Black Luminary

by YakAge

The war against the Dark Lord was the last straw. The oppressed, fed up with oligarchy, corruption, and injustice, sharpened their knives, rallying behind those who promised change. They won. Today, Magical Britain is a changed country – for the better. Hail and praise to our saviours! Finally, all is well. But listen! Can't you hear the grindstone turning still ...?

63. ML: Accord

Accord

---

Harry's heart was beating like a rusty pump struggling with its last, jarring effort. 'He made the Dark Lord one of us?!' he heard himself whisper in a raspy voice of pure disbelief and horror. 'Who else knows about this?!'

Arcturus Black closed his eyes, sinking into the folds of his chair, and it struck Harry that – for once – he looked his age. 'Few. This was, unfortunately, the first time I was able to freely divulge this bit of troubling news. I suspect it was considerably easier in your case since you – at least – do not subconsciously try to remain oblivious to the Dark Lord's connection to us. The Rosiers know. Regulus knew. Maybe some suspect but are unable to freely convey their suspicions. That, I'm afraid, is the extent of all the assistance we can expect. It is a sorry company we keep, my son.'

Harry gulped down what felt like a brick. Of course, Regulus had known. Promise me, Harry! Promise! 'And the rest?'

'The rest, you see, are about as much subject to the Dark Lord's influence as they are to mine. Even though my position as Head of House should give my views prominence, you have to consider how utterly, inexplicably powerful the Dark Lord truly is. His hold on our family, I'm afraid, is at least as extensive as my own – despite my best efforts. I have secretly been working on this quandary for decades, but I never uncovered how to rid us of this leech.'

'And then there was me,' muttered Harry.

Arcturus Black nodded politely. 'And then there was you. When your situation came up, when Sirius begged for my help, that all coincided with the depressing insight that I would never be able to directly challenge the Dark Lord, and so I devised a plan, a plan so radical and daring that it took me years to convince the family of its necessity, a matter indefinitely complicated by my inability to disclose my true motivations. But here we finally are. You, Harry, must become the Lord of the Blacks and do whatever necessary – no matter the cost – to cleanse this family of its dark stain!'

Harry lowered his eyes, staring at his hands. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

'Thankfully, the Dark Lord's seclusion has – so far – worked to our advantage, I believe. The moment he resurfaces, I will resign from my position to insulate this family from his influence. I have been working for years for that very moment, my son. I have gathered allies in as many places as I could, I have acquired and placed pawns, contacts, and friends among the great and powerful of well-nigh every nation in Europe and some beyond. We have access to the press, we have family among the Ministry, and – as you found out only tonight – I have managed to plant contacts with the ICW's Head Auror himself. You have met Josef, Armin and the rest already, of course. I have done everything, anything at all possible, for you to realise your destiny, going so far as to allow our position in Britain to stagnate at best and deteriorate at worst. You, my son, must make use of all the backing I have acquired, spend resources and contacts alike as you see fit, and conquer that which conquered us. Harry, you have always been the unknowing protagonist of my plot to dethrone the usurper and take back what is rightfully ours! And that is why I need you to shed your past once and for all and stand proud; our future, unknowingly and unfairly, is resting entirely on your shoulders.'

Memory Lane

'How trustworthy is this information, Severus?' asked Albus Dumbledore softly, leaning back in his comfortable throne behind his desk and stealing a glance at some whirling instruments of his own design that spun away with fretful haste.

'Trustworthy enough,' said the Potions Master curtly. 'It wasn't Karkaroff but the boy's father who contacted me.'

'Ah – Igor. Some men, I fear, never change.'

Severus Snape nodded jerkily.

Albus Dumbledore sighed. 'Durmstrang … Durmstrang. Why Durmstrang …? What is it you're looking for, Miss Rose? What are you searching for? And to what end?'

'How can you be sure this has anything at all to do with Professor Rose, Albus?' asked Professor McGonagall. 'As terrible as it is, this boy's disappearance might well have a thousand explanations!'

'He didn't disappear,' drawled Severus. 'The foolish boy is dead! No paltry parlour trick could hoodwink his family's magical ancestral portrait gallery.'

'But we all know that Durmstrang Institute has always had an unfortunate tolerance of horrific accidents!' insisted McGonagall. 'What makes you think this isn't one of them?!'

'Firstly,' said Albus Dumbledore calmly, 'because we did not hear this from Igor directly. If anything, this makes it clear to me that this is a matter he wants to be kept low-profile.'

'The boy was the third son, as I am given to understand,' interjected Severus, his dark, penetrating eyes darting to the letter in his hands. 'The Ivanovs will be fully prepared to accept a reasonable recompense to sweep this incident under the rug. As we speak, a story is being spun of the boy's withdrawal from school. He was neither gifted nor loved; there won't be too many questions asked.'

Minerva made a face of pure loathing and disgust, but Albus nodded politely in his Potions Master's direction. 'The innocents are always the first to suffer, Minerva,' he said in a gentle tone. 'I find it curious that the matter is being handled in a way that suggests importance and secrecy where there shouldn't be need for either. Need I remind you that Igor is not in the habit of hushing up crippling injuries – even deaths?'

'He considers them the ultimate lesson,' added Severus.

'Awful,' muttered Minerva. 'This is an innocent boy we're talking about!'

'Not anymore,' remarked Severus.

'Severus!'

'Any witnesses?' asked Albus.

'None.'

'Do we have knowledge of books missing? Research? Any clue whatsoever that might explain what led to the boy's murder?'

'As I said, Headmaster, Karkaroff has not seen fit to inform me of this latest incident. From what my sources can tell, it's business as usual at Durmstrang. If you will excuse the dramatics, one might go so far as to say that it's even more business than usual.'

'Ah. I see. Well, if Igor wants this kept quiet, we certainly won't find eager witnesses. While he might be forbidden from harming – and by extension obliviating – his own students, it might well be within Igor's frame of mind to allow other people such a thing in his stead.'

'What utter hogwash. Albus, come to your senses! We are talking about cold-blooded murder!'

'I am aware,' said Albus demurely.

Minerva huffed snappishly. 'You said you had good reasons to suspect Professor Rose's involvement? Well? Let's hear them. If the rest is anything as flimsy as the first two, I'll excuse myself. I have more important business to attend to than wild speculation and gossip.'

'Why it's nothing but the remarkable coincidence that brings our approaching visitor to my doorstep at this very hour.'

'What visitor?' asked Minerva, looking at him with confusion.

There was a polite knock, shifting everyone's attention towards the door of the office. Albus Dumbledore smiled at his two trusted friends. 'Come in, Miss Rose.'

And indeed, as Albus had surmised, the person to enter and politely bow her head in his direction first and the Heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin second was none other than his intractable Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had so famously vanished without a trace only a few weeks ago. The teacher, Albus reminded himself, that Arcturus Black and Lucius Malfoy had pushed for him to accept. A teacher he had more than vague misgivings about. A teacher he was certain was discussing improper material.

As smitten as most of the upper years were with his youngest employee, word had – inadvertently – reached him of her practical classes regarding the Imperius, of how she had demonstrated the other two curses on live animals during her NEWT courses, of how she had given insight into the nature, theory, and application of those horrible curses, insight students shouldn't ever have to suffer bearing. True – the Unforgivables were part of the curriculum, but had any teacher ever had the gall, the lack of empathy to stand in front of a crowd of youths and nonchalantly butcher defenceless animals in a detached, methodical sort of way?

No witch or wizard her age had any business knowing how to – never mind being able to – perform these vilest of curses in the first place. She hadn't broken the law as such, or indeed not in any way that had reached his ears, but could anyone really fault Albus for his misgivings?

He had seen this kind of clinical approach to Dark Magic twice before, and never had it boded well. Neither for poor, defenceless Hogwarts nor for Magical Britain – or his conscience.

'Miss Rose,' he said with polite detachment, returning her pointedly conservative greeting. 'Please do come in.'

'Professor Rose!' Minerva cried out with far less reservation. 'Where have you been?! Do you have any idea how much trouble your disappearance has caused?!'

Again, mused Albus silently, watching Minerva fret over the young woman. Again this mysterious young woman vanishes without a trace, and again we stumble upon a cold trail of colder bodies. Misfortune and foreboding, it seems, are as sweet to look at as they are bitter to the taste.

'I do so apologise,' said Aenor Rose with a stunning impression of embarrassed discomfort one had to admire. The way she stood tensely in front of his desk, clutching one of her arms in a gesture of abashment; the way she averted her gaze, eyes flickering anxiously about the room and constantly evading their looks; the way she stood slightly bent forward; the way her voice sounded just a touch higher than usual – all of it made Albus want to believe that he was merely dealing with a distressed young woman. If only he could.

'Well?' said Severus, unmoved and clearly equally sceptical. 'I think this is where you present your excuse.'

Albus could easily dismiss her for gross negligence of duty, and they all knew it. He would have to deal with Arcturus' response, of course, but nobody could accuse him of partiality. Behind closed doors, well, that was another thing entirely, but out in the open? Even if Lucius involved the Ministry, there wouldn't be cause to officially object to his decision.

The young woman nervously licked her lips. 'I … I have none.'

Severus raised an eyebrow.

'None?' asked Minerva, reeling. 'What do you mean, none?!'

'Perhaps Miss Rose wishes to suggest that she simply got lost?' drawled Severus delicately. 'Forgot the time, I dare say?'

'Of course I didn't! But my family –' She made a painfully obvious show of biting her tongue that Albus thought was stage-ready, but he decided to pick up the conversation where it was being led regardless.

'Yes?' he asked mildly.

'N-no, I can't. I'm sorry,' said young Miss Rose, bowing deeply. 'I realise that … that's unacceptable, but I'm prepared to take the fair consequences.'

This time, even Albus raised an eyebrow.

'What are you talking about, Professor?!' Minerva was trying to make her look up again but Miss Rose only shook her long silvery mane, refusing to stand straight. When Albus didn't intervene, Minerva gave him a scolding look, rubbing the young woman's back in a motherly fashion. 'She is distressed, Albus! Can't we discuss this later?'

'There won't be a "later",' said Severus callously. 'I have a potion on the fire that will require my attention shortly.'

'Until when?' demanded Minverva.

'Until such time as I decide otherwise!'

'No … no, it's all right,' said Miss Rose weakly, taking a deep, quivery breath and standing straight. 'Thank you, Professor McGonagall, but … I understand. Back at … home, family takes precedence. I know my actions caused the entire school a great deal of trouble, but … well … my errand was of grievous importance.'

'Of course it was,' commented Severus derisively.

Minerva put one arm around Miss Rose's shoulder, turning to glare at her colleague.

'Back at home, you say,' said Albus. 'Where is that exactly?'

There was a moment of silence.

'You never said,' urged Albus gently, knowing full well the lengths someone would have to go to in order to prevent Severus from uncovering their past.

She looked up, studying his face for the briefest of moments. Albus took the opportunity to do the same. The calculating way she was sizing him up was – undoubtedly – the most honest bit of this night's mummers' play.

'Jutland,' she mumbled, almost inaudibly.

To Albus' surprise, it rang of honesty. Ah, he thought. Sweet truth at last.

'Jutland?' repeated Minerva with a glassy smile. 'Don't they have some kind of magical law that … well –'

'That gives precedence to matters of family and disallows state interventions,' said Severus in a bored voice. 'How, ah, convenient. Truly regrettable how Jutland prides itself on autonomy and personal liberty. Why, as far as I recall, they don't even force their subjects to register!' He sneered dismissively. 'A likely excuse.'

Aenor Rose shrugged before she straightened up. 'Well,' she said lamely. 'It's true though. I don't have any means to prove it, but I assure you –'

'We are,' said Severus with visible pleasure, 'long past assurances.'

'Severus!' Minerva chided her colleague with another sharp glance. The Transfiguration Mistress looked at Albus for help, but the headmaster sensed an opportunity. This one time, not even the Blacks could help Aenor Rose. And that meant she would have to compromise.

'Perhaps I might be willing to accept your assurance,' suggested Albus softly, ignoring Severus' look of outrage. 'Under the condition that you provide us with some other credible detail of your origin. Just to assuage undue concerns, naturally.'

'Albus! I will not allow you to coerce a young wo–'

Albus Dumbledore raised a hand. 'Coercion would be stretching the facts, my dear Minerva. You cannot reasonably expect me to overlook such conduct without – as Miss Rose so aptly put it – assurances. If you cannot find it in yourself to make this small concession, I'm afraid you take matters out of my hands.'

Again there was that brief, shifty look of calculation.

'We're wasting our time,' said Snape impatiently. 'Why did you even bother to crawl back to us if you're not even prepared to offer that much? I doubt it's the fear of losing your job.'

'I do want to return to Hogwarts,' insisted Miss Rose.

'Then answer the headmaster's questions!'

Albus' and his wayward teacher's gazes met. Her cool, chilly eyes were like stained glass that barely managed to mask a world of cold cunning and thoughts as sharp as a shark's set of teeth.

'I could just go,' she said, nodding towards the door.

'Of course,' agreed Albus heavily. 'You're free to leave at any point in time. But you don't want to go, do you, Miss Rose?'

'Nor do you want me to leave, Headmaster. Not yet, in any case. Not before you solve this puzzle.'

Albus smiled benignly into his lengthy beard. 'Levelling my own curiosity against me? How indelicate of you, Miss Rose. But unless I'm very much mistaken, I dare say you came here with a specific request in mind that goes beyond merely staying at Hogwarts. Isn't that so?'

She stared at him for a few seconds. 'That's right,' she said eventually, her posture devoid of any previous display of servility. 'A favour, so to speak.'

And here it comes, thought Albus with satisfaction. 'Oh?' he said aloud, reaching for his supply of sweets. 'And what favour would that be?'

'I want to take the young Black as my apprentice.'

Albus' hand froze. He looked up, returning the woman's unflinching, penetrating stare. 'I'm sorry?'

'I want Harry Black as my apprentice. I want to teach him, and I want him to learn. Without undue meddling.'

Albus and Severus exchanged a glance.

'Does Lord Black know of this?' asked Albus mildly, prepared to bet that he didn't. Any Black, even one as young as Harry, would rather cross the Sahara barefooted than submit to the will of another.

'No.'

'This school will not tolerate backroom deals,' said Severus. 'Especially none of such political volatility! Apprenticeships are meant to further science in a given field of study! And furthering the science of your subject, Miss Rose, hardly seems like anything a sixteen-year-old can assist with.'

'In any case, apprenticeships are for students that have passed their NEWTs,' interjected Minerva hesitantly. 'Let the boy take his OWLs at the very least before we continue this talk of –'

'Charms. It's about Charms, not … Defence,' said Miss Rose, shaking her head, keeping her eyes fixed on Albus. 'He will manage.'

'If you're interested in furthering his academic growth,' suggested Severus with a humourless smile, 'I suggest we consult Filius. He, I am sure, would be overjoyed to take Harry Black under his wing.'

Like a rotting corpse coming back to life, Aenor Rose's head snapped towards Severus with one horribly abrupt jerky movement, and the man actually recoiled. Minerva, with a look of confusion, blinked helplessly at this change in demeanour.

'Defence!' Severus insisted victoriously, taking a step forward again. 'Your subject is Defence, Miss Rose. If – need I remind you – you should be allowed to stay at all!'

'It has to be me!' she hissed. She jerked her head towards Albus again. The colour of her eyes hadn't changed, of course, and yet it was like comparing the fresh winds of a mild London winter to the frosty, blood-freezing gales of the endless polar waste. The subtle temptation to succumb to Legilimency, to have the briefest of peeks, died within Albus like the last ember of a shrinking campfire subjected to an endless gale of ice and snow.

He stared back at her, watching her master her anger. Severus' insistence had got to her. For good reason, of course. An apprenticeship was – at most – a matter of formality. It was archaic to exchange the traditional oaths but hardly more than a queer personal choice. And yet, it was something this woman wanted desperately, and that alone was reason enough for Albus to deliberate on the matter.

She clenched her fist – once, twice. Then, she exhaled, visibly relaxing. 'Fine,' she said with newfound tranquillity. 'What do you want?'

And Albus smiled. 'What do you want to teach Harry Black?'

'Charms!'

With a sigh of disappointment, Albus picked a sweet, starting to unwrap it with relish and no hint of haste. 'Why not try an earnest request, Miss Rose? Why not try honesty for once?'

She returned a look of irritated indignation. 'Oh, but I am! I already am, Mr Dumbledore.'

'Where did you attend school?' continued Albus, seemingly engrossed by the wrapper of his sweet.

'… Durmstrang.'

'Did you attend for all seven years?'

'I'm home-schooled. I only ever attended to grab my diploma.' After a short pause, she added, 'And to finally leave home.'

From the corner of his eye, Albus saw Severus look up with plain disbelief.

'Not a very pleasant home?' asked Albus, plucking the sweet from its protective layer and putting it into his mouth, savouring the sugary taste of victory.

'Just home,' mumbled Rose.

'And where is that exactly?'

'Jutland.'

'So what made you decide to visit Durmstrang again?'

She wisely mulled this one over even as their eyes clashed once again. 'As I said, I wanted my diploma.'

Albus chuckled. So it wasn't going to be that easy. But – if nothing else – he always enjoyed a challenge. 'I believe you choose majors at Durmstrang. What courses did you pick, Miss Rose?'

'Wizarding History and Ancient Runes.'

Behind Miss Rose, Severus nodded curtly. And at long last, we arrive at bite-sized chunks of the truth.

Albus allowed himself to smile. 'I understand, of course, that family situations differ drastically, but why did you choose to attend under a fake name?'

'No! I want this, but this is where I draw the line.'

'I suspected as much,' said Albus courteously. 'Miss Rose, I have to confess that I am a great believer. I believe in a great many things, like the indomitable human spirit or compassion. But above all, it is my view that most problems on this, our Earth, could be solved if people simply started talking openly and honestly with one another.' His fingers hovered over his pot of sweets. 'And this little talk of ours, I believe, leaves me with a foretaste for more.'

Rose flicked her tongue, looking away.

'I will allow you to resume your post as Defence teacher, and I will not protest whatever you and Mr Black come to an agreement about – given that the decision is reached freely and without any sort of pressure, naturally.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Of course,' she said sarcastically. 'I suppose you would know all about agreements under pressure, Headmaster.'

Again, Albus chuckled. It really was a shame. He quite enjoyed this type of banter. 'We all do as we believe we have to, Professor Rose. I will allow you all this,' he reached for another sweet, 'under the condition that we continue our open, honest talk at some other point in time.'

She glared at him. 'Fine.' With a whirl of her robes, she was at the door, slamming it shut behind her with such force that a few of the portraits, much to their inhabitants' displeasure, rattled dangerously.

'Was there any need for all of this, Albus?' asked Minerva quietly.

'I rather think so, yes. Progress was made, and I will have the perfect excuse to inquire further if she really insists on her private lessons.'

'That's coercion, Albus!'

'It's diplomacy, Minerva. Though – I admit – the dividing line is blurry.'

'Are you really going to let her teach Harry Black in private?' asked Severus.

'I rather think so, yes. We have never been able to spy at their meetings in any event, so this really isn't much of a concession. I wonder why she so desperately wants this apprenticeship. Maybe she isn't as closely linked to the Blacks as we thought. After all, if she were, why not simply make a request to young Harry's guardian?'

'Why don't you ask her about it,' suggested Minerva sardonically. 'Diplomatically!'

Albus chuckled, treating himself to another sweet. 'If it comes to that, I just might.'

Memory Lane

The Hogwarts Express raced through the Scottish Highlands, cutting a path through the wilderness like an insatiable iron snake. Hermione was looking forward to being back at Hogwarts again. Considering everything that had happened – Harry's overwhelming environment, her stand-off with Amadina, the party afterwards, and especially her blackout – Hermione felt that she needed a break from holidays. She was also looking forward to her lessons because the Black Ball had driven one thing home: she absolutely had to learn as much as possible, and quickly, if she ever wanted to be someone in this world of magic. She had recognised no fewer than four – four! – European Ministers for Magic at the ball. Not to mention the other dignitaries and guests she hadn't been able to put a name to.

'Something off the trolley, dears?' asked a voice from the door.

Draco snorted. 'No?' he drawled in a way that made it clear what he thought of the trolley and the woman pushing it.

'Suit yourself, deary.'

'Feeling a bit shirty?' asked Tracey, munching on her sheer endless supply of cookies.

Draco snorted again, looking away with a truly ugly scowl.

'Are you still upset about the ball?' asked Hermione with as much tact as possible.

'Upset?!' he repeated testily. 'Why would I be upset?! I'm not upset. I'm chill! I'm as chill as can be!'

'If you say so!' agreed Hermione hastily, backing off immediately.

'Don't mind him, Hermione,' said Daphne, who – to Hermione's surprise – hadn't insisted on a place next to Harry like she'd done nearly every other ride. 'I don't even know what his problem is this time. Not that I'd care even if I knew.'

Draco cursed under his breath but didn't reply.

Amadina smirked. From Hermione's point of view, the girl's drive to needle Draco was almost pathological. 'I think I know what this is about,' Amadina leered at Draco, who refused to catch her eye. 'He's been trying to score Parkinson for months, but now even a nerd like my own brother got to see her huge, bouncy –'

'I DON'T CARE AT ALL!' yelled Draco so loudly that Hermione's ears rang. 'And it's not like I was the only one, right? Harry missed the show as well. Didn't he? You did, didn't you, Harry? Tell me you did already!'

'That's right,' muttered Harry, staring out of the window.

'So you didn't see a thing, did you?'

'Not a thing,' replied Harry with the same tone of absent-minded disregard.

'You could at least pretend that it's a big deal, you know.'

If Harry thought it was a big deal, he certainly didn't look it. Instead of answering, he put his hand under his chin, his gaze firmly locked on the blurry landscape.

'Hey! I'm talking to you!'

Harry glanced at Draco, his brow furrowed. 'Hmm?'

'Oh, come on! What's got you so occupied, Mr Serious?!'

'Anyway!' said Hermione quickly. 'I'm really looking forward to Occlumency, Draco. I've done some studying in the meantime, and I'd really like to have someone as knowledgeable as you give his opinion!'

Draco's angry snarl instantly vanished, replaced by the smuggest of smirks imaginable. 'Well. I'll be able to find some time soon, I'm sure.'

'Hermione,' said Tracey slowly, 'you, er, do realise Draco's onto you, right?'

'What?'

'He's intentionally letting you calm him down with your lavishing praise. I wouldn't have said anything, but it's getting a bit pathetic, to be honest.'

Hermione turned to stare at Draco, who was glaring at Tracey.

'What?!' Everyone, Hermione was uncomfortably aware, was looking at her with something like pity. Well, everyone except Draco, who looked annoyed, and Harry, who kept staring out of the window as if afraid to miss a tree whooshing by. 'No! That can't be … right? Harry?'

'It's true,' mumbled Harry, not bothering to raise his head to speak clearly. 'He's always known. I never said he didn't; I just suggested to butter him up in case he got overbearing.'

'Hey, I'm sitting right here, you know?!' protested Draco indignantly.

'So what?' said Harry in a bored tone that might just as well have expressed his enthusiasm about the history of pewter cauldron craftsmanship.

Draco made a face. 'Good grief! You're as cold as ice, mate! Got up on the wrong side of the bed or something?'

'Maybe he's still peeved about his picture?' suggested Amadina with a grin.

Daphne nudged the other girl's knee. 'Come on, lay off it already!'

But Amadina didn't. 'If you're posing stripped to the waist when you're sixteen, it'll be porn for sure once you –'

Harry sighed like a man inconvenienced by a menial, slightly irksome task. 'Did you know, Hermione? Tracey used to call Amy "Cuddles" until she forbade her to mention the name in public.'

Amadina visibly recoiled, staring at Harry with abject horror. It couldn't be more obvious that – as far as the Lestrange girl was concerned – this was a maliciously low blow. 'Sweet Slytherin! Fine! Blimey, just say so if you're in a bad mood.'

Tracey and Daphne were both staring straight ahead with suspiciously serious expressions.

'Er,' began Hermione slowly, 'Tracey's nickname for you isn't really –'

'If you call me Cuddles once, Granger – once! – you're dead meat. I dare you!'

'I won't!' spluttered Hermione hastily. How could she? But what had got into Tracey to give Amadina Lestrange that kind of nickname?!

'It's a good story,' said Harry as if reading her mind.

'Fine. Fine! I give up. I won't mention the bloody picture anymore,' grumbled Amadina. 'Merlin! Calm down, Harry, won't you?! I was only joking around!'

For the rest of the ride, Daphne steered the conversation clear of anything related to Harry. Nobody protested – not even Amadina or Tracey. Hermione wasn't sure if he was in a foul mood or not, but it couldn't have been clearer that his mind dwelt elsewhere.

'… and I'm so looking forward to beating the crap out of that Diggory ponce! He won't get me this time!'

'If you say so,' said Leo neutrally. 'He's not a bad flyer though.'

Draco dismissively waved his hand. 'My grandpa isn't a "bad flyer" either. If it hadn't been for their Chasers outscoring us, I would've won us that first match! Anyway, you're all coming, aren't you?'

Hermione nodded. 'I've been thinking about stitching some banners, too! You know. To show our colours?'

Tracey smiled crookedly. 'You really are too sweet sometimes, honey! You wouldn't last a second without all of us!'

Hermione grinned back sheepishly. 'We'll never know, I suppose.'

'Are you coming as well, Harry?' asked Draco cautiously.

Again, Harry didn't turn around. 'Hmm?'

'The match. Hufflepuff – Slytherin. You'll be coming this time, won't you?'

'No.'

'Oh. Er. Well, okay.'

Daphne got to her feet. 'Switch, Malfoy.'

'What?'

Daphne unceremoniously pushed Draco into her vacated seat. 'I told you to move already!' She comfortably sat down on one of her legs facing Harry, a stream of whispered words gushing forth immediately.

'I told you I have more important things on my –' Harry, who didn't bother to lower his voice quite as much, managed to mumble before another flood of whispers and hisses cut him off again.

For the first time, he turned around, gazing at Daphne's earnest expression, listening.

Leo, watching them both, made a curiously academic humming sound.

'Did something happen between them?' whispered Hermione.

Tracey shrugged. 'Couldn't say. Haven't seen Daphne since the ball.'

'What? I thought she was staying with you,' said Hermione. Amadina, she realised, was rolling her eyes, and it was that which helped clue Hermione in. 'Oh. Oh! She's been with Harry? The entire time?!'

'All right, all right. I got it.' Harry, meanwhile, looked up from his private exchange with Daphne, looking at them all for what might have been the first time that day. 'I'll come to the match, Draco.'

'Great!' cheered Draco. 'You'll get to see me putting that pampered pretty-boy in his place!'

Harry nodded, turning to stare outside the window again. Daphne didn't object, putting both of her feet on the seat and leaning with her back against Harry's side. As grumpy as he had been all morning, Harry didn't protest or shrug her off.

Tracey cleared her throat, and Hermione hurriedly looked somewhere else. Leo, going by his guilty expression, had been caught staring, too.

'So …' said Hermione, braving the awkward silence. 'Apparition lessons will be back on, right? Think you'll take this test, Tracey?'

'Oh. Yeah, course. I thought about it. Anything to be rid of Twycross, right?'

Hogsmeade Station was the same turbulent, chaotic throng of overexcited students as every year. They hung back a bit, staying behind the mass of people.

'You!' shouted the Head Girl. 'Tuck your damn shirt in, scruffy! Yes, I'm talking to you, pug-face!'

The scolded Hufflepuff fourth year replied non-verbally.

There was a bang, a jet of light, a cloud of smoke, and a panicked yelp. 'I'll be taking this as evidence,' said the pony-tailed girl, holding up the offending finger she had cast a Switching Spell on.

Hermione shivered. 'She's scary.'

'Interested in becoming a prefect?' asked Tracey as the group of mutinous Hufflepuffs fled from the Head Girl's glare.

'I'm just saying a bit more kindness wouldn't hurt. I know he isn't really hurt but –'

'I'm seeing it already,' said Tracey, slapping Hermione on the back. 'Prefect Granger, a paragon of her kind!'

'Shame nobody will listen to her, course,' said Draco. 'I suppose it wouldn't be bad to boss the squirts around but, you know, it might be too much of a hassle.'

'Pity you'll never know,' said Daphne. 'Do you seriously think you stand a chance, Malfoy? I'd like to remind you there are boys in our year that aren't mannerly, morally, and mentally beyond remedy.'

'Well, it won't be me,' said Harry.

Draco coughed politely. 'She did exclude those morally beyond –'

'It might,' said Amadina, speaking a tad louder than necessary to drone out Draco. 'Dumbledore might pick you to keep an eye on you.'

'As if I'd ever accept,' scoffed Harry. 'I'd rather do anything than patrol the school at night. Anyway, we should … we … we shou–' He halted, mouth and legs both frozen in movement.

'Something the matter, Harry?' asked Hermione, following his gaze.

Harry was staring at a stranger wearing an old, shabby grey cloak. The man had brown hair that, despite his apparent youth – Hermione thought he surely couldn't be forty yet – was not so much flecked with grey as struggling to fight a losing battle against an inexorable tide of age.

Harry looked just like Hermione remembered her mother's face back when Hermione had confused sugar with salt during her first attempt at baking.

'No. He wouldn't, he didn't …'

'Harry!' called the man, waving at him from across the crowd. The man must have noticed Harry's look because his enthusiastic grin retreated, leaving behind a nervous, almost frantically enthusiastic and somewhat rueful grimace. 'Harry, that's you, isn't it?! You look so much like –'

Hermione was shoved roughly to the side when Amadina took a demonstrative step in front of Harry, her wand held loosely at her side. 'That's him, isn't it? The mutt?'

Harry managed something between a scowl and a nod.

'Harry! I'm so sorry for all of this, but could I please have a short word?'

As the man approached for what looked like a greeting, Amadina raised her wand. 'Look what the stray dragged out of the gutter.'

Daphne, right next to Hermione, gave a little yelp of understanding. 'Oh! Oh, no …' She, too, walked up to Harry, choosing to stand right at his side. Leo silently followed his sister's lead. Tracey remained standing next to Hermione and Draco, but she looked tense.

'Tell your friends to relax, Harry. Please! I just want a word. Only a few moments, I promise. No tricks! You wouldn't reply to my letters so –'

'Stay where you are, Lupin!' snarled Amadina.

'I don't mean any harm, young lady. I just want –'

'I said stay, cur!' Amadina sneered at the man's downtrodden, tatty appearance. 'Be a good boy and listen to your masters, or I'll fetch the paper.'

The man, Lupin, froze. 'You told them?' he said in a hushed voice, looking around the station with a haunted look. They were almost alone by now, but Harry – at least – didn't seem to mind anyone overhearing them. 'You told them, Harry?!'

'Of course, I did,' said Harry plumply. 'They're my friends. It's a catchy story, you have to admit, how you sold me to the government in your own stupidity.'

The man had another careful look at their group, his warm eyes widening with the shock of recognition. 'You're Bellatrix Lestrange's children, aren't you? And you … Lucius Malfoy's son? Oh my god! I never meant for it to come to this. I never meant for any of this to happen!'

'Does it help you sleep soundly at night?' asked Harry softly. 'To remind yourself what you wanted to happen instead of what you let unfold?'

'Harry, I know I made mistakes, and I couldn't even begin to tell you how sorry I am!'

'Then don't,' said Daphne coldly.

'Who are you?' asked Lupin, clutching at straws. Hermione was beyond certain that he would find no help in Daphne. 'Are you a friend of Harry's, too?'

Harry put one arm around Daphne. 'None of your business. What do you want.' It wasn't even a question, really. It was, at most, a thinly veiled dismissal.

'I'm sorry about everything, Harry. I just wanted to do what's right. I didn't know any better!'

Harry didn't react. He simply continued to stare with the same look of dispassionate distaste. 'How nice,' he said eventually in his soft voice. 'Splendid. Will that be all, then?'

'No – wait! Please, Harry! I meant the best for you. I … I loved Lily and James. I would've done anything for them. For you. I would have died for them! I might have lost the right to tell you what you should be doing, but do you think this is right?' he continued, waving his hands, and Hermione couldn't help thinking he meant the twins and Draco. 'All of this?'

'Really?' asked Harry with a sigh. 'This is what you're going for? I can't believe this … I'd easily choose any of them a thousand times over your droll gang of pranksters and prowlers.' Noticing Lupin's glance at Amadina, Harry added with a nod at the siblings, 'I'd certainly choose Amy over the memory of people whose best friends turned out to be a greedy, self-centred rat and a moony, gullible moron.'

Lupin sagged. 'You've spoken to Peter.'

'The rat, at least, had the decency to admit to his own moral obliquity. Get out of my way; I have more important things to attend to than your melancholic pining.'

'Please, Harry. An hour! I just want one hour of your time! I'll … I'll never approach you again like this, you have my word, if you just listen to what I have to say. It's important!'

'He told you to get out of his way,' snarled Amadina, raising her wand. 'Sod off already!'

'Are you really going to let her hex me? I was there when you spoke your first word, when you learned to walk! I was there when you were born! I … you were like the son I never had!'

'No,' said Harry as if the very notion disgusted him. 'I'm no son of yours; not even I am that terrible. If anything, history and chance are as much my parents as those people you worshipped. And now get out of the way. While I'd certainly let Amy hex you for all of our amusement and satisfaction, I have taken it upon myself to keep my family out of trouble.' With a nod at Lupin's shabby appearance, he added coldly, 'You seem to be doing a good job of destroying your own life even without my help in any case.'

'Don't mind me,' said Amadina with an eager glint in her eyes. 'This'd be worth a few detentions.'

'Count me in,' added Daphne grimly.

'No. He's not worth it. I don't need you both to trouble yourselves with concerns that are so far beneath us that we'd need to crouch to even spit at them. I'll give you one hour, Godfather. At a time of my choosing. But if you ever show your face to me again in this fashion, I'll contact the Werewolf Capture Unit that one of their little doggies is roaming free.'

Lupin crumbled under the weight of Harry's words. 'You'd have me caged like a beast on display?!'

Harry shrugged uncaringly, walking past Lupin at a leisurely pace, pulling Daphne and Amadina with him. 'Why wouldn't I?' he said when he'd passed him by, not bothering to turn his head. 'You did the same to me.'

Memory Lane

Only two days had passed since the students' return to Hogwarts, but Harry was having trouble focusing on any of the mundane matters the school put him up against. Ever since his talk with his grandfather, things like passing tests, attending class, or watching Quidditch just didn't seem to register on a scale that suddenly included him vanquishing the greatest Dark Lord Europe had ever seen, a Dark Lord (the thought still sent shivers down his spine) who had corrupted his family. What were the fifty points Sprout took from Slytherin when he plainly told her he didn't give a shit about the use of Dragon Dung as a fertiliser compared to that?!

It wasn't very dignified behaviour, admittedly, but the memory alone of that most despicable person he had been forced to talk to was enough to get his blood pumping. Forgiveness – the nerve! The thought made Harry's fist itch. And if all of that wasn't enough, there was that bloody picture of Rita's and all the giggling and pointing it elicited.

'Please, Harry,' implored Daphne when she'd dragged him into an abandoned corridor after the class and the ensuing ruckus had finally calmed down. 'You need to stay calm! This isn't like you at all.'

Harry had to admit she was right, but he didn't feel like saying so. 'I have –'

'– other things on your mind! Yeah, I got it,' interrupted Daphne. She sighed, lowering her head against his chest. 'Isn't there anything I can do to help?' she whispered. 'I want to help you, Harry, if only you'll let me!'

He sighed. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'It's just …'

But what exactly it was, he was unable to express – especially right then. Daphne's presence was a fountain of nightmares and an elixir of comfort, poison and antidote both. Small wonder – it was the thought of Daphne being subjected to the Dark Lord's will that terrified him most. Not only for her; he was well aware that if there was one person he was absolutely, irrefutably helpless and unable to defend himself against, it was the girl he was currently holding in his trembling arms.

But how could he ever tell her this when she had so strongly protested the notion of being under anyone's spell? It was obviously completely out of the question to mention Grindelwald's involvement with his family to anyone, especially anyone connected to his family.

The artificial isolation was painful, particularly because he was surrounded by those who suddenly lived in a different world, a world that hadn't been defiled, invaded by an enemy too great and too terrible to fathom. The worst of it was that it reminded him of the past. His past as the little boy locked away in the mansion. It was a lonely feeling, and loneliness – true loneliness – was more painful than anything Harry had felt since.

'Harry, I'll do anything – anything whatsoever – that you need me to do.'

His gut twisted painfully. 'Not this time, Daphne. This is … dangerous.'

'I don't care!' She hit her forehead against his chest, and Harry took a stumbling step backwards until he was up against the wall with Daphne almost falling on top of him. 'You don't get it, do you?!' she whispered. 'I don't want you to keep me safe; I want to be with you! I don't care what price I have to pay for that. I don't care at all!'

Harry hesitated.

'What are you dithering for?' pressed Daphne, still speaking to the floor with her head pressed against him. 'What is it you're afraid of? What is it that's terrifying you so?'

'… being alone again.'

'Then don't push us away! Don't push me away …'

'I … have to. There are some things I just can't do, can't let you do!'

'See? I don't think you understand after all. I'd do anything.' She stood up straight, her anxiety tempered by determination. 'Anything!'

'Daphne … I …'

'What is it?!' she demanded, catching his gaze with her unblinking eyes. 'Did you … did you kill someone?'

'What? No!'

'Do you need me to swear an Unbreakable Vow?'

'Y– you wouldn't … You shouldn't ever offer something like th–'

'I would!' she shot back without a second thought. 'Right here, right now if I must.' She clutched his robes. 'Care to guess what I'm afraid of?' She cast a more trepidant glance at him, her eyes almost entirely hidden behind her beautiful hair. 'It's losing what matters to me. The people I love. It's not swearing some stupid vow!'

Harry closed his eyes, caught between the freezing stone wall at his back and Daphne's burning body. 'I … it's nothing I can solve right now. It's … Grandfather gave me some unsettling news.'

'So it was your talk with Uncle Arcturus,' she said with an audible sigh. 'I was wondering if maybe, you know, you'd been regretting –'

'What?!' Harry looked at her with alarm. 'NO! I … No!'

She smiled at him just like she had during the ball, and Harry realised that she must have been worried – as obvious as it had been that something was wrong these last few days.

'Neither do I,' she whispered.

She moved her head, closing the distance inch by inch, her eyes constantly seeking his as if afraid he would turn away yet again.

But he didn't.

When her soft lips touched his, she was coy – as if in disbelief – as she nibbled at his lips, growing bolder when he didn't break away. Their hands found one another, and their fingers intertwined. Harry lost himself in a few moments before she backed off just enough to let him revel in her dazzling smile. It was almost worth it just for that.

'The others will be wondering where we are,' she said, not making any attempt to move.

'I shall strive to live with the guilt.' Harry lifted her left hand, running his thumb over her skin. His heart was running away with him. After a few seconds of futile resistance, he said, 'Want to come along to my meeting with the Marauders?'

The radiance that had so entranced him, he realised, was nothing – nothing! – but the pale imitation of Daphne's smile as of that moment, a smile he thought he was almost unfortunate to witness. It was a smile, he could foretell, that would haunt his nights. 'Yes!' Only then did she seem to catch up to the implications of his question. 'Wait – did you say Marauders? As in more than Lupin?'

Harry nodded. 'It's time I sorted this out – once and for all. It's time to meet Sirius again. No more hasty notes, no more letters. I can't afford to keep this up. Not anymore. I'll arrange a meeting, right here and soon – in Hogsmeade. And I want you to be there with me.'

Daphne's other hand sneaked underneath his robes and shirt, sliding up his back even as she nestled her entire upper body up against his, their connected hands stuck so tightly between their robes that she might just as well not have been wearing anything at all. 'I'll always be with you, Harry,' she vowed, her hot breath melting away doubt and rationality both. 'Forever and always. Until the end. I promise.'

Memory Lane

Harry and Daphne missed their Transfiguration class, but they made it just in time not to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

'Where have you been?!' hissed Hermione when they hastened inside, moving a huge stack of parchment to the side to make room for Harry while Daphne sat down next to Tracey. 'You've lost Slytherin even more points! You know how nit-pic–' She faltered, staring. 'Pic-nipp– I mean … I – er – I … Nevermind!'

The Muggle-born, ears burning, very conspicuously averted her gaze.

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing toward his right. Hermione was needlessly fussing with her quills, refusing to look up. Tracey, next to Daphne, was goggling at Daphne, her eyes almost comically wide open.

'What is it?' asked Harry.

'I … er. Well …'

'Speak up, Hermione!' Daphne laughed brightly. 'We won't bite, promise!'

'Your, erm, your blouse.' Hermione swallowed. 'You've-done-the-buttons-of-your-shirt-blouse-wrong.' Despite speaking from the corner of her mouth and as fast as comprehension would allow, Hermione blushed hugely.

Daphne gave a start, busying herself with her shirt. 'Oh! Cripes!'

Tracey sniggered dirtily, but thankfully Harry and Daphne were spared any derision by their teacher's timely arrival. For the moment at any rate.

'Good day,' said Aenor, her sharp gaze rolling over the class like a wave of cool water. Immediately, the boisterous atmosphere died down. 'Before you all bombard me with seemingly innocuous questions that pry into private matters that shouldn't be of interest to mannered members of society, I will say that I had to attend to urgent matters on behalf of one of my responsibilities, leaving me unable to inform the board of governors or, indeed, even our famously notorious headmaster – or was that notoriously famous? – of my imminent absence. And while I personally agree that you have every right to be cross for this most mistimed interruption of your education, I will flat out refuse to comment on this matter beginning from the very second I stop speaking. Still, seeing as I in some way inconvenienced your delicate studies, I assure you I'll do my best to repair whatever damage has been done at the hands of whoever took over in my stead to the budding enlightenment concerning the very nature of magic some of you have begun to glimpse at from afar.'

She very audibly inhaled. It seemed to Harry as though Aenor had given this speech to all of her classes so far, and it was quite remarkable that she'd managed to say it all without drawing breath.

'We were, some of you might recall, about to finish our excursus about those lovably vicious creatures your fabulous Ministry so ignorantly fears. You, Mr Finch-Fletchley – your time to shine or flop. Impress us with the power of your memory.'

'We've discussed Boggards, Dementors, werewolves, vampires, gargoyles, trolls, and hags, Professor. I think that leaves ghosts and Acromantulas.'

Aenor gave a flicker of a smile. 'Well done. Apparently, there are classes capable of understanding human language. Take two well-deserved points for Hufflepuff for this remarkable feat of above-subpar intellect. Miss Jones, tell me how to spot a hag in no more than two sentences.'

'They eat raw meat and they're, er, not very nice to look at.'

'All right, it could've been worse, I suppose. Does anyone else want to add anything? Mr Malfoy?'

Draco perked up. 'They can't use wands. Oh, and they're female only, obviously.'

'Not precisely true, but it will do for now. I doubt you'd appreciate me going into the details. Very well. Werewolves?'

Hermione slapped Harry on the shoulder when he snorted disdainfully.

'Yes, Mr Black?' said Aenor, smirking. 'Anything to illuminate the world of werewolves? A passionate defence of their human rights, perhaps?'

'Not from me.'

She shrugged. 'I don't blame you. Personally, I like werewolves the least of all the fascinating creatures we have and will discuss this year.'

'Why, Professor?' asked Macmillan.

'Because they're the most human of all of them.'

Some people laughed, though a few – like Hermione – turned thoughtful at her rather offhanded comment that revealed depressing depths of cynicism.

The rest of the class followed established patterns. Tracey would occasionally whisper very audible acrimonious comments ('Who does she think she is, strutting back here as if nothing happened?! Can't Dumbledore get anything right, like, ever?') which were promptly followed up by some pretty vitriolic retorts ('If he did, you wouldn't be sitting here either, Miss Davis. Remind me, did you or didn't you fail the very class your own Head of House teaches in such a spectacular fashion that your mother was invited to discuss your "future" at Hogwarts?') with class happening in the meanwhile.

'It truly is regrettable that circumstances prevent us from livening this class up with a little trip to the Forbidden Forest.' Behind Harry, there was a soft sound of horror-stricken disbelief that could have only been Draco's. 'But sadly,' continued Aenor with a mournful smile, 'the colony has moved on.'

'Where to?' asked Pansy, looking very eager to hear how far exactly they had moved.

'On,' repeated Aenor. 'As in, to the creepy-crawly, eight-legged afterlife.'

'Good!' said Pansy emphatically, a sentiment obviously shared with most of the nodding class.

'Anyway, that's about it. Questions regarding Acromantulas? None? Capital! Forward and onward! Tell me, Miss Davis, what – in your extremely modest opinion – is a ghost?'

'Some transparent dead bloke?' replied Tracey, deadpan.

'Bravo!' said Aenor. 'Astounding insight. Someone else perhaps? Yes, Mr Zabini!'

'A dead witch or wizard with ties to their past life or the place they haunt.'

'Better but not enough. Who will help us? Step up and into the breach! The nature of ghosts. Mr Black!'

'Ghosts are the souls of the tragically departed. They're commonly immaterial – though there are some recorded exceptions.'

Aenor flashed him a brief smile as a reward. 'Well done. Precisely. Ghosts are souls, ladies and gentlemen. As such, one might expect them to be fully incorporeal. And yet, haven't you all felt that shudder in their presence or as they glided right through you? One particular ghost at this fine institution is wont to ride the currents of the sewerage. How – I ask you – could that be possible if they were fully incorporeal? Any guesses? Two hundred points to anyone with the entirely inappropriate knowledge to answer this puzzling question. Nobody?'

'Because souls, too, can be subject to matter and spells,' muttered Harry absent-mindedly.

Hermione, startled by his muttered answer, turned to stare at him.

'… because souls, too, can be the object of and a subject to spells and even matter,' continued Aenor. She hesitated for just a second. 'Though you probably won't need this bit of trivia until the very moment you decide to become the next in line with delusions of grandeur and superiority for a few years beyond your time.'

This time, Harry's head snapped upwards. Had Aenor really just said that? Making allusions was one thing, but this was dark stuff. Extremely dark stuff! Not even Harry was prepared to make excuses for that kind of knowledge. Well, at least not for any practical applications of said knowledge. Knowledge itself was innocent, wasn't it?

Aenor, going by her kittenish wink in Harry's direction, was inappropriately amused by her little flirt with topics that were punishable crimes to even mention.

'So,' she continued, 'what exactly is the difference between a poltergeist and a ghost? Miss Bones?'

'Poltergeists aren't dead – I think? They can't die. Things that can't die can't have souls, right?'

Aenor sighed, rubbing her temple. 'Listen and listen closely! I know you've been subject to all the drivel and pipe-dreams your good and great leaders have seen to impart you with, but,' she said, ignoring Bones' and Abbott's glares, 'think about this: How do you know that humans die?'

The class grew silent at this most extraordinary question.

'Have I been unclear?' Aenor went on, seemingly unaffected. 'Why do people die? Or how do you know they do?'

'Er, it's common knowledge?' volunteered Yaxley nervously.

'Yes,' said Aenor with a patronising smile. 'But "It'll get better if you spit on it" is common knowledge, too. I wouldn't put too much stock in that. Anyone else? What, I ask, is death?'

Hermione raised her hand.

'Yes, Miss Granger?'

'Death is the departure of the human soul from the body. We know because dead people, well,' she hesitated, squirming a bit in her seat, 'Dementors don't prey on them.'

'Aha! This, class, at last is a push towards scientific accountability. There are still heaps of problems, especially if we approach the subject in its biological sense, but let's continue this train of thought for now. We know – though, strictly speaking, you just know that I told you – that Dementors prey on souls. We know Dementors don't prey on bodies. As such, we might propose the preliminary thesis that bodies lack souls, which – I might point out – is not the same as saying death is the loss of a soul. There could be a few dozen other reasons for this particular behaviour, of course, but Dementors are such gratifying objects of study precisely due to the single-minded behaviour they display. Now, what is it ghosts fear the most? Miss Greengrass perhaps?'

'Death?'

'Very good. Three points to Slytherin. Seeing as their entire un-life is just a weak reverberation of their prior mortal life, death is a lingering, undead soul's bane. Most ghosts, in fact, choose their morbid, pitiful forms to escape their terminal fate, to finish some urgent business, to spread the misery and suffering they themselves had to endure. Yes, ghosts fear death!

'But back to poltergeists. If they were truly amortal, meaning a third state transcending the apparent dualism of life and death, how do they come to be? If Earth is something that has not existed forever and will not exist forever – as we know it is – where were poltergeists during the time Earth was yet to form from the nebulas of creation. Yes, Mr Shafiq?'

'I see where you're going with this, Professor. But existing and living aren't the same, are they?'

'A diverting but complicated exercise that would truly go beyond what I can reasonably expect all of you to follow. It is also, I fear, the wrong approach to answer the question we are trying to answer.'

'Oh, there was a question?' asked Tracey loudly with a snort.

'What – are – poltergeists!? Miss Davis, kindly prove that our esteemed headmaster's trust in your mother's embarrassed insistence that you actually possess some modest degree of intelligence can't be chalked up entirely to the unconditional love of a parent.'

There was the crack of a quill being ground to dust as Tracey growled worryingly dog-like in Aenor's direction. She looked like she was contemplating whether it was worth it to throw the broken quill at Aenor or not. In the end, she evidently decided that it wasn't. 'Fine. Fine! Considering how you, Professor, emphasised that both poltergeists and ghosts can affect their surroundings, you obviously want to make the point that they are somehow more closely connected than most people – and all of our schoolbooks – seem to suggest.'

Aenor smirked but didn't comment, watching Tracey brood over the question in silence.

'If one were truly pig-headed about philosophical nonsense, I suppose one might argue that the first humans, lacking a concept of death, might have considered humankind immortal, too.'

Harry silently raised an eyebrow.

'Er … no. Sorry, that's nonsense,' continued Tracey, her grimace slowly settling into a look of concentration. 'No concept of death means no concept of immortality. Sorry. Hmm. I don't think it works with humans, but early Muggles might have thought dragons to be invincible. Arrows made of flint wouldn't ever be able to pierce their hide and some breeds even regrow more vulnerable body parts like their eyes, don't they? They can also grow really old, older than oral traditions might be able to keep track of. So, I guess, dragons were for all intents and purposes unkillable, seeing as they were able to outlive even legends and stuff.

'Except that they weren't, of course,' she continued, her brow cutely furrowed. 'Those guys just lacked the … you know … tools for the job. So I guess the entire point was that it's impossible to claim that something can't be killed? Maybe we just lack the right tools for now? That's a disgusting thought, by the way.'

Aenor's mocking smirk had receded a bit. 'Go on.'

'Well, going a bit overboard, you might say that there's no real difference left between poltergeists and ghosts, is there? Is there a way to finish off ghosts – not exorcism – I mean to, er, "kill"? If there is, has anyone ever tested it on poltergeists? Maybe they're just souls that haven't lived yet. I mean, if you hadn't lived, you wouldn't have a concept of death, would you? And souls are supposed to be, you know, really pure and strong and stuff. Maybe it's a bit like brain death. Like, the body dying because the brain thinks it's dead? That sort of thing. And since a soul that hasn't lived yet doesn't know about death, it's impossible for it to, er, imagine that it's dying?'

Harry wasn't the only one bending forward to watch Tracey. Of course, he had always been perfectly aware that Tracey was really smart, but he wouldn't have expected her to actually put it on display in front of the entire class. Aenor really must have got to her.

'Will you look at that?' said Aenor, looking at Tracey like a cat enthusiast discovering that their favourite tomcat was sprouting a sabre-tooth. She grinned slyly. 'All right. I suppose I owe you an apology just this once, Miss Davis. Twenty points to Slytherin.

'Well, we unexpectedly got somewhere – and a lot quicker than I would have ever dared to hope. I guess we can wrap it up a bit early. Homework: try to catch up with Miss Davis' train of thought. Dismissed! Mr Black? A word, please.'

'What does she want with you, Harry?' asked Hermione without looking up, still scribbling away with furious speed. 'Are you still having lessons with Professor Rose?'

'Not that I know of?' replied Harry. 'Your guess is as good as mine.'

'Do you want us to wait or …?'

'Er … no!' said Tracey, twitching at Daphne's and Hermione's robes. 'I think the three of us have some stuff to discuss.'

'Hey, what about me?!' asked Draco, sounding slightly hurt. 'What "stuff" are you talking about in any case?'

'Important stuff! You just … play Quidditch or something,' said Tracey shortly.

'What – alone? How?!'

'Don't push your problems on me now!'

Without another word, Tracey dragged the other girls away.

'Ah – whatever! See you later in the common room,' said Draco, waving.

'Sure.'

Harry stood in front of Aenor's desk while the rest of his classmates filed out of the room. The door was slammed shut with a casual swipe of her wand, followed by some protective or privacy spells that – to Harry's irritation – went completely over his head.

'So,' said Harry delicately, 'am I going to get detention if I ask where the hell you've been?!'

'Who knows?' she said, grinning. 'There's a time and a place for everything. Want to push your luck so early? Have you been keeping up your Occlumency studies?'

'I have. But speaking of pushing your luck,' hissed Harry, his eyes darting to the door, 'did you seriously allude to Horcruxes in a class of sixteen and seventeen-year-old brats which – need I remind you – happen to include the grandniece of the current head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement?'

Aenor gave a bark of laughter, leaning back in her chair with all the ease in the world. 'You realise that, going by that logic, you'd be one of those brats, right?'

Harry refused to dignify that with an answer.

'And what about you?' she demanded, still all grins. 'No sixteen-year-old boy is supposed to know about magic affecting the soul. Circe – I wonder if even I knew about Horcruxes when I was your age! Your family has a refreshingly ruthless approach to education.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'That's not something I want to hear from you of all people.'

'Hey, I really did mean it as a compliment. Anyway, there was no need to mutter the answer with Granger sitting right next to you. Getting a bit careless, are we?'

Harry frowned. For some reason, reading lips was – in his personal opinion – somehow breaking the fundamental rules. If you weren't even free to mutter something rude under your breath in class, some invisible rule for a healthy school environment had been crossed. 'Seriously, Aenor, I don't mean to be rude, but you've always been the less careful of us both. By far!'

She shrugged. 'I suppose it might seem that way to you. Once you've climbed the first few hundred steps, whatever happens down below becomes kind of irrelevant.'

'What's that supposed to mean?!'

She smiled. 'Want to know? I'll tell you – if you want. In fact, this is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I would like to invite you – formally – to join me on my climb. Leave those lowly reaches behind you, Harry, and climb like you were meant to.'

'Climb where to?'

'Upwards,' she said simply. 'Ever upwards, to ever more lofty heights.'

'Stop fooling around!'

'But I'm not.' She leaned forward, her expression serious for once. For a few seconds, they wordlessly stared at one another – jade green on icy blue. 'Right now, I'm as shamelessly serious, as hopelessly honest, as I have rarely ever been. No double-meaning. No plan. No scheme. Nothing.'

Harry calmly looked back into those hungry eyes. 'What is it you want?'

'The same I've always wanted!' She stood up, looking excited as she walked around Harry's chair. 'Knowledge. Diversion. A bit of like-minded company wouldn't hurt either, I suppose. I want all that, and I'm even willing to give in return; I'm willing to teach you what I'll never teach your classmates. Show you what they'll never see. Take you places they will never dream to imagine.'

And it finally sunk in. 'Oh, I see. You're speaking of an apprenticeship,' he said without enthusiasm.

She smiled, sitting down on top of her desk. 'Yes.'

'Why me? Why now?'

She wagged her finger. 'Tut – tut! The answer to that question is part of the deal, I'm afraid.'

Harry chuckled derisively. 'Do you seriously expect me to say yes? Look, I'm not stupid, Aenor. I don't go around swearing allegiance to someone I don't even know.'

'But you do know me!' she said. 'I mean, sure, there are some things you don't know, I suppose, but I've always been pretty open with you.'

'I might know what you're like,' he conceded, 'but I hardly know anything at all about you! I don't know where you're from; I don't know about your family, about your aims or goals; I don't know why Grandfather pushed for you to teach at Hogwarts. I barely know the first thing about you, and you know it. And seriously, I don't have the faintest clue why it is that you know so much despite claiming to be not much older than me!'

'Hey, I'm a responsible, legal adult,' said Aenor with a teasing grin. 'You, on the other hand, are not even allowed to order alcohol yet.'

'I don't even know if Aenor is your real name,' continued Harry, unperturbed. 'Or if that's really what you look like. It's a bit unfair to compare.'

She tilted her head at that. 'What makes you think this isn't my real appearance?'

'Don't get me wrong but it's … a bit too immaculate.'

'Not each and every one of us is a sour, distrustful dwarf with hair like a particularly wild gorse bush.'

'Very amusing,' said Harry seriously. 'There's also the fact that there's always a bit of magic clinging to you. You could be a bloke for all I know.'

She laughed, hard, almost dropping from the desk in her hysterical fit. When she finally calmed down, clutching her side, she still had tears in her eyes. 'Is that what worries you? That you've been checking out a guy in disguise?'

Harry flicked his tongue, averting his gaze.

She sniggered. 'Those eyes of yours really are something.' She sighed, scooting back to the edge of the desk again. 'I'm a woman, Harry, but it's not entirely untrue that I've altered some parts my appearance.'

'Then show me what you really look like.'

'I can't.'

'Then tell me your real name.'

'I can't do that either!' She groaned. 'Not just like that! Look, can't you just say yes like a good boy? I will tell you all of this stuff as soon as I have some kind of reassurance that you won't go babbling to anyone else about it!'

'No, I don't think so,' insisted Harry. 'I am the future head of my house. I don't intend to give any kind of promise, vow, or oath that might compromise my ability to act in the best interest of my family.'

'Oh.' Aenor looked taken aback – as though she seriously hadn't considered this. 'Now that you mention it, there is that.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Yes,' he said slowly. 'Yes, there is.'

'I suppose you wouldn't accept my word for it that I have no interest in political business?'

'No. Would you?'

'If you put it like that … no.'

They stared at one another.

'This is tricky,' she said, annoyed. 'I never thought this would be the difficult part.'

'Then how about you make a proposal I don't have to reject on principle?'

She stared at him with those startlingly cool eyes. Neither of them spoke for quite a while.

'Your eye-colour isn't fake, is it?' he heard himself speak into the silence.

She looked at him with such intense condescension that Harry almost cringed. 'That's what's bothering you?! Urgh! I suppose you can't deny your y-chromosome after all.'

'Come on, you can't fault me for being curious!'

'Can I find fault with genetic mutations, at least?' She rolled her eyes. 'This my real eye-colour. Happy now?'

'I suppose?'

'So happy that you'll spontaneously decide to make a leap of faith and decide to trust little ol' me with something menial like a puny little oath?'

'No.'

She flicked her tongue, but Harry didn't believe for a second that she had really expected that to work. 'Well … I suppose,' she muttered, running her forefinger over her lips in thought.

'What is it?'

'You said you can't agree to anything that might compromise your ability to lead your family, correct?'

'Correct.'

'You didn't say you won't agree to anything that would bind you personally while leaving your ability to make decisions pertaining to your family untouched, did you?'

'I suppose? But how would you ever be able to keep one thing from the other?'

'Easy – we don't!'

Harry sighed. He would be getting a headache if this continued, he just knew it. 'What are you talking about?' he grumbled, rubbing his temple.

'The actual leverage the tutor has over his disciple in a traditional bond comes from all the social expectations, right?'

'You mean because the teacher is – de facto – the substitute guardian as long as the Head of the apprentice's family doesn't overrule his decision. And because he has a say in living arrangements, job offers, and so forth.'

'Right. Figured you'd know at least something about the old rites.'

'Yes,' said Harry, pointedly raising one eyebrow. 'Because Grandfather made sure I would never agree to one. Because, for example, only the master is ever able to release his student from this oath!'

She waved her hand. 'Let me finish! How about we draw up an oath that agrees that the both of us publicly pretend to be apprentice and master.'

It took Harry a few moments to think this through. 'What's the difference? I'll still be publicly forced to do as you say!'

'Well, admittedly, more or less – yes. But you'd be free to formulate a cold-blooded plan to cut my throat in my sleep if I misuse our agreement. So there's that at least, right?'

'As if that would ever work.'

'I'm a human being, you know?' Aenor quipped with a grin. 'I assure you – a knife to the heart will finish me off just like any mindless Muggle of the streets. But for real now, Harry. I'd be content with that – just that. I'll teach you all you want to know and everything you don't even realise yet you want to be taught.' She looked towards the ceiling, deep in thought again. 'Though we probably shouldn't reveal anything all too personal, considering that we wouldn't be bound to an oath of fealty per se.'

Harry knew this wasn't wise – not wise at all – but then again, was it wise to confront Grindelwald? Probably not and yet that was the path that had been laid out for him. Going by the same logic, this was an opportunity. Aenor obviously had something in mind that needed a new foundation of trust to work. Harry – on the other hand – didn't need Aenor's instructions. Sure, he was grateful, and he enjoyed her company (even if he wasn't going to say so right now), but maybe he should push for more.

'Okay,' he said with a friendly smile.

'Capital! Let's get right on to –'

'On three conditions,' continued Harry, not missing a beat.

Aenor groaned. 'I really hate British pure-bloods. Have I mentioned that recently?'

'I'm not pure-blood though.'

'I'm beginning to suspect that half-bloods might be the better pure-bloods anyway,' she grumbled. 'Fine. Let's hear it.'

First, the big one. 'I want our agreement to include that you won't misuse our scheme to press me for information where I wouldn't be able to refuse or to influence the way I may or may not conduct my family business.'

'Done!'

What the –

Aenor smirked, correctly reading his disbelieving expression. 'I told you! I'm not interested in that stuff! Okay, this might not be so bad. Next one!'

Harry hesitated – but only for a moment. Loathe as he was to admit it, this was really bugging him now. 'I want to know how old you are and whether you're a guy or not! Stop. STOP LAUGHING!' he shouted when Aenor cracked up again. 'Now that I've said it aloud, it's really weird to think about, okay?!'

Still sniggering, she conjured a silver dagger, twirled it a few times between her fingers, and drew a long cut over the inside of her palm. 'I do swear,' she declared solemnly, the ghost of her smile still dancing along the edges of her lips as she pressed the cut against Harry's palm, 'that I'm twenty-three years of age, and that my name is Aenor Eydís.' Her lips trembled for a few seconds, clearly embattling the urge to laugh out. 'And that I am indeed a woman and in no way a dirty old man dressing up in dresses and fake boobs to sexually confuse poor, impressionable boys. I freely forfeit my life to any witnesses present to this vow in case of any falsehoods uttered on my part.'

Harry watched her with critical detachment as she finished – again – what normal people had no business knowing. It was a bit disturbing to think that this was already the second person to offer him this kind of assurance – today. Most people lived ordinary lives in which binding, magical vows were the stuff of stories. Then again, most people weren't him.

He waited for a few seconds, but no metaphorical lightning bolt of divine justice struck down the newly avowed woman sitting opposite him.

'What?' she said. 'Not happy?'

'No, it's just – I could just walk out of here now, couldn't I? I even got your real name out of the deal.'

'Sure,' she said, healing the cut with a bored swipe of her wand. 'And I could just murder you in a handful different ways before you even manage to train your wand on me.'

Harry cleared his throat. 'Point taken. No need to get nasty about this. But seriously? You're trying to hide who you are whilst walking around giving up your real name?'

She grinned. 'Why not? My parents are both dead. Only one or two people know who I really am. Names have no meaning if there's no point of reference.'

'I suppose that makes some sense.'

'It makes a lot of sense! All right, no chickening out now. Give me your third condition, or I'll have to brutally ravage your mind to steal that knowledge back from you. I'm not too sure I'll be able to do that without leaving you a slavering nervous wreck, considering how far you've come with your Occlumency.'

Harry nodded. This was the time to be decisive.

'I want to break into Azkaban.'

Again, they stared at one another. For some strange reason, Harry felt gratified that he knew that he was dealing with someone roughly his age. Of course, nothing would have been more dangerous than falling prey to some decades old Metamorphmagus, but it was more than that.

And this was the moment of truth – a point of no return. If she went along with this, he would agree. And if not – well – he did have a hidden Portkey in his sleeve and if that didn't work … nobody lived forever anyway.

'I suggest you repeat your last condition once more, Harry. Very slowly and very carefully.'

'I want you to help me break into Azkaban. There is someone who has knowledge I require, and I will never again be able to get it any other way, seeing as he was recently sentenced for high treason.'

'Harry, Azkaban Island is guarded by a throng of Dementors – not to mention a standing battalion of hardened battle-ready wizards. I hear they increased security tenfold after that last break-in!'

'And yet that's where we must go.'

'Didn't you accuse me of being rash just now? You realise there are about a million ways this could go wrong, don't you?!'

'And yet that's what we must do.'

'There is no way out of this once I agree. That request of yours goes far beyond that. You realise that, don't you?'

'I do.'

Her hand shot forth like a snake before Harry could move, coiling around his own. 'Then I agree. I agree to it all.' She jumped from her desk, standing above him before she yanked him to his feet. 'Let us be great together, Harry!'