A/N: Chap 35 review responses are available in my forums. Thank you for reading.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Skewed History

The gargoyle moved aside as soon as Harry arrived, and he rode the stairs up in a pensive mood. His heart was still beating fast from his kissing Hermione, and in his mind he was asking himself again and again why he did it, but the truth was he still remembered their reading vividly, and the vision he had of the two of them together. She would be his wife one day, if she only survived…

So lost was he in his own thoughts he didn't even realize he had arrived until he heard a feathery voice say, "Look at that hair! He doesn't look like James at all; the boy's the spitting image of his Grand Da!"

Harry blinked and looked into the ancient, lined face of a bald, wizened little man not much taller than he was, with that gauzy, shining skin so common to the truly old magicals. Beside him stood Dame Branwenn, who actually stood a little taller because of how the man stooped. His eyes did not burn with magic like his wife's did. They shone brightly—much more so than most—but it was clear he could still physically see.

"If you say so, dear," Branwenn said with a tolerant smile.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore said from behind his desk, "please meet your new Coven leaders—Dame Branwenn, whom you met last night, and Elder Carlton Lloyd."

"An honour, Elder, Dame," Harry said with a bow. "Wait, you mean…?"

"You're ours now, child," Branwenn said. She reached into the sleeve of her robe and removed a long wand—easily fifteen inches. Harry accepted it with open gratitude. "It feels odd," he said as he waived it and produced a shower of sparks.

"It is not a child's wand," Carlton said. "They do not make wands like this any longer, not since Albus's own youth. It is more powerful, made for the coven's fighters. Only a coven Dame can confer such a wand. Use it well, lad … until you grow into another."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Thank you so much!"

"It's not all good news, I'm afraid, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said.

Harry felt his heart skip but nodded. "Yes, sir?"

"The Sabbat has issued a ruling that you are to be bonded upon your fifteenth birthday if you do not bond on your own volition before then," Branwenn said. "This was the judgment of the Covens, and is as binding as any law the Wizengamot could write."

This time it wasn't his heart that skipped a beat. His stomach boiled and he had to swallow down bile as he struggled to keep his legs straight. "You mean…I have to…"

"Bond and bed a witch, yes," Carlton said. "Why lad, most boys your age would be thrilled at the idea!"

"I…I…"

"Of course," the old wizard continued, "most boys aren't smart enough to consider the consequences either. That's the problem with being too smart—you realize just what things actually mean."

"Shush, Carl," Branwenn said gently. "You're scaring the child."

"Looks almost as scared as when my Dame told me I had to bond with you," the ancient wizard chuckled. "And what a disaster that turned out to be. Four centuries of 'Shush, Carl'."

Behind his desk, Dumbledore chuckled, but Harry just stared. "Did you love her?"

"Love her?" the old man wheezed, "Never bloody met the girl, lad! This was in 1614, child. I was your age, and bondings then, as now, were done at the direction of the Covens. I was your age, maybe a touch older. Love had nothing to do with it."

"And yet, we grew to love each other," Branwenn said gently, reaching out unerringly to caress her husband's bald head. "In our day, the Dames worked together to ensure compatible matches where possible. It is our love and our bond which sustains us, even now. But child, we both know you'll bond before then, don't we?"

Harry blinked and blushed, and saw Dumbledore staring at him intently. "I've…tried not to think about it."

"No, I suppose not," she said. "The Lloyd Coven is not the oldest coven, but we are the oldest coven founders. I lost my sister wives centuries ago, but Lloyd is the original Elder of the Coven, and we have enough family that when we die, the coven will continue. The other families are aware of your place now, and you will be welcome among any of them."

"I cannot thank you enough," Harry said.

"Child, we have little time left in this world," Branwenn said. "Being able to do this act of good is the best gift we could receive. Know that I will perform one more act for you, 'ere I find peace. Be well, child, and be strong."

With that, the two ancient beings turned and walked slowly to the fireplace, where they disappeared in a billow of green fire. In the silence that followed, Harry could feel Dumbledore staring at him. "Something you need to share, Mr Potter, regarding the witches in your life?"

"Nothing, Professor," Harry said. "Just lines of probability, that's all."

Dumbledore continued to stare intently. "Take care of that wand, Harry. It belonged to Carlton in his youth, and so is well over three hundred years old."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

"Off with you, then."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry didn't need to tell too many people about what happened—the Daily Prophet actually had an entire article about the Sabbat ruling the very next morning. Evidently it was huge political news that the Griffin Coven had officially realigned itself from Light to Traditionalist, which caused two families within the coven to petition to be released to other covens. Interestingly enough, the covens that benefitted from the new families were the Dumbledore and Lloyd Covens.

Unfortunately, the article also went into depth about how Harry overloaded his wand, and the resultant judgment that he either bond on his own before his fifteenth birthday, or he would be bonded.

When he read that, he looked up and saw almost every single female pair of eyes in the school staring at him speculatively. "Oh Merlin," he muttered.

Neville, reading his own copy, shook his head. "You are so doomed."

"I'll bond with you, Harry." Harry shut his eyes as Ginny's voice carried down the table.

Ron turned and stared at her in horror. "You're only thirteen! You're not old enough to bond."

"Actually, Ron, she is," Hermione said from her spot a few places opposite Ron. "Witches can bond younger than wizards."

As she said this, she was also looking at Harry with pinked cheeks. "Not that they should. A witch can be physically able to bond, but that's a far cry from the emotional reality of it."

"We'll see on the thirty first of July, won't we, Harry?" Ginny said with a knowing smile. She got up and left the table, swaying her thin, childish hips.

Across from Harry, Ron gagged. "Merlin's balls, that's just wrong. That's so wrong!"

"The whole thing is wrong," Harry muttered as he looked back down at the paper.

"Look at it this way," Neville said, "at least you have some time, and a new wand."

Harry nodded, but another article had snagged his attention. "Neville, listen to this," he said. "'Hengist Arkenbible, the squib shop keep of Tomes and Scrolls, was found dead in his loft above the store this last evening. Hit Witches believe the man died of dark magic four days prior given the state of his body. All money was gone from the store and the merchant's private in-store vault, leading authorities to label the killing the result of a robbery gone wrong.'"

"That's too bad," Neville said. "Though, honestly, the guy was a little creepy."

"But…I spoke to him not three days ago in Hogsmeade. I bought a few books from him, and he wasn't a squib."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"I mean he wasn't a squib. I can see the blocks on Squibs. He had full access to his magic. And according to this, he was dead before I even met him."

"Huh, then it must not have been him," Ron said.

"Yeah, maybe. I need to talk to Professor Lupin, see you in a bit."

The werewolf was at the staff table, talking quietly with Aurora who was feeding her growing baby under a tasteful fold of her robe. Harry purposely did not look, knowing it was rude, and instead focused his attention on his father's old friend. "Professor Lupin, I have a question if you have a moment."

"Very well," Lupin said. "What can I help you with?"

"Is there a spell to detect Portkeys or curses on objects? With all the articles, I'm a little worried about someone sneaking something to me, like that Portkey last year."

Lupin winced at the painful reminder of Sirius Black. "There is, actually. The base incantation is Revelo, combined with whatever you are looking for. So for example, Revelo Portkey, or Revelo magic. The wand movement is a vertical swish and two cardinal north flicks."

Harry removed his wand and pointed it at the plate of broccoli on the table. "So, Revelo Broccoli!" He said the spell while following the standard instructions for wand movements and the broccoli lit up in a bright yellow light.

"Well done, Harry!"

Aurora Sinistra stared. "So you just describe the spell once and he does it?" she said to Lupin, as if Harry were not there. "Does he do that in all his classes?"

"Professor Sinistra," Harry said, "given my recent history and what's happening right now, I think I'm more motivated to learn defensive spells than most. Thanks, Professor Lupin!"

When he was gone, Aurora shifted her daughter to her other breast, and then looked back at Remus. "So the boy learns spells that quickly? I've not heard he is a prodigy."

"He learns best when under stress," Remus said. "I gave him some private tuition last year, and the boy learned Defensive spells at a spectacular rate, while continuing to learn at a normal pace in Transfiguration and Charms. As he said, he is especially motived to defend himself."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

After classes and Quidditch practice, Harry returned to his room alone and dug through his wardrobe until he found the sack of books from the bookseller. He pulled it out and dumped its previously forgotten contents on his bed, having not had opportunity before. He was not entirely surprised to find a book he did not remember buying. "Revelo Portkey!"

His heart thudded as the book lit up with a bright yellow aura. He jabbed his wand at it and said, "Finite!"

The yellow faded. Then, just to be sure it wasn't the revealing spell he ended, he jabbed his wand at the book and repeated the spell. After that he cast the spell on the book a third time; this time there was no yellow glow. He recast for dark magic, curses, poisons, and on a whim, blades. All further spells revealed nothing.

He took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand he flipped the book over before jerking back quickly. Nothing happened, and now he could see the book cover.

Forbidden War:

The American Magical Conflict

By T.M. Riddle

Across the cover, in a peeling yellow tape, was a flashing word. "Contraband. Proscribed book. Return to the Ministry of Magic Immediately." The message flashed across the yellow band until Harry pointed his wand at it and said, "Scourgify."

The cleansing spell peeled the yellow tape back until it rolled into a ball on his bed. He flicked it into the air and burned it before turning his attention back to the book. It was not a large one, not like other historical tomes went, but the very fact it was banned made it almost impossible for Harry to resist. After confirming one more time that it did not have any residual spells on it, he climbed onto his bed and opened it to the foreword.

On April 11, 1865, two important and yet wholly un-related events took place in the United States of America. As the Muggle civil war ground to a bloody end, the leader of the Muggle country was shot and killed. Within hours of that very assassination, the Coven Dames of the fledgling country convened a Sabbat to decide the fate of Archibald Tecumsah Bottleby, a Muggle-born wizard of unusual power who resisted no less than three bonding attempts by witches ranging in ages of fifteen to twenty-four. All three witches were sent by their dames with orders to bond and thus stifle the powerful young wizard's magic. Upon their failure, the Sabbat declared Bottleby to be too powerful, and in a botched attempt to still his magic, killed him. Bottleby was fourteen years old.

The Elders of the Wizard's Congress, the American Wizengamot, were so outraged at the killing that a schism occurred between the Elders and the Dames—the first such split since the ascendency of wanded magic. Thus, as the Muggle American Civil War ended, the Magical American Civil War began.

Hear now the true, forbidden story of how wizards and the witches who truly loved them stood up against the evil intrinsic in the coven system of governance, and how the men and women of the Western magical states fought valiantly for the right to be free as the Muggles were. But read quickly, for my friends, the Ministry of Magic does not want you to know the truth. After all, if it can happen in America, it could happen here as well….

Harry read through the night. Riddle was anything but unbiased. He wrote with a dramatic, almost urgent flair, extolling the virtues of the wizards who killed each other's bond-mates to free themselves of the drain on their magic, while fighting against sometimes their own brothers who remained bonded, and believed in the coven doctrine. Harry was old enough, and had read enough yellow journalism in the Daily Prophet to see through some of the hyperbole, but if there was any truth in what happened, he realized he sided more with the Western Confederacy than the Eastern side, especially after having his fate decided in such a similar fashion as Archibald Bottleby.

He charmed some parchment into a book cover and slipped the book into his backpack, and read through it between classes for the next two days. He was so absorbed in the book that he did not notice dark eyes on him.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"Potter, stay after class," Snape snapped.

Harry sighed and finished helping Neville bottle up their potion for the day. Across the aisle, Malfoy snorted and said: "Try not to blow anything up, Potter."

Harry ignored the Slytherin and finished bottling the potion. When everyone else had gone, he walked it up to Snape. "Yes, Professor?"

Snape took the bottle without comment, and then said, "Empty your satchel."

"Sir?"

"Are you deaf, Potter? Empty your satchel on my desk, now!"

Fighting back his worry, Harry removed his books. With the parchment, the American history book looked like a tome on International Quidditch.

Or at least it did, until Snape cast a Finite on all the books. Without expression or comment, he picked up the book and removed the cover. "Where did you get this?"

"Tomes and Scrolls," Harry said.

"When?"

"Last Hogsmeade Weekend, Professor. It's just a book, there's nothing wrong with reading."

"Potter, Hogwarts Wards picked up a proscribed book entering the castle. Unfortunately the ambient magic wasn't able to tell us exactly where before the charmed Ministry signal was destroyed. But if the wards detected it that meant it was marked by Ministry magic. You knew this book is forbidden."

"But why?" Harry asked. "That boy, Bottleby, is just like I am!"

"He was a rapist, Potter," Snape sneered. "The Dark Lord was careful to leave that little bit of information out, wasn't he? Yes, he was fourteen, but he was so powerful he found he could magic girls into submission, after which he blindfolded them to avoid bonding, and then raped them brutally. The Wizards Congress acted without all the facts because the Covens were so arrogant as to believe they didn't have to justify themselves. The war started because of stubborn old women and ignorant old men."

"You said the Dark Lord…" Harry began.

"T.M. Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He Who Must Not be Named. I've read this book, Potter, a hundred times. It was his recruiting piece, and it was effective. It lured ignorant young fools like you into joining his side of the British Civil War, while conveniently leaving out the facts that might make you reconsider, such as the Dark Lord Morgan Murchison who even now serves as the tyrant over the Western Confederation, who had his bond-mates publicly executed in front of the American Sabbat before he joined the WCA."

Snape spun and threw the book violently against the wall before slashing his wand and incinerating it. "The books were also almost always used as Portkeys to secret Death Eater meetings."

"I…removed the Portkey magic," Harry admitted.

"Of course you did, or you would be dead by now," Snape muttered. He lowered his head into his hand and sighed tiredly. "I'm not your guardian any more, Potter. I should not have to continue saving your useless life. Fifty points from Gryffindor for bringing proscribed material into the castle, and one week's detention with Professor Lupin. I'd do it myself, but I had enough of you. Get out!"

Harry started to go, but stopped suddenly as a terrible idea began to form. Slowly, he turned and risked Snape's glare. "My mother read that book, didn't she?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Get out."

Instead, Harry stepped closer. "You read it together. She wanted to join, and you didn't. You tried to bond her to keep her from going over, but it didn't work and so you cut ties with her entirely, driving her to my father."

Before Harry could say another word Snape was on his feet, his fist was flying, and Harry stumbled back in shock at the stinging blow. It hurt, but he was used to being hit; more stunning was the fact that a professor actually struck him.

Snape stood frozen in place, his face twisted by hatred. But it was a hatred directed not at Harry, but at himself. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarled. "How could you? You think your magic makes you smart, but all the brilliance in the world will do nothing in the absence of facts."

"Then give me facts!" Harry urged.

Snape rushed forward again and Harry braced himself for another blow, but instead the Professor grabbed his robe and pushed him toward the door, virtually throwing him out into the hall. "Do not come to the next class. You are banned from Potions for the remainder of the week."

The door slammed shut heavily behind him.

That evening, Harry received a summons to McGonagall's office. He went hesitantly, wondering if it was about his detentions, or all the points he lost. McGonagall looked decidedly grim when he entered. "Mr Potter, please sit."

"Yes, Professor."

When he was situated, she sat with her hands clasped together as if in prayer on her desk. "Mr Potter, the headmaster and I have been made aware of a serious violation of conduct by a professor at this school, and judging by the bruise on your chin—yes, I can see it through your glamour—the violation did occur. Professor Snape is on lifetime probation for actions he took in a misguided youth, and was compelled by magic to confess to the Headmaster that he physically struck you after Potions class today. Can you confirm that he did so?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said dully.

"I see," McGonagall said. She sat back with a bitter sigh. "I had so hoped…"

"Professor," Harry said, "if it matters at all, I provoked him."

"Oh?"

"I was asking some very painful questions even after he asked me to leave. I refused and continued to press him about my mother and Voldemort. I was out of line in doing so, and I believe I pushed him beyond his control."

She pursed her thin lips together. "Be that as it may, Mr Potter, Severus Snape was the adult in your conversation, and moreover is a professor of this school. It was his responsibility to control his temper."

"He's also human, Professor," Harry said softly. "And it was the human I was hurting."

"Are you saying you do not want him fired, Potter? I understood you to not care for the man."

"I can't stand him," Harry said, a little too quickly. "But I also recognize that I started it—I pushed him too far. I just…I can't stand the thought of him being fired because of me picking at the scabs of his life. Everything else around here is so bloody unfair, I don't want this to be that unfair either."

"This won't earn you his gratitude, Potter."

"It's not about gratitude, Professor. It's about right and wrong. I was wrong. He shouldn't have to pay for it."

"Very well. Please return to your room."

"Yes, ma'am."

That night, in the absence of his history book, he pulled out his mother's old book and looked through it for the thousandth time. Then, on a whim, he pulled out the Marauder's Map and activated it. He was surprised to see Snape and Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office with McGonagall, Rolanda Hooch, Amelia Bones and someone named Cassandra Greengrass.

Harry felt a crushing sense of guilt. He had known he was pushing—he could see it in Snape's magic at the time. But he had pushed anyway.

With a bitter sigh, he looked through the different levels of the school until by chance he came across Luna Lovegood walking along the seventh floor corridor. The moment he spotted her name, her footsteps stopped. And then her small little footprints began to spin around in circles. Despite himself, Harry smiled and even chuckled faintly at her antics. The smile faded when he realized how long it had been since he'd looked in on her.

"I'm still here, Luna," he said softly. "I haven't forgotten you."

He stayed up, watching her until she finally headed back to the Ravenclaw tower. Before she entered, she spun around one more time, as if saying good night.

"Good night to you too, Luna," Harry smiled sadly before folding the map up, placing it within his mother's book, and placing both in a secure cabinet within his wardrobe. After, he stared into the shadows, thinking of the girls in his life—Luna, Hermione, Justine.

"I don't care what they say," he whispered to himself. Suddenly determined, he reached back into his wardrobe for his lap desk, parchment and ink.

"Dear Mr Fletchley," he said aloud as he wrote. Then: "I hope they don't think I'm barmy."

He finished writing the letter, then penned a second, vowing to mail them first thing the next morning. He was not going to let the vision of Hermione and Justine dying come true—he absolutely refused to allow it.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.