archie said, scrunching up his face to remember, "I think…I was helping Harry with her crates, and—"

"Her?" Rispah broke across him sharply, turning to look at Harry with new eyes.

Harry's eyes cut to Archie's frozen, apologetic look. "I suppose it was bound to happen. It's not a big secret, really."

"You're a…" Rispah dissolved into a fit of laughter, clutching at her stomach as though trying to physically hold herself to the bench. "Oh, Goddess, that's a pretty trick, young miss! To think that I missed it—but you do look very boyish, Harry, if you'll forgive my saying so."

"It's true," Harry said, shrugging, "I look like my parents kidnapped Archie's twin and adopted him."

"Except you were born first," Archie pointed out, still looking very sheepish.

"Does Leo know?" Rispah was suddenly grinning like a cat with a mouthful of cream.

"He does," Harry admitted, sorry to disappoint the older woman. "I told him shortly after we met, in the interest of honesty."

Rispah nodded. "Good lad—lass, that is. Never lie to a King if you can help it."

"Easier to tell them to mind their own business," Harry agreed.

"What's he king of, again?" Archie asked, looking a little lost.

"Anything I want to be." Leo appeared from practically nowhere at the end of the table. She was sure she hadn't seen him walk through the front door.

Archie visibly twitched in response to her bright-eyed friend's sudden appearance. "That's rather convenient," he said after a moment.

"It's actually a lot of work," Leo said, not looking too torn up about it. He slid onto Harry's side of the bench, obliging her to move over or sit in awkward proximity to him. "Archie, right?"

"Good memory," Archie said, nodding amiably, "It's been a while."

"It's good practice for a King to remember the people he meets," Leo said, grinning wolfishly, "No matter how seemingly insignificant."

"No seeming about it," Archie said, not put off in the least. Her cousin could always rise to a conversational challenge. "I'm about as uninteresting as they come."

"Really?" Leo picked at one of his nails off-handedly, "I heard you kill basilisks in your free time."

Archie choked. "That was once," he protested, "And how do you even know?"

"I know everything," Leo said, "About everyone who steps foot in these alleys."

"That must take up a lot of your time," Archie said, nodding seriously, "Or do you employ spies?"

"Looking for a job?" Leo asked, head cocked in interest.

"Employment doesn't suit the men of my family," Archie said, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed grin, "But we do enjoy a number of eccentric hobbies."

"Maybe I'll make an ear out of you," Leo said, grinning now, "I always need more in the upper echelons of the social crop."

"A friend of Harry's is a friend of mine," Archie said.

"Likewise," Leo smirked.

Harry honestly couldn't tell if they were serious or not. "Now that we're all friends…" Harry trailed off as a serving boy came trotting out from the kitchens with she and Archie's lunch. She pulled out of a couple of coins and tossed them his direction, smoothly pushing Archie's bowl to his side of the table. "How have you been, Leo? Your last letter seemed a bit rushed."

"Lots to do before the snows get bad," Leo shrugged, gesturing to the large stack of pallets stacked neatly on the far side of the large dining room. He stole her cup and sniffed at its contents before wrinkling his nose. "Milk, again?"

"It's good for you," Archie and Harry said simultaneously.

Leo and Rispah laughed. "Now we know you two are related," Rispah said.

"Lots of people drink milk," Harry rolled her eyes.

"Not around here," Leo informed her, "Ale keeps you warmer."

"So do warming charms," Harry said.

"Too many squibs," Rispah said bluntly, "Ale's easier."

There was a moment of silence, in which Harry felt like an utter cad. Archie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Do you need blankets, or…" he seemed at a loss for what to say.

"We can take care of our own, young Mr. Black." Leo tipped an imaginary hat. "I thank you though. There's not many would even offer."

Archie shrugged in a way that was grace and humility combined. "Well I'm around, if circumstances change."

"I know where to find you," Leo said, nodding agreeably.

Harry was certain that he did, however uneasy that might make her.

"You going to be around for training this holiday?" Leo asked Harry after a few minutes of letting her and Archie eat.

Harry swallowed. "Sure. Do you have time though?"

"Some afternoons are good," Leo said.

"Some afternoons it is," Harry smiled, "Should I bring a knife?"

Archie noticeably refrained from choking again.

"Do you have a knife?" Leo laughed, "No, don't bother—those cleavers you keep in your potions kit don't hardly count."

Harry tilted her head, "They do well enough for their purpose."

"Don't we all?" Rispah said, tracing a small ring idly on the wooden tabletop, "Don't we all."

They lapsed into pensive silence after that, finishing up their lunches quickly. Leo ambled off to talk to Solom about some 'court business,' and Rispah spent the rest of the meal casually trying to make Archie blush. She was well into her eighth or so pose, this one an artful lounge back on her hands that thrust her chest out rather coquettishly, when Harry stood. "We should be getting back to Frein's," she said, "It's a long walk there."

"It was nice to meet you, Lady Rispah," Archie said, even managing to sound sincere despite how utterly nonplussed he must be after her obvious attempts to fluster him.

Rispah sighed playfully. "One thing to say about you nobles—I do like your manners."

"See you around, my lady," Harry grinned, bowing in a movement that was echoed by Archie not half a beat later on their way out.

"I hope so, little lass," Rispah chuckled low, "The alleys could use a player like you."

Harry was sure that the alleys had plenty of players already, and said so. Rispah only smiled enigmatically, giving a little wave as the door swung shut behind them.

"Your friends are…interesting, Harry," Archie said after they'd walked a short distance.

"You've met Marek," Harry said, "What did you expect?"

"I'd somehow convinced myself he was the exception," Archie said.

"They're great, once they warm up to you," Harry promised.

"I somehow doubt I'll spend enough time here to merit it," Archie said, "But I suppose it's nice to have goals in life."

"I don't think we need anymore goals," Harry said, "The last time we got ambitious things sort of spiraled out of control."

"I don't know." Archie pretended to think. "You think we've lost control?"

"If we haven't, I'd like to see what out of control really looks like," Harry huffed.

"Careful what you wish for," Archie teased.

As they made their way through thinly-disguised slums to pick up a ring that would re-suppress the majority of her magic, Harry rather thought that advice was a bit overdue.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

It was a few days before Yule that Archie received a letter from Ron Weasley, quietly begging Rigel to come to the Burrow for an afternoon visit. After a brief discussion with Archie over whether it would be better to decline or for Archie to try and be Harry all day at home, they settled on an ingenious alternative.

Archie sent a letter accepting Ron's invitation, but inquiring if it would be all right if Rigel brought his cousin Harry to visit, as well. It would be a test run, of sorts, for the New Year's gala. If Archie could pull off being Rigel around the Weasleys, several of whom knew Rigel's personality fairly well, he could probably skate through the gala all right.

The weather was foul that day, rain sleeting down into slush that collected on the windowsills, so after securing permission from their parents to go, she and Archie bundled up in their warmest cloaks, bringing along gloves and scarves on the off chance the Weasleys wanted to go outside.

Before they left, Harry had one more thing to do. She ducked into the downstairs bathroom and eyed her hair in the mirror. It was exactly the same cut and style as Archie's, usually, but she felt as long as they were intending to lead people's thoughts, Harry's hair ought to be at least nominally different. It would draw attention away from their similarities, and give people and easy feature to fix on when deciding which was which.

She very carefully put a tiny amount of power into a hair-growth charm, waving her wand back and forth over her head until the ends began inching slowly toward her ears, avoiding her bangs completely. She knew the trick was to go slowly, if you wanted the hair to appear at least semi-healthy, so she bit back her impatience and kept up her concentration as her locks crawled downwards. She grew it out several inches until, instead of resembling an unruly halo, her hair curled up under her chin in a restless bob.

She looked incredibly tousled, she thought critically, fingering the waves that always prevented her tresses from lying flat. The extra hair framed her face effectively, though, further disguising the uncanny similarity to Archie's features. It would be enough, she decided, to differentiate them in her friends' eyes.

Archie blinked when she emerged, tilting his head like a bird who'd come across a new species that might not be entirely friendly. "You look like a girl. Sort of."

"Now you know what you'd look like with long hair," Harry smiled.

Archie laughed. "I already know what I look like with long hair—it was one of the first things I tried."

"Of course it was." Harry rolled her eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Archie said. A determined look crept into his eyes.

"Run through them again," Harry prompted.

"Arthur, dad, works at the Ministry in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office," Archie said, ticking a finger, "Molly, mom, housewife with an impressive tolerance for chaos. Bill, the eldest, works at Gringotts in the curse-breaker division and he's the one who came to Hogwarts after that goblin attacked you—me."

"And he's the one we have to convince the most with our act," Harry put in, "He knows Harry from the lower alleys, and he thinks Rigel might be Harry, which we need to change."

"Even though technically he's right," Archie teased.

"Especially because technically he's right," Harry said, "I'll reveal myself as Harry, throwing the suspicion off of you."

"Right." Archie nodded, beginning his ticking of fingers once more. "Charlie is the one I haven't met, and he works with dragons in Romania. Percy is a seventh year, wants to be a barrister, and helps me with Transfiguration study. He's also Head Boy. The twins are Fred and George, fifth years, pranksters and all around jokers. They swap identities a lot so I shouldn't directly address one of them if I'm not sure which is which. Ron is in my year, in the Defense club with me, has a rivalry with Pansy, has a good mind for puzzles and is best friends with Neville Longbottom. Ginny is a second-year, very short tempered, rather sharp tongued, and she's the one who got possessed last year."

"Which you should never ever mention," Harry said.

"Which I should never ever mention," Archie agreed, "Is that everything?"

"I think so," Harry said, "Just be really polite to Mrs. Weasley, don't get upset at anything Ginny says, even if it seems confrontational, be sure to defend Percy if he gets ribbed too much, and don't let the twins bulldoze you in a conversation."

"And avoid talking to Bill," Archie added.

Harry smirked. "Yes. Leave William Weasley to me."

"Should I be worried for him?" Archie raised his eyebrows at what was probably a predatory look on her face.

"Worry about yourself, cuz," Harry said lightly, "This is your dress rehearsal, and I will be watching closely."

"It'll be like looking in a mirror," he promised, stilling his normally expressive features with eerie ease. "After all, I am the real Rigel Black."

"Keep telling yourself that." Harry ushered him toward the floo. "I might even start to believe it."

Archie flooed through first, leaving Harry to rather predictably stumble through the grate after him. She really hated the floo. She blinked the soot from her eyes and looked up to see a familiar gaggle of redheads staring curiously in her direction. She affected a nervous, harmlessly distant look in place of the fond smile that fought to grace her lips.

"This is my cousin, Harry," Archie said, waving a casual hand her direction.

"It's nice to meet all of you," Harry said, stepping forward to address Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in particular. "Thank you very much for having me over."

"What manners," Mrs. Weasley sighed happily.

"We're very glad to have you," Mr. Weasley added.

"Harry was bored stiff at home," Archie put in, looking sympathetic, "Poor thing doesn't have any friends, and I couldn't just leave her there to collect dust in the library."

Harry's eye twitched, but before she could defend herself Mrs. Weasley bustled forward to engulf her in a warm hug.

"Poor dear." The housewitch patted her head gently. "I suppose all your school mates are in America?"

"Uh, yes," Harry mumbled into the other woman's shoulder.

"Well, my boys are very friendly, and I'm sure Ginny would love to make a new female friend," she said, smiling as though she truly believed it. Harry saw Ginny roll her eyes over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder.

"Oh yes, very friendly," Ron coughed after beat of silence and a stern look from his mother.

"I'm sure they are, Ma'am," Harry said, "Is this everyone?"

She knew it wasn't. At the kitchen table sat Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Percy, and Ron. The eldest two were presumably working, and the twins were nowhere to be seen. She tried not to read anything ominous into that observation.

"Oh, no, just my two youngest and Percy, our Head Boy," Mrs. Weasley said, beaming fondly at said boy as she made her way back to the table, where Harry could see she'd been darning a pair of thick winter socks. "Come to think of it, where are the—"

"Missing us, Mum?"

"We've only been gone five minutes."

The Weasley twins slunk into the kitchen with all the air of people who were trying very hard to appear completely innocuous.

"What have you done?" Mrs. Weasley frowned suspiciously.

"Done?" Fred pretended to think about it. "Nothing terribly interesting."

"In the last five minutes, anyway," George grinned.

"These are my two fifth-years," Mrs. Weasley sighed.

They turned as one to where Harry and Archie stood closer to the fireplace.

"Hey Rigel—woah." They swiveled heads of red hair back and forth between she and Archie with slightly awed expressions.

"Rigel," George said, turning a serious expression toward Archie, "How in Merlin's name—"

"—did you forget to mention—"

"—that you had a twin!"

Harry was surrounded by overly curious fifteen-year-olds before she knew what had happened. Hands poked at her face and ruffled her hair experimentally as Fred and George fired rapid questions over her head excitedly.

"It's a girl Rigel!"

"She's even got the same chin—"

"—and the same unimpressed expression!"

"How cute," they sighed simultaneously.

"She's not my twin," Archie said, long-suffering, "She's my cousin, Harry Potter, and stop poking her, please. She's easily provoked."

Harry snapped playfully at the nearest twin's freckled finger.

"Woah, this one bites!" Fred said, cowering behind his twin.

"Can we keep it?" George asked Archie, widening his blue eyes in a desperate plea.

"She's mine," Archie said firmly, "Don't you have enough toys, anyway?" He gestured to Ron and Ginny with an idle smirk.

"But we want a new one," Fred pouted.

"I think I'm offended," Ginny frowned.

"You're always offended," Ron informed her.

"Fred. George. Stop intimidating our guest," Mrs. Weasley snapped, "Honestly. First young lady we've had over in ages and you two can't help but traumatize her."

"She doesn't look traumatized," George said, peering into Harry's blank expression curiously.

"Not like that girl Charlie brought last holiday, anyway," Fred put in.

"The one whose eyebrows you lengthened into curtains?" Mrs. Weasley scowled.

"We were doing her a favor," Fred shrugged, unconcerned, "Poor thing had plucked them nearly all away."

"She never did come back," Mrs. Weasley said, looking disappointed now, "What fine young babies they might have had."

"Mum," five mortified voices echoed around the kitchen.

"A mother can dream," Mrs. Weasley sniffed.

"Anyway…" Fred said, intentionally awkward, "Rigel, we've got a surprise for you—come see?"

Archie grinned, but she could tell he was restraining it to match Harry's personality as best he could. "Sure. Ron, do you want to…?"

"Better not," Ron grimaced, "I'll catch up with you in a bit."

"Great." George took Archie's arm and towed him off into another room. Soon footsteps sounded on the stairs and Fred waved a goodbye to the general assembly, adding, "Nice to meet you, girl-Rigel," as he followed the other two.

"Don't blow anything up," Mr. Weasley muttered. Harry waited for the others to laugh, but apparently the man wasn't joking.

"So, Head Boy? That's very impressive," Harry said, smiling in what she hoped was a friendly way as she stood there, unsure what to do. "There's only one Head Boy for the whole school, right?"

Percy nodded, his ears a little pink. "That's right. Do you have prefects and the like at your American school?"

Harry shook her head. "Not exactly. They separate us into tracts, and each tract has upperclassmen that act as monitors. Their duties include things like making sure the younger students don't get too out of line, checking the dorms after curfew, and tutoring those who need help. They have no authority outside of their own tract, though, so as a Healing tract student I wouldn't have to heed a monitor from the Charms tract, for example."

"Interesting." Percy adjusted his glasses and waved her over to the seat next to him. "So there's no one that represents the whole student body like a Head Boy or Girl would?"

"No," Harry said, "But school unity in general is different at AIM than it is at Hogwarts, I think. The tracts mostly keep to themselves, even in the general classes, and there's no inter-tract rivalries or anything, so a student that represents the whole school wouldn't have much to do, I think."

"No Quidditch, right?" Ron asked, looking sad for her.

"There's a sort of pickup league of intramural teams." Harry shrugged. "But they don't draw a big crowd, and they aren't affiliated with any particular tract."

"What do you do for fun, then?" Ron frowned.

"Same things that students who don't play Quidditch at Hogwarts do, I guess," Harry said, smiling a bit. "We hang out with our friends, go to club meetings, or work on extracurricular projects."

"I'm in a Defense club," Ron said, perking up, "With Rigel."

"I heard," Harry said, "How's it going? That Malfoy kid is leading it, right?"

"I guess," Ron said, avoiding the odd look his parents were giving him. Maybe he hadn't mentioned that most of the members were Slytherins so far.

"Rigel says you're really good at strategizing," Harry offered, "Did you learn that, or is it a natural gift?"

Ginny snorted, "Oh it's definitely unnatural. Ron's a wiz at chess—kicks even dad's butt all over the board, and has since he was about eight."

"Not my game, chess," Mr. Weasley said mildly, perusing a magazine article rather absently.

"Have you ever entered a tournament?" Harry asked, "My uncle, Remus, entered one last year and almost won. He lost to this hundred year old vampire, who I guess had been studying the game for several decades at that point."

"Professor Lupin?" Ron blinked a bit. "I didn't know he played."

"He's got a prodigious mind," Harry said, "He just hides it behind mild mannerisms. How are classes with him?"

"Terrifying," Ginny said flatly, "Your uncle is a sadist."

"That's true," Harry agreed easily, startling a laugh out of the other girl. "It part of what makes him a great teacher. He's not afraid to be cruel to be kind, you know? He'll push you when even you don't really want to keep going."

"He is a great Defense teacher," Ron said, "I've got him for Dueling, too—wicked fast with a wand, he is."

"He was a prefect when he went to Hogwarts," Harry said, "Even got an honorable mention on his Defense NEWT, I think."

"He went to Hogwarts?" Percy frowned, "But he's…"

"That was back when they allowed Halfbloods," Mr. Weasley said sharply, "And before Mr. Lupin's condition was more or less public knowledge."

There was a moment of silence before Ginny said, "Do you wish you could have gone to Hogwarts, Harriet?"

"Just Harry is fine," she said, smiling despite the somewhat rude nature of the question. Ginny was always refreshing, at least. "And yes, sometimes I do. The Healing tract at AIM is wonderful, as are the facilities and a lot of other things, but to be honest our Potions Master isn't much to write home about. Potions are sort of a passion of mind, so I envy Rigel being able to study under Master Snape—he's the best, right now."

"You wish you could come to Hogwarts…to study under Professor Snape?" Ron looked like he was trying to paste a polite expression over a horrified one, but failing.

Harry nodded, hiding her amusement. "Oh, yes. You're so lucky to have access to such a renowned expert in the field. A lot of places have reputable Charms or Transfiguration Masters, but truly excellent potions professors are few and far between, even at the major schools."

"Why is that?" Percy asked, looking perplexed, "There are a number of very well-known Potions Masters throughout Europe, after all. They're not like Defense Masters, who are rather hard to come by."

"The talented Potions Masters don't become professors," Mr. Weasley said knowledgably, "There's more esteem to be had working directly for a guild, or going the inventor's route and selling your own line of potions. More gold, too. Spell crafters rarely patent a spell with any success—it's just too easy to pass on the incantation, so those talented at wand work often go into teaching instead. Potion-makers can charge exorbitant fees for crafting and brewing difficult potions, though. Too many regular witches and wizards never bother to learn the art properly."

"That's right," Harry said, glad to see that others appreciated how important potion-brewing really was to society, "Master Snape is a rare exception—someone who contributes inestimable amounts of research to the field while also passing on his expertise to the next generation. He's really admirable."

"Admirable," Ron repeated, looking very dubious, "Right."

"I never realized." Percy, on the other hand, looked very impressed with his Potions professor. "I shall have to take better advantage of his expertise in the future."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," Harry lied, smiling. Professor Snape did deserve to be thanked and appreciated for his work, whatever noises he made to the contrary.

"So if you and Rigel are both obsessed with potions, do you, like, spend all your holidays locked in a dimly-lit lab together, sweating over a pair or putrid cauldrons, or what?" Ginny was really looking for a button to push, Harry noted with a bit of amusement.

Undeterred, Harry tilted her head, "Only if mom doesn't let us open a window."

Ron laughed. "Good one. Leave her alone, Ginny. She seems nice."

"No such thing," Ginny said, leaning back in her chair.

"You wouldn't say that if you met my friend, Hermione Granger," Harry said, "She's the nicest person in the whole world."

"Never heard of her," Ginny said, one eyebrow raised, "She from America?"

"No, she's British. Muggleborn."

"And winner of planet-wide nice awards, huh?" Ginny didn't seem terribly convinced.

"That's right," Harry said. Ron snorted. "She's also a genius," she added, smiling.

"You're making her up," Ginny guessed, "No one is smart and nice. What's the point?"

"Why was I cursed with such cynical children?" Mrs. Weasley quietly despaired.

"Hermione would say that intelligent people have more responsibility to the people around them, not less," Harry said.

"She sounds like a lovely young lady," Mr. Weasley said, nodding in approval.

"Maybe you'll meet her one day, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, "I think she's going to do great things."

"Talking about your one friend again?" Archie and the twins came bounding back into the room.

"Hermione's worth all of your Slytherin friends put together," Harry said, quoting something Archie had once said to her. "Why do you look like you've been breaking into your dad's coffee cabinet again?" Harry added, eyeing his jubilant posture.

Archie noticeably stilled, laughing a bit sheepishly. "I only had a few cups this morning. I think I lost all my tolerance for the stuff when I went to Hogwarts—they don't serve it to us kids there." Harry refrained from nodding in approval, but it was times like these she appreciated how quick Archie was on the uptake. Now any excess energy on Archie's behalf could be attributed to caffeine. "Besides, you should have seen what Fred and George came up with this time. It's amazing, Harry, even our dads would freak."

As Fred and George preened under the praise, Harry held up a hand. "Plausible deniability. I know want to know."

"It's like she knows us," Fred stage whispered, looking awed.

"Didn't you know?" Harry blinked as innocently as she could, "Rigel tells me everything. Poor kid just can't keep a secret."

Fred was not the only one to smother incredulous laughter at that.

"Why don't you kids go outside for a bit," Mr. Weasley suggested. "It's stopped sleeting, by the sound of it."

"It's cold," Ginny complained, even while she trudged over to the kitchen door to pull on a pair of somewhat oversized boots.

"Too cold for the brooms," Ron agreed, also reaching for a coat from one of the many hooks by the window.

"Ice skating!" Fred and George crowed, racing each other to a cupboard under the coat rack that seemed overflowing with shoes of every different kind.

"We didn't bring our skates," Harry said, apologetic.

Ron laughed. "That's okay. Mum can make them."

Sure enough, Ginny was presenting her booted feet to her mother's wand, which twitched in a comfortable pattern almost lazily, as though she'd done such a thing countless times before. Twin blades of ice sprouted along their soles, curling elegantly at each end.

"What do you guys do?" Ginny asked, taking in her and Archie's impressed looks.

"We have a pair of never-melting skates from about a hundred years ago," Archie said, "They look like something out of a historical play, but they work all right. We just take turns."

"They smell like uncle Sirius' feet, though," Harry said, wrinkling her nose, "For some reason he never wore socks as a child."

Mr. Weasley's eyebrows rose at that statement. "I'm not sure Lord Black would want you telling us that."

"Dad would freely admit to it," Archie said, grinning, "He thinks embarrassing stories are the best kind."

"Sounds like a Marauder to me," Fred said.

"Your family sounds awesome," George agreed.

"I think your family is awesome," Archie said, smiling genuinely, "Besides, you haven't heard about all of them—Aunt Lily is down right terrifying."

"She isn't either," Mrs. Weasley tutted.

"Do you know my mother?" Harry asked, curious. Lily hadn't really mentioned Mrs. Weasley, except in passing relation to the Weasleys as an example of good, wholesome light-leaning wizard stock.

"I see her at Dumbledore's little soirée in the spring, most years," Mrs. Weasley said, referring to a gathering of Light politicking wizards who usually met around the Easter holiday. "Not last year, of course, with her being on home rest with her newborn. Ooh, I can't wait to meet little Adriana at the next one. I do adore babies. How's she coming along? Healthy?"

"Very," Harry said, "She's a lot like my mom, actually. Red curls and somewhat easily exasperated."

"Harry just says that because Addy hates her," Archie gloated.

Harry ignored the jab, taking her turn in front of Mrs. Weasley instead of answering, holding each of her booted feet up in turn.

"Who could hate our Harry?" George asked, coming up behind her to pat her head consolingly, "She's like a cuddlier version of Rigel."

"You've known me about ten minutes," Harry said, flicking his hand away, "And if you try to cuddle me, I'll give you an extra toe. On your face."

"Promise?" Fred waggled his brows.

"Boys." Mrs. Weasley glared.

The twins headed out into the backyard, Ginny and Ron following. Archie's skates were almost finished, but Percy made no move to stand. At Harry's questioning look, the older boy cleared his throat uncomfortably, saying, "I don't skate."

"We'll see you when we get back, then," Harry said, trying another friendly smile.

"Thanks for the skates, Mrs. Weasley," Archie said, admiring his new blades, "That's a wicked cool charm."

"It'll only last a couple of hours," Mrs. Weasley said, "After that come on back inside and I'll have cocoa waiting."

With heartfelt thanks, they followed the Weasley children out into the cold. It was very awkward tiptoeing across the big backyard on blades of magic, but the sounds of whooping and laughing egged them on toward the pond. The ground sloped downward toward the water's edge, and while Harry carefully picked her way along the incline, Archie impulsively dropped to his bottom and slid the rest of the way, sprawling onto the ice with a carefree cry of warning to the others.

"Rigel!" Ron cursed and spun away from a collision with the black-haired boy.

"Sorry!" Archie called as he slid past, his momentum carrying him close to the center of the little pond before friction reeled him to a stop. "That was more graceful in my head."

"Story of his life," Harry remarked to Ginny, who had stopped at the bank to readjust her laces.

"You wouldn't know it, with how he's perceived at Hogwarts," Ginny told her. Her eyes followed Archie's relaxed form as it stumbled upright and set off on a circuit with confident glides. "I almost never see him this relaxed at school. He's just another calm, collected Slytherin, there."

"Rigel is many things to many people," Harry said, turning to watch her cousin as well. "Sometimes he's the perfect pureblood Heir of Black. Sometimes he's the potions prodigy, other times an amateur healer. Sometimes he's a Marauder, other times a studious shut-in. But these times, when he's just himself—they're rare."

"Why so many different faces?" Ginny asked, equal parts curious and confused.

"I think of it more as his different potentials," Harry said, "They're all a true reflection of what he could be. Rigel hasn't settled into a single path yet."

"Maybe he has, and just doesn't know it," Ginny said.

"I don't think so." Harry smiled slightly. "When Rigel Black chooses a path, the whole world will know it."

"You think a lot of him," Ginny remarked, slanting her eyes toward Harry even as her face stayed facing the pond.

"He's my brother in all but blood." Harry shrugged, sticking her hands in her cloak pockets and pushing off on one skate gently. Looking back she tilted her head at Ginny inquiringly. "It's a sister's job to expect a lot of our brothers, isn't it?"

Ginny followed, catching up easily and falling into a lazy glide beside her. "I think I had high expectations of my brothers once," the redhead said, putting on a moue of sardonic contemplation, "I can't remember much besides a crushing sense of disillusionment, though."

"If you were really disillusioned, you'd be inside with Percy," Harry pointed out.

Ginny glanced over sharply at her words, long fiery strands crossing her face in the breeze. "That's a very good observation, for having known us all of twenty minutes," Ginny said. Her tone wasn't suspicious, exactly. More testing.

"Some things are easier for an outsider to see," Harry said, looking away on the pretext of watching her footwork.

"You remind me of Rigel," Ginny sighed, stretching her arms out as they turned to follow the rounded edges of the pond.

"We did grow up together," Harry smiled, "You'd be surprised how many of our mannerisms are shared."

"Like an innate ability to deflect questions?" Ginny's grin was edged.

"Sure," Harry laughed, "But I was more talking about things like our competitive spirit—want to race?"

Ginny's smile turned feral. "Three laps around the circumference starting—go!"

Harry, easily anticipating the redhead's underhanded move, didn't even blink as she burst ahead. She was too busy pumping her own legs across the ice as fast as she safely could to rib the other girl for lack of sportsmanship anyway.

They flew over the frozen water, waving the three Weasley brothers and Archie out of their way as their rhythms settled in and their strokes evened out. Harry's world narrowed to the ice in front of her and the flash of red in her periphery that marked Ginny's position in relation to her own. Ginny claimed the inside curve, but Harry simply leaned further into the turns to compensate, building as much momentum as she could through the arc so that she rocketed like a sling-shot into the straightaways. Her thighs were burning and her toes aching at being dug into the ice like picks at every corner, but she barreled into the third lap with a huge grin across her face. Racing was something she and Archie had never been able to do with only one pair of skates. It wasn't quite like flying on a broom, but it was much more physically satisfying, she thought. Like a foot race, only faster.

The twins had set up a makeshift finish line using one of their knitted scarves held between them. Ron and Archie cheered good-naturedly from the sidelines. She could hear Ginny's breath beginning to come in fast pants, but weeks of running in the cold winter air had conditioned her lungs to its thinness, and Harry pushed forward even faster, using her hard-earned muscles to pull away from her opponent in the final stretch. She lifted her hands triumphantly as she crossed the 'finish line,' expecting one of the twins to let go as she approached the stretched out scarf.

Why she expected such a reasonable thing to occur, she didn't know. It must have been the exertion making her loopy, because in retrospect it was perfectly obvious that the twins were never planning on letting go of the scarf as she hit it.

Instead, they held tight to the ends, using the transferred momentum of her impact to swing themselves in a circle around her, just barely avoiding a collision and managing to completely entangle her in the knitted fabric. She landed on her butt, squirming uselessly as she slid across the ice like a punch-drunk, color-blind mummy.

The others roared with laughter, and she could see at least Ron was having trouble staying upright as he cackled, clutching Archie's arm for balance as he pressed his other hand to his ribs. Ginny slid to a stop near where Harry had stopped, sending chips of ice all across her legs. "Should have ducked under the scarf," the younger girl said sagely.

"I see what you mean about disillusioned expectations," Harry mumbled through a mouthful of soft knit.

Ginny bent down and grabbed one end of the scarf with a mischievous smile. Before Harry could beg her not to, she'd yanked with all her might and sent Harry rolling across the ice toward the bank, unraveling from the scarf as she went.

She slid to a stop on her back, blinking up at Archie, who was grinning down at her with a brilliant twinkle in his grey eyes. "All right there, cuz?"

"You said your friends were nice," Harry complained, climbing to her feet with the help of Ron's hand and dusting herself off fastidiously.

"I didn't, actually," Archie said, "Mrs. Weasley is the one who said her kids were nice."

"Mum lies a lot," Ron said, only looking vaguely apologetic.

Harry let out a low laugh as she shook the ice from her hair. "At least there's honesty about the lying, I guess."

"Not until it's too late to turn back, though," George commented, gliding over with his reclaimed scarf tied around his waist in deference to its icy wetness.

"Now that you're one of us, though, cat's out of the bag," Fred added, ruffling a few more ice chips from her bangs helpfully.

"Or at least in a different, slightly less opaque-y bag," George mused.

"Still beats sitting at home, right?" Archie asked, nudging her ribs good-naturedly.

Harry nodded, still smiling. "Of course. This is a lot of fun, actually. Makes me wish there'd been more of us, growing up."

"Neither of our houses would still be standing, were that the case," Archie said, "And anyway, that's what friends are for, right guys?"

"Thanks again for having us over," Harry said, looking around at the four Weasleys with earnest enjoyment in her expression.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Ron said, his smile slipping a bit. "You might not believe it, but things were pretty down around here this morning."

"What's up?" Archie asked, adopting a more intent expression that, in Harry's opinion, put his face much closer to Rigel's usual demeanor.

"Our brother Charlie just found out he can't come home for the holidays after all," Fred said, disappointment clear on his face.

"He works abroad, right?" Archie said, guessing, "Did his international floo license expire?"

George grimaced. "Nothing so harmless. A bunch of dragons escaped a reserve in northern France last night. All the dragon tamers that can be spared are being pulled from colonies across Europe and re-assigned to tracking them down and moving them back to the reserve before the muggles notice."

"How many escaped?" Harry asked, alarmed. A rouge dragon was a natural disaster in its own right, never mind more than one.

"Five," Ron said, looking a bit sick at the thought.

"Five," Archie breathed, completely taken aback.

"Maybe they didn't go far," Harry said, trying to brace the mood a bit, "Maybe they'll get them rounded up before Yule, and Charlie can make the second half of the holidays."

"Or maybe they'll go on a rampage and cause a huge international incident and public outrage will turn on the dragon keepers and their families and we'll all be stoned in the streets," Ginny said, arms crossed as though to keep off the chill.

"Or…that could happen," Archie said, struggling to maintain composure, "It's always good to have a clear idea of the worst case scenario, anyway."

Ginny snorted. "The worst case scenario is the dragons kills hundreds of muggles and expose our existence to the world and wizards get hunted into extinction—"

"Okay!" Fred clapped a gloved hand over Ginny's mouth with false cheer. "Don't mind her. Too many ghost stories as a child. Prejudiced her imagination rather negatively."

"Whose faul' is tha'?" Ginny mumbled through the glove, rolling her eyes.

Ron turned flat eyes on the twins, who exchanged wounded glances before bursting into laughter. "Yeah, it probably was our doing," Fred admitted.

"But Bill told us the stories first," George pointed out.

"And you turned out just fine?" Archie's tone made it clear he doubted the accuracy of that logic.

"So critical," Fred wrapped an arm around Archie's shoulders plaintively.

George followed suit on his other side. "Our pup just doesn't love us the way we love each other, brother mine."

"Thank Merlin for that," Ron muttered. He lifted a shoe to examine his skate. "We've only got forty minutes left on these, you guys. Let's skate."

Fred and George hefted Archie underneath his arms and hauled him bodily back onto the ice. Ron, Ginny, and Harry followed at a more sedate pace.

"Your cousin's a good sport with them," Ron said idly, "Most people only tolerate the twins until the first time they get pranked, and then it's all offended pride and how-could-you lectures."

"People think being a pair or pranksters' friend means they won't prank you?" Harry's eyebrows rose.

"I know, it's crazy," Ron said, huffing a laugh, "If anything it's the opposite."

"It's like that at our house," Harry said, smiling fondly, "The Marauders love to target people they love. Drives my mom crazy—she's always walking into a pie, it seems."

"She sounds very tolerant," Ginny remarked.

"I think she just feels very lucky," Harry said slowly, "Mom never takes anything for granted. She's got a temper like an avenging angel, but her heart is bigger than anything. She's secretly mischievous, anyway—some of the most memorable pranks around our houses are ones my mom came up with."

"Sounds like a good match," Ron offered.

"It is," Harry agreed.

"Maybe the twins will meet someone like your mom, then," Ginny said, flicking a sly glance Harry's direction before striding off toward the other side of the pond on her skates.

Harry tilted her head a bit, confused at what exactly the redhead was implying.

"Ignore her," Ron sighed, "I wish I could say it was you, but Ginny is always like that."

"She seems very forthright," Harry said, smiling, "It's not unpleasant. Only surprising, on occasion."

"I revise my earlier statement," Ron shook his head, shooting her a bewildered look. "You and your cousin are good sports. When Rigel said he wanted to bring a friend, I was worried, cause my family can be a bit much, but all my siblings seem to like you. Even Percy likes you, and he's aloof around new people at first."

Harry thought guiltily that it wasn't that difficult to get along with Ron's siblings after knowing them for two years. Archie was the one who had met everyone today and simply dived right into the friendships, no hesitation at all. Harry wasn't nearly that graceful in social situations. She somehow always came off either stiflingly polite or somewhat disinterested at first glance.

"I think it's just that your siblings are a lot like people I know at home or from my other school." Harry shrugged modestly. "And it helps that they're so great. I think it's wonderful how close you all are—strong sibling relationships are a rarity among wizarding families, in case you haven't noticed. Take my uncle—he never talks to his brother Regulus unless they meet unexpectedly at formal events. Sirius' cousins have a strained relationship as well: Narcissa Malfoy rarely converses long with her sister Bellatrix even at intimate social gatherings, and neither of them acknowledges their third sister exists at all without someone else bringing her up first. Then there are the Lestrange brothers; rumor is their animosity in the workplace is tearing their company apart from the inside."

"Really?" Ron's eyes were wide, "How do you know all this?"

"Some of it Rigel's mentioned," Harry said quickly, "And the rest is just stuff I picked up hearing Uncle Sirius complain about his relatives."

"I guess…" Ron's mouth twisted into a grimace, "Well, they aren't perfect, but I wouldn't trade 'em."

"You sure?" Harry teased, "I'd trade you Rigel if you give me Percy—I hear he's a Transfiguration wiz, and that's far and away my worst subject."

"You're just getting sick of looking at yourself all day," Ron said, a lopsided grin on his face, "Admit it."

"It is rather surreal." Harry wrinkled her nose a bit.

"Why do you look so similar?" Ron asked suddenly, ducking his head a bit as though afraid the question was going to inspire an offended response.

Harry instead pretended to a thoughtful expression, "We're not actually sure. Sirius thinks maybe…hey, don't spread this around too much, ok?"

Ron blinked, then nodded solemnly. She suppressed a smile, knowing that she had given him just enough leeway to tell a few select people, who would then go on to tell a few other people, until eventually the fact that the Black Heir had some kind of passive metamorphism would be the sort of common knowledge that everyone had but no one was sure how they knew.

Harry dithered ostensibly for a moment, then leaned close to say, "Sirius thinks Rigel inherited a kind of passive metamorphic ability from the Black side of his family. Rigel can't actually control his features or anything, but Sirius thinks maybe his magic is unconsciously shaping his appearance to mimic mine."

"Weird," Ron said, one eyebrow lifting, "I've heard of passive gifts before, but it's usually stuff like a natural Occlumency shield or an affinity for creatures. I think Neville might have a passive plant affinity, actually. A passive metamorphmagus, though…well, it's Family Magic, I guess, so anything is possible."

"Especially with a family like the Blacks," Harry said, nodding along, "So many of their ancestors were secretive types—what records they kept might not even be accurate, so there could be close to anything in their blood."

That was the story she and Archie had decided to roll with after his talk with Sirius. It worked, as long as they made it clear to people that Archie/Rigel had no actual ability to morph his features consciously. The innocence of the ruse hung on it being uncontrollable circumstance that the two of them looked so much alike.

They eventually joined the others in seeing who could do the most outlandish trick on the ice. The prize, a reverently plucked pinecone, went to Ron, who was just gearing up for an attempt at a two-handed toe grab when the ice disappeared from beneath his skates and he went sprawling arse over teakettle. He slid into an overhanging tree at the bank and came up with a face-full of slush and a very irritated squirrel who attempted to scalp him in retaliation for the disruption done to a certain acorn stash.

Cold, tired, but in good spirits, they all six sloshed back to the kitchen door and surrendered themselves to Mrs. Weasley's tender mercies. Cloaks, scarves, and gloves were whisked away to a drying rack while shoes were relegated to a place by the hearth in the den. Harry barely managed to keep her under-gloves on, hiding the suppressor ring from sight. Hot cocoa made the rounds, warming their fingers and stinging their numb lips as they huddled under afghans around the kitchen table.

Once they'd drained their mugs, Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen so she could get started on dinner. At Archie's offer to help, the witch simply laughed and shooed him out all the quicker.

"Mum doesn't really trust us in the kitchen," Fred whispered conspiratorially.

"Can't imagine why," Ginny rolled her eyes, "You only blew up her favorite cauldron twice."

"After the first time it wasn't exactly her favorite anymore," George scoffed, "So that only counts once, I think."

"Once was enough," Ron said, grimacing in remembrance "Everything she cooked tasted like sulfur for a week."

"Oh, that was the week we put sulfur on your toothbrush, actually," Fred sniggered.

"Hardy-har," Ron sighed half-heartedly.

"What should we do now?" Archie said, turning the conversation toward more present difficulties.

"Is it okay with your parents if we keep you for dinner?" Fred asked, looking hopeful.

"Did we mention dinner?" Harry asked Archie; he'd been the one to ask permission, after all.

"I said we'd be home sometime later," Archie shrugged, "So I guess we could. If it's not too much trouble."

"Mum's already cooking extra," George guessed with a fond smile.

"She better be making extra dessert, too," Ginny said, shooting Harry a speculative look, "Harry looks like she eats a lot."

Ron, Fred, and George all choked. Harry looked down at herself, wondering if there was some sort of sign that said 'insert pie here' that she hadn't noticed Archie putting on her that morning. Archie just chuckled. "She really does," her cousin said.

"I'm a growing person," Harry said, only a bit defensive. She led a very active lifestyle, and that meant she had to pack away a certain amount of food to keep herself healthy.

"She kicked my butt in that race," Ginny said, still eyeing her frame speculatively, "I bet there's a serious amount of muscle under there."

Harry fought a blush. She wasn't used to people presuming to guess what was beneath her clothing—at least not to her face.

"Does she exercise with you, Rigel?" Ron asked, looking interested.

"More like I exercise with her," Archie said, looking a bit uncomfortable, "Harry trains with our Uncle Remus when she has time. She's the one who got me into, uh, physical activity, I guess you could say."

Harry fought a wince, and thanked the weather for being too cold to encourage dueling practice out on the lawn. The truth was, Archie had little to no conditioning, and no real Defense training at all. That was one glaring hole in their ruse that they simply hadn't had the time to correct yet.

"Play Quidditch, too?" Fred asked eagerly.

"Of course she does," Archie said, smirking, "She's a beater."

"Like you?" Ron said, surprised, "How do you play with just two beaters?"

"Well, we…hit the ball back and forth," Archie said, faltering a bit, "And at home I'm really more of a chaser, anyway. I just played beater on the House team last year because that was the open position."

"Rigel's a great Chaser," Harry said, picking up the thread of the story when Archie seemed inclined to trail off, "My dad plays chaser, too, and my uncle Sirius is our other beater. Mum and Remus play keeper when we do three-v-three in the summer. They taught us all the positions, though, to keep things interesting. You guys don't just stick to one position, right?"

"True," George said, "When Charlie's here he always gets seeker, but the rest of us like to mix it up now and again. Dad's a surprisingly good seeker, actually—very focused. Sometimes I think he forgets the rest of the game is even going on."

The others laughed, and a short silence fell over the den. "What were we going to do?" Ron asked, scratching his head.

"Let's go bother Percy!" Fred said, bouncing on his toes a bit, "He's already done all his holiday work, so he can't ban us from his room anymore."

"Because holidays are about family," George said, his tone that of someone misappropriating a quote for their own less than earnest purposes, "And family doesn't stay shut up in a room."

"Unless it's crazy Aunt Muriel," Ron said, "In which case, it stays locked up in a room."

"Was that you?" Fred affected a scandalized expression.

"You believed the story about the latch getting stuck?" Ginny's face was full of incredulous pity.

"Reminds you of home, doesn't it?" Archie asked sotto voce.

"It's sad how I used to think our family was unique," Harry said.

"But also comforting to know that we don't have the only patent on lunacy," Archie said, philosophically.

"Oh yes," Harry snorted, "There's nothing more comforting than more lunacy in the world."

"That's the spirit," Archie grinned. Raising his voice, he added, "So are we going to appropriate Percy's time, or what?"

With Fred and George leading they way, they traipsed up the stairs to Percy's room, the door to which was only very reluctantly opened after a long and convoluted argument through it. They all squeezed onto the floor between the bed and the bookcases, and eventually Percy produced a pack of exploding snap cards with a remark that since a certain level of chaos was inevitable at that point, he may as well control the outlet as best his could.

It was a merry hour later that Mrs. Weasley's resounding voice echoed up the stairs to draw them back down for supper.

The kitchen table had been transformed from a cluttered family workspace to a scene from one of her mother's Magical Mansions magazines. Matching plates were squeezed up and down its length end to end, with a few placed at the corners in front of stools. Cutlery was stacked somewhat elegantly on top of the plates, leaving all available room in the center of the table to be filled with food. Bowls of rolls and stacks of crackers with various spreads tucked into the nooks between. Beautiful spiral-cut ham sprawled on a platter, glazed with a maple sauce she could smell from the stairs. Carrots and yams fought for space beside green beans, mashed potatoes, and pitchers of berry-red juice.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling between the stove and the table, but Mr. Weasley was already seated at the head of the table next to a very relaxed-looking Bill Weasley.

"Grab a chair, everyone," Mrs. Weasley said over her shoulder, one hand on her wand and the other in an oven mitt. "The pie will be out any moment."

The Weasley twins grabbed Archie and hauled him between their seats on Bill's side of the table while Percy and Ginny exchanged knowing looks and seated themselves as far from the twins as possible on the other side. Ron claimed a corner stool for himself between Fred and the end chair that Mrs. Weasley likely used, leaving Harry to take the chair on Mr. Weasley's other side, next to Ginny and across from Bill.

Mr. Weasley, ever conscious of social proprieties, took the liberty of introducing her. "This is my eldest son, William. Son, this is Rigel's cousin, Harriett Potter. Rigel very thoughtfully brought her to visit this afternoon."

Bill looked much too perplexed to form a coherent sentence, merely nodding absently as his eyes roamed her features, flicked to Rigel down the table, then settled back on her with a frown. He lingered on the round lenses that adorned her nose, and she knew he recognized them as the ones Harry from the lower alleys wore. She could only imagine what he must be thinking—seeing her, looking like Harry but undeniably female, sitting there in his kitchen as a distinct yet similar entity from Rigel Black, unable to say anything because of the explanations that would be required to even begin to suss out the truth.

"It's very nice to meet you, Will," Harry said, allowing the tiniest of ironic smiles to bend itself in his direction.

"It's Bill," the young man said sharply. Clearing his throat, he eyed her somewhat intently. "Just Bill."

"My mistake." Harry allowed her eyes to crease apologetically. "You can call me Harry—everyone does."

His eyes widened almost imperceptivity, and she could see the moment he squashed a rush of panic and decided to pretend ignorance. Good. The best-case scenario would be him becoming so confused he decided to say nothing in order to hide his own lack of knowledge. "All right. Nice to meet you. You'd be James Potter's daughter, then?"

"That's right," Harry said, "His eldest."

Bill's head tilted curiously, sending his fang earring into a swinging motion that made it catch on a lock of shocking red hair. He idly untangled it as his mother piped up, "I just can't wait to meet the new baby," as she deposited the pie in the only semi-open space on the table and took her seat.

"Boy or girl?" Bill asked, pouring himself a cup of something that steamed.

For a half-second Harry was put off by the question, thinking he was referring to her, but a heartbeat later her brain caught up and realized he was talking about Addy. "Girl," Harry said, smiling a bit, "She's cute." Mrs. Weasley seemed to be hanging on her every word, but Harry really wasn't sure what else she could say about Addy. She was a baby. They were all pretty much the same, right?

"Takes after her mother, then," Mrs. Weasley sighed, adjusting her napkin in her lap, "Always been known for her charms, Lady Potter has."

There was an awkward pause in which Harry could almost see the kind woman trying to find something of her mother's to compliment her on as well. Harry wished her luck—there was really no comparison, at this point. She'd taken mostly after James even before she started using the Modified Polyjuice Potion to fuse her looks with Archie's. Even her eyes, once the bright, startling green that had stood out even in rumor among the social elite, were now an average semblance of their former color, just cheap contacts dulled further by the false glasses she wore to keep up appearances.

"These potatoes are amazing, Mrs. Weasley," Archie spoke up from between the twins. Harry thanked him silently for moving the conversation away from her.

"It's an old family recipe," the matronly witch said, smiling proudly.

"All our old family recipes are poisonous," Archie said, looking very impressed at the idea of family cooking in general. "Before I was born we had a house elf who made all the food in the house, so Dad didn't even know how to wash dishes, much less fill them with something edible."

"Did your elf die or something?" Ginny asked, her voice as blunt as the spoon she was using to dump carrots on her plate.

"Dad had to give it clothes," Archie said, seemingly unaware of how awkward a topic house elves might be for a family who probably couldn't afford their own. "He says he caught it looming weirdly over my crib at night a few times. Creeped him out. Thought it might try and baptize me in the Dark Arts when he wasn't looking."

After a beat of mildly horrified silence, in which Mrs. Weasley looked like a witch who was suddenly quite glad she'd never had a house elf, Archie added, "That last bit was a joke. I don't think you can actually baptize someone in Dark Magic."

"Though if you could, the Blacks would have found a way," Harry said, forcing a light laugh in an effort to include the Weasleys in the joke. Archie forgot at times that even though he didn't take the Black legacy seriously, it was still a semi-respected mostly-feared name in Wizarding Society. Others didn't poke fun at the traditionally dark family quite as readily as they did. In fact, Harry had only ever heard the Malfoys, arguably the Blacks' social equals, makes jokes at the family's expense.

"What was it like, growing up in a traditionally Dark home?" Percy asked, his curiosity more pressing than Harry's weak attempt at humor, apparently.

"It's all I knew, so I can't really compare, but I wouldn't say I grew up in a Dark household—not in the way you mean, at least," Archie said, the honesty clear in his tone, "There were a few cursed artifacts packed into the attic, and I did run across a boggart by accident in the library once, but my dad did his best to keep me away from any overt influences. I never really saw my extended family growing up, and all the particularly macabre literature was put up out of my reach. Dad is…not like other Dark wizards. And my mum was Light through and through when she…when she was…" Archie swallowed a bit dryly, then reached for his water glass with a subtle flush of embarrassed upset.

"I didn't mean to bring up…" Percy looked equally upset and embarrassed.

"It's all right." Archie's smile was back in action a scant moment later, one hand fingering the hair at his nape in a nervous gesture that Harry doubted anyone else recognized. "My childhood was a lot of fun, actually. Especially with Harry there—she's got those wild Potter genes, you know."

Many pairs of eyes turned to Harry, who blinked and summoned up a playfully innocent expression, as though to say 'who, me?'

"She did beat Ginny in a skate-race," Ron acknowledged after a moment of thought.

"Really?" Bill grinned, "Thought only Charlie could do that."

"He can race her next time," Ginny mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"We'll be sure to invite you two back when my other son can get away from his work," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling despite the clear regret in her eyes.

"We'd like that," Archie said, smiling in a barely-reserved way. He really was going to have to practice more before the gala.

Harry nodded in agreement, and Mrs. Weasley positively beamed with the happiness that comes to a hostess when her guests are genuinely enjoying themselves. Conversation turned to other things, and before she knew it Harry had eaten more in one sitting than she knew was possible. With compliments dripping from their lips, she and Archie gathered their things and prepared to floo home before their parents worried they'd overstayed their welcome.

"Thanks for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Archie said for probably the fourth time that evening.

"Do come back," Mr. Weasley said, a warm smile on his face to back up his words.

"See you at school, Ron, Ginny, Percy—and you two as well, I guess," Archie ducked under a two-sided hug from the twins and waved to them all one last time before reaching for the floo powder.

Harry bid everyone a last goodbye, taking note of the way Bill's assessing gaze never strayed too far from her person as she, too, ducked into the hearth. She didn't doubt she'd be seeing him in the alleys very soon. The curiosity in his eyes meant he would let her explain, at least, before he jumped to any conclusions. That was the best she could have hoped for, considering; as she and Archie divested themselves of their outer layers in the floo room to Grimmauld Place, she considered the day overall positive in terms of their ruse. The fact that she got to spend an enjoyable afternoon with her friends from school (even though they didn't know she was their friend) only added to the feeling of satisfaction.

The feeling only lasted until the following morning, when the precariousness of their position came swinging into focus once more, but it had been there, and that had to count for something.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

"You need to see this." Archie made his way into Harry's lab at a startling eight-o-clock in the morning, a letter clasped gingerly between his fingers.

"You're up early," Harry said, eyebrows raised, "What's the emergency?"

Her cousin held out the letter with a grimace. "It's from Flint. I thought it was for me, but…well, read it."

Harry took the parchment and sat on a nearby stool to peruse it.

Archie,

I write in haste. I need you to contact 'Rigel' without delay—whoever he is, wherever he is, I don't care. He and I have an agreement, and I'm calling it in. The Leaky Cauldron, three nights hence.

Marcus

"He's calling in the favor now?" Harry sighed, "I guess the timing could be worse."

"What do you think he wants?" Archie asked, looking incredibly out of sorts.

"Only one way to find out," Harry said, musing over the implications of sneaking out without her parents knowing after dinner.

"Harry—aren't you at least a little suspicious? He wants to meet you—or Rigel, whatever—in a pub. past dark, without even telling you why." Archie frowned. "I mean, Flint seemed an all right sort back when I saw him at Quidditch games, but…he's been blackmailing us for two and a half years now. What if he's changed his mind and wants to expose you?"

Harry shook her head slowly. "Flint knows me—or thinks he does. He even sort of likes me now, I think. There's also the vow we agreed upon: he can't expose me. It wouldn't be in his best interest to try, either. He gets more out of keeping quiet, especially if he does want to call in this favor. In fact…" Harry smiled suddenly. "This is a good thing, Arch. If I fulfill the terms of our vow now, then at the end of the school year when he graduates I'll be free of it. He'll have to keep our secret forever, but we won't owe him anything else in exchange."

"What if it's something you can't do, though?" Archie said, not looking convinced, "Maybe I should come with you."

"No, I need you to cover for me," Harry said, shaking her head, "I'm going to have to play sick, I think, and leave the house before dinner. Then I'll just sneak back in before the curfew wards go up."

"You will be careful though, won't you?" Archie checked. At Harry's droll look, he waved a hand impatiently. "I know, you wander the alleys all the time, but it's different at night. Your friend Leo said so himself, and he's the rat king or whatever."

"I'm just going to the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, smiling reassuringly, "I'll floo straight there and straight back after talking to Flint. Nothing bad will happen."

"It will now that you've said that," Archie groaned, "Harry, how many times do I have to tell you about tempting Fate?"

Harry rolled her eyes, "The situation is dramatic enough without Fate stepping in this time, I think. Don't worry so much."

"I never used to worry," Archie sighed, "That used to be an other-people thing. Then we started this hare-brained scheme and suddenly my cholesterol is through the roof."

"Really?" Harry gave him a skeptical look.

"Well, no. We checked it this semester, actually—but it should be!" Archie exclaimed.

"I'll make a note," Harry said, turning back to her ingredient table, "Can I get back to work, Arch? I'll have to speed up my production a bit if I'm to take that evening off to meet with Flint."

"I'm going back to bed," Archie said, heading for the stairs, "I'll pretend all of this was a dream and we're not in way over our heads."

Harry frowned down at her tools for a moment. "Do you regret it?" she called after him.

"Not yet," came the tired reply. "Not yet, Harry."

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

The next couple of days were spent subtly indicating she might be coming down with a cold. A cough here, an irritated throat-rub there, and by the third day Lily was suggesting she step away from the cauldron for an evening and relax for the sake of her health.

Her mum brought a glass of ice water up to her room, where she was re-reading one of the Guild's older special editions just to pass the time.

"How's your throat, Harry?" Lily asked, sitting on the side of her bed to run a hand through her bangs sympathetically.

"A bit worse than this morning," Harry said, huffing in disgruntlement for effect. She'd never been a very docile patient. "I think I'm going to take a sleeping potion and just let my body fight it off overnight."

Lily frowned slightly, "Don't you want dinner first?"

"My stomach is all achy," Harry said, "I'd rather just eat a big breakfast tomorrow."

"I'll make your favorite, then," Lily smiled fondly down at her. Harry waited for her to get up, but her mother seemed content to simply watch her for a moment longer. "You're growing so fast," she said, seemingly out of no where, "Some days it feels like I hardly recognize you as the little girl that was afraid of wands."

"I wasn't afraid." Harry flushed in remembrance. She'd been a strong advocate of wand safety at age six.

"You used to cry when Sirius put his in his back pocket," Lily said smiling.

"It's unsafe," Harry mumbled, chagrined.

"That it is," Lily agreed. "I admit I snapped at him the other day myself—he left his wand in Addy's cradle, if you can believe it."

Harry snorted, "Not surprising. Uncle Sirius is a scatterbrain sometimes. Just like Archie."

"They are very alike," Lily agreed. She seemed to hesitate, then said, "Harry, speaking of Archie, I've been talking to Sirius and I wonder if anyone has mentioned—well, explained, really, why the two of you look so much—"

"Archie talked to me after he talked to Sirius," Harry said quickly, "Passive metamorphism, right? Nothing to be worried about. I know you didn't really separate us at birth."

"Some separation that would be," Lily laughed. Harry joined her, adding in a fake cough at the last minute. Lily stroked a hand through her hair again. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that the similarity was on Archie's end. I noticed you grew your hair out the other day—though you seem to have cut it again, huh?"

She fingered the blunt ends of her re-cut hair awkwardly. "I just…wanted to try something different for a day."

"It's okay to want to be different from Archie," Lily said softly, "I know you two have a solidarity thing going with the hair-cutting, and I hope you're not both still upset at not getting to go to the schools you wanted—"

"We aren't," Harry promised, "It was just a way to…remember each other. If we had the same haircut, we thought we'd remind ourselves every time we passed a mirror that the other one was thinking about us, too, probably."

"That's lovely," Lily said, "If you wanted to do something a bit more feminine with yours, though, I'm sure Archie would understand. You're a young lady, for all that we seem to forget that at times. You're entitled to want to feel like one, at this age."

"I know," Harry said, stumbling over her words a little as she tried to get her head around where her mother was coming from. What did she want Harry to say? "I just wanted to look a little different from Archie when we went to the Weasleys, that's all. So they'd be able to tell us apart without too much trouble. I might do the same for the New Year's gala—we are still going, right?"

"Well, we've no reason to refuse this year," Lily said carefully. She tucked a strand of her long red hair behind an ear. "Addy is old enough to put up with a few hours of people poking her, at least, and James is of course running security again—not to mention you were invited specifically by the young Miss Parkinson, for some reason."

"Archie says Pansy really wants to meet me," Harry said, grimacing a bit, "I guess Archie talks about me at school a lot."

"Well, why don't I help you with your hair that night?" Lily offered, "I'm quite handy with smoothing and curling charms, you know—I've even tamed your father's hair, a time or two."

"I'll have to see that to believe it," Harry chuckled.

"It's a date, then," Lily said, patting Harry's head once more. "Get some sleep, all right? I'll leave a few pieces of toast in the warmer if you wake in the night hungry."

Harry murmured her thanks and made a show of pulling a vial of sleeping draught from her potions kit as her mother left the room. She dumped the contents in her bathroom sink and left the empty bottle by her bedside as she slipped out of her pajamas and into clothes suitable for the cold night air. She waited until everyone had flooed over to Sirius' house for dinner (mentally thanking Archie for somehow managing to make it happen there even though it was technically the Potters' night to host) before slipping into her shoes and closing her bedroom door firmly behind her, heading for the floo.

The Leaky Cauldron had a decent crowd for the dinner rush, though Rigel knew it would taper off fairly quickly as the sun went down and the temperature dropped. People were always traveling through the pub from one world to the other, which was great for providing a steady flow of customers, but brought frequent frigid gusts of wind shooting from one end of the dining area to the other.

It took her a good minute to spot Flint, who had chosen one of the dimmest sections to sit in. He'd also pulled his hood up for good measure, and Harry wondered how he thought he'd be inconspicuous while trying so hard to avoid notice.

She slid into the booth across from him and signaled a passing waitress to bring them two butterbeers. Nothing was more suspicious than people who came to a bar and didn't drink anything. Flint looked up from under his cloak and blinked at her, seeming taken aback.

"You—Rigel?"

"Who else?" she said, settling into the persona of Rigel Black with barely a thought to mark the transition.

"I thought you'd look different," he grunted, keeping his voice low.

"Why?" she frowned.

"No need to look like Archie over the break," he shrugged.

"It's a permanent body alteration," Rigel huffed, "Not worth undoing it for a few weeks."

"Hn." Flint's eyes darted around the room edgily and they lapsed into silence as the waitress deposited their drinks and held her hand out for the fare. Apparently they looked like the sort of sketchy people who might skip out on a tab.

Rigel dropped a generous amount of coin into her manicured fist and flashed a hand-signal she'd picked up at the Phoenix. It was technically a thief-sign, conveying a need to conduct private business without being interrupted, but Rigel didn't think Leo would mind her appropriation of it in this instance. Whatever Flint needed had to be important, to have him looking so out of sorts. The waitress gave a sharp nod and left them in peace readily enough, so Rigel supposed she was at least passingly familiar with the Court's people.

"What's going on, Flint?" Rigel finally asked, pushing one of the drinks his way so that it would at least look like he belonged there. "Your letter seemed fairly urgent."

"I'm glad Archie could contact you in time," Flint said, moving his hands up to cup the pint glass like it was an unexpected lifeline. "Wasn't sure how far away you live."

"Archie and I have ways of fast communication while we're away from school," Rigel said vaguely.

"Good. I need you to come here again soon—I need your help, Rigel." He looked neither pleased nor unnerved by this admission—merely resigned to it. "I'm calling in the favor you owe me. The big one."

"I gathered," Rigel said shortly, unwilling to be reassuring until she knew what he needed. If he wanted something like a kidney, it was going to be a very inconvenient week. "What do you want?"

"Not want," Flint growled, almost to himself, "Need. It's my mother. She's…she needs help. I don't have anyone else to go to."

Rigel let a frown crawl across her brow. "Is she in trouble?" A moment later she cursed her foolish mouth—of course she was in trouble. Probably the kind of trouble that involved Flint's father, if Pansy's account of the upperclassman's home life could be believed.

"She needs a safe place to go," Flint said roughly, "I need you to—to take her to the muggle world. You can move about in that circle, right?"

"What makes you think that?" she asked cautiously.

"It makes sense." Flint jerked one shoulder in a brusque shrug. "It'd be harder to track you down, if you got found out and had to flee. You must have a back-up plan—a safe place to hide if you ever need to run. I need you to take my mother there. Just for a little while. Just keep her safe until I graduate; once I've got my NEWT's, I can help her start over. I just need time—" he blew out a frustrated breath. "I thought it would be okay until I graduated. I thought we could just wait it out. I was wrong."

He lapsed into a defeated silence, and Rigel took a moment to appreciate the monumental task that was now before her. It was a sign of Flint's desperation, rather than any true trust on his part, that he came to her with this. Still, she would do what she could—the vow, and her sense of decency, demanded no less. The only problem was…she didn't actually know anyone in the muggle world besides her mother's hateful relatives.

"What's your end goal?" she asked him, a spur-of-the-moment plan beginning to make itself known in the depths of her mind. "Do you think your father will look for her? Does she just need a place to stay, or an entirely new identity?"

Flint blinked slowly, "I…yeah, he'll probably look. If only to make sure she isn't gallivanting around in society bringing shame to the Flint name." The last was said with acute bitterness, and Rigel had to wonder how often such sentiments had been drilled into him.

"What kind of life does she want to live?" Rigel asked, taking a sip of her butterbeer to distract from the paths her imagination wanted to walk. "Does she want to work? Or live at home?"

Flint looked a bit incredulous. "Rigel…whoever you are…I don't care. Just get her somewhere safe, and I'll work the rest out this summer."

"She might object to being locked away for so many months," Rigel said, frowning once more.

"She's been locked away her whole life," Flint snapped, eyes hard.

"Then maybe it's time for a change," Rigel said softly.

Flint stared at her. "You have an idea."

Rigel nodded tentatively. "I can't settle her in the muggle world. I can take her somewhere safe, though. Somewhere close. She won't have to assimilate to a foreign culture this way. And I can find her employment, if you give me a few days."

"Days?" Flint scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. That kind of thing—to do it without drawing the attention of my father would be impossible. He has contacts in the Ministry, contacts he'll be able to take advantage of even considering he'll be trying to avoid a scandal. Any move you make in the Wizarding World will reveal her to him." He leaned forward to pin her with a serious look. "This isn't a game. Can you help me or not, Rigel?"

"You came to me because some part of you thought I could help—and I can, you just have to trust me. The Ministry will never hear a whisper of her. I can hide her away here, in London. She'll be safe. In a nice house, with nice neighbors she doesn't ever have to talk to if she doesn't want. Far from the reach of men like your father—I promise, Flint. I can make this work." She poured every ounce of sincerity she could into her face. She was about to take a serious risk, but Flint was already sworn to secrecy. It wasn't a significant increase when compared to the risks she'd already taken, and for once the risk would be taken on behalf of someone else—not selfishly. Maybe it was the holiday spirit making itself known in the air, but Rigel was tired of feeling like all her efforts benefited no one but herself.

"How?" Flint's voice was flat, but there was a look in his eyes that hadn't been there before. She thought it might be hope.

"I don't have a safe house myself," she said carefully, "But I know someone who does. It's sitting empty, fully furnished, not fifteen minutes from where we sit. It's not big—just a single bedroom, kitchen, living room, and bath, but it's perfectly livable. My friend will let your mother live there as long as she likes."

"Your friend," Flint repeated, looking skeptical. "I'm just supposed to trust some other person with my mother's keeping? I don't think so. The deal is for you to pay back the favor, not foist it off on someone else."

"Well this is the only way I can help you," Rigel scowled, "And my friend is just as trustworthy as I am—more, in fact. She's—"

"She?" Flint openly sneered. "I see how it is. You think my mother's going to sleep on the couch in your love shack like a common—"

"Will you shut up?" Rigel snapped, thoroughly exasperated. "First of all, I'm thirteen. I don't have a bloody love house or whatever. It's not like that at all. The girl is Archie's cousin—I know she's trustworthy because I've worked with her."

"Archie's cousin?" Flint's eyebrows rose, "The Potter chit? She's in on this mess, too?"

"Yes," Rigel said, rolling her eyes.

"I suppose I have to keep her secrets, too, now?" Flint huffed, looking disgruntled.

"It's no harder to keep your mouth shut on three people's secret than two," Rigel pointed out, "And stop complaining—you're getting your favor."

"So you say," Flint said, taking another swig of his drink. "I want to see this so-called livable house. Won't have my mum living in a slum. She's accustomed to better, no matter that our house was more like a cage most days."

"You can see it tomorrow," she said.

"Why not now?" Flint challenged.

"It's late," she sighed, "And my parents will wonder where I am if I stay out all night."

Flint's expression was one of open surprise. "Your…parents?"

"Yes, of course," Rigel said, frowning a bit, "What, you thought…I was an orphan or something?"

"Well yeah, kind of," Flint said, looking uncomfortable and a bit confused.

"Well, I'm not," she grimaced, "So…tomorrow?"

Flint nodded. "How soon can my mother move in, provide it isn't a hovel?"

"You can bring her with you tomorrow for all I care," Rigel said, rubbing her eyes.

Flint eyed her with something approaching gratitude. "If this works out, I owe you one."

"You really don't," Rigel said, "That's the point. But, uh…Flint, you know that…even if there wasn't the whole debt thing between us…I mean, I'd still want to help. You know that, right? And Pansy would, too. Probably even Draco. Not to mention Adrian and the others on the team. I just—you should know that you do have people to turn to. People who would help you if they could. It's not just me."

Flint actually laughed, a barking, grating sound that made her ear twitch. "You are priceless, little snakelet. You really think Draco has the resources to help me—without Lord Malfoy getting wind of the scheme and turning my mother right back to my father's clutches? That's what pureblooded culture means, Rigel. It means the law is on his side, not hers. She has no rights as a squib. No recourse in civil society. She married him, and that subjugates her to him forever. For all the power my pureblooded friends pretend to wield as scions of their houses, they could do nothing for my mother that wouldn't undermine their own positions in society. But you can."

It was not the first time Rigel had considered that in some instances it was easier to maneuver around the purported 'power channels' of the Ministry and the upper-crust of pureblooded society than to try and wade through them, but it was the first time she had heard the argument pertain to someone else. It brought home to her in that moment how limited many of her pureblooded friends were, in terms of real freedom, when compared to some of the denizens of the lower alleys.

She took a long breath, then nodded. "You're right. I can. I'll—are you even free tomorrow? I can be here any time of day." She would have to fake a rather miraculous recovery, but it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Flint was quiet for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision. "If you say it's a nice house, I believe you. I'll bring my mother tomorrow morning—she doesn't need to spend one more moment in that house. Is seven too early? My father will sleep until noon, at least. I can make as though I had no idea she'd gone when he wakes."

"Seven is fine," Rigel said, wincing internally. It would be a very miraculous recovery. "I'll meet you here?"

Flint nodded sharply. "Yeah. Tomorrow. Good."

"Go home, get some sleep, and I'll see you back here early," Rigel said, taking another big gulp of her drink.

Flint made to stand, then stopped and stared at her once more. "Thanks, Rigel."

"I'm glad to do it," she said, her eyes softening slightly at his obvious relief.

He made his way to the floo without a backwards glance. Rigel checked the time, not wanting to floo home before her parents went to bed. Luckily, they zonked out shortly after Addy these days. Poor, tired, dears. She thought she'd better finish her butterbeer, just to be on the safe side. She still had a couple of hours before the curfew wards would auto-set, so she relaxed back into the booth, taking her time to think out all the relevant details to this latest plot.

She would have to talk to Leo, she realized uncomfortably. She didn't want to betray Flint's trust, but Leo needed to know that he couldn't scale her apartment windows anymore. She just hoped he wouldn't nail her with questions in this instance. With his help, she had an idea of where to get Mrs. Flint settled for employment, though. Hadn't Leo mentioned he had a pretend job at his mother's clinic in one of his letters? Perhaps Mrs. Hurst would be amenable to having someone to discretely do the actual work that Leo's pretend position covered. It was something like filing paperwork, she recalled, which meant it shouldn't be difficult even for someone without any work experience to attempt.

It would be a delicate act, she knew—keeping Mrs. Flint's identity from Leo and Mrs. Hurst while at the same time keeping the fact that she was Harriett Potter from the Flints. It would be worth it, though, if for once she could use her talent for dissembling in the service of a good cause.

She drained the rest of her drink, waited a bit longer just for good measure, then headed for the floo. She was as quiet as possible coming through the grate. Her parents' near-constant exhaustion would work in her favor, as they tended to sleep more heavily after a long day, and all their days had been long since Addy came along, but that didn't mean she could stomp around like a troll during mating season.

She did take a piece of toast from the kitchen on her way to the stairs, just so she had a flimsy excuse in case one of her parents happened to be wandering the halls. She needn't have worried, though. All was quiet as she crept up the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones on autopilot, and slipped into her room at last. Her clothes went back into their drawers, despite smelling like a bar. It was better than leaving them in her hamper to be questioned if by chance her mother decided to add Harry's laundry to her own this week.

She cast an alarm charm to wake her at six, and fell asleep to a whirlwind of plans and ideas that mapped their way across the inside of her mind with impatient fractals of thought and instinct. She wrapped a blanket across her shoulders and retreated into meditation to help her doze despite the cacophony of intentions all vying for attention between her ears. There would be time enough to plan again tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that, as well. Sleep she had to take when she could.

-0

[HpHpHp]

-0

She woke early the next morning, dressed unobtrusively in slightly worn robes and a scarf to pull up over her face once she reached the Leaky Cauldron. The last thing she wanted was to run into someone who knew 'Harry' while she was supposed to be 'Rigel.'

Her mother was already feeding Addy in the kitchen when she ambled in. Harry smiled a good morning as she slipped past her to grab a cup from the cabinet, aiming for the pitcher of juice on the counter once she'd decided it was probably orange.

"Harry, you're up," Lily said, pleasantly surprised, "Not feeling too poorly?"

"Sleep was just what I needed," Harry said, emphasizing her alertness with a healthy gulp of juice.

"Glad to hear it," Lily smiled. She let one hand trail over Addy's fine red curls absently. "Can I fix you anything? I haven't had a chance to start on breakfast properly yet."

"That's okay, I know you've got work in a bit—I'll grab something in Diagon on my way to the apothecary—they should have my order in this morning," Harry said, affecting a look of anticipation.

"If you're sure you're up for it," Lily said, looking only a little bit concerned. Her mother knew Harry's practicality well enough to respect her judgment in most things.

"It's not too far," Harry assured her, "And I think a brisk morning walk might be just the thing."

"Wear your winter boots," Lily told her, reaching out to pat her cheek gently, "It's still a bit wet out."

"I will," Harry promised, rinsing her glass in the sink and smiling once more before leaving the kitchen to hunt down her shoes.

She was through the floo to the Leaky Cauldron with plenty of time before their designated meeting, but a quick glance around the pub revealed that Flint and his mother were already there, bent quietly over the innkeeper's English breakfast in one of the more tucked-away booths.

She kept her eye out for people she recognized as she crossed the dining area, but wasn't too worried. It was early yet for anyone to be coming to the alleys to do business, and the folk she knew who lived in the alleys didn't usually venture this far out.

Mrs. Flint didn't look much like her son, save for the suspicious look in her eyes as Harry approached and sat down across from them. "Hello, Mrs. Flint," she said, lowering her scarf a bit so her words would be audible, "I'm Rigel, Fl—Marcus' friend."

She older woman merely looked away, focusing on her sausages and curling her thin form inwards ever-so-slightly.

"You're early," Flint grunted, seeming more his usual self this morning, as opposed to the stressed, somewhat scattered young man he'd been the night before.

She shrugged noncommittally. They sat in silence for a few minutes as the Flints made quick work of the rest of their meal, then Flint—Marcus—threw down a few coins and they all got to their feet.

"The apartment isn't far from here," Rigel said, "But I think it would be best to floo there for now. I can show you around the neighborhood afterwards, if you like, but walking through Diagon alley might not be wise."

Mrs. Flint pulled her grey shawl tighter around her head. Flint nodded once in acquiescence, and Harry led them over to one of the Leaky's floo grates. "The address is number eight, Dogwood Lane," she told them.

"You go first," Flint said lowly, "I'll send my mum after, then follow."

Rigel collected a handful of courtesy floo powder from the jar and brought the green flames to life. "Number eight Dogwood Lane," she said clearly.

She emerged in a familiar living room and stepped clear of the grate, sneezing softly as she disturbed a thin layer of dust. As she waited, she looked around the room with a critical eye. It wasn't exactly Magical Mansions material, but there was nothing a few cleaning charms wouldn't fix. Cleaning charms that Mrs. Flint couldn't do, she realized with a lurch of discomfort. Quickly, she pulled out her wand and cast several brusque vanishing spells at the dirt she could see from where she stood.

A few seconds later, Mrs. Flint came stumbling out of the floo, looking slightly ill. It occurred to Rigel belatedly that many people didn't prefer to use floo travel right after eating. She gestured to one of the chairs that Leo had procured for her, asking if Mrs. Flint wanted to sit down, but the lady only hugged herself quietly and kept an eye on the floo.

When Flint emerged, scowling a bit as he wiped soot from his sleeves, she felt rather relived. The seventh year looked around, moving to the window to peer past the curtains with a critical gaze. She supposed he was judging the quality of the neighborhood by the state of the neighbors' window boxes.

"It isn't regularly lived in," Rigel said, attempting to explain the somewhat sterile state of the apartment without outright admitting she—or Harry—had never used it.

"Smells like old people," Flint sniffed, turning away from the street view to inspect the rest of the room.

"Harry rents it from an elderly woman who lives across the street," she said, shrugging a bit, "It'll probably go away once you starting cooking meals here and such."

"Does she keep up on the utilities?" Flint asked sharply.

"Yes, it's paid through June at the moment, amenities included," Rigel reassured them. She thought about what else they would need to know. "There are several children on this street, so you may hear them playing from time to time. Your downstairs neighbor is a bit nosy, I think, so if she or anyone else comes to call either ignore them or tell them…you're Harry's aunt. That's what I'll tell Harry to tell the owner. I doubt anyone will bother you, though, especially if you use the floo to move in and out—that's what Harry generally does."

"Will Miss Potter be in and out of here at all hours?" Flint asked, sounding displeased.

"No, of course not," Rigel said, "She might check in from time to time, make sure nothing is wrong, but she'll owl before she drops by. Just call her Harry, though—people around here don't hold much with nobility, and not many know she's Harriett Potter."

Flint nodded with what seemed a bit like approval. "How far from Diagon are we?"

"Far enough that no one who shops there would find their way here," she said. "I'll draw a map before we leave, but I wouldn't advise walking all the way there until you know your way around a bit more. Best to floo to the Leaky Cauldron if you really need something. There're plenty of small stores around here, though, where you'd be less likely to meet anyone who'd recognize you."

"Not that many would," Flint said, a bit darkly, "Mum hasn't been out in society much."

She nodded in understanding. A sudden thought made her wince, though. "Are you closely related to a man named Aled Flint, at all?"

They both frowned in thought, and Rigel could suddenly see a stronger resemblance between the mother and son pair.

"Very distantly, maybe," Flint said, "We don't really associate with the lesser branches of the house. Why? He live in these parts?"

"Not close by, but yes, he runs an smithy here in the lower alleys. If he hasn't met your mother, though, there's no reason for him to recognize her." She wasn't sure if she should be speaking to Mrs. Flint or to her son, but as Marcus was the only one answering her, she settled her attention on him. "I'm going to see about getting her a job, if she's interested. It won't be difficult work, if I can make it happen, and the place I'm thinking of has a floo, so she could get there and back without wandering the streets, if she is reluctant to."

She really wasn't sure if being hidden away most of her life would make Mrs. Flint more or less eager to walk about in the alleys, but if what Leo had been intimating was true, it may be safer for her indoors anyway. At least if she could get her a position at the clinic, she would have somewhere to go and people to talk to during the day. She knew from experience how liberating having one's own source of income could be, as well.

"This may just work, Rigel," Flint said, letting out a slow breath.

She smiled. "Let's look at the rest of the rooms, then. You can help me tidy them up a bit."

Flint muttered something about not being a house elf, but nevertheless pulled out his wand and helped her Evanesco the worst of the built-up grime. His mother seemed to relax marginally as they made their way through the house, taking everything in with wide, sullen eyes. She would have to thank Leo again for furnishing the place, as it would have been significantly more troublesome to try and acquire amenities at such short notice.

When they reached the bedroom, Flint un-shrunk a trunk from his pocket and set it at the foot of the bed gently. Rigel hoped that the place would feel more like home once Mrs. Flint had unpacked. Maybe the woman would even be happy there.

She turned over the key to the front door once they were satisfied with the accommodations. She offered to show them the way to a small grocery store just up the street, but Mrs. Flint, her voice rusty with disuse, pleaded exhaustion, so they let her rest instead while she and Flint made the trek by themselves.

"It's an okay place, Rigel," Flint said after a few minutes of walking. His eyes took in the quaint streets and well kept, if a bit run down, stoops.

"Yeah," she said, "It's not a bad place to make a life."

He jerked his head as though cracking a stiff joint in his neck. "Hard to believe this is it. I always knew someday I'd get her out of there, but I thought…it'd be different, I guess. Less sudden."

"Does she need medical attention?" Rigel asked quietly.

Flint tossed his head irritably. "No. Not this time."

They lapsed into silence once more, Rigel only speaking up to point out useful shops and streets as they neared the grocer's. It was only twenty minutes' work to collect the basics of a rudimentary pantry. They were back at the apartment and unloading bags of food almost before she knew it.

"I should be getting back to the house," Flint said once his mother was as settled as they could make her.

"I'm going to see about that position I was thinking of," Rigel said, walking him to the floo, "Once that's settled…"

"Our debt is fulfilled," Flint said, eyeing her cautiously, "You…came through. Thank you for that. I may be a hard assed prick most of the time, but my mother…she deserves this."

"Everyone deserves a chance like this," Rigel agreed, "If you or she ever needs anything, unrelated to whatever debts or vows lay between us, just ask, okay?"

Flint grunted in a way that told her he would not under any circumstances ask for help that he wasn't already guaranteed by a magical oath. She supposed she'd just have to keep an eye on him, as well as his mother, for good measure.

"What name should I give people when they ask who Harry's aunt is?" she asked suddenly.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Merriam. She had a cat named Merriam once."

Rigel nodded. "Merriam it is. Flint…" she wasn't sure how to say this, so she just blurted it out. "Are you sure going back to your father's house is a good idea?"

Flint sneered at her, and she could see a spark of his usual derision in his eyes when he said, "Enough with the sap routine, Rigel. The deal is you worry about my mother. Leave my father to me."

Rigel held his gaze speculatively for a moment, but there was no fear or hesitation in his set expression, so she let the matter go. He would be back at Hogwarts in little under two weeks anyway. If he thought he'd be fine, who was she to tell him she knew his life better?

She bid the surly seventeen-year-old farewell, then returned to the bedroom where Mrs. Flint was sitting on top of the bedcovers, looking a bit lost.

"Marcus told me you might like the name Merriam," she said kindly.

The woman raised her eyes to Rigel's and blinked in a way that she supposed was agreeable. Rigel crossed the room to sit next to her on the bed, and took her hand in her own the way she would Lily's on the rare occasions her mother wasn't feeling well.

"I'm going to see about getting you a position at a nearby Healer's clinic," she said, searching the woman's face for any sign of an opinion on the matter, "The lady who runs it is very nice, and won't ask many questions. Would you like to work? You don't have to—your son has arranged everything, so if you'd rather just stay here for a little while before jumping into a new life, that's all right, too."

She waited for the lady to speak, patiently holding her slightly unfocused gaze until her lips pried themselves apart and she mumbled, "'m a squib."

Rigel tried not to soften visibly at those words, said so defeated, as a blind person might remind someone who'd asked them about the sunset. "That's all right; there's actually a proportionately large population of squibs in the lower alleys. And the work I'm looking into won't be magical in nature, strictly speaking—just paperwork, really."

Mrs. Flint looked down at her hands, one clasped in Rigel's, the other twisted unsurely in her lap, and shrugged.

Rigel patted her arm soothingly and rose. "You think about it, and rest up a bit more. I'll see if the position's available, and get you all the details to make your decision. I'll come by either later today or tomorrow to let you know and check on you, how's that?"

For a long moment, she thought the woman wouldn't say anything, but after a time a very soft "thank you" fell from her mouth.

"It's no trouble at all," Rigel said, hopeful that Mrs. Flint and she would become something like friends over time.

She bid goodbye and slipped out of the apartment, intent on making her way to Mrs. Hurst's clinic while she was out and about anyway. Halfway there she stopped dead in the middle of the street and cursed herself for being an idiot. She had put her green contacts in her pocket that morning specifically in case she ended up going into Rogue territory and then almost forgotten to put them in. She re-directed herself toward the nearest public restroom. As a rule she avoided such places, as the stink alone could peel the skin from one's nostrils, but it would have a mirror, and with a few sanitizing spells she would be able to insert the contacts without risk of infection.

When she ducked into the street toilet, she sighed at the state of the sink—someone had obviously been sick in it the night before, and the mirror that hung above it was cracked and warped in several places. She held her breath while she cleansed her hands quickly and bent over the foul mess to situate the contacts in her eyes. Magical contacts never failed to impress her, the way they settled automatically on top of her irises and then blurred, blending into her natural eye as though they were a part of her all along. She dug a pair of false spectacles out of her pockets as well for the finishing touch.

Her identity as Harry thus secured, she hurried out of the restroom and made a beeline back along her original trajectory toward the clinic.

Janice was manning the front desk when Harry stepped in, shutting the door quickly to keep out the cold air. The older nurse smiled in a matronly way and said, "What can I do for you, young man?"

Harry didn't miss the way the healer's eyes ran over her from top to toe, assessing even as the expression on her face remained polite. She could guess that the conversation would have started differently if she'd looked to be in any way injured.

"Is Healer Hurst in today?" she asked, approaching the desk.

"Of course," Janice smiled, "You're Leo's young friend, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Harry," she said, smiling in an embarrassed way that made her look like an awkward, but overall harmless, youth.

Janice nodded, "It's nice to know your name, Harry. I'm Healer Janice. Healer Hurst is in her office at the moment—would you like to go on back? She doesn't have any appointments until lunch."

"Thank you," she said, skirting around the minimalist counter that separated the waiting room from the offices and examination rooms in the back. "I'll try not to trouble her for long."

"Healer Hurst is immune to trouble, rearing that boy of hers," Janice chuckled.

Harry took a brief moment to wish that she was immune to trouble as she smiled in return. She made her way back to the head healer's office, sidling up to the open doorway with what she hoped was an endearingly appealing expression on her face.

"Harry!" Mrs. Hurst looked up and smiled widely at the sight of her. "Come in, dear, how are you? I've not seen you since the summer."

She rounded the little desk to accept a hug from the healer, taking a moment to appreciate the woman's particular brand of warmth and kindness before moving away to take the seat across from the desk with a self-deprecating smile. "I've been well, Mrs. Hurst. And yourself?"

"You know me, keeping busy—mostly thanks to my ungrateful whelp of a son, who seems to spend his entire week coming up with ways to run me ragged," Mrs. Hurst huffed in a tone that belied the fond smile on her face.

"I heard he'd taken up employment here," Harry said, fake-casual.

"That's a word for it." The healer shook her head. "Another one's mischief."

"It's nice of you to accommodate him like that," Harry offered.

Mrs. Hurst softened. "He's a good lad. The work he does in these alleys is sorely needed, no matter what outsiders think of the Court of Rogues. If I can make juggling his different lives a little easier, well, that's a mother's prerogative. I opened this clinic to help people, after all, and if helping Leo helps them too, then all the better."

Harry hesitated a moment, but supposed this was a good a time as any. "Mrs. Hurst, I wonder if you might be amenable to helping one more person." Mrs. Hurst's eyes swept her in a practiced fashion, and Harry hastened to clarify. "Not me. I have an aunt who is looking for work. Her husband recently passed away, so she's staying with me, now, and I'm worried she might feel at odds during the day while I'm away at school."

Mrs. Hurst leveled an expectant look at her and waited for the flush of realization to spread over Harry's cheeks. "My magic gets irritated by lies," she gently reminded Harry, who had indeed forgotten that little fact when she launched into her tale. How could the woman be so good at detecting perfectly plausible untruths? She wondered if the healer had some soothsayer blood in her family. "Should I take it simply that this woman you speak of, regardless of any supposed relation to yourself, is indeed in some kind of trouble?"

Harry's face settled into apologetic earnestness. "She is. I can't tell you the particulars, but I've recently given her lodging in my apartment, and I think employment will help her get back on her feet. I heard that Leo was pretending to have a job here, so I thought maybe this woman could quietly do the work Leo was pretending to do. You wouldn't have to do it anymore, to cover for Leo. You don't even have to take her on as an official employee—I'll pay her wages, even. She just…needs a place to go, with nice people who will talk to her and notice if she seems to be having trouble with anything. I'd really appreciate it, Mrs. Hurst. She's not a criminal, or anything—just very quiet, and a bit timid, and—"

"Stop, Harry, for the Mother's sake," Mrs. Hurst cut in on a laugh, "You don't have to keep convincing me—if this lady needs help, then we'll help her. It's that simple, child."

"You'll let her work here?" Harry smiled in acute relief, then paused. "She's…she can't do magic. It's just filing papers and such, right?"

The healer smiled kindly. "That's no problem. We have a man who delivers all our supplies who's non-magic, as well. She won't find any prejudice here."

"I knew that," Harry said, filled with gratitude for this wonderful lady, "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hurst. I'll ask her tonight or tomorrow how she feels about the idea. When should I tell her you'd like her to come in?"

"Bring her by anytime for a full physical," Mrs. Hurst said, pulling out a notebook to jot a few things down, "We always keep a healthy staff, for the patients' sake, so she'll need to be cleared of contagions and the like before she officially starts. Her hours can be flexible, to start with—just coming in whenever she feels up to it is fine. We haven't any desperate need, after all. Once she is trained and feels confident enough we can see if she fancies a more regular schedule."

"That sounds perfect," Harry smiled, "Her name is Merriam. As far as I know she's been a housewitch most of her life, but she was homeschooled at one point, and she has experience with children. I…don't know much else about her, but if anyone asks she's my aunt."

"Where does she live?" Mrs. Hurst asked, looking up from her quill.

"Dogwood lane, number eight," Harry said, "I rent it through Mrs. Whitlock, who lives with the Bottings."

"Nice family," Mrs. Hurst said absently, scribbling down the address, "Little Clara lost a tooth just last week and made me promise I'd send it to the tooth recycling factory so that a little baby somewhere could get his first tooth in because, I quote, 'without teeth babies can't eat real food, and baby food is yucky.'"

Harry laughed softly. She'd only really met the child once over a year ago, but she remembered her precociousness quite well.

"Let's see…I think that's everything," Mrs. Hurst said, tapping her quill thoughtfully. "Except…" she brought a frank look to bear, "Is anyone looking for her? We can hide her from Aurors if need be, but we'll need to know so we can be prepared."

Harry shook her head slowly. "I don't think there will be a search of that magnitude. She's…not in that kind of trouble. She's a good person—just needs a place to make a new home. It might be best to keep her away from prying eyes for a little while, but I doubt anyone who may be looking for her will look here—that's why I brought her to the alleys. I think she'll be safe."

"Noble, was she?" Mrs. Hurst said dryly. She sighed and held up a hand when Harry grimaced. "No, don't tell me. I can guess most of it anyway, and the rest will be confirmed when I check her over. A healer always knows." Harry thought Mrs. Hurst overestimated other healers, or at the least greatly underestimated her own perceptiveness. Other people simply did not come to correct conclusions when left to their own devices—she should know, as she took advantage of that very human flaw with great frequency.

"Thanks again for doing this, Mrs. Hurst," Harry said after a moment, "Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help, or if you have any trouble."

"You're a good lass, Harry," the healer said, standing and coming around the desk and lifting her into another long hug. "Be careful walking home—the alleys are a bit different in the cold months. And don't be a stranger."

"I won't," Harry promised, giving the woman one last smile before heading for the door. "Say hello to Leo for me."

"You'll no doubt see him before I do," Mrs. Hurst chuckled, "He's got ears on you in these alleys, that's for certain."

Harry admitted that was true, though privately she suspected that Leo in fact had people in Diagon that kept an eye out for her. She almost always came to the alleys through the Leaky, after all. She doubted he'd get word she was in the area today, at least until she got back to Diagon on her way out.

She bundled up tight before journeying back into the winter air, though she didn't bother to pull her scarf over her face, as it didn't really matter if people recognized her as Harry at that point.

She hurried along through the winding alleys, admiring the many festive decorations hung from windows and doorways along her route. They had nothing on the fever of trappings going on at Sirius' house, of course, but then Sirius always did have too much time on his hands.

She passed Kyprioth Court and turned onto Knockturn Alley, briefly debating stopping in to see Krait. She'd have to drop by the next day with his next order of potions anyway, so there wasn't really any need, unless she simply felt like bothering the grumpy salesman. In the end she decided not to, and turned her eyes elsewhere along the narrow alley. As she neared the mouth of the alley where it met Diagon, her gaze caught on a little sign hung outside of Borgin and Burkes that read 'New Books Just In.'

Curious, she wandered closer, peering through the grimy window to see if there was a display of some kind. Most of the stuff in Borgin and Burkes was cursed junk, as far as Harry had heard said, but every now and then the antique shop came across something particularly valuable or intriguing in someone's estate sale. It was for this reason that it was frequented by a variety of patrons, including some of the upper crust, who came to look or even sell, if not always to buy. Maybe she would have a look—more knowledge was always an advantage.

She caught sight of a flash of red hair through the window, and couldn't believe the odds. She and Bill Weasley were really starting to see too much of one another—not that he'd seen her, yet. She pulled her scarf up around the lower half of her face and casually opened the door, sending a bell clanging feebly as she edged into the small shop and headed directly for the bookshelves, keeping her face turned away from the two men talking at the counter.

"All books are buy one get one," Borgin's voice, as oily as his hair, called from across the shop. Harry made a vaguely interested grunt, after which Borgin seemed content to ignore her.

She examined the titles in a perfunctory way, much more interested in seeing what Bill Weasley was doing in Borgin and Burkes. Was he breaking a curse on something? Or looking for a last-minute Yule present, perhaps? She knew she shouldn't really spy on people for no reason, but there was something about Bill that piqued her interest. He played in a lot of different sandboxes, and she thought it would pay off to keep an eye on him, since he was undoubtedly keeping an eye on her, as well.

"Borgin," Bill sighed, sounding a bit frustrated, "I need to know."

"I've already told your goblins I ain't heard anything about it!" Borgin snapped, "Told the Aurors, too, when they raided my bleedin' shop and caught half the alley on fire."

"The Aurors barely understand what they're looking for," Bill said, a bit derisively. She could hear the cajoling note enter his voice as he added, "Gringotts is willing to pay a substantial sum for any information leading to the reclaiming of their property."

Borgin sighed disgustedly. "You think I'm hanging onto it or something? Keeping the information for myself? I got no use for the sodding thing—got enough cursed gems in this shop already, an' can't sell 'em quick enough. Ruddy rubies give me the heebie-jeebies."

"It's not a ruby," Bill said quietly, "Much bigger. Not a true gem, but a stone of magical origin. And no, I don't think you're keeping it for yourself, but you might be protecting the information on behalf of another."

"Like who?" Borgin grumbled.

Harry had to agree—Borgin would sell his own mother up the river for a fistful of coin.

"Maybe someone powerful," Bill said, "Someone who could buy your silence with gold—or fear."

"If you want to know if Lord Riddle's paid me to keep quiet about the stone, just ask me," Borgin sneered. Bill must have made some silent entreaty, because the older man snorted loudly. "No, Will, I ain't been made silent on the matter—I just haven't got a clue about it, same as everyone else 'round here. You lot are looking in the wrong place, as I told you the last three times you came asking."

Bill sighed, and a bit of the tension in the room relaxed. "You know I have to ask, Borgin. My job."

"I know, Will," Borgin said dismissively, "Them goblins is stubborn little things."

"In this case, it's to everyone's betterment," Bill said, "The more I hear about this thing, the more dangerous it seems."

"I reckon they don't call it the 'Dominion Jewel' on account of its passivity," Borgin chortled.

"Indeed," Bill said shortly. There was a shifting of boots against the hard floor.

"Yer not going already?" Borgin sounded put out. "Need you to take a look at this necklace, Will."

"Today?" Bill sounded a bit harried.

"Before tomorrow afternoon," Borgin said, "I've got a bloke looking to buy it for a relative, but he wants to know what sort of nasties are on it first."

"I don't think I'll have time to break any curse I find before tomorrow," Bill said tiredly.

"Don't need you to break 'em." Borgin wheezed a laugh. "He wants his inheritance! I'll charge him extra for any curses you find, Will'em."

Harry bit down on a horrified choke and sincerely hoped Borgin was kidding. On the other hand, the man sold poisons, so…maybe not. She must have stiffened or gave some other sign of awkwardness, as Borgin suddenly snapped, "Buy something or get out, Bint, this ain't a library."

She waved a hand over her shoulder to placate him, plucking a book at random from the shelf in front of her and holding it up as proof that she was a serious customer. He grumbled a bit too quietly for her to hear, but subsided. She made a show of bending down to peruse the lower shelves just in case, but it seemed his attention had left her.

"Just a quick glance," Borgin encouraged, "Won't take but a mo'."

"I'll come by after work tonight," Bill said, "But it'll be double the usual price for the inconvenience."

Borgin made a token complaint, but overall sounded rather satisfied with the compromise. Bill left shortly after, and Harry made her way over to the counter with the book she'd grabbed, feeling too guilty to put it back now that she had used the man's shop to eavesdrop on his business acquaintance.

When she handed it over, Borgin glanced at the cover with raised eyebrows, looking up at her with slight disbelief. She looked down and read 'Mermaid Hunting for Fun and Profit.'

Stifling a wince, she looked innocently up at him, "How much?"

"It's buy one get one," he said, looking at her like she was slow.

"Right," she muttered, annoyed at herself. She marched back to the shelves and picked up the first potion-related book she found, depositing it on the counter with a sweet smile.

"Wilderness Survival Potions: Brews for the Barely Prepared," he read, lip curling a bit in derision.

"You're selling it," she muttered, pulling out her coin purse.

He charged her an outrageous three galleons, but she forked them over without complaint. It was her idea to go in there, after all. She ducked out of the shop and turned toward Diagon Alley before smacking straight into someone who'd been loitering awkwardly close to the shop's doorway.

"Sorry," she said automatically, glancing up. "Oh. Hi." It was Bill Weasley, and he was looking more than a little annoyed. "Fancy seeing you here," she tried, summoning up a friendly smile.

"Were you spying on me?" Bill asked, crossing his arms and staring down at her.

Harry tilted her head. "Spying? No, just browsing. Why, were you doing something suspicious?"

"Does your father know where you are right now?" Bill asked, scowling.

"Does your father know where you are right now?" She returned, raising an eyebrow. Bill eyed her unhappily for a moment. He opened his mouth but she cut him off. "There's really only one thing to do, Will. I'll pretend I don't know who you are and you pretend you don't know who I am and we'll remain the best of friends."

Bill frowned harder. "I have a right to be here. You—you're just a kid. A girl kid."

"I thought you knew," Harry lied.

Bill stared at her. "Everyone at the Rogue thinks you're a boy, Harry."

"Leo doesn't," Harry said, "And Rispah knows, too." That was a recent development, but he didn't need to know that. "It's safer for me to be a boy, anyway—you don't want to put me in danger, do you, Will?" She blinked big green eyes up at him, a mixture of apprehension and sorrow swimming in their depths. It was a potent combination, according to Marek.

"Stop it," he said weakly, "You're not getting me to cover for you. The lower alleys are no place for an heiress like you."

"Were you worried about me before you knew I was Harry Potter?" she asked, trying a different approach.

"I thought you were just another orphan lad with no where else to go," Bill snapped, "Not some rich girl playing at slum life for kicks."

Harry reared back, feeling as though she'd been slapped. "I'm not…slumming," she said slowly, incredulity in every syllable. "The King of Thieves is my friend. I go to the Phoenix to see him and those of his people I've become close to, and I don't have to justify how I spend my time to you of all people."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bill scoffed.

"Your family doesn't know about your alter ego 'Will,' do they?" Harry accused, "You should know better than anyone that the lower alleys offer opportunities that are hard to find other places. You've no room to call me out for taking advantage when you're doing the same thing, selling your skills on the side for a little extra coin."

"My extra coin goes to keeping my parents in their home," Bill said sharply.

"And mine means a lot to me, too," Harry shot back, putting a hand to her hip in unconscious imitation of her mother in a snit. "You're not the only one who gets to have responsibilities, William."

Bill rolled his eyes. "You're thirteen."

"And I'm a full-time brewer at the potion shop on this very street," she said, lifting her chin, "Where else do you think they let halfblood little girls ply their trade? I'll give you a hint—nowhere."

Bill looked taken aback for a moment. "That's…you shouldn't be working anyway, at your age."

"How is that your decision?" she asked, lifting a brow.

"It's your parents' decision," he said, looking triumphant.

"My parents encourage me to be independent," Harry said drolly.

"I don't think this is what they had in mind."

"Luckily, you don't have to think about it, because you're not in charge of me."

"It's not safe, Harry," he snapped, running a hand through his brilliantly-colored hair in agitation.

"The world's not safe." Harry wrinkled her nose. "But I've got more people watching my back here than anywhere else. Leo is my friend."

"Not everyone in these alleys answers to Leo," Bill sighed.

"Well, I've got you watching my back too, apparently," Harry snorted.

Bill made a face at her. "Just…be careful."

"I will," she said, letting her face settle into more serious lines. "You be careful, too. This business with the artifact you're tracking down—it's heavy. Sounds like there are some major players involved, and it would be a shame if you got in over your pay grade."

"You were spying on me," he grunted, annoyed.

"Just looking out for you," she replied, widening her eyes in fake concern. "The alleys are a dangerous place, Will. A nice boy like you could get into trouble."

"Get out of my sight before I drag you back to Diagon," Bill said, eyes narrowed.

"I'm headed that way anyway," she said primly, stepping around him with a carefully timed sniff.

"And if your dad finds out what you've been up to, I knew nothing about it," he added as she walked away.

Harry shot a mock salute over her shoulder and ignored the groan of defeat that echoed up the alley after her. All in all, that had gone better than she might have anticipated. Checking her watch, she noted she'd be home just in time for lunch. Perhaps afterwards she could quiz Archie some more on the personalities and background information of people he might meet on New Year's Eve. They still had a lot of work to do before the gala. And then they could do a bit of research into the so-called 'Dominion Jewel.' It had an ominous ring to it that made her want to know everything she could on the off chance she crossed path with it again.

-0—0-0

-0-0

-0

[end of chapter ten].

A/N: It's well over a week late, but I just kept remembering scenes that had to happen this winter break, and the whole thing spiraled out of control until it was 30,000 words without even reaching the gala! Next chapter will be the gala. Probably that will be the whole chapter, actually, because that whole thing is going to be very involved. Hope everyone's holidays are going well! Stay warm (or cool, depending where you are in the world), and spread the love this year. I'll see you faithful readers next time.

-V