AN: Warning!

This chapter will allude to political views people may be uncomfortable with or have strong views about. I just wish to make it absolutely clear that the characters are just the characters. Simply because Harry or possibly other main characters do have certain political agendas that may relate to real-life, that doesn't mean that I share or denounce those sentiments, wish to campaign for or against them, or even want to open a debate. Hermeneutics be damned!

Approach

'Mind the books, boy!'

Looking over his shoulder, Harry's eyes found the picture of the impressive medieval throne that hung above his bed, its gilded canvas glittering in the dawn. The regular occupant lay sprawled at the feet of another wizard with an eccentric silver-green turban, a very pointy beard, and alert, calculating eyes.

'No need to worry, I love those books,' replied Harry calmly as he continued to add more family tomes that might help him with Occlumency to his already loaded trunk.

'Humph!' huffed the painting indignantly. 'In my time, youngsters had no need to pilfer their family libraries. Have Hogwarts standards truly fallen so piteously low?'

'I don't think so, but after spending so much time there, I'm convinced that someone purged the library of certain topics,' Harry hinted with a dark look.

'And which topics would that be, boy?' the painted wizard demanded, eyes narrowed.

'The Mind Arts, first and foremost, though some older texts on wizarding culture and history, as well as others on several darker magics and rituals, seem to be missing. Well, I can understand those I mentioned last, at least.'

Harry's dialogue partner didn't seem to share his opinion. 'What is this? Blasphemy! Who dares rob the scions of upstanding families of their right to defend themselves? That is the pinnacle of scandals, unforgivable!'

'Well,' another, slightly muffled voice interrupted, 'one might argue that Legillimens are incredibly rare. One would have to be quite lucky to meet even a handful of practitioners, even with a fulfilled life. And will you finally get off me, you disrespectful brat?'

'Hmph!' The clever-looking wizard seated himself elegantly on the throne, completely disregarding the wizard at his feet. 'Well, that's no excuse, seeing as our rakish headmaster is a practitioner himself, and he's not the only one at Hogwarts by a long shot. You have my permission to take the books, boy, but if I catch you mistreating them, I'll sick the Grim on you!'

By now, the other figure was standing again, brushing the dust off his clothes. 'Don't let him speak to you like that, young master. Phineas has always been an obnoxious brat. Oh, the stories I could tell you...'

'Well,' the old headmaster coughed suddenly, not at all gracefully, 'I'll see you at Hogwarts, boy. Hex some half-wits in the corridors for me, will you? And it's Phineas Nigellus, if you don't mind, you ancient fossil.'

Harry smirked. 'It somehow doesn't seem proper for a former headmaster to incite a student to fight against his classmates, or is it just me?'

'Foolish boy, I never said you should fight anyone.' Phineas returned a nasty grin. 'I told you to curse the savages into oblivion.'

Closing the door, Harry couldn't help feeling as if he had left something behind. In a melancholic mood, he thoughtlessly levitated his trunk down the stairs, waving wistfully to all the portraits that called out to him.

'And here I thought we had cured you of that expression, Harry.' Arcturus stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched his grandson's expression with a crooked grimace. 'Son, you know you have people watching over you at Hogwarts, even if they cannot reveal themselves so easily. And should anything drastic happen, I promise I shall be the first to lead the charge, the first to tear down the ancient walls and the last left standing to salt the earth,' the Head of House Black vowed gravely.

Harry raised his chin a bit and looked up at his grandfather with a pained look. 'I know. Thank you...'

Squeezing the shoulder of his future successor, Arcturus took the casket with the Floo Powder. 'Hiding oneself rarely solves any problem, Harry. I wish it were different; we could just sit in our mansions and wait until the number of fools decreases by itself as war chases war, but alas, the folly of mankind is eternal. Of that, I am rather certain.'

~BLHD~

Hurriedly forcing his way through the masses, Harry decided on a new strategy: Trying his best to overtake the wave of unfriendly recognition that followed wherever he trod. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as packed with overbearing parents, stray pets, forgotten trunks and cheeky brats as ever, making the course rather advanced in difficulty. Still, Harry persevered and thought he had done reasonably well. Hardly two dozen people had openly pointed at him.

To his dismay, his luck took a quick downturn not too long after that. No matter how far he dragged his trunk, it seemed as if every compartment was already occupied by at least one person. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he started looking for a cabin where he considered the odds of a fight breaking out reasonably low. Stealthily sneaking a peek through the glass panes, he appraised the occupants. Checking the third compartment, he stopped, recognising one figure. The girl with her long and shiny dark hair coupled with warm brown eyes, he knew. The ashen-blond and stocky boy in baggy robes, however, was completely unfamiliar. Sighing and wishing for the best, he opened the door.

The pair of Ravenclaws gaped at him in utter surprise, recognition as evident as blatant shock in their expressions. Harry briefly wondered if he was supposed to say something until the voice of the girl dispelled any such notions from his mind. 'Just my luck! Effing Harry James Black... Well, come in quick if you must. I don't want other people to notice me talking to you.'

'Nice to see you, too, Padma,' Harry returned sarcastically, taking a seat as far away from the girl as possible.

Just when he was reaching within his robes to produce a shrunken book to peruse, the girl's tongue lashed out again. 'I hope you're not up to any trouble, Black!'

'Well,' Harry answered dryly, 'with her highness' permission, I would like to read.'

Padma rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched a bit. 'Well, that's alright then. This is Basil Fawcett. He's got a sister, and their family is seated in Devonshire.' Hesitating for the briefest of moments, she continued, 'Basil, I guess you know Black? Don't know where his family is holed up, of course, but there are only so many people with that family name...'

Fawcett turned wide-eyed towards Padma. 'You know the Blacks, Padma? You never told me!'

'Oh, uhm,' Padma answered awkwardly, 'just a passing acquaintance, really. Only a handful of families have the kind of money that interests my father, so...'

'Have you met Black before?' Fawcett appeared accusatory.

'Uhm...once? Or twice, maybe?' The elder Patil's voice trailed off lamely before she defensively added in a rush, 'But only at social gatherings!'

Padma quailed under the furious onslaught of Fawcett's gaze. Then, quite out of the blue, the boy suddenly screamed in excitement, 'That is so COOL!'

Both Harry, who had been pretending to read, and Padma twisted their necks simultaneously and blurted out, 'What?'

'You should've mentioned this earlier, Padma! Wow, I can't wait to tell my sis. This is so neat!' He was practically bouncing in effusiveness, a big smile plastered on his face.

'Uhm, why are you so hung up on the Blacks, Basil?' Padma asked in honest puzzlement, edging away from him as if he were on fire. Harry couldn't help but agree with the question.

'Are you kidding me, Padma? They're so smooth, like enigmatic social ninjas with loads of money. They're dark and shadowy rebels shrouded in mystery, even though they're actually hailed as the elite, too! The Blacks are just so wicked! Like, if you cross them, then you'll die in a gory fountain of blood, for sure,' he exclaimed in a chipper voice before turning thoughtful. 'Or disappear without anyone being the wiser, never ever heard of again. Obviously, that would be totally cool, as well.'

Harry and Padma shared a look.

'Do you think you could introduce me?' Fawcett nearly rolled over in eagerness.

'I am sitting right here, you know?' Harry protested feebly.

'And I already did introduce you, Basil...' Padma echoed his sentiment.

But if Fawcett could hear them through his antics, he gave no sign of it. Ignoring their objections, he happily rambled on with the glowing look of a ten-year-old girl with a crush.

I guess it's going to be a long ride, thought Harry dejectedly.

~BLHD~

In the end, the trip back to Hogwarts had gone reasonably well. Harry was a bit saddened that even the nicer pure-bloods acted as if they'd never seen him in public, but Padma wasn't so bad actually. He'd made a mental note to stay clear of the Fawcetts though. In big letters.

Nothing otherwise remarkable had happened if one discounted the fact that Harry had, with great presence of mind, taken careful and hesitant steps when crossing any significant boundaries on the school grounds. Ignoring the fresh outbreak of muttering and pointing when he had passed the threshold of the castle step by step had been a minor issue, but he'd vowed not to visit the infirmary for three days at least. Grandfather was right, I guess. While Harry considered himself relatively patient with anything short of betrayal or family business, it would only be a matter of time before he finally snapped, and he really couldn't count on the goodwill of the aurors if they ever were on his case.

Just when Harry had decided to spend a few hours of undisturbed leisure time in the library, an instinctual shudder caused him to very nearly pause in his steps. Barely managing to keep walking, he subtly gripped his wand more firmly. What is it now? Taking a path towards a cross of corridors, Harry casually walked around the corner. As soon as he considered himself out of sight, he hastily crouched down, silently shifting his body sideways to present a smaller target as he pointed his wand the way he came...

Yet only silence filled the corridor.

Forcing himself not to blink, Harry waited for nearly two minutes, but still nobody approached his position. I'm not sure if I should be glad that I was imagining things or start to worry about getting paranoid for good now. The effort to keep his concentration peaked was really taxing, and after another minute, Harry decided to quietly move away. I feel like a lone soldier behind enemy lines. Merlin, what's wrong with this school?!

He briefly considered skipping dinner, which would be served in two hours, but neglecting his diet on a hunch felt like a bad habit to start. Even so, he couldn't help feeling rather nervous as he made his way down the corridors, heading for the dungeons. Nodding to a few prefects and some other people in the common room, Harry purposefully raced towards the dormitories, nearly knocking over Shafiq, very much wanting to assure himself that everything was in order with his property.

'What's got your knickers in a twist, Black?' Zabini called out, as soon as he entered. His dorm-mate was lolling lazily on his bed, a book on his pillow.

Ignoring the comment, Harry hastily ascertained that the wards on his trunk were intact, his bed had not been disturbed, nor had his other belongings. Am I really slowly losing it? Calming his breathing, Harry closed his eyes and reinforced his grip on his surroundings.

Slowly, he managed to simmer down a bit, easing his breathing. Harry briefly wondered if he should reply to Zabini after all, but he was apparently already totally engrossed in his lecture once more. Harry made his way down into the common room again. But when he'd made his wa halfway down the stairs, he came to sudden halt again, narrowing his eyes. Not two minutes ago, the common room had been housing approximately fifteen Slytherins of different years. Now, however, it was completely empty despite there being no classes or meals going on. Once more, he felt a shiver run down his spine, and he jumped towards the nearest wall and held out his wand. The tingling in his neck persisted. Scanning the area repeatedly, Harry was frantically speculating where all the people could have wandered off to. He briefly considered dropping his Occlumency to maybe spot something that his eyes couldn't see, but the risk seemed too high considering his lack of practice with that form of perception.

Just when Harry, in a mad rush of desperation, considered casting a semi-permanent alarm-bell charm on the whole room, the door to the common room swung open noisily. Harry still had the feeling of being watched, so he didn't turn around to look at the new arrival. His stalker was probably not as carelessly strepitous as the ham-fisted newcomer.

'Harry! What are you doing?' Tracey stood a few meters to his right, eyes widened in shock at his expression, frantically reaching for her own wand, Harry noted out of the corner of his eyes.

'Oh, nothing. Jumping at shadows, maybe,' he returned with more confidence than he felt.

'Jumping at shadows? Salazar, you've got sweat running down your face and looked just about ready to blast the room to bits when I entered! Did you see anything?' Tracey asked nervously.

'Not really, just a feeling.' To his relief, Tracey's arrival seemed to have put a stop to the strange phenomenon. 'Where is everyone? Not a few minutes ago this room was bustling with upper years.'

'No idea. Maybe they were just having a short meeting for the prefects or something? Oh, by the way, I was told to give you this,' she said while waving a slim scroll of parchment under his nose.

'What is that, then?' Harry asked, puzzled.

'No idea. Professor Snape told me to give it to you, though he wasn't very nice about it. He made me repeat whom to give it to three times! Like I'm some kind of imbecile or something,' she whined exasperatedly.

'Well,' Harry said venturously, 'your performance in Potions does occasionally suggest just that.' Tracey glowered but he smirked briefly before continuing, 'But I think he really is unreasonably hard on you.'

'Yes, he is, isn't he?!' Tracey looked eager to receive his reassurance.

'Definitely,' Harry answered kindly. 'I mean, I don't think there are many people who have the natural talent to melt their cauldron thrice in such creatively different ways while preparing a simple Glimmering Potion.'

'Really funny, Harry.' Tracey stuck out her tongue. 'You're such a glib talker now, but just where was that daringness when you were preparing to wreck the whole common room just because you're afraid of being alone?'

Shrugging, Harry opened the scroll.

Dear Mr Black,

If you find yourself agreeable, I would very much like to have a word with you in my office at your earliest convenience this evening, with your Head of House in attendance.

Hoping to see you soon,
Albus Dumbledore

Harry stared at the slanted, elegant handwriting for a few moments until Tracey's high-pitched voice forced its way into his brain. 'Hello? Earth to Harry?'

'Oh!' Harry blinked in surprise. 'Sorry, it seems like I've been summoned by the headmaster.'

'Dumbledore?' she asked, her eyes suspicious. 'What have you done now?'

'Excuse me? Nothing, of course! We have barely been back a few hours, Tracey!' he answered indignantly.

'Are you going then?' Tracey asked in a worried tone.

'I think I will.' Seeing her expression, he added soothingly, 'Don't worry; Snape will be there. And besides, Dumbledore is nothing if not honourable. He'll never do anything to me as long as I'm a student here, especially as I'm not even of age.'

'You're taking a lot for granted,' she mumbled, clearly unconvinced.

Revealing a minuscule smile, Harry briefly patted her shoulder. 'Leave the manic distrustfulness to me. I have considerably more practice with it than you.'

When he'd reached the door to the dungeons, Tracey's pleading voice called out to him. 'Are you sure you won't reconsider your stance concerning all of us? We can help you, you know...?'

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Tracey displaying an unusually serious expression without any mask in place, her large golden doe eyes silently begging him to give in.

'Sorry,' he replied nonchalantly. 'Keep the other girls safe. Draco can watch out for himself, I'd wager. I'll take care of the Pillars.'

'Promise you'll be careful! Daphne will set the Gryffindor common room on fire if they really get you.'

'I'll be fine,' he repeated himself as he walked through the opening.

~BLHD~

'Ah – Harry, please do come in.' Dumbledore smiled warmly and gestured for Harry to sit down.

Harry smoothly took a seat, quite curious as to what this meeting was about.

'I hope you don't mind if I address you as such? Even if you have taken on the name of your foster family, I cannot help but be reminded of Lily and James...'

Harry shrugged while inwardly carefully considering the question. 'I do not mind, either way, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore genially offered him some sweets, but Harry politely declined.

'You are not sour over the matter with your family – or rather families then, Harry? I was under the impression that you didn't want to be associated with your Potter heritage any longer.'

Harry was sure that Dumbledore knew, but he didn't really begrudge him the question. He was certain that the headmaster had been close to the Potters. To him, the loss of the Potters had meant a decline in influence over the Ministry, something that had ultimately led to an estrangement of sorts – in addition to the grief of losing close confidants. But this was exactly the reason why the young Black was so wary.

Harry leaned back and casually straightened his robes. Just as he got ready to answer, there was a knock, and his Head of House entered. Snape looked harassed, but eventually, he rearranged his expression to cold indifference.

'Do excuse my lateness, Headmaster. There has been another…incident with the fifth years.' Looking towards Harry, he added the slightest of perceivable nods. 'Mr Black,' he said in a plain voice.

'Ah, Severus! No matter, we were just getting started. Though I am hesitant to bore you with such a small matter, I deemed it necessary to have you present as well.'

Snape nodded curtly.

Of course Snape needs to be present, considering Arcturus' and Dumbledore's history.

Harry made sure to adumbrate a bow towards Snape when he knew the man to be looking. 'Thank you for your time, Professor.'

His Head of House waved it off. 'Let's not waste our time with pleasantries, Mr Black.'

Dumbledore looked questioningly towards his potions master. 'If you would allow me to ask, Severus? Your exchange with Harry seems remarkably...blasé.'

For the shortest of moments, Snape seemed almost uncomfortable, but even Harry couldn't be sure. 'I…have had words with Lord Black on the matter. That man has assured me that there is no reason for me to dwell on past dealings. I am told he himself doesn't know.'

Harry blinked and could not hide his honest confusion. 'Is there something I should be aware of, sir?'

Dumbledore smiled warmly and winked. 'Don't mind us, Harry, just some old stories. I'm afraid one does tend to pick them up over the decades. Nothing to worry about, it seems.'

Eyes twinkling, the old warlock regarded him fondly. When he looked so grandfatherly and benign, it was easy to forget that he was, in European circles at least, considered to be the most powerful wizard of modern times.

'Let us talk about your holidays, Harry. I've heard your family held their traditional ball this year?'

Shooting the headmaster a questioning look, Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir, it was a very pleasant evening.'

'So I gathered,' Dumbledore replied in a friendly manner. 'What slightly concerns me, however, is that you seem to have spent considerable time with one of our teachers.'

Oh, so that's what this is all about? 'Professor Rose was an official guest of House Black, Headmaster. Respectfully, I believe what she does in her free time is none of your concern, sir?'

'Usually, that would be the case,' Dumbledore easily admitted. 'As long as her behaviour has no direct influence on her work or standing at school, it is certainly more difficult for me to intervene. But there has been,' he paused, wrinkling his eyebrows, 'some undignified tattle.'

'The headmaster is too polite to say that someone has spread the gossip that you and Rose share an illicit relationship, Black,' the Potions Master chipped in, leaning against the window and looking bored.

'WHAT?' Harry shouted in outrage, his face heating up.

'I see that this is news to you, Harry,' Dumbledore commented dryly, eyes twinkling again.

'Ridiculous! Of course that's news to me. I danced with her at the ball, and that's what people say?'

'Not entirely. A few people appear convinced that you are, in fact, betrothed to Professor Rose.'

Harry looked in shock at Dumbledore, wondering if he'd heard right. 'Engaged?'

'While I wish to reassure you that whatever happens outside of school is indeed no concern of ours, you will have to agree that I could hardly tolerate actions that overstep what one might consider healthy teacher-student relations, especially between an adult and a minor.'

'Professor Dumbledore? I am not betrothed to Aenor Rose,' Harry said forcefully.

The headmaster's eyes bored searchingly into his own. 'Has she ever acted indecorously towards you?'

'No,' Harry replied with a calm he found strenuous.

'Has she ever forced or pressured you to do anything at all?' Dumbledore persisted.

'No!' Harry responded, more insistent in return.

'Would you be willing to swear before witnesses regarding this issue?'

'Yes, I would,' Harry answered coldly. 'I presume she's facing an inquiry in front of the Board of Governors then?'

'Quite so.' Dumbledore sighed. 'Though I don't expect any results, whatever the face of affairs. I hardly believe it necessary to elaborate...'

Relaxing in his highly decorated chair, the headmaster continued, 'While I always suspected that there would eventually be trouble for appointing so young a teacher, little did I expect this. You will be the object of envy for all the sixth and seventh year boys, I expect.' Dumbledore chuckled.

Harry, on the other hand, found the thought hardly appealing. 'I assume you questioned her as well, Professor?'

'Naturally. In short, she told me she received an official invitation to the Black Ball and spent a sociable evening in good company. Due to the nature of the allegations, you will see that I had to ask you some questions, though.'

Seems like Aenor didn't mention anything unnecessary then, thank Merlin. Things would get troublesome if people knew we have spent so much time completely alone at our mansion...

'I hear Professor Flitwick is most impressed with you, Harry,' Dumbledore said unexpectedly. 'If the Hogwarts rumour mill doesn't fail me this time, I have to admit that an even partially physical Shield Charm is an extremely notable achievement at your age, Harry.' He levelled a friendly gaze towards Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'Did you know that Lily was quite the prodigy at Charms, incidentally? Though I'm not sure if she could have kept up if Filius didn't exaggerate.'

Snape suddenly spun around and relieved Harry of the effort of coming up with an answer. 'Moving on to your situation at school, Black.'

Harry looked towards Dumbledore, who nodded in a demure fashion. 'Ah, yes. I am very sorry, Harry. You may not be aware, but we have tried to ensure your safety. Teachers have been assigned to keep an eye on you. Poppy and Irma are both aware of the situation, of course, seeing as you spend so much time in their respective care. But we can only do so much. I'm sure you don't want us to follow you to the dormitories or assign guards to you.'

Harry actually snorted at that, getting slightly irritated. 'I have not been aware of your…attempts, Headmaster.' Remembering the dozens of times he had dragged his body to the infirmary, he couldn't help adding, 'Or of your concern.'

Dumbledore sighed deeply and pinched his nose. 'Please, Harry, do not believe that I wish for any of my students to be harassed in this manner. My personal contention with your grandfather doesn't have anything to do with this. We have tried in earnest to make your stay at Hogwarts as comfortable as possible. We even went as far as to approach certain figures in your own House, but...'

'The matter is more complicated than we had anticipated,' Snape smoothly interrupted.

They know something! So there really are some in Slytherin who are at the very least content with the situation. What exactly do they want me to say here? I can hardly keep shrugging my shoulders for the whole conversation...

'Well, Professor, part of that is good to hear, I guess. I know this matter is a bit more than simple bullying, but-respectfully-I would like to solve that issue myself, sir. Especially since it is likely of concern to my family.' Harry tried his utmost to keep his voice casual, but it wasn't easy to keep the bitterness at bay. His mouth, Harry noted with slight surprise, rambled on before his brain could catch up. 'It wouldn't do to simply reprimand every spiteful comment and instruct the teachers to take points, anyway. You wouldn't want to escalate the matter by alienating the Ministry and your good friend Prewett.'

'Professor Prewett, Harry.' Dumbledore sighed again, his large blue eyes fixed on something lying on his desk. 'You don't trust us, Harry?' he asked regretfully.

Oh, please! As if I could be guilt-tripped that easily. 'I don't have much to say on the matter, Headmaster. Professor Snape has not acted in any way to make me especially mistrustful of him.'

Dumbledore looked tired all of a sudden. 'Somehow, that statement does not seem to encompass me, does it?'

Harry simply looked at him askance. 'Professor, your disputes with my family are the stuff of legends. Not only have you tried to hinder my grandfather's every political effort, you have also personally affronted him by helping Sirius leave the family. I'm sorry, but to me it would seem foolish to trust you just like that.'

Just as the old warlock opened his mouth, he hastily interjected, waving his hand in annoyance. 'I have got nothing against Sirius, Headmaster. But the point stands that you personally meddled in family business, something that is completely beyond your responsibilities.'

'So you share your grandfather's views then?' Dumbledore asked in a quiet voice of resignation.

'Most of them, certainly. And why not? Why should we back down, Professor? Most students nowadays do not even know how to traditionally greet a witch or wizard. Have you asked yourself how many people still know of the old solstice customs? Have you questioned yourself what part you play in this, Headmaster? Frivolously announcing Christmas, never even attempting to integrate the Muggle-borns? From my perspective, you are one of the chief suspects in this whole mess we find ourselves in. You may not wield the axe, but you stand alongside the deathsman, all the same.'

Dumbledore looked as if he had bitten into a lemon. Professor Snape's face-in a diligent effort-revealed nothing at all. 'I see. All I can say on the matter is that I have my reasons. I don't doubt that you and your grandfather both mean well, but the pressure has been overwhelming for decades at the very least. Why lead magical Britain into a conflict over traditions that most witches and wizards perceive as archaic? I cannot deny that I too feel a certain sorrow, but I don't deem it worth the risk of starting a confrontation.'

'To some of us, Headmaster, it is part of our identity. Curiously enough, in any muggle counterparts of our nations, you have to bow to the customs, languages, and quirks of your new host if you wish to immigrate. It actually is the law! How laughable that the only thing you would not wish the Muggles to share with us is their own insight.'

Dumbledore shot him a long, penetrating look that seemed to search beyond the surface. 'What would you do about the issue then, Mr Black?'

Harry averted his eyes with ostentation and looked towards Snape. The man indicated the door with a nod. 'If I believed my way of living systematically under attack, Headmaster,' Harry stood up and turned his back on Dumbledore, 'I would correct that deplorable circumstance by means that prove effective.' Leaving the missing word dangerously hanging in the air, Harry exited the office without looking back.

~BLHD~

Harry and his Head of House descended the stairs in silence. Harry would have felt better kicking the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, but resisted the childish urge to injure his bones.

'I still have business to attend to,' Professor Snape said when the passage had completely sealed itself again. 'I trust you can make your way to the Great Hall without me holding your hand, Black?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied grumpily, betokening a light bow.

'One last thing, Black. The headmaster may be the indulgent and forgiving kind, but it will generally serve you no purpose to anger people in positions to make your life difficult.'

Swallowing his first response, Harry bowed more politely this time. 'You are right, of course, sir. I realise that my temper is something I have to work on.'

Professor Snape's lips curled in an unfriendly manner. 'Well, let us hope the inner Black in you will triumph eventually.' Leaving him with those cryptic words to consider, Snape strode away, robes billowing behind him.

Looking back, Harry couldn't completely deny that he'd been rather hard on the headmaster, who might even have expressed genuine concern for his situation. He should've tried to deal with Dumbledore based on their own, personal (meaning fresh and unladen) relationship, as long as no family business was involved. Harry was sure that his grandfather wouldn't be impressed when he learned that he had lost his temper over something that didn't concern him personally, as the young Black had been warned time and again that politeness is the proper way to face even your enemies in public.

Sighing, he turned around...and froze, eyes bulging.

Leaning against the wall of the corridor that led to the Great Hall was Tracey, her whole body covered with wounds and blood, her left arm hanging lifelessly and stiffly at her side. 'Harry...Thank God, there you are,' she called weakly. Her left calf seemed to have suffered some wound from a sharp object or Cutting Curse. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen and pale blue.

'TRACEY!' he shouted in alarm, rushing towards her. 'What in the blazes happened to you?! We need to get Pomfrey!'

'No, Harry...Daphne...' Her voice was unusually wispy, trembling even.

Ignoring the shiver running down his spine, Harry drew his wand. 'Where is she?'

'A bit further down the corridor, please...Couldn't get all of them.' She turned around and hobbled at considerable speed towards a dark corridor.

Harry followed silently, rage building behind his eyes. 'Who was it? What happened?'

She limped around a corner, and it took her a while to answer. '...Don't know. They just suddenly jumped us...told us to spill. I-I think they're other Slytherins.'

'Did you recognise any of them?' Harry demanded, grinding his teeth as he continued to grip his wand tightly.

Shaking her head, she led him on. 'C-come quickly, Harry.'

They traversed many fairly empty corridors, nearing a part of the fourth floor that was mostly abandoned. Getting impatient, Harry shouted after Tracey, who had quickened her pace even more, 'How much farther is it?'

'Not far, Harry,' she murmured, vanishing into another corridor. 'Greengrass is just here around the corner.'

Sprinting around the corner with rewound vigour, Harry's heart suddenly missed a beat. Greengrass?

Throwing his body to the ground on a hunch, he felt something pass over his hair. Harry flicked his wand and thought with all his might, 'Protego!'

Something collided with his Shield Charm, and lifting his head, Harry could make out several obscure figures that clung to the shadows. All of them had their wands drawn.

'God, you're such a wanker, messing up like that,' one of them called out disgustedly.

'I-I panicked, the potion was failing already. How could I have known he was strolling around the headmaster's office?!' Another unknown voice shot back at the first.

'Cut the crap! What are we supposed to do know? That shield's trouble!'

Harry's eyes widened, trying to keep track of the speakers. He didn't recognise a single voice, and his head started spinning, though he wasn't exactly sure why that was the case. He surely hadn't burnt out from just a bit of running?

'All of you, attack the shield from all angles with force,' the first voice commanded.

More than half a dozen curses collided with his shield all at once, throwing him forcefully into the cold stone wall, though his shield held strong – for now. Merlin, they're using Blasting Curses! It's over if they get through! Withstanding the incoming spells with all his might, Aenor's voice suddenly popped into his mind: 'I would like to stress the point that shields are a good defensive tool but do only have a small place in real duelling. Being able to cast a second spell while holding your shield in place requires such prodigious skill that it may be more accurate to label it an innate talent...'

Laughing hysterically under the unending flashes of light, shouts and the burst of adrenaline, Harry acknowledged the point his tutor had made in their first ever Defence lesson. Guess it's time for a gamble.

Waiting for the slightest window of opportunity, Harry threw himself to the side, ceased to feed his shield, threw his left hand before his eyes and flicked his wand sideways twice. Not a second later, his wand erupted in a blinding flash of light of such ferocity that he saw the backsides of his eyelids flare up red despite the protective measure. At the same time as he heard the pained cries of several people all around him, he felt himself get lifted off his feet and hurled across the room with an enormous accompanying bang, colliding painfully with a door at his back, the handle drilling agonisingly into his flesh. Coughing and fighting for air, he crouched down, holding his shattered ribs. He had trouble standing up or maintaining any semblance of balance. His head's sole purpose seemed to be restricted to tormenting Harry as thoroughly as possible, layering red, black and white dots over his vision, crushing his concentration with a screeching sound that went on and on. Eardrums ruptured, heavy concussion, were the thoughts that eventually formed in his mind.

Willing his eyes to remain open, he could make out several people lying on the ground, crying in pain. Some were clawing at their eyes, others retching on the floor. One person was left standing, though he too was leaning against a wall, eyes closed.

Harry observed the scene in a rather detached manner, only registering what he saw many seconds later. Oh, Merlin! I need to do something, anything! Miraculously, he still had his wand in his hand, but his shoulder seemed to be dislocated or broken, as he discovered when a new, hot streak of pain ran through his body when he tried to lift the implement of his magic. Great, so no way to direct my magic? Disgusted, he looked down at his wand that was, after all his efforts, now ironically pointing at himself. Oh, arm's broken, too, he dimly remarked to himself.

Keeping his eyes open was taking up more and more of his concentration. Damn body; keep going, you stupid adrenal glands! Trying not to succumb to the doziness, Harry desperately thought about any spell that could salvage the situation. All offensive spells are out, not my forte anyway. Shielding myself again won't help me, it'll just prolong my suffering. Hiding, silencing, shrouding won't help either. Those spells will fade when I lose consciousness which, SWEET MORGANA MY HEAD, doesn't seem too far off.

The figure that leaned against the wall opened its homicidally red eyes, glaring at Harry through concealed features. A few others had also stopped throwing up, and one or two were slowly crawling towards the nearest wall. Frantically thinking back on the spells he'd recently studied, Harry's heart quickened even further. Cheering Charm? Tempting but useless. Engorgement Charm? Just what I need, larger limbs to ache probably equals more pain. Summoning? Banishing? Aguamenti? No, no...NO!

The person opposite Harry made a very deliberate movement to pick up his wand that had fallen to the ground. As of now, he was fumbling around several feet away from its real location but...

Come on, Harry. You can't tell me there's nothing! You even got the stupid Patronus down after two weeks. There has to be something to call for he...wait!

Staring blankly at his wand for a few precious moments, Harry closed his eyes and-with monumental effort-recalled the time when he had first seen his newfound family. It was hard to rid his mind of the pain that surged through his limbs, but the memory of them standing among the ruins, wands in their hands, looking heroically battered but so very determined was among those that were always at the front of his mind. Sirius and Regulus had been with Arcturus back then, though that had not been the case for very long, of course, he remembered with a dull echo of grief. Still, they had taken him in. Him, Harry; alone, betrayed, betrayer and pawn of fate that he was. Arguably their political enemy, they had rescued him, nourished him, given him a place to stay and find peace. A home without pressure, without dependency and with no strings attached...

Reminding Arcturus telling him in a stirred voice full of pride that he had officially declared Harry his heir, Harry opened his moist eyes and, drawing upon the love and gratitude he felt for those he held dearest, he furiously shouted the words that he bet his rescue on...

~BLHD~

Hermione moodily stabbed at the food in front of her, all the enthusiasm she had had for classes to resume seemingly leached out of her. While most in Slytherin were looking disturbed or at least concerned by the news of Harry being found half-dead in an empty corridor that, so the story claimed, did resemble nothing short of a war-zone, some students were buzzing with excited chatter. The Ravenclaws and most of the Hufflepuffs seemed to have the decency to at least pretend to be shocked at that casual display of cruel vindictiveness, whereas some of the Puffs and most of Gryffindor house seemed to regard the matter as a joke that was-maybe-slightly overdone. A few even seemed to be thankful that the school was now much safer without the notorious scion of the Blacks, at least for the time being. Some redhead over at the Gryffindor table was laughing loudly at something presumably hilarious that had to do with stomping on a person lying on the ground.

Feeling ill all of a sudden, Hermione shoved the plate away from her and cast a disdainful gaze towards the table at the front. Most teachers were looking very grave, especially Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Her Head of House seemed oddly indifferent. Once or twice, she caught him looking towards the door, and it seemed to Hermione that he was just barely suppressing a smirk. Even more incomprehensibly, Professor Rose looked almost eager. Hermione silently cursed the situation she found herself in. Her friend was in the infirmary, or maybe St Mungo's by now, and she'd only heard of it by chance, just when she had finally decided to resolve the mess she had helped create. After a great deal of pondering her situation at Hogwarts during the holidays, her parents (when she had finally gathered the courage to confide in them and told them of her estrangement with Harry) had encouraged her to try and talk it out with her friend directly. Even if, so they said, she had inadvertently hurt him, the situation would never improve without her working on it. But nobody was allowed to visit Harry apparently, though that certainly hadn't deterred Greengrass from sprinting off in an insane rush, dragging Tracey along the way. Draco was sitting a few places down the table, pale and without any of his usual easy-going attitude, completely ignoring his little gang around him.

Suddenly, a loud bang disrupted Hermione's train of thought. She couldn't help herself and thought of bombs, fully aware how ridiculous that assumption was. The general chatter didn't ebb, of course. Loud noises were all too common at Hogwarts, after all; Peeves–for instance–being a chief proponent of spontaneous chaos. Hermione looked questioningly towards the head-table where, to her surprise, all the teachers had stopped eating. Professor Prewett seemed to be hesitantly reaching for his wand.

Another acoustic shock rang through the hall, this time loud enough to rattle the windows. A few people squealed and looked worriedly towards the windows or the great oaken portal that led to the Great Hall.

With a sense of foreboding, Hermione covered her ears with her hands and ducked. This turned out to be a smart decision, as the third explosion blasted the massive 18-foot tall gate off its hinges, spraying splinters across half the hall.

Hermione gasped and turned to look at the wreck, along with hundreds of fearful faces. The silence was so complete that she could hear the low breathing of her immediate neighbours, which is why she heard the footsteps long before she could make anything out in the swirling dust...

A lone figure strode through the wreckage. With a barely perceivable flick of a wand, it batted the remains of the once great door (that Hermione estimated to easily weigh a ton or two) to the sides of the hall as if they were flies caught in the wake of a devil. The silent assailant slowly strode down the aisle in the middle, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of terrified stares. Hermione shuddered at the sound of the debris crunching under the measured stride of this mysterious stranger...

As the dust steadily settled, she started making out the outlines of a rather small person. Clad in impeccable robes of flowing velvet, there stood a wizard with shrunken features who didn't seem much younger than Dumbledore himself. Yet, even so, not completely unlike their headmaster, a feeling of gravitas coated this old man.

'Good evening, Headmaster,' the refined voice called out almost politely, yet the repressed anger was palpable; it permeated the ear like barely contained deadly radiation, waiting to break free and devour them whole. 'I am so very sorry to interrupt dinner, but I would like to have a short word in your office. Right this instant...'

'You don't own this castle! You don't get to make any demands here!' Professor Prewett shouted from his seat. Even though he was obviously seething with rage, Prewett's aura almost faded into the background as the lone old man slowly turned his head towards him.

'Be silent, you fool!' whispered the old one dangerously. Hermione had the urge to lean in and be closer to the man, but she doubted that the student sitting closest to the door had any trouble listening to his every word. His voice was…mesmerising.

Their History of Magic instructor, however, didn't seem to take being called to silence lightly. With a look of pure hatred, he raised his wand toward the figure beneath him...

Both men slashed their wands simultaneously, to the shocked outcries of several people. In barely one second, half a dozen spells sprang from the tip of both wands. Hermione could hardly keep her eyes from popping out of her skull; she couldn't identify a single spell being used, though their teacher seemed to favour transfiguration, while the unknown assailant used strangely blurred spells that filled the air with something like electricity, making her hair even more unruly. Just as a red volley of sizzling spells impacted an invisible barrier in front of Professor Prewett, the stranger made a sudden sweeping gesture with his empty left hand.

To Hermione's and every other student's utter astonishment, their teacher was immediately lifted off his feet and smashed into the wall fifteen yards from where he had stood.

Panic ensued almost instantly. Several students started screaming, a few even fumbled for their wands. Hermione just could not help but gape at the crumpled figure of her history teacher, who was vaunted throughout Britain for his prowess in magical combat.

The fourth bang that rang through the hall that evening was so loud that it stunned most people left standing. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, his own wand visible for all to see. 'Prefects, accompany your respective houses to your common rooms! You may continue your dinner therein.'

Finally turning towards the newcomer, he gave a courteous if stiff little bow, indicated the door behind the teacher's table and said in a strained voice, 'After you, Lord Black.'