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 ...?

35. VoD: Grinding halt

Grinding halt

---

'You're still doing it wrong. Concentrate, for Cagliostro's sake!' Aenor rolled her eyes in mild annoyance, looking down at his work from over a still steaming pretzel.

'I'm trying,' snarled Harry.

'You're not trying hard enough, then! Are you imagining channels again? I told you to drop that!'

'Well, the magic has to come from somewhere, doesn't it?' Harry shot back. He felt drained and tired. Even though he was glad that the apparently prodigiously busy Aenor was making time for him, he really couldn't find it in himself to appreciate early morning private lessons. His sleeping patterns had become a mess as a result. That wasn't a problem for Harry as such; his cousin keeping a close eye on him and berating him for falling asleep during lessons, however, was.

'Don't be daft; magic isn't water! The moment your thoughts confine magic to the physical limitations of mundane substances, you restrict your own possibilities.'

'Well, how am I supposed to imagine something I can't ever see?!'

'Beats me how you go about it,' she answered, unconcerned. 'Just do it! You've got most of the basics down, but if you can't get beyond the distribution problem, you'll never get it right.'

'This is absurd,' Harry muttered weakly.

For the first time in his life, Harry was confronted with a magical problem he just couldn't solve – no matter how often he tried. It wasn't just the difficulty of the task per se. No, the nature of the task itself was so ridiculously alien to the human mind that he had trouble coming up with ideas to overcome it. 'Make it as powerful as you can. Distribute the magic equally,' had been Aenor's instructions. 'But don't restrain it. It needs to flow freely, without any limitations to its possible movement.'

So here he was, again, still trying to solve this insane puzzle from his tutor, exactly like he'd done the last week. How could something be condensed and still unrestrained? How could something so powerful be unbound?

Harry looked down at the little wooden frame he was working on. It rather looked as if he'd pried a window off a doll's house. He furrowed his brow, annoyed.

He knew he could get to the bottom of this problem instantly – probably; all it needed was a little peek through his other eyes, after all. Harry would be the first to admit that he regarded fair play as little more than a welcome way for his enemies to fall upon their own swords, but he couldn't help admitting that resorting to his still completely mysterious perception of magic felt a bit like cheating.

No, that isn't it, he silently corrected himself. It feels like giving up.

'Say,' he began anew, his voice dripping reluctance.

'Yes?' Aenor looked up. She too seemed preoccupied, albeit with a despairing choice between the croissant in her left hand and something that smelled of hazelnut mousse on a biscuit coated with chocolate in the another.

'I've never heard of anything like this before! What level would this...method of distribution be, speaking in terms of the British education system?'

'Didn't I say? Probably apprenticeship level, possibly beyond that. Filius and Dumbledore are sure to have mastered this technique, whereas McGonagall and Severus at least possess the talent and intellectual capacity to learn it. Can't say if they ever bothered. The rest don't, I'm afraid.'

'So, on a scale of ten,' Harry insisted, watching her closely.

'The spell overall? Seven and a quarter,' she responded dismissively. Then, her eyes lit up, and she put the croissant down, her eyes now fixed on the little cookie she held high in her delicate right hand.

Harry wasn't convinced. 'What level would the Patronus be, then?'

'Five,' she said with a light-hearted grin, as she took an extremely lady-like bite out of her edible treasure.

'Five?' Harry repeated hoarsely. The Patronus wasn't a NEWT level spell without reason. While most people eventually managed to get it somewhat right, the overwhelming majority of witches and wizards wouldn't ever be able to use it in the face of Dementors or Lethifolds.

'Five. Good example, really. The Patronus is the skill ceiling for the average citizen, so it's five. Six would be those magics slightly over the head of most, like the Unforgivables, except, arguably, Avada Kedavra, which is more like a six and a half, really.'

'So what's a ten?' he asked in a voice that was suitably hushed in the presence of the Killing Curse.

She looked up, gazing at the ceiling, her snack suspended in mid-air. The appetite for sweet things seemed to slowly drain from her eyes, replaced by some other, more powerful craving. 'Such things are beyond the realm of mortals such as you and I.'

'But they exist?'

Their eyes met. 'They do,' she said with an enticing smile.

Harry stared at the wooden frame again. Then, he smirked. 'What do I get if I get the distribution right within the next five minutes after one last demonstration?'

She cocked an eyebrow, looking down at him with something akin to amusement. 'Oh, you want to play games? What do you have in mind?'

Harry brazenly looked back. He knew what he wanted after all. 'One personal question regarding your origin.'

Her effortlessly beaming smile didn't recede, though Harry rather thought he saw something behind her eyes shift slightly. 'How very presuming of you,' she returned with a beguiling wink. 'And if you fail? How about you tell me about your remarkable connection to magic, then?'

Harry made every effort not to show any reaction to her proposition. He also distinctly remembered Arcturus strictly forbidding him from disclosing his, well, condition to any other person. But he couldn't lose, could he? Surely... And even then, he'd probably get away with telling some half-truths, right?

'Deal,' he said, holding out his hand and inwardly feeling quite elated to see her eyes widen momentarily. After the briefest moment of hesitation, she shook it.

Wordlessly, her eyes still on his, she took the wooden frame from his hand, drawing her wand. Harry finally looked away, his eyes drilling into the softly shining white wand of the witch opposite him.

With less effort than he had anticipated, he allowed his second vision to break free of the shackles of his Occlumency. Aenor still was the same indomitable vortex of light she'd always been: radiant, blinding, unfathomable. Her ivory wand seemed to be humming, singing to the sound of the waves of light that rolled off her. Slowly, the wand approached the frame.

Practised, easy movement, and then a flash of such intensity that Harry winced. There it was – still as magnificent as ever. Through these eyes, Harry instantly recognised why the image of water was so deeply ingrained within his mind; the barrier looked exactly like a rippled pond – a vertical pond of striking translucence, that is.

'Five minutes starting now,' murmured Aenor, waving her wand and conjuring an empty but otherwise identical wooden frame atop the table.

Harry gazed at the small window in his hand that, now more than ever, looked like a bizarre gateway to another world, a softly rippling watery substance spanning between the wood. With care, he put it down on the table. The barrier didn't seem connected to the wood in any tangible way he could identify. When he kneeled down to look at it from the side, he also saw the ripple seemed to be, perplexingly, of a two-dimensional nature, as he couldn't make out any kind of elevation. The waves, however, seemed to be receding, he noted when a few moments had passed.

'Four minutes.'

Closely, he watched the waves shrink and shrink. There were lines, he noted, almost invisible – even to his eye – but definitely there. No wonder that image, too, had stuck to his mind. He remembered seeing them even back during his first-ever class with Aenor when he still hadn't felt quite as comfortable with his second vision. His eyes traced the lines, looking for any sort of clue to their purpose. The ripples didn't seem connected to them at all, crossing over them, sometimes from this direction, sometimes from another.

'Three minutes.'

The lines stretched from the centre to the very edge of the frame in a manner vaguely resembling a spider's web. Eyes now barely a few inches from the frame, he watched the last, faintest ripples flowing outwards again, before being bounced back, apparently by the frame.

Harry frowned, watching another miniature wave bounce off the frame. No, not the frame exactly, he noted, his eyes widening.

'Two minutes.'

The hooks of the 'spider web' were indeed touching the frame - most of them, that is. One lone hook had, inexplicably, started to lose its connection to the frame, and here the waves seemed to bounce off the air itself. The frame wasn't the boundary to the ward, the spider pattern was!

On a hunch, he hastily produced his wand, shooting a disarming spell at the space between the frame. His human eyes perceived a scarlet light, his second set of senses, however, insisted it saw something blue with the sweet fragrance of mint race towards the barrier.

'One minute.'

The spell vanished as soon as it touched the surface of the non-water, and the ripples visibly swelled. Harry's eyes darted towards the corner where one of the fastenings had come undone. To his astonishment, it now clung firm to the frame once more. His head was so close now to the frame that he could smell the wood – pine.

'Thirty seconds.'

He could smell something else, too. It was faint, but he could swear a whiff of something he associated with gardens came off the disturbed surface. Ignoring how it must look, he gave the magic a tentative sniff.

'Ten...'

It smelled of mint.

'...nine...'

So, somehow, inexplicably, his charm was still in there.

'...eight...'

His eyes darted towards the edge of the frame, to the now-restored hook.

'...seven...'

His spell was, in fact, powering the ward, he realised with a jolt.

'...six...'

So that's why Aenor had told him to make it as strong as he could.

'...five...'

The barrier would collapse if it ran out of energy after all.

'...four...'

So the real trick wasn't to forcefully contain the magic, but to make it self-containing, to use its own energy and those of inbound spells!

'...three...'

Harry raised his wand towards the second wooden frame and closed his eyes in concentration.

'...two...'

He felt the magic erupt from his wand, heard the approving purring that sounded like a tomcat enjoying the sun, saw, even through his closed eyes, the web of lines leave his wand, duller, less coordinated than Aenor's and still feeling somewhat off, but there it was.

Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes. Aenor was silently prodding the second frame with her wand, muttering something under her breath in a tongue he didn't understand.

Eventually, she looked up, her face blank. 'It seems I owe you one answer.'

'Why did you help me?' he asked, feeling exhausted.

'Pardon me?'

Harry sat back down, closing his eyes again, and rubbing his temples, finally reining in his rampant perception. 'If you'd powered the barrier with all you've got, I would never have noticed.'

'Noticed what?' she asked, unblinking.

'That the barrier feeds upon itself and inbound magic both,' he muttered wearily.

She folded her arms with a grin. 'What else did you pick up?'

'The barrier seems prone to expanding when oversaturated,' he answered, at last opening his eyes.

'That can, in fact, be amended,' she said with a quick smile. 'I'm not totally heartless, you know, so I gave you a chance.' She slowly prowled around the desk, her eyes firmly fixed on Harry. 'Besides, it was fascinating to see you work it out. How extraordinary that the smell of it seems to have helped you.'

Harry kept his face conscientiously blank.

'Marvellous,' she whispered. With an offhanded wave of her wand, her basket with pastries vanished. 'I propose we get a bit more serious about your education from now on.'

~BLVoD~

'Where have you been?' demanded Daphne, tapping her foot and looking Harry over from head to toe as he finally took a seat at the table, routinely ignoring the muttering and pointing. He was, sadly, that used to it.

Though he was preoccupied with suppressing a frown, he couldn't help but notice that not only Tracey, whom he knew to hold a terrible and incomprehensible grudge against Aenor, perked up, but Hermione, too. The brown-haired and usually rather submissive Muggle-born appeared rather suspicious for whatever reason.

'Private lesson,' he mumbled, taking a seat next to one of his two friends that were sure to not give a damn with whom he spent his time.

Amy yawned loudly, mildly amused by the other three girls' somewhat hostile glares. 'Is it really such a big deal whether or not he spends an inappropriate amount of time with the mysterious foreigner who just so happens to be young and beautiful?'

'Yes, it is!' snapped Tracey. 'She's untrustworthy, and we don't know anything about her. Look at her; lording over us, smiling smugly, playing the perfect pure-blood princess. She's a total fake!'

'You in for more detention, Tracey?' asked Amy with a lazy grin, lading her plate with two juicy cuts of steak.

'I don't give a damn,' claimed Tracey, though her eyebrows twitched treacherously.

'Why are you defending her anyway?' asked Hermione. 'I mean, from what I hear, you're the one giving Professor Rose the most trouble.' Harry watched with interest how Hermione seemed to wilt when his cousin's gaze coolly washer over her. 'Er, Miss Lestrange,' Hermione added hastily.

'That's nothing personal,' said Amy with a shrug. 'It's all good fun, Little Miss Mudblood.'

'You tried to get her with a Shrivelling Hex yesterday, Amy,' Tracey chipped in, unconvinced. 'From behind!'

'Your point being?'

'Well, you spent the whole day in the infirmary when Rose's Counter-Curse hit you. Aren't you upset?'

Amy looked up, confused. 'Why would I be? I learned something, didn't I? Besides, she didn't even give me detention!'

Harry chuckled. Admittedly, one needed some time to get used to the Lestrange's peculiar reactions, but Hermione's expression, in particular, was simply hilarious.

'She cursed your fingers off,' stated Hermione, not unlike a doctor addressing a patient in a straitjacket.

'It was a good curse,' Amy replied with a nod.

'Anyway, why is everyone looking at us?' asked Leo, coughing politely. 'Or, to be exact, at you, Harry.'

Sure enough, many Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were craning their necks; some even seemed to have stood up to get a better look.

'I don't even care anymore,' replied Harry.

'I, er, heard a few people muttering in the library,' said Hermione with a nervous look.

'Oh?' said Harry, raising an eyebrow. 'Please do go on. I can hardly refrain myself from listening to the latest of Hogwarts' drivel.'

'Well, er, they're-' Hermione faltered for a second, before she hastily continued with the obvious hope of getting the worst out of the way fast, 'they're remarking how strange it is that you had a row with Professor Prewett one day, and then, only a few days later, he's apparently in St. Mungo's in critical condition with no explanation given to us.'

'That wasn't me, though,' said Harry with an effort given to sounding uncaring.

'I, er, don't believe they'll take your word for it,' said Hermione, appearing apologetic.

'That's nonsense!' protested Amy.

'Well, of course, it is but-' said Hermione, nodding.

'I mean, if Harry wanted Prewett dead, he'd hardly be in hospital, would he?'

Again, Hermione looked at Amy, obviously trying to decide if the girl had been serious. Harry, for that matter, wondered the exact same thing.

'You, er, didn't attack him, did you, Harry?' Hermione asked after a while, her voice a bit unsteady.

'No.'

Hermione tried and failed to hide a little relief. 'Of course, you didn't.'

'I wish I had, though.'

Silence washed over the little group. A foot from somewhere opposite him, Daphne's place, brushed against his robes, but Harry didn't look up, staring at his cup of pumpkin juice. A few heads around them had turned as well.

'That's not helping it at all, Harry!' noted Hermione with a panicky undertone.

Harry shrugged, taking a swig.

'What's it you've got against Prewett anyway, Black?' Harry looked around, turning towards the voice that had asked the question that was, by the look of things, on everyone's mind.

The silence seemed to swell, swallowing all the innocent conversations in their immediate vicinity. Zabini, who returned his gaze evenly, didn't seem to mind that half the house, and a few Ravenclaws to boot, seemed to be listening in.

'In addition to him being a twerp, obviously,' the dark-skinned boy continued.

'What gives you the impression that I have anything against the man, Zabini?' Harry returned politely.

'If I had to point at something, it'd be that look of yours that says you're trying your best not to pull your wand whenever he's around.' Zabini picked up his cup, taking a carefully measured sip. 'Could just be me, of course.'

Harry stared back at the boy who didn't seem at all fazed by his scrutinising look. Well, Zabini is pure-blood and has been part of this little game of ours for nearly as long as I have, Harry reminded himself. 'I'm sure I don't know what-' He was about to gloss it over until words somehow seemed to fail him. Frowning, he leant back in his chair, his eyes still drilling into Zabini in search of answers. He'd been doing this very thing over and over again, and where had denial gotten him?

'What was that, Black?' The bubble of attention that was focused on Zabini and him seemed to grow still. Snape and Aenor, too, seemed to be paying attention to them, even though Harry had deliberately chosen a place as far away as possible.

Harry stared, his thoughts racing. He'd come to Hogwarts, expecting a chance, any chance to improve his reputation, as well as that of his family. He remembered vividly how he'd thought getting Hermione into Slytherin back then was his first step to somehow redeem himself.

'Black?' Zabini's voice echoed from somewhere far away.

What a foolish endeavour that had been. He'd been ostracised the very first second he'd set foot at Hogwarts. Hadn't Arcturus even warned him back then, the day before his sorting, that he shouldn't shoulder the weight all by himself? Why did he even bother? Here they were, once again, muttering, pointing, babbling about him. And because of what? Because of that bloody fool Prewett.

'Harry?' called Daphne, increasingly concerned. The whole table had become silent by now.

He was sick and tired of being put on the spot like that. He'd learned to deal with the pressure, of course, but why did he have to struggle like that all the time? Naturally, he was doing his best to preserve whatever face the House of Black still had when he was exposed to the public – and for bloody what? More newspaper articles vilifying him, more rumours, and even more attention.

Daphne and Tracey exchanged nervous glances, but Harry barely even saw them. His mind was bubbling with suppressed rage as he continued to stare at the calm figure of Blaise Zabini.

Rage. Yes, Harry felt burning anger. What was he even doing? Even if he continued to deny everything, play nice whenever possible, all that would end up achieving was to paint him a struggling fool. He'd never win like that. This wasn't some trashy fairy tale; he wouldn't save the princess, Merlin knew who that would be, to be proclaimed the prince, all sins forgiven. Yes, Harry was angry, because somehow it felt as if he'd wasted more than one year pretending to be someone he wasn't just so they could pile abuse upon abuse. There'd never be an end to this, and he'd never be given the chance to prove himself – because they had no interest in redeeming him or his family.

Most of the Ravenclaws, too, now gaped in silence at the wordless exchange between Zabini and Harry.

What had his grandfather said? 'Treat your entire stay at Hogwarts as a matter of House Black.' Was he being stupid?

'Harry?' Daphne had stood up and gone around the table, tugging softly at his sleeve with a look of looming panic.

What were the odds, really, of House Black ever finding itself back in the graces of Wizarding Britain? Was the term odds even applicable? It was hard to imagine a chain of events that would end with the Pillars burying their grudge. Arcturus, he was sure, would be pragmatic enough to set aside his personal opinion for the benefit of the family, but would the Pillars? Why would that ever be in their interest? To keep an unsuspecting population happy, a common enemy was a fine tool to have. That Arcturus had worked to undermine the Pillars in the past wouldn't help them either, not even taking into account Prewett's and Arcturus' personal history. So why would they ever allow him to redeem himself? For a brief moment, the image of him and Prewett shaking hands, Dumbledore beaming in the background, awarding them both a fatherly smile and warm applause flashed through his mind. The scene was so ridiculous that Harry couldn't help chuckling.

The onlookers, startled by the sudden reaction, started muttering, or, in the case of a few Gryffindors, yelling some witty remark about the state of Harry's sanity.

'He's finally losing it now!'

'Everyone, get down on your knees; it's the emergence of Dark Lord Black!'

'Dark Lord Black? You're joking, Fred!'

'Everyone knows that when you start chuckling in a sinister way while the centre of attention, it's all over for you! Bow to our lord and master!'

He'd never be friends with the likes of Prewett. It wasn't that he thought himself superior to the man, morally speaking at least. Both Prewett and the Blacks had done some rather damning things, but what differentiated them was that Prewett pretended to be the heaven-sent messenger of virtue, while the Blacks didn't exactly deny what they were. The laughter died in his throat. Was he?

Amy was leaning over, watching him like a patriot who heard the sound of war drums.

Treat your stay as a matter of House Black, his grandfather had said. So what would be in the interest of House Black? To act up? No! To be apologetic? No! To continue showing weakness in the face of unrelenting opposition? Hell, no! Hadn't Arcturus strode in and flat out sent Prewett to the floor? Were the Blacks supposed to be meek and defensive? No!

For a fraction of a second, his eyes wandered to both of his cousins. Daphne watched him with worry bordering on fear. Amy's eyes, by stark contrast, were wide with gleeful anticipation.

The Lestranges, Harry would admit any day, had built their homes a bit too close to the edge of the abyss, but here they were, the only family still publicly supporting the Blacks. What good had it done them? They'd lost nearly all their influence, their businesses had dried up, their public image was in tatters. Did they reconsider? Did they regret?

Slowly, like a bear after long weeks of slumber, Harry rose from his chair.

The pillars coveted fame, admiration and adoration, whereas Harry had only infamy and fear to work with right now. But you played the cards you were given.

'Because he's a disgusting pig of a pretender and a murderer, Zabini.' His voice dropped into the silence like a stone on its long way down an empty well. Seeing the looks of confusion all around, he added, still stony-faced, 'Such a memorable achievement: almost killing two little girls in the pursuit of his honourable duty...'

Harry felt Daphne stiffen next to him, but his eyes never left Zabini. 'Accidents happen,' replied his counterpart evenly.

'I'm sure they do,' Harry responded delicately. 'I'm just a student, I couldn't possibly presume to judge if an experienced Auror setting a mansion with three children inside on fire is a likely accident to happen.'

'You lie!' someone shouted from across the hall.

'Oh, do I?' Harry returned, still keeping his mask of indifference. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Snape descending from the head table after a few words with Dumbledore.

'Then, how about this?' said Harry, smirking. You played the cards you were dealt. Truth is little more than what the public believed in; the Pillars knew that well enough. Please don't be angry with me, Lucretia. 'Did Prewett ever tell you lot that he killed his own wife? Struck her down with his own wand, the great hero.'

Loud yelling and shouting washed over him, a lot of his fellow students were looking at him, angry, furious, and defensive. And yet, a few of them would end up nurturing their budding doubt – such was the nature of rumours and slander, after all. That the defamation in question even had some parts truth to it was a happy accident. 'I don't care what you believe. Ask him, if you have the courage,' he said to the hall at large, though his words were swallowed, not by silence like before, but by the tumult that spread like fire among the other houses. A few potatoes smashed into the table next to his hand.

'SILENCE' bellowed Snape, who had reached the front seats of the Slytherins by now. And he had a mean look to his eyes.

'Let's go,' said Harry out of the corner of his mouth. 'I don't think I'll be very popular here in a moment.'

Everyone looked at him as if he'd gone mad, except Leo, whose face revealed nothing in a diligent effort, and Amy, who grinned like mad at him – well, with a greater measure of madness than usual for a Lestrange.

Choices were what you made of them. You could flee from the rain, seeking shelter, or dance in the downpour. A fool either way, maybe, but Harry thought there and then that he'd rather be a fool who held his head up high.

~BLVoD~

'Are you alright, Harry?' asked Hermione nervously.

'Of course, I am. But thank you for asking,' returned Harry, by all appearances supremely unconcerned with the brawl they'd just fled. A brawl he had brought about.

She could see Tracey and Greengrass exchanging uneasy glances. So it wasn't just her who was rather taken aback by Harry suddenly facing off half the school.

Well, there was one person who didn't seem to mind his course of action. 'Good on you!' said Amy cordially, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Tracey looked annoyed, but when she was about to open her mouth, Harry held up his hand. 'What's done is done.'

Tracey scowled but refrained from saying what so obviously was on her mind. Harry didn't seem to care very much. It was as if he thought that Tracey had no right to be angry with him. Instead, he turned towards the blonde who'd been suspiciously silent for a while. 'I'm sorry,' he said softly.

'It's alright,' she said after a brief pause and with a brave little smile. 'Some of them knew anyway.'

Hermione felt the question rise in her throat, but she forcefully refrained from, in all likelihood, getting no answer. Angry snarls were probably still on the optimistic end of her expected outcomes, too. Instead, she silently resolved to weasel some information out of Tracey at a later date.

'But you can make it up to me if you're really sorry!' The words were shot at Harry like a bullet from a barrel.

'How?' asked Harry warily.

Greengrass, her previous sulkiness all but a distant memory, leant in and whispered something into Harry's ear, looking at him imploringly with what Hermione considered an almost disgracefully obvious attempt at puppy eyes.

'Alright.' Harry sighed, looking both relieved and helpless all at once. 'But only one.'

'Five!' said Greengrass, pouting.

'Two?' asked Harry hopefully, though it seemed to Hermione that he had already pretty much given up.

'Five!' Greengrass folded her arms.

Harry sighed. 'Alright, alright. Five it is.'

The blonde winked victoriously at Tracey, muttering something to her best friend before she dragged a rather resigned looking Harry off to goodness knew where.

'Well, there they go,' stated Leo to open the conversation.

'What are they doing?' asked Hermione, her eyes still following Harry and Greengrass.

'Dancing probably,' said Leo to her surprise. 'Daphne's always loved dancing.'

'And Harry?' Hermione couldn't help but ask.

'Well, he's a fairly proficient dancer by necessity,' stated Leo diplomatically.

'He hates it!' translated Tracey with a grin.

'Where's your sister, Leo?' asked Hermione when she looked back at their little group that had shrunk even more in the meanwhile.

'She stalked off when Harry left with Daphne.' Leo looked at his wrist, where a fairly mundane black watch with more than a dozen pointers seemed to – presumably – indicate the time or, equally possible, the star charts for the next few months. 'Come on, let's get to the library. We can still do a bit of research today.'

'We won't find anything anyway. Do I have to go?' quailed Tracey.

'Yes,' said Leo matter-of-factly. And that was that.

Two hours later, Hermione was, for the first time regarding this matter, inclined to agree with Tracey, who by now was soundly asleep, abhorrently abusing a literary treasure from the seventeenth century as a pillow.

'I think we're stuck,' said Hermione eventually. Leo looked up from his copy of Terrifying Tales of Medieval Britain, rather surprised. 'I mean, I'm sure there's something in here, somewhere. But we have no clue where to begin looking!'

Leo put down the tome in his hands. It was remarkable how his obscenely neat hair didn't so much as tremble. 'Let's take a break,' he said primly, shutting his reading with care. 'I'll think about changing the angle. Also,' he sighed as he stood up, brushing some imaginary dust off his clothes, 'Tracey's snoring is getting on my nerves.'

~BLVoD~

But the hoped-for inspiration just didn't happen. Days passed without discernible progress for their independent studies. Greengrass, for some mysterious reason, seemed to be having a good time; the girl was whistling merrily more often than not, thoroughly unconcerned with their lack of progress or the daily battle of words Harry had to endure. As for Harry, Hermione was surprised to realise that he seemed to fan the flames at times, slipping in some comment about the still-absent Prewett here and there, and the masses seemed ready to positively pounce on his words with the result that the school was abuzz with speculations and rumours like never before.

The overwhelming majority dismissed Harry's accusations on the basis of them being a Black's accusations, of course. Quite a few of their classmates had even voiced their intent to tell on Harry to Prewett as soon as their teacher returned to school. Harry had, for whatever mysterious reason, smiled serenely at that.

It was, therefore, with considerable disquietude that Hermione entered classroom 4F on the first floor of Hogwarts castle, two weeks later. Harry and Greengrass were absent, naturally, but Tracey and Draco both looked like two people who were about to enjoy watching a good film. Tracey had, as a matter of fact, brought a small bowl filled with popcorn.

'This is going to be good!' she said, wondrously managing to cram her mouth with popcorn and gloat at the same time.

'Is there something I should know?' asked Hermione.

'I expect there's a great deal you should know about,' answered Draco pompously, 'but for now, you should probably choose a seat in the back.'

Knowing that Draco loved his little games, she decided to comply quietly.

'It reeks, Draco!' complained a haughty voice from the side. 'Do we really have to sit here?' To her right, Hermione saw Parkinson and Zabini hover next to Draco, the former glaring at Hermione. 'I won't get the smell out of my clothes!'

'Pipe down and take a seat already,' said Draco with a lazy shrug. 'I'm sure you'll be able to survive one lesson.'

Parkinson grumbled, but eventually sat down as far away from Hermione as possible, with Zabini, Draco, and Tracey between them.

It was incredibly awkward to sit there with Parkinson, who wrinkled her nose in disgust, Zabini, who didn't utter a single word in an award-winning impersonation of a statue, Draco, who kept yawning and stretching, apparently oblivious to the tension, and Tracey, who was, or so it seemed, trying to cope with the pressure by increasing the rate in which she shovelled hands full of popcorn into her mouth. Hermione couldn't help wondering where she'd gotten it.

Mercifully, the door banged open only a few moments later. Professor Prewett swaggered in, wearing a long and heavy coat not unlike the one Antonius had worn, his left arm in a sling with the dark leather fluttering loosely on his shoulder. He looked a bit like a veteran returning from battle. Or maybe, Hermione thought, somewhat surprised by her own leeriness, he wanted to look like a returning veteran.

'Good to see you, everyone!' he greeted them with a wide smile.

'Are you alright, Professor?' asked Patil from Ravenclaw. 'Are you sure you're up for teaching?'

'Oh, think nothing of it! This little scratch won't hold me back.' He barked a laugh before he sat down on the desk, taking out the class register. Then, he seemed to think better of it. 'Everyone here? Except for the usual suspects, of course. Excellent!' With another grin, he tossed the register. 'This is too fine a day for paperwork! So? Anything interesting happening in the meanwhile? I've only just escaped Poppy's clutches. You'd think being released from St. Mungo's would be good enough, but there you go.'

'Sir! Sir!' someone shouted from the row in front of them. 'Black's been gossiping about you. He's been spreading it all over the castle.'

'Really?' Prewett looked more surprised than angry. 'Let's have it, then!'

All at once, the whole class was turned into people who were very busy with their parchment or staring, fixated at something between their hands. Not a single sound except for the emphasized rustling of parchment echoed through the room.

'That bad, ey?' Their professor chuckled uneasily. 'Come on! I promise I shan't bite.'

To Hermione's disbelief, Draco shifted in his seat. He must have made eye contact with Professor Prewett because he immediately got called out.

'How about you, Malfoy? You're not so easily shaken, are you?'

'N-no, Professor,' responded Draco with a trace of bravery.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ridiculous!

'Then how about you tell me what nasty lies Black has told you?'

'I want no trouble, sir. I'm just keeping my head down.' Next to Hermione, Tracey choked on her popcorn. Hermione absentmindedly slapped her on the back a few times.

'Don't worry about it. It's very courageous of you to speak out against a fellow housemate. So?'

'Alright, sir,' said Draco, eager and helpful like a poisoner who handed an unsuspecting victim a shiny red apple. 'Well, Black's claiming that you've set fire to a house full of children.'

Collectively, the whole class looked up, apparently having gotten over their spontaneous fascination with parchment and quills. Prewett had gone rigid.

'Professor?' asked Draco with a sickly fake voice of concern.

As it turned out, however, Draco wasn't the one to hammer in the last nail. 'But of course, that's an outrageous accusation, isn't it, sir?' Lightflight cried out. She was one of those who, while nearly as objectively uninformed as Hermione, were nevertheless completely convinced to know everything of relevance. She was, in short, one of those who had grouped up to row with Harry every other day.

Prewett turned to look at her. The man looked wretched.

'Sir?' the girl repeated, losing a bit of momentum.

'That was years and years ago, Miss Lightflight. I can assure you that-'

'It's been barely ten years, hasn't it?' asked Hermione, her voice easily drowning out Prewett's feeble attempt to regain control. Everything was falling into place. Maybe Harry had planned for this, too, but righteous indignation carried her onwards. 'Oh my god! You nearly killed her! You killed her father, beat her mother bloody, and nearly burned both her and her little sister alive! It's no wonder she refuses to attend your lesson.' All the eyes were upon her, but Hermione didn't much care. 'You're a monster!'

The class exploded with a roar. Everyone was shouting, either at Prewett or a fellow classmate, people were standing up left and right, and – worst of all – Peeves the Poltergeist, who had apparently sneaked in through the walls, was floating over their heads, vigorously throwing chalk at their teacher with continuous shouts of 'Monster!'.

'SILENCE!' A stunning bang of sound and light finally quieted the class. Prewett was standing in the centre of it all, his wand held high, his face sweaty and red with anger. 'Silence! Miss Granger, I'm afraid you're sadly misinformed. We've investigated the incident in question very carefully,' said Prewett in an unfamiliar tone and voice, breathing heavily. This wasn't their teacher, the adventurous Professor Prewett, but rather the grizzled ex-Head Auror who was accustomed to speaking with reporters. 'But no evidence whatsoever has ever turned up that the fire was either intentional or even necessarily the result of actions of Aurors present at the time.'

'What, you mean the family inside set the fire?' asked Hermione, aghast.

'That is not for me to say. I can only say that no evidence supporting either theory has ever turned up.'

'Or been made public,' snarled Tracey from the side, her hand still outstretched from when she'd thrown a handful of popcorn at the front.

Prewett glared at her but didn't otherwise acknowledge her allegation. 'The incident in question is also subject to the laws of non-disclosure, so you really shouldn't-'

'So it's not true, then, that your squad beat up an unarmed woman who came running from the burning mansion to plead for a ceasefire, precisely because children were still inside?' asked Draco innocently.

'That's neither here nor there, Mr Malfoy. And there are such things as concealed weapons. Listen up, everyone! In times of strife and war-'

'War?' shouted Tracey, outraged. 'What war?!'

'-it's the right and responsibility of every government to ensure that the public order is being upheld. At times, difficult decisions have to be made. At times, the outcome isn't at all what everyone would have wished for. But it's every citizen's duty to be of service to the community – because that community is our one great treasure! If someone, anyone, threatens everything we all stand and work for, we cannot just sit back and take it all. No, for the greater good, we have to fight back...'

He's going to get away with it, thought Hermione with a pang of panic. He may not exactly be a born orator, but most of the Ravenclaws at least want to believe him, want everything he says to be true so very hard that they'll give him the benefit of the doubt!

'Professor?' It wasn't immediately obvious, but Tracey had stood up, smiling at their teacher with an expression Hermione had never witnessed before. It was oddly out of place on the petite witch, who was usually so happy-go-lucky. It was leering, arrogant and had a sharp, cold edge to it that was more likely to cut than any more mundane weapon. It would have been much better at home on Harry's or even Greengrass' face.

Prewett's brow wrinkled in confusion, somewhat derailed in his speech. It was unlikely he would offer Tracey the platform to refute him, but his momentary silence was all the opening she needed. 'Black also said that you killed your own wife. Is that also an incident that's subject to the law of non-disclosure?'

Hermione watched in fascinated horror as Prewett's previously slightly receding flush returned with more force than ever. 'HE WHAT?!' the man brayed, his eyes wide, waving his wand about. 'He what?! How dare he?! HOW DARE HE?!' With all his might, the man kicked at the desk he'd previously sat on, sending it crashing into the wall.

A few students in the front rows screamed.

'P-professor, are you alright, sir?' asked Lightflight cautiously.

'OUT! Everyone out! Class is over. Out, OUT!' Prewett screamed, spittle flying across the room.

The throng made for the exit as fast as possible, dodging flying splinters and jinxes both as Prewett raged against the furniture.

The Slytherins got out last, making it a (in Hermione's opinion absolutely unnecessary) point that they wouldn't run even if their teacher was having a nervous breakdown.

When Hermione looked back over her shoulder one last time, Prewett had sunk to the floor, his shaking head in both hands. He was sobbing.

'That was brilliant, Draco,' gushed Parkinson. 'Much better than the usual lessons.'

Draco laughed and so did Zabini, Shafiq, and some of the others, but Hermione didn't feel like laughing; she felt disgusted. Tracey, who didn't seem to be in the mood to smile as well, grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away from the scene.

'Let's go,' the girl said grimly – exactly like a witch who'd done something unpleasant for the greater good.

~BLVoD~

Even a fortnight later, the school was bursting with the story of Prewett's, well, outburst. Those Ravenclaws that were present at the time were soon elevated to the status of very local celebrities, urged to share their story just this one last time. Professor Prewett had been absent for a few days, and Harry was, as a result of him refusing to attend a meeting between him, Prewett, Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore, spending his evenings in detention with Professor Rose. That, too, was a bit fishy, Hermione thought, not for the first time.

Hermione had fled the general hustle and bustle by retreating to the library, predictably so, as Tracey had said. Leo would help her every other day, but by now the both of them were the only ones who still believed in the library. Tracey did join them (from time to time) but more for company's sake than anything else. Greengrass, on the contrary, was a barely contained nuclear fusion at this point. Thankfully, all Slytherins had the sense to not bother her with the talk and gossip about her past or Prewett, but it was all too clear that the ongoing tension was only fuelling her wrath. Harry's – and to a lesser degree Tracey's – presence was the only countermeasures they could deploy to avert disaster. To their relief, Harry was willing to spend more time than usual in Daphne's company, joining them in the library whenever he wasn't busy with detentions or his suspiciously private lessons with Professor Rose.

Hermione scowled. Something about Professor Rose rubbed her the wrong way.

With care, Hermione turned another page of the newspaper archive. She had initially been searching for clues regarding Prewett or the foreign Auror, but currently, she was shamefully engrossed in research of another nature.

Bloody night raid on Potter mansion!

Young heir taken captive by Dark Wizards unknown!
Auror Office claims "no indication of involvement of Grindelwald supporters this time"!

Hermione's eyes were glued to the page and specifically the last words: 'this time,' they had printed. Were those remaining Grindelwald fanatics maybe the top suspects regarding the original raid that had killed Harry's parents?

The picture showed the familiar sight of the ruins of Potter Mansion, except that the whole property looked incredibly well-maintained. The lawn, in particular, gave off the impression that someone had combed it and cut each individual blade with stupendous care and dedication. And yet, the house in the back was the same ruin she'd come to know. The moving picture also showed ominous black fire that still consumed patches of grass or the fence.

Her lantern hissed a few times in the cold air of the library, and she turned the page.

Blacks suspected of abducting Potter heir!
Ministry seeks warrant to conduct thorough search of family's notoriously extensive holdings.

This time, the front page showed a picture of a grizzly scowling Rendall Prewett as he entered through the heavy doors that must, Hermione guessed, lead to the chambers of the Wizengamot. The rest of the front page seemed to be strangely concerned with pointing out every bit of evidence and talk that hinted at the Blacks' dark past.

She turned a lot of pages – hundreds – until she found another headline with what she was looking for.

Surprise raid on Black estates!

Sirius Black sentenced to indefinite incarceration on Azkaban Island!
Regulus Black dies resisting arrest!

Hermione gulped, flattening the paper. Her heart hammering, she decided to read a bit further this time around.

In a bold surprise move late last night, the Auror Office under Head Auror Rendall Prewett circumvented the Wizengamot by invoking Grindelwald legislation technically still in effect. Ignoring the enraged outcry of the Wizengamot, Auror Prewett publicly justified this legal measure as "necessary to move past the stalemate in the Wizengamot that is the direct consequence of the suspects hindering the ongoing investigation".

The raid occurred even before the Wizengamot was formally apprised of the situation...

Hermione nervously eyed the newspaper in her hands. This wasn't proper, was it? Absurdly, it felt a bit like, well, spying, despite the fact that it was a matter of public record.

Biting her lip, she scanned the following paragraphs that discussed at length the apparent impotence of the Wizengamot. Strangely, the reporter came to the conclusion that the Auror Office effectively overruling the Wizengamot, its formal employer and controlling institution, was a welcome if headstrong move.

Among the regrettable casualties of the night is also Mrs Ophala Black née Greengrass, who is currently being treated by emergency healers at St. Mungo's. Her two daughters fled the scuffle and are currently unaccounted for.

'Scuffle,' Hermione read out, disbelieving. The shadow of her silhouette danced across the bookshelves in the rhythm of the unsteady light.

Her thoughts hazy, she turned the page a few times, staring wordlessly at the pictures of men that had made history and those who had gotten under its heel. The last page of the month featured an extremely thin older woman with flaming red hair.

Greengrass family to renounce all ties with the Blacks.

Then, one of the shadows on the wall took a step forward.

'I admire your dedication, Hermione,' said Leo, clad in strange dark blue and green robes that blended with the background.

Hermione gave a frightened start, her flailing arms pushing the lantern off the table.

Leo's hand blurred with practised and intimidating efficiency, catching the light before it was more than a few inches on its way towards the cold stone floor.

Hastily, Hermione rearranged the newspapers in front of her. 'You scared me, Leo! Why did you sneak up on me?!'

'I did not,' the boy returned calmly, putting the lantern back on the reading table. 'You must have been absorbed by your reading.' Casually, he glanced at the old issues of the Daily Prophet that lay on top.

'Oh, er, yes. I've been doing a bit of reading. Look what I've found!' Hermione indicated the issue of the Prophet that had initially started her reading frenzy. It was an article about thirty years old.

ICW announces its intent to root out all remaining pockets of supporters of the Dark Lord.

Head Auror of Joint Forces to be heading hunt for Dark Witches and Wizards all across Europe.

The picture underneath showed the very same auburn-haired, hulking giant of a man they'd come to know as Antonius. 'He's a war hero, apparently! A big opponent of, you know, Grindelwald.'

'Interesting,' said Leo, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 'But that's not the only thing that's been keeping you busy, is it?' he asked mildly.

'Er-'

Hermione looked on dejectedly as Leo uncovered the issues of the Prophet she'd clumsily hidden under the first one.

Leo stared at the figure of Madame Greengrass. Then, he sighed, sitting down opposite Hermione.

'Hermione,' he began slowly.

'Yes?' she asked guiltily and in a very small voice.

'First of all, let me tell you that you're being extremely foolish. As far as I know, Harry has told you a substantial amount of his personal history, hasn't he?'

Hermione nodded, nervously biting her lip again. The head of Draco swam through her mind, berating her to drop the habit already.

'And haven't you recently started to become somewhat friendly with Daphne?'

'Well, I guess so. What goes for friendly with Greengrass, at least.'

'Then, don't you think it's extremely rude to dig into their personal history without even giving them the chance to tell you on their own?'

'I-' Hermione stammered feebly, ducking her head in shame. 'I guess so.'

'Why didn't you ask?' Leo asked, staring at her expression. His own face still betrayed none of his thoughts.

'I-' Hermione looked up, confused again.

'Be honest. You're not good enough to bluff me, anyway,' remarked Leo nonchalantly.

'I just wanted to know,' said Hermione with an apologetic smile. 'And Greengrass can get a bit, well, mad at times. And Harry isn't exactly...forthcoming.'

'Have you ever wondered about Daphne's reaction should she come to realise that you've been stirring up her past?' Leo's grey eyes still hammered into her, as ferocious as his voice was calm. It was eerie.

'I didn't mean any harm,' she gushed. 'I just-'

'Wanted to know,' Leo concluded impassively. 'Yes, I gathered as much. Listen up, Hermione. Never, ever do that again, do you understand me?'

His voice didn't waver, it didn't carry any hint of threat or possible repercussions. It simply, irrevocably stated that it was in Hermione's absolutely best interest to follow his advice.

She nodded.

'Good, then I'll do my best to calm my sister, and I'll even talk to Harry, because you can be sure that Amy will.'

'Amy?' asked Hermione, feeling the situation slowly spiralling out of control. 'What's she got to do with this?'

'Remember I told you I didn't sneak up on you?' Leo pointed at something behind Hermione.

Hermione turned around – and gasped. Not one yard behind her stood Amy Lestrange, wand loosely at her side, glowering at Hermione as if she'd seen a bug in her prize vegetables. With a sneer, the girl whirled around and vanished between the shelves.

'I didn't need to because I knew where you were. You should be grateful I found Amy on her way to Harry.'

Hermione nodded, feeling wan. She hadn't at any point in time realised that Amadina Lestrange had stood within arm's reach behind her. She wondered how long the girl had stood there, patiently watching her dig into Harry's and Daphne's past with that cold look in her eyes. Hermione shivered.

'Hermione?' said Leo again, after a short pause.

'Yes?'

'Harry isn't very forgiving when it comes to anything that loosely resembles a betrayal of trust.'

'I swear, I didn't-'

'And neither are we,' continued Leo smoothly, his eyes still focused entirely on Hermione's.

Hermione looked back at those grey eyes of Leo's. Even though the usually almost taciturn and extremely polite boy in front of her had, in his demeanour, almost no resemblance to his older sister, she couldn't help noticing that the uncaring, adamantine rigidness was just as cold as Amadina's fury.

By now, Hermione was biting her lip so hard she could taste a faint trace of blood. She nodded, again, like a child that had stolen a cookie from the jar that was supposed to be out of reach.

'Good, then let's speak no more of this,' said Leo, to her surprise. 'In any case, I've found something yesterday evening, too, and I'd value your opinion.'

Hermione sank, if possible, even further into her seat, shame rising from her like smoke.

'Have a look.' Leo produced an ancient book she'd seen him read through twice now: Terrifying Tales of Medieval Britain. Intrigued, Hermione opened the page the fancy red bookmark flagged.

'Long Nights, by Ian B. Longbottom.

One of the most famously prominent but – sadly – least researched tales of medieval Britain every budding student of magical history is sure to stumble upon during the course of their studies is the tale of the Long Nights of Caerphilly.

During the early 14th century, the, at the time, small settlement was repeatedly haunted, with contemporaries claiming to have been attacked by "intangible spectres", "ghost", and other apparitions that "descended upon the good citizens with unholy fervour with the waning light".

The neighbouring wizarding clans regarded these happenings with little more than contempt, as local populations had always been eager to blame their misfortunes (the land was in the throes of a serious famine and still contested) on magical maladies. However, one huntsman whose name was sadly lost in time, found himself, completely by chance, as the sole witness of the alleged events of Caerphilly.

Regrettably, the huntsman, too, fell ill, and his mind wasted away in what we can only presume to be the psychological shock from what he had witnessed. He only managed to convey the general location of the alleged massacre he had witnessed before passing away, but when the family (that tragically also didn't live to see the end of the century) later sent out a whole hunting party, nothing was found except the ominously mutilated remains of several peasant families.

The haunting of the area continued for well over a month before suddenly ceasing all at once, further biasing the local populace against magic. Several poems, tales, and legends of nightly attacks by ghastly apparitions in South Wales are said to trace their roots to the events of Caerphilly.

For reference, see The Normans and the Welsh, by Ifan Llugwy; Fancy Fantasies of Olden Times, by Rosemarie Lepub; and Historiography of Magical Poetry and its Origins, by Sir Evan Readgood.'

Hermione looked up, the sorry episode from earlier almost dispelled from her mind. 'But this is it!' she exclaimed excitedly. 'This really does feel like our best lead so far. Good job, Leo!'

'Thank you,' the younger Lestrange returned with a little bob of his head. 'Then, our next step should probably be-'

'To look for references speculating about the creature that attacked Caerphilly! Of course, let's get started right now!'

'Wouldn't it be more efficient to wait for the others?' asked Leo with a hint of a smile.

'No, no, no,' muttered Hermione, already enthusiastically dragging ancient tomes from the shelves. 'Tracey's hit the end of her patience, and Greengrass is either too distracted by Harry, or distracted by her thoughts of Harry. And Harry's spending too much time with Professor Rose recently.'

'You, too, seem fairly antagonistic towards his association with Professor Rose,' observed Leo calmly.

'Well, it's just... Nevermind! Let's get started already!'

~BLVoD~

But quite as easily as it had suddenly seemed, it didn't turn out to be. Arduously, Hermione and Leo pored over sundry tomes in painfully dull lucubration for days and days. Tracey joined them every once in a while, as did Daphne, presumably because Harry was so busy with his private studies (to the great chagrin of all the girls present). Amy had, after Hermione's bout of unduly curiosity, avoided her, offering nothing more than perfunctory greetings at meals and suspicious glares at other times. Harry had said to give it time.

'She's not one to trust easily, and, I feel obliged to say, she's somewhat predisposed against you due to your...heritage. Just keep out of her way, and she'll come around.' After a bit of thinking, he'd added, 'probably.'

Luckily, the whole thing hadn't been too big of a deal for Harry, who, for whatever strange pure-blood reason, seemed more disappointed that she'd gotten caught so easily rather than her actually prying into his private history.

In any case, November had come and gone in no time, and the heavy snow of December was, once again, having its impact on the students' life at Hogwarts. Mostly, this became apparent in the way everyone dressed and avoided the lower parts of the castle early at day and late at night. All outdoor activities were still prohibited, after all.

A few more Aurors, both foreign and domestic, seemed to be patrolling the corridors and standing guard next to the entrances, but everything felt quite normal otherwise. Hermione felt a bit nervous about the thought of some ghoulish ghost lurking in the forest, just within reach. That the Aurors had failed to drive it away didn't help either.

But the strangest thing, at least to her, was that nobody seemed to care very much that some deadly creature was, for all they knew, just hovering outside the castle. For most of the students, life just went on. True, the failed expedition into the forest by the Aurors hadn't been made public – but still...

Harry had told her that normalcy is what you make of it. For these people, the threat of danger was something they were well accustomed to, after all. Brewing, flying, tinkering with spells – these things were all relatively normal and could go horribly wrong.

With a sigh, Hermione watched a few Hufflepuffs who lingered at the entrance of the library, whispering and sniggering in a way that made her quite certain she knew who they were talking about. True enough, Harry and Leo could be seen from way back, bending over a few tomes she could identify from a distance as vaguely related to magical creatures.

'Hello,' she said, taking a seat and grabbing one of the books at random. 'Found anything?'

'Not precisely,' said Harry, leaning back. 'I can't help thinking that I'm overlooking something, but I just can't imagine what...'

'Maybe you're overthinking this.' Leo carefully shut his book and looked up at Harry. 'I think it's time to change the angle again.'

'Alright? Ask away!'

'I've been wondering. What did the wounds on Prewett and his glorious company look like?' Leo asked in a low voice.

'Well, brutal, to be honest. Cuts, gashes – it looked as if the flesh had been torn off them at times.'

Hermione grimaced, feeling sick. Still, this was part of the job, she guessed. 'So no claw marks or bite wounds? Just...random flesh wounds? That doesn't sound like an animal.'

'I wouldn't go so far,' retorted Leo calmly. 'Wounds can look funny after a while. Also, we don't know if the foreign Auror didn't apply first-aid already, which might have warped the shape of the wounds.'

'He must have,' Harry agreed immediately. 'Some of them wouldn't have lived otherwise.'

'Good point.' Hermione sighed. 'Anything else, Harry?'

'Not exactly. The men obviously feared for their lives, but I figured that would be self-explanatory given the state they were in.' He leant back, tilting the chair. 'Wait, one of them had a strange wound, a puncture mark on his neck.'

'Interesting. Maybe that has something to do with the lack of blood in the Acromantulas?'

'Maybe it was a vampire after all?' asked Hermione, nervously playing with a strand of her bushy hair.

'I don't think so,' replied Leo calmly.

'Good!' Hermione couldn't quite suppress the smile after hearing his reassurance.

'I think we're dealing with something a lot more troublesome here.'

'Oh...'

'Well, good luck, Leo. I know you'll eventually get it. You couldn't ask for a more enthusiastic helper, too.' Harry stood up, gathering his books.

'Are you leaving already?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, I've got another appointment with Aenor.'

'That's your fifth lesson with her this week alone,' stated Hermione, carefully watching his expression.

But he just shrugged. 'I guess so.'

'Is she teaching you spells or...?'

'Couldn't say,' he returned with a small smile.

'Because you physically can't or because you don't want to?'

Harry, who had been on the verge of leaving, turned around, showing them a playful grin. 'Oh, I definitely don't want to. It would, as a matter of fact, end very badly for me if I wanted to. So long!'

'What's that supposed to mean?' mumbled Hermione, eyeing his retreating form.

'It's best not to ask, I think. This research doesn't really play to his strengths, anyway.'

'What's that supposed to mean? He knows this library as well as anyone!'

'Yes, but Harry's not particularly interested in the topic.' Seeing her expression, he waved a hand. 'Don't get me wrong, he wants to get to the bottom of this, but he's not the typical, hm, outdoor person, you know.'

'Neither am I,' replied Hermione, amused.

'No, but you're the most dedicated of all of us when it comes to your studies. Harry is, in his bookwormy way, rather practical. I believe he views spells not as subjects to study but as tools to gather. It's not the same as your approach. And, happily,' Leo again opened the book in front of him, 'I just so happen to be interested in the subject.'

'Can I be honest with you?' asked Hermione after a second of hesitation, her eyes wandering over the extremely neat hair, the astonishingly orderly robes, and Leo's shining shoes that were barely visible under the table.

'Not feeling very Slytherin right now?' Leo inquired neutrally, but his eyebrows rose for a fraction of a centimetre, which Hermione interpreted as a silent 'go on'.

'No, well, I just would never have figured you'd be an outdoor kind of person,' she said with an embarrassed sort of smile.

Leo nodded, returning his attention to the book at hand. 'Hardly the first time I've heard that one. Looks can be deceiving, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded, taking the book in front of her and opening it at the glossary. The candle in the lantern hissing and spitting in the cold air was the only sound around, except for the occasional muffled steps of other readers.

'In fact, considering you've been trying to rein in your bubbling curiosity, I'll be giving you some free advice,' said Leo suddenly and quite unexpected, as if it was normal to carry on with a conversation that had been paused for fifteen minutes.

'Er, yes?' Hermione asked, looking up.

'You'd do well to assume most people in Slytherin have two faces. You might be the only notable exception in fact.'

There was something in the way Leo pronounced the last sentence that made Hermione sit up straight. 'Do you mean to say that's something I need to change?'

Leo sighed, putting the book back down. 'Ask yourself a simple question, Hermione. Could you ever, with absolute certainty, tell what Harry might be thinking? Or Tracey, for example? At any given time?'

Hermione wanted to say 'yes' but she couldn't. Harry, yes, Harry always gave off the impression that some part of him was watching out from behind his eyes, observing, thinking, disconnected from the way he acted. But Tracey? Then again, that cold look back with Professor Prewett had been rather unsettling.

'I guess not,' she conceded.

'No guessing necessary. You simply can't, believe me. Even Daphne, as, well, simple as she may appear occasionally, is a lot more complicated than you might be prepared to give her credit for. The first step,' he raised both forefingers close by, 'is to practise the separation of thought and emotion.' The fingers shot apart.

'Is this some sort of magic, too?' she asked curiously. 'It sounds more like a mental thing.'

'Both,' answered Leo succinctly. 'But it's not easy. If you're up for a challenge, try it out. You can laugh, you can grin, you can cry, but at any given time always have the clarity to be aware of what you're doing. You need to be in control of yourself. That doesn't mean that you can't allow your emotions to show; it simply means you need to be their master.'

'So, you mean it's okay to cry as long as I can, at any given time, stop crying if I want to?' she asked, bewildered.

'Precisely.' Apparently satisfied, he returned to his lecture.

But Hermione wasn't satisfied yet. 'Is that something every pure-blood learns?'

'Oh, yes. It comes with having lots of relations. If you can't smile well-behaved at your disgusting great-aunt while thinking "I hope you come down with Vanishing Sickness," you're in a lot of trouble.'

Hermione stared straight ahead. Then, she started to laugh. 'You just made a joke!' she said disbelievingly.

But Leo just shrugged. Hermione, after calming herself, once again stared at the younger Lestrange in front of her. Had this been his way of making a point? Was she overthinking this?

But once again, Leo disrupted her thoughts. 'I think we have a problem.'

'What do you mean?' she immediately shot back, now all serious.

Leo held up his book. It was an old copy of Baffling Beasts of Legends.

'I've seen that one, but what's the problem with it?'

'The problem is that it doesn't contain any lemma starting with L.'

'Well, maybe there isn't such a thing? I'm sure it probably doesn't contain anything starting with Y or X, either.'

'As a matter of fact, it does. I wouldn't have given it a second glance, but I rather think the entries under L are missing in most of the books.'

Startled, Hermione grabbed a few books on the tables. Leo had been right, she realised with a jolt; Most of the books did lack entries under L, and those had some more often than not featured Leprechauns – not the most deadly of creatures.

'What other beast could you think of that's missing?' Hermione asked.

'Limax for one. But I doubt a slug, no matter how intelligent, could do that to a party of Aurors.'

'No, probably not.' Hermione sighed. 'This is all so complicated. We wouldn't be having this problem in the Muggle world!'

'Oh, why not?' asked Leo, his interest drawn.

'Well, the most general type of information is free and not locked away. I don't think it'd be possible to track down every bestiary to change its contents!'

'What would you do if there was some subject that was restricted, but you desperately needed it anyway?'

'Well, I suppose if you really needed it for a good reason, money can buy you anything,' she said, disheartened.

'You know, Hermione,' said Leo with a minuscule smile, as he softly shut the book close, 'I think I've just had an idea.'

'And that would be?' she asked, taken aback.

'We just need to speak with one of the richest wizards in Britain and let the money do the talking.'

'And how would we ever get in touch with someone like that?' she asked sceptically.

'Well, as long as Draco is hiding from me, I suppose we should appeal to Harry.'

'Of course,' responded Hermione slack-jawed. 'Why does that not surprise me? But will he just give us the money?'

'Don't worry,' was all Leo said, still smiling as if he knew something Hermione didn't, which he probably did.

~BLVoD~

'...so in short, we need about five thousand Galleons from you to order the book from abroad.'

Hermione felt her tongue go dry. Had Leo really just asked Harry for five thousand Galleons – just like that and completely out of the blue? My parents could buy a brand-new car with that – and a good one! Strangely, no one seemed to react very much to Leo's incredibly audacious demand. Greengrass was still leaning against Harry in a suspiciously casual sort of way, engrossed in some silly chit-chat with Tracey.

Equally incomprehensible, Harry didn't look annoyed or even amused. No, he simply shrugged, not even looking up from his reading. 'Sure, but I get to keep the book.'

Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Er, Harry, are you sure you shouldn't think about it a bit longer?'

Harry looked up, his brow wrinkled in honest confusion. 'Why?'

'I, er – oh, nevermind!' Hermione gave up, taking a breath and sitting down.

'You haven't been at Harry's yet, have you, Honey?' Tracey threw in from the side.

'No, I haven't,' Hermione answered, feeling faint.

'Well, let's just say it's no surprise our good Harry here thought food, clothing, and books were just conjured up until he was twelve,' she quipped with a snigger.

Harry flicked his tongue, a shade embarrassed. 'How was I to know?! The topic just never came up.'

Daphne giggled, patting Harry's head in a calming and rather patronising fashion, but Hermione couldn't help joining in with Tracey's laughter when she saw Harry's disgruntled expression.

'Anyway,' said Harry after a while, 'Grandfather's holding another ball this year. You lot are obviously invited if you want to come.'

'I'll come!' said Greengrass, once more defying common physics with the speed of her answer.

'Guess I'll come, too!' said Tracey, still sniggering.

'I think I'll pass,' said Leo with a courteous bow.

'Wish I could pass,' mumbled Harry, ignoring Daphne's punishing elbow.

Hermione was quite startled to realise Tracey was staring at her as if demanding something. 'Er, yes, Tracey?'

'What about you? Wanna come?'

'I'm invited, too?' asked Hermione, her gaze wandering between Tracey and Harry.

Harry nodded. 'It's your decision, of course.'

'Should I?' Hermione looked around nervously. All of them, with the exception of Harry, were looking at her wearing complicated expressions.

'I think you shouldn't,' volunteered Greengrass after a few seconds of exchanged glances.

'Why not?' she asked in a raspy voice, her heart falling a bit.

'Because, Granger, the Black Ball is pretty much the social event of the year. The occasion is very formal and attended by all the respectable families of Britain, and a few foreign ones to boot. It might be amusing to watch you embarrass yourself once in a while, but you might want to rethink doing so in front of the most important people of this country on an occasion where gossip is the weapon of choice.'

Unsure, Hermione looked at Harry for confirmation. 'Is that true?'

'It's true,' he said, not looking up. 'Last year, one of the Yaxley's was a bit generous with his drinks and his tongue got a bit too loose. He's since lost his lodging, job, and his wife is considering a divorce.'

'That's appalling!' said a thoroughly shocked Hermione.

'That's society,' Harry corrected her, slowly turning the page. 'During these seemingly quiet and friendly gatherings, more political deals and business contracts are forged than during half the year before.'

'I don't think I'm ready for that,' admitted Hermione weakly.

'Probably for the best,' said Tracey with an apologetic grin. 'That kind of gossip can really stick around. Poor No-Hose Jugson.'

'No-Hose Jugson?' repeated Hermione slowly.

'Oh, allegedly, years and years ago, Mr Jugson had a few too many Firewhiskeys and, probably by accident, went into the Ladies with his trousers already half-way open, and when the girls saw-'

'Tracey!' snapped Greengrass, hitting her best friend on the shoulder. 'Stop being so crass!'

But Tracey just sniggered, ignoring her best friend's outraged scolding and Hermione's blush. 'Suffice it to say, the name's still around even though the man's over sixty now.'

'That's really mean!' said Hermione, hiding her mouth with one hand.

'It has to be even more awkward for his children and wife, I wager,' said Harry drily, turning another page.

Tracey burst out laughing, and no amount of playful slaps could calm her down for the rest of the evening.

~BLVoD~

December trudged on with all the best of November: scary weather, which had now turned into snowstorms under a lightning-lit sky, detentions for Harry, Harry's private lessons with Professor Rose, and the ever-turning rumour mill of Hogwarts. Professor Prewett had come back to teaching, despite the ongoing interest in his past, but now resorted to immediate detentions whenever someone started asking questions about his wife. They were also still spending a lot of time in the library, but Leo and Hermione were by now the only regulars willing to keep up their research. Tracey and – surprisingly enough – Harry had said that going on like before, hoping for sheer luck, would be a waste of time. Instead, they were putting their trust in the book Leo had, to Hermione's unpleasant surprise, quite illegally ordered from Hungary.

'You wouldn't believe what turns up on the market once in a while,' Leo had said, in Hermione's opinion totally glossing over the fact of what kinds of markets he was talking about. 'Regions with political instability are always best for acquisition. Some soldier grabs a book here, nicks some jewellery there; even after so many years since the great wars of the Muggles, there's still lots of interesting things to be bought. And I'm not even talking about the war with the Dark Lord...'

'So you, er, used Harry's five thousand Galleons to buy contraband?' she had whispered, looking over her shoulder.

Leo had only nodded, furthering her dismay. 'A good investment.'

Hermione had let the topic rest at that point, unwilling to find out just how Leo knew about Hungarian black markets selling spoils of war.

It was, therefore, to Hermione's great surprise and welcome distraction that Harry unexpectedly turned up during one of her tight-lipped sessions with Leo – Daphne and Tracey in tow.

'Still busy?' he asked with a smile.

'Still wasting time,' chuntered Tracey.

'We have, as a matter of fact, achieved a bit of progress,' said Leo modestly.

'Oh? Shoot!' said Daphne, taking a seat.

'We have compared the bestiaries and encyclopaediae in question,' said Hermione excitedly, noting Tracey's bamboozled look at the word encyclopaediae, 'and it seems that only books covering dangerous foreign magical creatures seem to have been altered.'

'Meaning we never had a chance when we chose to look for British creatures,' said Harry with a nod.

'But this is only proof that Draco's right! Some giant foreign super monster is lurking in the forest!' complained Tracey loudly, oblivious to their surroundings.

'How does it matter if it's foreign?' asked Harry, amused. 'Does it get scarier just because it doesn't know how to enjoy a well-brewed tea?'

'What? I-'

Hermione and Daphne snickered at Tracey's expression.

'Harry Black?'

Hermione turned around, but to her relief found no Basil Fawcett staring avidly at Harry. This time, it was the blonde with the overly large eyes she'd pointed out during the Sorting Ceremony.

Harry stood up, eyeing the newcomer without giving anything away. 'Miss Lovegood? What can I do for you?'

'Oh, I just wanted to let you know that your allegations against Professor Prewett have piqued my father's interest. You know, he's the editor of the Quibbler. I thought you might be interested in this.'

Completely disregarding the five pairs of eyes watching her closely, she hopped towards Harry, holding out a brown parcel.

'Thank you,' said Harry without any indication that he was going to open it.

'You're welcome.' The first year hinted at a smile. 'But don't thank me yet! My father's now looking into your family's legion of Blue Jellygolems. You know – to balance things out!'

With that extraordinary statement, she bobbed her head and, skipping and hopping, left the library again.

'What's a Blue Jellygolem?' asked Hermione into the ensuing silence.

'I have no idea whatsoever,' answered Harry.

'Lovegood is a bit queer,' said Leo, inspecting the parcel in Harry's hand, 'but she's otherwise harmless enough.'

'She was the loony who danced in the rain when we made for Hogwarts, wasn't she?' asked Daphne.

'That's her, the rain dancer,' said Harry, smiling mysteriously. He pointed his wand at the package and produced a few muttered spells Hermione wasn't familiar with. After a while, he nodded and unwrapped the package with a flipping motion of his wand.

It was the current edition of the magazine known as the Quibbler, and the front page read:

Heroic or heinous: Rendall Prewett's past revealed!

The picture showed Professor Prewett, shiftily fumbling with a lock, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder. Incidentally, Hermione recognised the door to be the one leading to the office of the History of Magic teacher.

'This is brilliant,' shouted Daphne, laughing. 'I take everything back; Lovegood is alright!'

'Sadly, the article in question falls flat,' said Harry, scanning through the page so fast that Hermione felt dizzy watching his eyes move. 'But it's amusing nevertheless.'

'I say! This is brilliant! Who took the photo?' shouted Tracey in between her bouts of laughter.

'I think she must've taken it herself,' said Hermione with a little smile. 'I think Professor Prewett looks so nervous because he was being hunted down by a first year with a camera.'

This was apparently too much for Tracey, who rocketed so hard in her chair that she was in danger of falling off.

Within seconds, Madame Pince came running and angrily pointed at the door, clearly not entertained by the peals of laughter. 'Out! How dare you make such noise in my library! Leave, now! All of you!'

So with nothing else to do, and Tracey still not calming down, they had no choice but to leave.

'And now what?' asked Hermione, shooting one last longing look at the closing library doors.

'Common room?' proposed Greengrass. 'At least I'm not in danger of freezing my ears off down there.'

'I guess,' said Harry.

The common room was, thankfully, rather deserted, and their favourite spots near the fire were unoccupied.

Harry, apparently now wiser to Greengrass' schemes, chose a single seater near the fire. The blonde, however, simply smiled, sat down on the armrest, and leant over the back of the seat so that she was looking down at Harry from slightly behind.

Harry sighed. 'There are enough seats for all of us, Daphne.'

But Greengrass only smiled. 'Oh, I'm fine, Harry, thanks.'

'I love it,' purred Tracey, writhing on top of the sofa. It might even have looked suggestive if it hadn't been for Tracey's unfortunate child-like figure. As it was, it rather looked like a cat enjoying the warmth. 'Harry? Do you think you could-'

'No. It's getting embarrassing to call Minnie just for your chocolate every time.'

'But she seems to enjoy working!' protested Tracey pleadingly, looking up at him while lounging about upside down. 'Pwetty, pwetty pwease?' she begged.

'No.'

'I wouldn't mind a hot drink, too, I guess,' said Hermione, feeling a bit of pity for her sister in arms, not least of all because her current pose would probably get a different reaction had it been someone of Greengrass' proportions.

'See?!' Tracey immediately shot up, sitting upright now but still staring hungrily at Harry. 'Come on, don't be such a sourpuss!'

Harry flicked his tongue in annoyance. 'Anyone else want something? I'll only be calling her once this evening. I've already got enough detentions as it is.'

'As if you're really sorry about that,' jeered Greengrass from atop her throne.

Harry seemed to miss her remark.

'I want my hot chocolate! No, make that two. Or maybe better a jug full of hot cocoa, just to be safe!' said Tracey, looking more excited, reflected Hermione, than at any of their breakthroughs during the course of their research.

'Minnie!' called Harry. One familiar pop later, the house-elf with its tauntingly cute long ears appeared in their midst.

'Master Harry called?' Her bulging eyes immediately sought out Harry.

Harry apparently read something from her expression, because he suddenly sat up straight, nearly unseating Greengrass behind him, who shrieked and threw her arms around Harry's neck to keep herself from falling. 'Sorry, Harry,' she said, grinning sheepishly and letting go.

'What is it, Minnie?' asked Harry, who stared intently at the elf.

'A parcel is arrived from Gringotts, Master Harry. I is having it with me right now. Cranky said it be from the continent. Are you wishing for it at present time?'

Harry's eyes shot towards Leo, who nodded.

'Thank you, Minnie. You can leave it with me here.'

The elf beamed at Harry, producing a shoebox-sized package from within the folds of her modest garment that was decidedly incapable of ever concealing it under normal circumstances.

'Well, let's have a look,' said Leo, getting up and taking a seat on Harry's second armrest, much to Greengrass' displeasure.

Reverently, Harry opened the package, swatting filling aside until he uncovered a fairly new tome with a leather cover and silver letters.

Dark Creatures and their secrets – Anonymous.

'Good find, Leo,' breathed Harry, his hand caressing the binding. 'You may go for now, Minnie.'

The elf bowed happily and vanished with another popping sound.

'What about my chocolate?!' yelled Tracey, scandalised.

'This is more important than chocolate,' mused Harry in a low voice. Slowly, his fingers traced along the leather. He opened the book, staring at the contents, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I think it's a translation of another work,' he said out loud, his eyes scanning the pages in the kind of speed Hermione had come to expect from him. 'There are many Latin phrases left untranslated, making me believe that this might be a translation of a modern work inspired by a text from the Middle Ages. Probably a monastery transcript – the untranslated original. The modern one more than likely a document of some Ministry. You can see how the writer of this one tries and fails to stick to the original layout, likely because of the difference in character sizes of the fine minuscule and modern fonts.'

'How do you know, Harry?' asked Hermione breathlessly.

'It comes with experience.'

'He means to say he's lived in his library pondering ancient tomes for the better part of his life,' said Tracey with a smirk.

'That, too. Well, let's have a look.' Solemnly, he turned the pages, skipping towards the entries under L.

Then, he grinned in a dark manner. 'Listen:

Lethifolds are black, carnivorous, and nocturnal shrouds that will indiscriminately attempt to prey on any magical and mundane creature they happen upon.

These vicious, artful pack hunters are known to ambush both beast and man alike during the night, wrapping themselves around their victims to digest them whole. Proven sightings are, in contrast to popular medieval myths of Wales, verifiably confined to the tropics.

Lethifolds are among the oldest and most dangerous predators to plague Earth, belonging to the infamous "Six Scourges", and they are traceable throughout most of humanity's history. Indeed, a famous, ancient piece of early Mokayan mural art, estimated to be at least 3500 years old, depicts a swarm of Lethifolds attacking an unidentified settlement (q. v. "The Howling Night"). Despite their established and proven existence, factual knowledge about these fleeting heralds of bale is limited.

Confirmed sightings of Lethifolds are among the most dangerous magical catastrophes to befall the tropical world, and most magical races treat their appearance as a natural disaster more than anything as Lethifolds have no natural enemy except the sun, which incinerates and kills them instantly. In their ravenous hunger, they are known to have wiped out several races of pre-historic dragons and civilisations in the tropics, magical and mundane, only to ultimately vanish again.

Self-styled witnesses and mythical accounts both tell of the abilities of so-called Elder Packs of Lethifolds, who, so some explorers and natives claim, allegedly develop the habit of drinking the lifeblood of their victims to strengthen themselves, just like ancient Olmec and Mayan legends foretell a great catastrophe at the hands of sentient specimen (q. v. "Drinker of Minds"), though most modern scholars see this as a semi-religious attempt to explain the appearance of a stray pack of Dementors or newly acquired knowledge of their existence, whereas others still point out that Dementors have never been spotted in the Soconusco region and certainly not at the time.

Zhou the Sagacious famously depicts his nemesis in his Thousand Nights of War as a black shadow of wicked whispers who continuously referred to him as "Little Curseling, Regret and Astray" (editor's note: translation contested), which modern scholars interpret as implied philosophical discourse about sovereign rights. Though many of the aspects he describes like their famous verbal spat before their last confrontation are considered literary hyperbole, his allusions to the so-called Deep One possessing the powers to affect the weather have been confirmed to be researched by the Academy of Ji.

Though the majority of claims as to their magical abilities are still being contested at this point, it seems possible that, at the very least, older or more powerful packs of Lethifolds might have an effect on those of weak mind or constitution (q. v. History of Ji: 1900-1950; Siam incident.). Leaked intelligence reports of the incident attribute the deaths of most of the junior research assistants to Lethifold presence, though a spokeswizard later vehemently denied any physical contact between the group and their objects of study.

Any appearance of Lethifolds is subject to the International Convention about Magical Catastrophes and Disaster Protection and is to be reported without delay. Interbreeding and unsanctioned research of Lethifolds is forbidden on pain of death under charter IV, IC (1648). All countries penalise any and all use of magic imitating or attracting Lethifolds harshly. Some countries are known to ban the subject to discourage improper research.

For related information, also see "Six Scourges", "Early Chinese Sorcerer Kings", "Academy of Ji", "International Magical Law", "The Most Extraordinary League of Gentlemanly Huntsmen", "Medieval Myths of Britain".'

'Merlin, I've been so thick.' Harry groaned, ignoring Leo's and Tracey's inquisitive glances.

'Bingo!' shouted Hermione excitedly. When everyone stared at her as if she'd grown a second head, she slumped back into her seat, trying her best to hide her embarrassment. 'It's a Muggle thing,' she explained herself in a small voice.

---

AN, Difficulty of spells: As I've mentioned at some point, I've made a few changes to magic in my story, without straying too much from the original - hopefully. You should keep in mind that in Black Luminary Crabbe and Goyle would probably not have been able to learn the Killing Curse – ever. That dude that fired the curse like a light show in HBP? He'd have been a total (lunatic) genius. Voldemort being able to nonverbally cast it left and light would be a terrifying feat instead of something somewhat ordinary. I think Rowling trivialised the spell a bit too much, to a comical degree even if you think about it: For whatever reason, the glorious Hogwarts defenders (who more or less refrain from using Unforgivables) take fewer casualties than those exclusively using fatal attacks and trained in the Dark Arts. Plot armour + banzai charge = profit!

Anyway, for my story at least consider the Unforgivables to be slightly out of reach for the average Joe.

AN, Lethifolds: Yes, they're a bit different in my story. Yes, Harry feels like the biggest Ron Weasley ever right now.

AN, Daphne: The first very concrete hint of her origin was actually dropped as early as chapter six (chapter two as well, though that one isn't understandable without context). Just so you know that I'm not pulling that one out of my hat. The first book is literally strewn with hints like that.

AN, Ball: Don't worry; the plot won't be halting at all this time around, and it won't be anything like Harry's first year – you'll see.