Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Only a few replied to my question of what you preferred as readers: fast updates of shorter chapters, or longer chapters that took longer to be posted. : ( : (

Anyway, this is something in between and I hope you enjoy it.

To those who answered or reviewed about other things, my deep thanks! Some of your questions/doubts/etc are addressed in this chapter. As you'll see, one of the subplots will be picking up its pace.

Let me know what you think! ; )

Part I: Chapter 26

Harry sighed, drowning his sorrows in a porridge that seemed tasteless to him.

The school was having their last breakfast before the holidays: the fairies were fluttering around the beautifully decorated pine trees; at the front of the Great Hall, the Herbology Professor, Herbert Beery, was cheerfully waving his wand, conducting a motley group of students that conformed the school's Choir –mostly Hufflepuffs with a few Gryffindors and Ravenclaws here and there, because apparently all Slytherins felt that it was beneath them to perform for the masses and make utter fools of themselves- who were singing the 'Yuletide at Hogwarts' carol, accompanied by an enchanted harp that looked as if invisible hands were plucking its strings; the other teachers at the Staff's Table were animatedly talking among themselves, wearing festive attires –most notable, Dumbledore's quirky robes that displayed dancing snowmen and prancing reindeers with red noses; while many students were absent from their House tables because they were getting ready to take the Hogwarts Express in two hours.

And Harry was depressed because he wouldn't be going with them and he would miss the festivities at the orphanage. Moreover, he still didn't have a date for the Yule Ball.

Just then, he caught sight of Myrtle Mimbletinon and quickly glanced down at his porridge once again.

During the last few days, he had seen Myrtle often shooting him glances from the Ravenclaw Table: sometimes the looks she gave him were bright and hopeful, filled with expectant anticipation; other times –when it was clear Harry wasn't making a move to ask her to the Ball- they were impatient, peeved, and angered.

He heaved a martyrized breath, and then glanced around, inspecting his options.

Inevitably, his gaze first landed on a second-year Gryffindor girl, who was excitedly chattering with her friends –one of the few times he had seen her acting in a carefree manner.

She wasn't pretty nor ugly, and in precisely that moment, her plain features seemed to be illuminated with inner joy, none of her usual prim, strict seriousness showing.

Nevertheless, it wasn't her looks that mattered to him, but rather what he knew of her.

Minerva McGonagall had been the one who had saved him, one day, long ago, when he had been cornered by Walburga Black and other Slytherins. Minerva had stumbled upon them and then, swiftly, turned around to fetch the Prewett twins' cousin and Head Girl, Muriel.

Ever since, the second-year Gryffindor girl would, from time to time, glance at him. Not with pity -or he wouldn't even consider her, feeling too affronted by it- but rather with sympathy and worry.

He had heard that she was bookwormish, very bright, and excellent in Transfiguration –allegedly, Dumbledore's favorite. Moreover, he had never seen her simpering, giggling stupidly, or coyly fluttering her eyelashes like some other girls. At least, he would be spared that in a dance partner.

Furthermore, it had been Felicity Prewett who had first suggested Minerva, just the other day in the Gryffindors' common room, when he had grumpily admitted he still didn't have a date.

"She's quite nice, actually," said Felicity Prewett, to then shake her head in puzzlement. "I don't know why no one has asked her yet."

"Because she's an unbearable stickler for rules!" groused out Felix angrily. "She confiscated my muggle photo parchment thing-"

"It's called a poster," interjected Felicity shortly.

"Right - that," snapped Felix, then looking mortally offended as he continued, "Minerva confiscated my poster – Confiscated! When she doesn't have the right –she's not even a Prefect!"

"Oh, just you wait," said Felicity in a relishing, vindictive tone of voice, "she'll be made a Prefect in her third year, no doubt about that." She glared at her twin, as she added poisonously, "And you deserved what she did – you went around with a poster of a naked muggle woman-"

"She wasn't naked!" roared Felix defensively. "The girl was wearing those things muggles put on when they go into the sea!"

"A bathing-suit," said Felicity in a suffering tone of voice, before her beautiful mismatched blue and brown eyes narrowed. "It was scandalizing! It fully displayed her legs, arms, and shoulders!"

At Harry's half-amused, half-nonplussed expression, the girl swiftly turned to him as she clarified, "Our cousin Ignatius works under Father in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, so he gets to travel a lot and always sends us souvenirs." She huffed peevishly, as she added, "And last week he was in America, and he sent Felix a poster of a muggle actress-"

"Rita Hayworth," breathed out Felix, his expression dreamy and utterly besotted. "She's so pretty."

Felicity shot him a disgusted look. "She has no shame. And you and your little friends were in the middle of the common room, ogling at her poster like salivating Trolls!"

Felix snapped his head around at that, to glower at her as he spit out accusingly, "Oh, that's rich coming from you - when you gawk at the pictures of wizards in The Witch Weekly!"

Felicity's face turned as red as her hair, before she folded her hands on her lap and said primly, "I don't gawk. I merely glance at the pictures of important wizards who are the recipients of celebrated awards." She cleared her throat, and added airily, "And that day when you caught me at it, I was just looking at the picture of Professor Tilly Toke, because he had been awarded as The Most Gallant-"

"Oh, yes, because 'Tilly Toke has an Order of Merlin First Class'!" mimicked Felix in a high-pitched, simpering tone of voice. "He tricked a dragon and saved so many muggles! Tilly Toke is so fabulous, brave, and handsome!"

Felicity blushed profusely –her twin having evidently just repeated words out of her own lips– and Felix cast her a revolted look before he turned to Harry and said entreatingly, "Cousin Ignatius sent that poster to me as a joke, you know? He likes to send muggle stuff from the countries he visits. My friends and I did no harm by looking at a picture of a muggle celebrity." His voice lowered with anger, adding as if his honor had been profoundly impeached, "And Minerva treated us as if we were a bunch of perverts! Took the poster and then went to tattle-tale on us to Muriel!" He shook his head firmly. "You can't take someone like that to the Ball."

"Rubbish," snapped Felicity, bristling and looking affronted. "Minerva is very nice, no matter what you say." She glanced at Harry as she added cajolingly, "I don't think she'll mind that you're one year younger than her, and she's a Quidditch fan, so you'll have plenty to talk about." Then her expression brightened. "As a matter of fact, it's rumored that she's going to be the Team's new Chaser. Those who went to the first tryouts have said that she's actually very good. And she's an excellent dancer too-"

Felix let out a loud guffaw, half snorting, half chortling, as he said mockingly, "Oh yes! I heard that when it was her turn to dance with Dumbledore, she swooned as soon as he placed a hand on her waist!" He rolled his mismatched eyes. "Who swoons, I ask you!"

"She fainted?" said Harry amused, though not surprised by the circumstances.

He had already discovered that the Head of other Houses had been giving dancing lessons: Perpetua Fancourt, the Astronomy Professor, to her Ravenclaws; Dumbledore to his Gryffindors; and Tilly Toke to his Hufflepuffs –much to the envy of girls of other Houses.

His Head of House, Horace Slughorn, however had not, because, apparently, most purebloods were given dancing lessons since the cradle. Though Harry suspected that not all were actually good at it.

Indeed, his yearmate, Thaddeus Avery, hulked around like a clumsy Troll at the best of times. And the Slytherin Keeper, Anthonin Dolohov, was dexterous when playing, but off a broom, the boy walked awkwardly, stomping around as if he had the heavy feet of a Giant.

Nevertheless, their Potions Professor had clearly forgotten that there were two Slytherins –Tom and him– who didn't have the 'advantage' of a pureblood upbringing.

Harry didn't know any type of dancing except the Charleston and the Swing, and that was only because when Robert Hutchins had gifted the orphanage with a radio, Alice was at first –before she started tuning the wireless only to the News, to listen about Germany like someone possessed– so excited that she left the radio on channels that played the latest hits and thus she taught them the dances that were all the rage.

It had been much fun, Harry reminisced with a nostalgic pang, though it hadn't prepared him for the Yule Ball. Alice thought that ballroom dancing was outdated, antiquated, stuffy and boring.

Though, according to Tom, formal wizarding dancing wasn't exactly like muggle ballroom dancing.

"It's not like the muggles' Fox-Trot," Tom had said with a disdainful sneer, his tone then turning drawling and arrogant, "Wizarding dancing is one of much more elegance and sophistication, in which every turn and twist has a meaning and a foundation in wizarding traditions and rites."

It was then that Harry had discovered that the week Tom had spent with Olive Hornby and her Ravenclaw friends, at all hours, wasn't just because he was learning about The Pink Quill's article in the Witch Weekly, but because the girls had also been teaching him how to dance.

Seemingly, Tom was a natural at it, and had shortly become a superb dancer. At least that was the gossip traveling through the school's grapevine, which was evidenced by the flock of girls who had started giggling and fluttering their eyelashes at his brother, more insistently than ever, clearly hopeful that Tom would ditch Olive Hornby at the last hour and instead choose one of them for the Yule Ball.

"Yes, well, Minerva fainted because…" Felicity trailed off, looking discomfited and hesitant. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and mumbled grudgingly, "Fine. Everyone knows why she swooned. She has a huge crush on Dumbledore. Outside of class, she becomes a complete ninny around him."

Felix shot her a triumphant grin at that, and then pointed out in a sensible tone of voice, "Exactly." He tapped his temples with a finger. "She's not right in the head. What girl would fancy Dumbledore? He's ancient!"

"I'll let you know," Felicity huffed out, incensed, "that Dumbledore is in his eighties and thus a wizard in his prime. He's brilliant, powerful, and quite attractive-"

"Oh, so now you fancy Dumbledore as well as Tilly Toke!" blustered Felix, going red with anger, to then growl accusingly, his eyes narrowing, "You're only twelve! You shouldn't be fancying anyone!"

"You're one to speak!" snapped Felicity indignantly. "You're twelve as well and you go around making eyes at that nasty hag of Olive Hornby, like a love-sick puppy! And it's even more pathetic because everyone knows that she fancies Harry's brother!" She squared her shoulder and lifted her chin up. "Besides, that I understand the appeal of Professor Toke and Professor Dumbledore doesn't mean I seriously fancy them. My point is that since Minerva likes Dumbledore, she's a safe option for Harry."

"Safe?" said Felix crisply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as his gaze flickered from his twin to Harry and back. "Why should you care if she's 'safe'?"

Felicity's cheeks went pink, and she shot an absent-minded Harry a surreptitious glance, before she edged closer to her twin and breathed out in a joyful, secretive whisper, "Remember what Mother told me? That one day I would just know – that when I met my Match, I would just feel it, like a tug in my magical core?" She daintily touched her chest. "Here. Like she did-"

"That's a load of cadswallop!" snorted out Felix derisively. "That Match stuff is utter rubbish that only silly little girls believe!"

Felicity's soft expression vanished from her beautiful face, as she bit out angrily, "It's not! You know Mother was supposed to marry Charlemagne McLaggen but she didn't because she then met Father at a Ministry Ball and instantly felt that he was the one for her! Don't mock it – it's true." She shot Harry a covert glance, as she added in a low murmur, deeply blushing, yet looking enraptured, "I've felt it. So I know what I'm talking about."

"You have felt nothing!" roared Felix, looking beside himself with fury. "You're too young to even think of such things and I will not allow it anyway-"

"Allow it! How dare you think I need your permission-"

"I'm your twin – your brother! Father and I are the ones who decide, and it's my duty to protect you-"

"Protect me! Don't make me laugh – I'm the one who's always taking care of you, not the other way around! And Mother thinks it should be a witch's decision, so I'll be bonded with whom I choose, it will not be up to you or Father-"

"Over my dead body!"

The subject of the conversation went wholly unnoticed by Harry, who had long ago disconnected his mind from the twins' loud ramblings, as he often did when they engaged in a full battle of snipping and bickering.

And thus, he finally slipped away, undetected as the twins kept railing at each other about something or other, with his head buzzing since the Prewetts had given him much food for thought.

Indeed, now that he glanced at Minerva McGonagall again, he finally came to a resolution. As soon as he finished his breakfast, he would arm himself with valor and go over to the Gryff's Table and ask the girl to the Ball.

Just as he made his decision, he was yanked from his musings when an owl swooped down and dropped an envelope in his bowl of porridge.

Grumbling with irritation under his breath –since that same owl had also dropped a letter for Tom, though just to one side of the boy's plate and not in his food - Harry lifted up the soaked envelope and flicked his wand at it, casting a drying and restoring charm.

"It's from Alice," said Harry happily as soon as he took out the letter and recognized the penmanship.

At that, Tom scoffed scathingly and abandoned his envelope back on the table, without giving it a second glance, to go back to his 'healthy' breakfast, which unlike Harry's, consisted of 'nutritious' stuff like fruits.

Tom had already forced Harry to eat an apple, after all, so that should satisfy his brother – though it rarely did. But Tom seemed to have many other things on his mind and thus didn't push the issue, for once.

Along with the letter, a newspaper clipping had slipped from the envelope, though at first Harry didn't pay any attention to it. He was rather absorbed with Alice's writing.

She sounded sad and mournful since they would be staying at their 'boarding school' instead of returning home to the orphanage. Mostly, she seemed sorrowful that they wouldn't be spending together their birthday on New Year's Eve, expressing how much she missed them and longed to be with them in their day of celebration. Though she did imply she would be saving their birthday presents for when they returned for summer holidays, which made Harry grin widely.

Finally, in a decidedly melancholic, reminiscing mood, she prompted Harry to take a glance at the newspaper clipping she had sent him, to make him remember how much fun they had had 'that day'.

Curious, Harry picked up the clipping and roved over the article.

It was a commemoration of the former monarch of Great Britain and Emperor of India, George the Fifth, who had died over two years ago and had been much admired for being what a King of the English people should be – of 'stern features', 'strong, self-possessed, and stoic in the face of adversity', and with a 'powerful, authoritative presence that commanded and gained instant respect and obeisance'.

It went on to describe the celebration of the King's Silver Jubilee that had marked the monarch's 25th year of reign. The large, black and white still-picture that accompanied the article showed exactly that: the crowds standing all along a wide street, with sticks in hands that had small English flags made of paper, and the ornate, golden carriage that carried George the Fifth, with glittering crown, jeweled medals on chest, and heavy cape on shoulders, amidst his escort of royal guards in their crimson uniforms, with sheathed swords, mounted on magnificent horses.

Harry remembered it clearly. He had been eight years old, and Alice had taken them to central London, to wait for the royal procession in front of Westminster Abbey.

He had been bubbling with excitement, wanting to see 'the King! The King!', and a man in the crowd had smiled down at him, asked Alice for permission, and then effortlessly lifted him up so that he sat on the man's shoulders and had a clear view of the street. And the people had cheered and clamored and waved their paper flags, and women and little girls had thrown flowers to the street, to adorn the way, as the King's carriage passed by in a sedate pace.

Looking solemn and grave, King George hadn't waved, but instead curtly inclined his head in greeting, and the crowds roared, and Harry had jovially shouted along with them, fascinated by the spectacle and by the fact that that man was actually 'their King'.

With a reminiscing, fond smile on his face, Harry gazed again at the picture of the newspaper clipping. And that's when he suddenly saw it, depicted on the festive adornments hanging from the windows of a shop.

At first he froze, his eyes wide and incredulous, then he gaped, as it all suddenly clicked in his mind, the revelations shocking, and finally he breathed out in a thread of a gobsmacked whisper, "The Tudor Rose."

In the next second, he swung his head around to stare at his brother, and said in a loud, exhilarated voice, "It's the Tudor Rose, Tom! That's why I thought it looked so bloody familiar – I had seen it before, of course – but in the Muggle World!"

"What are you blabbering on about?" snapped Tom, darkly vexed as he lifted his gaze from his breakfast.

"We have go to the library – now!" said Harry urgently, picking up envelope, letter, and clipping, and shooting to his feet.

Tom arched an eyebrow at him as he drawled mockingly, "You want to go to the library?"

"Yes, right now. Let's go!"

However, his brother didn't move – didn't even twitch. Tom just went back to his breakfast, fully ignoring him, clearly thinking Harry must have been babbling about some idiocy and simply not understanding.

Growling under his breath, Harry wasted no time in yanking Tom up by the arm and instantly pulling him along, brusquely and with utter disregard if his grip was too forceful or bruising.

He made a run for it and yanked his brother along. Several times, Tom tried to break free as he furiously hissed at him, but Harry just gripped harder and pulled more brutally, never halting his pace.

He broke into the library in a full sprint, and when Ciceron Plume barked "No running in here!" from his desk by the entrance, Harry paid it no mind and only stopped when he reached the Potions Section, releasing his brother and panting as he caught his breath.

He whipped out his wand in the next instant, and having seen Tom performing the Electus Charm so many times before, he perfectly executed the required wand-movements and said hastily, "Eligo Egeriana Rose!"

The 'woosh' was loud as hundreds of books shot out from surrounding shelves and landed in a pile on top of the nearest table.

Harry gawked, dismayed, at the sheer number of them.

"Egeriana Rose?" bit out Tom, looking vastly annoyed. "That's what all this is about?" He scoffed scornfully. "I already know what it is. A potions ingredient Slytherin used for Fertili-"

"I know that too," snapped Harry impatiently. "It's not about it being a Potions ingredient, but…" He trailed off and shook his head. "Just bear with me, will you!"

He spun around and briskly cast a spell to send the books back to their places, and tried again, amending, "Eligo description of the Egeriana Rose!"

This time it seemed that the books that merely listed it as an ingredient were excluded – as had been his intention– since only ten books or so landed on the table.

Harry sighed wearily, before he plopped down on a chair and said briskly, "Help me go through these."

"If you told me what you're looking for," gritted out Tom, appearing to be highly irked, as he took a seat in a fluid, elegant motion, "it would be easier."

"I'm not quite sure yet," retorted Harry as he grabbed the nearest book. "I just have some suspicions. Simply look for the book that has the lengthiest description of the Egeriana Rose, telling about its origins and stuff, and I'll try to explain."

Just as he saw that the first book had nothing but a short paragraph only mentioning the magical properties of the Rose, making him shake his head with irritation, he began as he took another tome, his words rushing out, "I first saw the Egeriana Rose on Maximillian Malfoy's robes – remember, when the loon tried to strike us with his cane, at the platform of the Hogwarts' Express in King's Cross Station?"

"I remember," said Tom dryly, flipping through a book as he shot him a piercing glance and frowned. "Though I don't remember seeing any flower on his robes-"

"Well, I do," said Harry curtly, finding that the tome in his hands just explained how the Egeriana Rose had to be watered and treated if it was cultivated in a magical greenhouse.

He released a frustrated breath and took the next one, as he continued, "Then I saw the flower again, on your Hogwarts a History book, when you showed me the picture of a painting that was a copy of Slytherin's original portrait that had been destroyed or lost, or some such thing." He waved his free hand dismissively. "And then I saw it again, that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Galatea Merrythought said those nasty things about Veela because she wanted to rile up Abraxas Malfoy, because she hates Veela due to what happened to her brother…"

He trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind about that. My point is that she, like Maximillian Malfoy, and the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, wore the flower here-" he pointed at the middle of his chest with a finger "-right here."

Harry closed the book in his hands shut, having found nothing useful, and added quickly, "It always looked very familiar to me. So I asked the Prewett twins about it and they told me that it was called the Egeriana Rose. That Salazar Slytherin had worn it as a symbol of his discovery of the flower as a magical ingredient, of his Mastery in Potions, and his invention of Fertility Potions. And they also explained that Professor Merrythought and Malfoy's grandfather wore it because it was a symbol of a group they were members of – The True Blood Alliance." He paused to cast his brother a pointed look. "And the other day when you showed me the books with Slytherin's tree-line, one of his descendants was pointed out as the founder of that very same group. So that was confirmed."

"You have told me nothing new," interjected Tom acerbically, scowling at him. "I already knew about all of that through my research." He held up the book that he had been inspecting, as he added tartly, "That much is said in this tome as well-"

"Why didn't you say before?" said Harry crossly, irreverently plucking the book out from his brother's clutches, earning him an irked glare from Tom which he wholly ignored.

He quickly flipped through the pages until he found the chapter about the flower, and he scanned the sentences with his gaze, trailing a finger under the words. "Right. Discovered by Slytherin…first to use it as an ingredient… it's full name is Verus-cruor Egerianus…. named by him… Verus-cruor, meaning 'true blood' in Latin-" his eyebrows shot up at that "- because for the flower to have heightened magical properties it should not only be picked at midnight during a full-moon, but should also be given a drop of blood from a pureblood witch or wizard, as Slytherin discovered. Well," he added in a wry mutter, "that explains where the True Blood Alliance's name came from and why they use the flower as a symbol of blood purity."

His gazed focused back on the text, becoming intrigued by the revelations, as he kept reading. "Slytherin named it Egerianus too, after Egeria, a water nymph who was a willing servant and used her magical powers to aid the famed witch Diana of Roman Times, who did great wonders by using her knowledge of Healing and Midwifery to help witches give birth to healthy infants. Diana became a legend to muggles, who now think she was just some mythical deity - Goddess of the Moon, Fertility, and Hunting."

Tom interrupted with a contemptuous scoff. "One more proof of muggle stupidity."

"Well, yes, I suppose, in this case," muttered Harry, his forehead then scrunching up at the next part. "The Verus-cruor Egerianus is a flower indigenous…" He trailed off, frowning deeply, raking his brain. "That means that - that…"

"That it can only be found in that area," said Tom, shooting him a snide look. "That it is a native, local plant, you dimwit."

"Right. I knew that," mumbled Harry, his cheeks turning bright red. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, so it's indigenous to – Ha!" He whooped triumphantly, pointing a finger at the page. "It's indigenous to Lancashire and Yorkshire county, only varying in color!"

"So?" drawled Tom unimpressed. "I don't see how it has to do with anything-"

"I has to do with everything," interjected Harry adamantly. "Don't you remember? You said Slytherin was from Woodcroft – a town that today would be in Lancashire county-"

"And?" demanded Tom sharply, glowering with vexation. "He went back, obviously. I read he travelled widely across the whole of England after founding Hogwarts with the others, because in the Forbidden Forest he didn't find any magical plants that would serve as a base for creating a Fertility Potion." He waved a hand airily. "Evidently, he discovered the Egeriana Rose when he went back to what remained of Woodcroft, since it's hardly likely he had discovered its magical properties when he had been a child before Cliodna took him away."

"Yes, yes, that sounds possible enough," said Harry, before he carded his fingers through his hair with exasperation. "But don't you understand? The Egeriana Rose looked so familiar to me when I saw it on Maximillian Malfoy, Slytherin's portrait, and Professor Merrythought, because I had seen it before – because the Egeriana Rose is the Tudor Rose!"

He plucked out Alice's newspaper clipping and briskly flattened it right next to the book's picture of the flower, pointing at the muggle photo of the article, right at one of the shop's decorations depicting the royal emblem of the Tudor House, as he added, "Part of it, that is. Look at the number of petals of the Egeriana Rose, and their shape – it's exactly like the one in the Tudor Rose, Tom!"

Frowning, his brother brought up his chair to be next to his, to then gaze at the pictures with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps. It must be a coincidence, clearly-"

"No, it's not," gritted out Harry. He shook his head, and added impatiently, "Don't you remember what Old John Bryce told us, about his days as a soldier during the Great War?"

Tom shot him a scathing look, as he said contemptuously, "I never paid any attention to that stupid, blabbering oaf. He hardly knew anything about the politics involved-"

"Don't insult him," bit out Harry instantly, angrily glowering at him. He then huffed, as he added sharply, "Well, if you had listened, you would remember he said, that during the Belgium campaign, he was part of the British 55th Infantry Division." He grinned widely in remembrance. "Their motto was 'We win or die, us who wear the Red Rose of Lancaster!'. And he was part of that division because he was a 'Lancastrian at heart', as he put it, born and raised in the city of Preston."

He shook his head with fond affection, before he continued quietly, "And I remember clearly because, days before, Alice had been teaching us about the War of the Roses-"

"I hardly believe that you really remember her lessons," interjected Tom, giving him a look that patently showed Harry just what his brother thought of his mental capacities.

Deciding to let it go and not get drawn into a fight of spitting insults, he finally admitted grudgingly, "I remember because by then you had started tutoring me after Alice's lessons." He glared at him. "And you were so harsh and nasty about it that I had no choice but to learn."

"Ah. That explains it," drawled Tom superiorly, smirking.

Harry merely rolled his eyes at that. "My point is that the War of the Roses ended when the Lancasters' Henry Tudor married Elizabeth of York, uniting the two Houses under one throne. Alice said that was when the Tudor Rose was made up: a combination of the Lancasters' Red Rose and the Yorks' White Rose, you see?" He excitedly gestured at the book. "And this says the Egeriana Rose is indigenous to those counties – being red in Lancashire and white in Yorkshire! Its two variants form the Tudor Rose!"

"I don't see the relevance," said Tom in a bored tone of voice. "It just means that muggles of those two lineages chose the Egeriana Rose as a heraldic emblem for their Houses, obviously without knowing it was a magical flower." He waved a hand dismissively. "It wouldn't be the first time a flower or plant was used as a symbol. The Scots have the thistle as their national emblem, the Irish the shamrock, and the Welsh the leek. Not to mention the French Royal House of the Anjou, who used the Fleur-de-lis."

Harry reined in his urge to yank his hair in exasperation, and heaved a deep breath, before he said pointedly, "Yeah, alright, but are the thistle, shamrock, leek, or lily magical flowers or plants? I've never heard anything of the sort. So are they?"

"No," conceded Tom grudgingly, his tone acerbic.

Harry grinned at him widely. "And do they have any significance in the Wizarding World besides the one they have in the Muggle World?"

"No," snapped Tom, his eyes narrowing.

"Exactly!" said Harry triumphantly. "But the Egeriana Rose does! And things get leaked between Muggle and Wizarding World all the time, don't they?" he added animatedly, rushing out, "Take the Hogwarts Express –it's a muggle train! And gramophones and photograph cameras and indoor plumbing - all copied from muggle inventions and then adapted. And it's the other way around too. Look at all the famous wizards and witches and creatures of the Magical World that are part of muggle fairytales and myths. And the-"

"Yes, I get your point," interrupted Tom caustically, his expression reluctant and increasingly turning darker with each passing second. "Just tell me whatever idiotic speculation you believe as true."

"Not yet," said Harry coolly. "When did the War of the Roses happen?"

"You should know yourself-"

"I do," cut in Harry, toothily grinning. "But I want you to say it and realize what it means."

Tom shot him a glower, as he bit out impatiently, "From 1455 to 1485. And that's pertinent because?"

"Because Sherisse Slytherin gave birth in 1340!" said Harry enthusiastically. "It all adds up! From when her baby was born to 1455, there was plenty of time for her descendants to have gone to-"

"No wizard would have gone to the Muggle World," hissed out Tom, glaring darkly, looking personally insulted.

"They would if they had no other choice," retorted Harry vehemently. "According to The Pink Quill, M.G. fled from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, didn't he? He left Sherisse to die, took the baby, and supposedly the Slytherins' possessions too, and he fled."

His green eyes flashed with the excitement of his own discoveries, as he continued, "But someone must have witnessed some part of it, right? Mortimer Mullhorn must have found something – a written record, a piece of parchment, a letter, part of a diary- something that a witness must have written down, because if not, he wouldn't have found out about M.G.. That means someone knew and they must've alerted others, and M.G. fled because he didn't want to be caught. He was a criminal after all, at least for having stolen Slytherin things. And having done something like that to such a famous family, where could he go but to the Muggle World?"

"That's utter nonsense," said Tom bitingly, a fierce scowl on his handsome face.

"No, it's not," snapped Harry decisively. "Everyone thinks Sherisse was the last Parselmouth and Slytherin because M.G. and his descendants hid in the Muggle World and never dared to show their faces in the Wizarding one. Because they must have feared that people would know what their ancestor, M.G., had done – surely because at the very least, the things they had stolen from Sherisse and her dead parents would be taken back. They hid, and that's why no one ever heard about any Parselmouths after Sherisse."

"What are you getting at?" demanded Tom sharply, his dark blue eyes narrowing.

"My point is," replied Harry in a victorious tone of voice, "that they went to the Muggle World, lived amongst them, and they must have known they were descendants of Slytherin - whether M.G. told his child that or either because they realized it themselves." He waved a hand dismissively. "After all, according to the tree-lines you showed me, all of Salazar Slytherin's descendants were Parselmouths. The trait never even skipped one of them. The same must have happened to Sherisse's descendants. Since they were Parselmouths, they must've realized they were Slytherins, and as such, they would have felt the right to use the Egeriana Rose, wouldn't they? It has such significance in the Wizarding World -because Salazar used it as his personal symbol, because his descendant and founder of the True Blood Alliance used it as the emblem of his group too- that they would have displayed it, proudly, as a mark of their ancestry – yet safely, because they did it around muggles."

Tom's eyes narrowed further, now mere slits, as he hissed out angrily, "If you're implying-"

"I'm not implying but saying!" snapped Harry, furiously slamming his hands on the table. "It all fits together and it can't all be a series of coincidences, Tom! You're just being pigheaded because you despise the idea that our ancestors were cowards and mingled with muggles. But as soon as I saw the Tudor Rose-" he gestured briskly at Alice's newspaper clipping "- and recognized it as two Egeriana Roses put together, I realized that they were directly linked. That Sherisse's and M.G.'s descendants, at least one of them, passed himself off as a muggle and he used the Egeriana Rose. Whoever was the first Lancaster or York to use the Rose as a 'heraldic emblem', as you called it, wasn't a muggle but a wizard – a Slytherin and a 'G'."

He pushed himself off the table, rising to his feet, and demanded sharply, "Do you know which Lancaster or York was the first to use the Rose as a symbol of 'their House'?"

"No," bit out Tom poignantly, glowering at him, looking indignant, revolted, and clearly too disgusted with the possibility of Harry's speculations being true.

"Exactly as I thought," said Harry nonchalantly, "because Alice never went into that." He skewered his brother with a piercing gaze, as he concluded firmly, "But that 'Lancaster' or 'York' is Sherisse's and M.G.'s descendant. He's our clue. We find out who he was, and we'll find our father." He gestured pointedly at their surroundings. "We'll not find books about Muggle History here." He shot his brother a large grin. "We can only find that information in London. So we must go to the orphanage for Christmas Holidays and I'll ask Robert Hutchins to take us to a public library. That's where we'll find our answers."

"I'm not going to the orphanage," spit out Tom harshly, his dark blue eyes flashing and his face contorting with rage.

Harry cast him a long, slow glance, before he shrugged his shoulders impassively. "Fine, stay here. I'm off. Got some packing to do and a train to catch."

He spun around, only taking Alice's letter and newspapers clipping with him, and sauntered away.

He counted one second, two seconds, three and-

"Harry!" he heard Tom's hissed out, infuriated shout behind him, along with the sound of scrambling, hurried footfalls rushing up to him.

Harry devilishly grinned to himself, feeling vastly smug, and kept walking, coolly ignoring when Tom caught up to him and briskly matched his pace, seething by his side, but silent.