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 ...?

43. VoD: Premonitions III

Premonitions III

---

'I don't like this,' grumbled one of the voices who sat rather far away from Lord Black and his successor – to some approving nods all around. The person seemed to be shifting in his seat, nervously licking his lips. 'It doesn't seem right.'

'Can't we just do it differently? Maybe a spell?' asked the pleasant voice from earlier.

'Calumny, perhaps? Much harder to trace and a lot cleaner too,' proposed the first voice again, standing up.

'Yes,' drawled Bellatrix, who hadn't bothered with either veil or spell to hide her identity. 'You'd know all about libel, wouldn't you?'

Harry regarded the person in question expressionlessly. Narcissa, sitting to his right and disguised under an intricate set of spells, gave him a short pat on his back.

'I-I meant no disrespect. I'm sorry, Harry, you know I am! We've discussed this again and again, but we've all agreed to-'

'Despite the Prophet's best and earnest efforts to publicly vilify the family, especially our future Lord Black, this year's ball has drawn the attention of even more socialites than ever before,' said Narcissa primly, one hand now resting on Harry's shoulder. 'So I ask myself; is there really any point to it all?'

Bellatrix snorted haughtily. 'And it won't go that smoothly! There's a time when your precious cowardice serves its purpose – this isn't it!'

The first two attendees were about to protest angrily when Arcturus raised his hand. Silence followed immediately. 'Do you have any proposal as to how libel could achieve our goal – realistically?' he asked in a polite tone, nodding towards the first protester.

'Well, not yet. But if you'd only allow me to work on it, Lord Black... I assure you, it'd be my absolute top priority!'

'And how long would it, in your opinion, take to achieve our goal?'

'I promise you any person's image can be destroyed in a matter of weeks! It wouldn't take more than two or three years until all business connections and personal contacts are severed. I assure you, when I'm through with a person, even the rats will have a hard time bowing so low as to spit on him.'

'So much assurance is good to hear. And yet,' said Arcturus mildly, 'we find ourselves not quite having "two or three years" of time. Could you guarantee you'd achieve the desired results within one?'

'I promise I shall do my absolute bes-'

'Meaning you can't,' Bellatrix pointed out with a sneer. 'Spare us your grovelling.'

Arcturus waited for a few seconds, neither admonishing Bellatrix's outburst nor – apparently – seeing the need to speak at all. The silence seemed to press heavily on the protester, and – eventually – he sat down again with an air of defeat. 'There's still the possibility of charms or curses,' the man threw in weakly.

'What spellwork do you propose?' asked Harry, intrigued, speaking for the first time more out of academical curiosity than anything else. 'I'm by no means an Auror, but it seems to me that a mere Confundus won't do the trick, will it?'

A few people exchanged uneasy glances until Bellatrix, again, raised her voice, this time with palpable amusement. 'How precious! But we all know which curse we're talking about. So, which one of you is willing to march into either the Ministry or the family seat of a noble line, cast the Imperius with such prodigious potency that no manner of resistance is conceivable for nearly one year until all things are settled, and then escape undetected?'

'And even if we find someone mentally degraded enough for just that,' cackled an elderly voice farther to Harry's right, 'what then? Will the victim just take a sudden vacation and vanish along the way, or do we have to follow up one Unforgivable with the next? As much as I despise the man and his holier-than-thou twat of a wife, Longbottom is bound to notice something strange is afoot if we start dishing out Unforgivables on prominent citizens like cookies at Yule!'

'Maybe a potion?'

The old woman puffed a smoke ring, snorting dismissively. 'And how the ruddy hell would that work? Stick to thy last, paper-man!'

Arcturus, however, looked faintly interested, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the second speaker with the melodious voice.

The voice sighed audibly. 'Magical potions have the habit of turning up in examinations. I wouldn't recommend it. If Bones and Longbottom smell even a whiff of any elixir strong enough for our purpose, all hell will break loose at the Ministry.'

'Worse,' someone else pointed out, 'they may well unite in their rage.'

'Fine, whatever,' snapped the 'paper-man' angrily. 'If you're all so eager for assassinations, who am I to argue?!'

A few people twitched in their seats following this outburst. Harry glanced at his grandfather. Arcturus was still sitting comfortably in his seat, quite at ease, watching the family with polite interest and tranquillity. In the company of others, the Lord of the Blacks was no talker. Instead, from what Harry could tell, he seemed to prefer the arguments playing out in front of him, asking questions whenever necessary until a solution presented itself.

That Harry had figured out. What Harry hadn't quite figured out was just how – each time – the resulting solution happened to be the one initially preferred by the sly old man sitting next to him.

'We are all open to suggestions here.' Arcturus' softly spoken words banished the silence like a mellow wind of spring. 'I promised I'd hear you all out, and if we find a better solution – well, all the better.'

Nodding towards the somewhat mollified man in the corner, he folded both of his hands in front of his face. 'So, are there any other suggestions, propositions, concerns, or enquir-'

The image of the smoky room vanished in an instant, and Harry gave an immense start as someone took a seat next to him, ripping him from his memories. It was Daphne. For a few seconds, Harry just stared at her, unblinking.

He wasn't proud of it, but he just couldn't bring himself to listen to his happy cousin, her beaming smile so at odds with the tense atmosphere of the meeting in his recollection. Some seconds later, Harry belatedly realised that not only Daphne but Tracey, Hermione, Leo and Draco had waddled in as well, dragging their heavy trunks behind them.

Daphne, not to be deterred, continued to gush excitedly about her 'coming' birthday. 'And you really need to come,' she said, smiling brightly. 'Gran's apparently given up on marrying me or Tori off, for now, so we'll have a quiet party. And I really mean it this time!'

'Isn't it still like half a year until your birthday, Greengrass?' asked Hermione, confused.

Harry, finally coming to his senses, opened the newspaper in his lap again.

The prominent headline of the page he'd opened, under a photo depicting the glamour and splendour of his festively decorated home, read:

'A Feast for the Fallen of the Night Raid – All you Need to Know about the Victory Ball!'

Daphne blushed a bit, gesturing wildly to dispel the embarrassment. 'I just thought I'd start planning early! Maybe we could go watch a play or something? Or eat at a fancy restaurant?'

Harry tried not to stare. Doesn't she know yet? For heaven's sake, what are you doing, Ophala?

Tracey, though still maybe a little more subdued than usual, seemed to have recovered fairly well from her depressed and lifeless state from Yule – to his relief. 'Are you sure this is going to be a birthday party and not a poorly disguised date?' She sniggered, poking fun at Daphne's loud and resolute insistence to the contrary.

Like a bolt of lightning, a particularly nasty thought struck Harry. Tracey...! She'll completely lose it!

'Anyway, I'm so relieved you're all well,' said Hermione with a smile. 'I was ever so worried when I heard the news. I'm glad you're all okay! Don't you live in London, Greengrass?'

'I, er, yeah,' said Daphne with an unhelpful glance at Harry. 'But we got out okay.'

'And you?' asked Hermione, looking at Tracey, Draco, Leo and Harry.

'We don't live near London. A few relatives of mine live there, but they got lucky,' said Leo calmly.

'We have a home in London, but I was in Wales at the time the...thing happened,' said Harry, rustling the newspaper in his hand, not looking up.

'Malfoy Manor isn't anywhere near the city,' said Draco pompously. 'Not enough space, you see?'

'Thank goodness!' said Hermione earnestly. 'And you, Tracey?'

For a second, it looked like Tracey wasn't going to answer. Harry closed his eyes and prayed the girl would finally get a grip, but then, she grinned like a rascal. 'Oh, I wasn't anywhere near London.'

'Tracey was helping her mum. They live in Falmouth,' explained Daphne. 'Good thing you couldn't come over,' she added in a softer voice.

'Yes, I certainly got lucky,' chuckled Tracey, managing to throw a thoroughly eyeless glare Harry's way.

'What were you doing with your family anyway?' asked Daphne curiously.

'Writing letters, cleaning up the mess. You know – stuff like that.'

Harry uncomfortably turned the page, not daring to raise his head.

'It's just so terrible, isn't it? But what really happened anyway?' asked Hermione. 'The news has been so vague about it all.'

Nobody seemed ready to answer Hermione's question, and Harry had the distinct impression that the others were sneaking glances at him. Harry shot a brief look of pity at the puzzled Muggle-born. The Hogwarts train was far from the best location to discuss these things but maybe a bit wouldn't hurt. 'No idea. Completely unrelated, I've heard that the situation at Hogwarts has returned to normal. That will be something to look forward to, no?'

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione's face scrunch up for a second before her face morphed from initial befuddlement, briefly passing through shock, to utter dismay. 'Y-you don't mean the Le-'

'Not here,' hissed Leo.

Hermione bit her lip. After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, 'They're gone though, aren't they?'

'I should think so,' said Harry, watching the compartment door. 'The ICW Aurors and Dumbledore used some kind of meteorological charm. A single ray of sunlight should've incinerated them instantly.'

'Why didn't they do that at Hogwarts?' asked Daphne after a while.

'Because you'd be hard-pressed to find enough wizards and witches capable of casting the spell anywhere in Britain. You need immense magical power to overwhelm the...their own magic. Also, I don't think they would've taken kindly to the attempt if it hadn't worked out.'

'No,' breathed Tracey. 'They wouldn't have.'

'But why didn't they do something sooner? So many people died! This is horrible!' exclaimed Hermione.

'The Forbidden Forest is one of the oldest and wildest forests in Britain, Hermione,' explained Leo, looking enthusiastic. 'You've probably never been in there, but it's like you're entering a cave. There are spots where the daylight won't ever reach.'

'You mean, they could've just hidden in there?'

'It's possible, I suppose,' conceded Harry.

'Well, there's also a good side to all this monster nonsense,' said Draco with a smug little grin.

'There is?' asked Hermione sceptically.

'Oh, yes! Quidditch will be back on now!'

Harry couldn't help himself and looked up from his newspaper. Everyone else was staring at Draco in varying rates of disbelief and disgust as well.

'I think you should go check in with Madame Pomfrey, Draco,' said Tracey conversationally.

'That's...really insensitive,' muttered Hermione.

'Stupid mutt,' was how Daphne voiced her disdain.

'That might've been something better thought than spoken, Draco,' opined Leo delicately.

When Draco looked with faint hope in his direction, Harry just shrugged, shaking his head softly and returning to his reading. 'We should be grateful Hogwarts survived one catastrophe, Draco. I'm not sure the school is quite ready for you playing Quidditch just yet.'

~BLVoD~

Returning to Hogwarts felt strange this time around – stranger than usual even.

Every time Hermione made the transition from the Muggle world to the hidden world of magic, it all felt so unreal at first. Her parents, like the rest of the Muggle world, had discussed the industrial accident that had caused widespread devastation in London, her father insisting that the government was trying to hush something up. It hadn't even occurred to Hermione that the incident in question had been magical in nature. The broadcasts, the pictures, the witnesses – it had all seemed so...mundane if admittedly tragic. No colourful sparks, no billowing robes, nothing! It had felt like just another, terrible day in the world they lived in.

Now, Hermione couldn't help wondering how many other incidents were of a similarly obfuscated nature. It was as if you found an ugly weed in your prized garden. It was just a weed, a weed like any other. And yet, this time, when Hermione tried to rip it out, she realised that her entire world was unravelling, that the entire earth was nothing but the brown blossom of this very weed, with an unfathomable sprawl of roots upon which her house rested – precariously, delicately balanced.

She had always assumed that magicals, as ignorant and arrogant as most pure-bloods appeared to be, would be helplessly at sea in the modern world. But, to her horror, some people seemed to be doing their jobs with dreadful efficiency.

Televisions, phones, letters – what were these media in comparison to the apparent omnipotence of magic?

Only now that Hermione was promenading both sides could she appreciate the terrible, insuperable chasm between the worlds.

But not only the feelings of indignation, injustice and humiliation stung. Hermione had, true to her words to Draco and Harry, tried her best to integrate, to learn, willing to see the bigger picture. Whenever she felt like she'd made some progress, however, something happened to throw her off – like the ball. Would Muggles have held a ball for the elite only a few days after the worst national catastrophe in living memory?

Hogwarts, Hermione realised with confusion and helplessness, was split into two now more than ever. The pure-bloods and traditionally-minded families, who dealt with the Lethifold attack by pretending it hadn't happened, and the rest, who stalked the halls and corridors of the castle like zombies barely clinging to their second, accidental life.

Three Ravenclaws lost their lives when those horrible monsters had attacked, but all Padma could do was gush about Harry and Professor Rose sharing an inappropriately intimate dance.

With a frown, Hermione looked towards the staff table.

She didn't know what it was, but something about that person was starting to rub her the wrong way. What was that thing between Harry and her anyway? She didn't really believe in all that base gossip about some secret, passionate love affair, but it was, all in all, very strange. Maybe she'd have to confront Harry about it. To her mild surprise, Greengrass hadn't let anything of her suspicion slip yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

With a frown, she gazed in the direction of the giggling Ravenclaw girls. Then, she looked up, surprised and ashamed, realising she'd wallowed in the same vices.

'I can't believe they won't restart Quidditch this year,' complained Draco indignantly, thankfully helping her blow away the cobwebs. 'Stupid Hufflepuffs.' He raised his hands in a grandiose gesture, eyes widening in mock horror. 'Nothing we can ever do or say can make this wrong right again.' He sneered, lowering his hands again. 'As if they'd magically resurrect in response to grand gestures and nice phrases they looked up somewhere.'

Hermione was glad that Greengrass, at least, had the courage to chide Draco's cold-blooded effrontery. 'You really are disgusting, Malfoy. I hope you realise that. Half of Hogwarts' students lost family in the Night Raid.'

Hermione noted Greengrass' use of the Prophet's terminology. Night Raid, she ruminated. Sounds like a military invasion.

Draco huffed with annoyance, returning to silent feasting. He did throw a few angry glares at the head table from time to time, Hermione noticed while still mulling over the words.

'What is it, Granger?' asked Draco out of the blue.

'Er, excuse me?'

'It's that look of yours! You're uselessly bending your brain around something again. Spill!'

'Oh!' Embarrassed, Hermione bit her lip. When Draco narrowed his eyes, she stopped, smiling self-consciously. 'I was just thinking about the term. Night Raid. It's strange isn't it?'

'Not at all,' said Leo calmly, meticulously wiping his mouth with his napkin. 'They're hoping for someone to take the blame.'

'You mean they're using military terminology to set the next best person up to be the scapegoat?'

'Precisely,' said Leo, folding the napkin neatly beside his plate. 'It also makes the inevitable victim of this scheme appear even more dastardly by implying perfidy and malice. It might also invoke some bad memories for older folk.' After a second of thought, he added, 'It also implies a perpetrator in the first place. Anyway, I notice you're spending time in my presence again, Draco.'

'Oh!' Draco looked up, grinning good-naturedly. 'Well, now that this mess is over, there's no chance of me getting roped into it, is there?'

Leo looked faintly offended. 'I never intended to scam you into running wild in the forest, you know?'

'Better safe than sorry! Look, there are just too many strange incidents with you. Coincidence only goes so far.'

'You're paranoid,' retorted Leo. Facing Draco's smirk, he shook his head. 'Will you forget that Chimaera for one second?'

'Then what about the wild herd of Aethonans that nearly trampled us to death?!'

Hermione looked disbelievingly from the playfully accusing Draco to the defensive and somewhat affronted Leo. 'That was only that one time. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures said it was a perfectly normal occurrence.'

'Yes, as perfectly normal as getting hit by a meteorite,' joked Draco.

'You've really seen a Chimaera?' asked Hermione excitedly.

'It was a very small one,' protested Leo huffishly.

'Juvenile, not small! It was still as big as a troll!'

'And it wasn't very aggressive at all-'

'-because it was busy devouring an Abraxan!' added Draco.

'Do you, er, often stumble upon lost creatures?' asked Hermione, fascinated.

'It was only that one Chimaera and the Aethonans. Draco's exaggerating!'

'And let's not forget the abandoned Erkling in Puck's Glenn.'

Leo scowled at Draco.

'Speaking of abandoned pets,' said Draco with a wink, 'where's your husband, Greengrass?'

Daphne glared angrily. 'I'm not his owner, Malfoy. I'm worried; that doesn't mean I put a leash on him!'

'Are you sure you haven't considered that already?' Draco's smile was almost obscenely wide. 'After his latest dance with Rose, I mean? The Patils won't shut up about it, you should listen to them!'

'Mind your own business, Malfoy! And for your information, I'm not worried at all,' declared Greengrass in a shaky voice. 'It was only one dance. Harry and I danced five times that night!'

'So you mean to tell me you don't know where he is?' asked Draco, his grin threatening to split his face.

'...He's doing something stupid with Amy, but that's totally beside the point!'

'What are Harry and Amadina doing?' asked Hermione.

Daphne shrugged, busy glaring at Draco.

'I think he's apprising her of the situation,' speculated Leo.

'What? You didn't already?' asked Hermione, surprised.

'Why would I?' replied Leo, looking faintly puzzled by Hermione's assumption. 'It's not my place to do so.'

~BLVoD~

'...and that's more or less what's been going on,' finished Harry, looking expectantly at Amy.

'Oh. I see.'

Harry waited for a few seconds more, but his cousin didn't seem ready to volunteer anything else for now. 'Er, you're not...alienated? Or at the very least curious?'

'Not really,' said Amy, leaning over the balustrade and peering at a few other first years playing in the snow. Apparently realising that Harry was waiting for her to elaborate, she continued, 'I don't really care about the decisions you make, to be honest. They're yours.'

Harry stared off into the sunny January day. He hadn't made the decision to reveal the whole extent of his incompetence lightly. In truth, he'd struggled even more with the shame of his mess ups than the actual and terrible truth about the Lethifolds.

He wasn't afraid of disloyalty – but of disappointment. Amy just shrugging it all off was far from anything he could have expected.

'And it doesn't bother you at all?' he insisted, astonished.

'Not at all.' In a particularly carefree act of daring, Amy took a seat on the frozen and presumably slippery balustrade. Facing Harry, she leant back, her hands all that kept her from a long and undoubtedly fatal fall. 'You're too cautious, Harry.'

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me. Never mind your whole "girls-have-cooties-thing",' she said, totally ignoring Harry giving her the evil eye, 'you always agonise about consequences. And while you're busy planning, life goes on.'

'I represent more than myself! I can't just do everything on a whim!' objected Harry.

Amy just shrugged, rocking back and forth. 'Whatever. You've spent half the year planning, haven't you? How did that work out for you?'

'Are you suggesting my results will improve if I stop thinking altogether?' he asked sarcastically.

'You don't need to stop thinking,' she replied, rolling her eyes. 'But you need to start trusting your instincts.'

'My instincts?'

'Look, contrary to appearances, you're quite smart, aren't you?' she asked, grinning playfully. 'What are your instincts regarding that Antonius person?'

'What? Well, I think-'

'No, stop trying to rationalise it!' she interjected effervescently. 'Just your first impression.'

'Er, extremely bad, I guess?' he said slowly as if tasting each word individually. Amy nodded encouragingly, so he continued, 'I feel like he's a hound unwilling to let go of you once he's taken a bite. Cunning, too. And dangerous.'

'See?' she said self-congratulatory. 'What about Dumbledore?'

'Apprehensive?' he said slowly, expressing his first thoughts. 'I feel like he's watching me.'

'Okay. Rose is next.'

'Oh, come on, not you too!' spat Harry irately.

'I'm not Daphne, Harry,' said Amy with a laugh. 'I'm serious, go on.'

'Fine!' Thinking for a bit, he said, 'Well, I think we're kind of similar. She's undoubtedly dangerous and hiding something, but I don't think I, in particular, have anything to fear from her. At least not right now.'

'Prewett!' commanded Amy, seemingly enjoying herself.

'A dazzler I desperately want to shut up.' The words left his mouth faster this time around.

'Amadina Lestrange!'

Harry snorted. Still, it was quite rare for Amy to be in such a good mood, so he decided to play along. 'A devious trickster!'

'Oh, come on, Harry!' she laughed wildly. 'You're still going on about that? It's been almost six years. Grow a pair!'

'Only joking,' he said with a chuckle as he leant against the rail. 'The direct antithesis to deliberation and the wacky arch-nemesis of boredom.' In a softer tone, he added, 'Family.'

Amy grinned, looking pleased. 'Tonks!'

'Dora? One of the most entertaining family members around.'

Amy, who had been about to shoot out the next name, slowly pursed her lips. Confronted with sudden and incomprehensible silence, Harry looked to his side to find Amy gazing upwards, her eyes blank.

'You've got to be joking, Amy. She's your cousin, too!'

'Harry, you ask?' Amadina Lestrange addressed the cold winter breeze. 'An overprotective, privileged secret-keeper with potential – unwisely soft, tragically blind in one eye.'

~BLVoD~

Soon, January became just another memory. Early February brought fresh snowfalls, but the weather returned to clear skies and blindingly bright if short hours of sunshine not too long after.

It had taken a while, and Madame Pomfrey had been, or so the rumours claimed, helping a lot of students who were plagued by nightmares, anxiety or outright fear of the night, but the sun, shining with a radiance that suggested it was trying to make up for the terrible weather of the autumn and early winter months, helped soothe the nerves of the more openly emotional witches and wizards. Though there were a few incidents where parents had taken their children back home, at least temporarily, Hermione was honestly surprised how 'well' the students were coping with the aftermath of the London massacre.

Still, there was this tiny part of her that kept pointing out that an integral part of dealing with the stress and fear seemed to consist of outright ignoring it. Pure-bloods, she noticed, seemed to have it especially bad. One first year boy from her house who had lost both of his parents and his seven-year-old sister had been forced to continue attending school by his unbending grandparents, despite his very verbal and rather embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the Great Hall when they'd come to visit at the insistence of Professor Dumbledore.

Every night, he had kept crying and sobbing so loudly, so heartbreakingly that Hermione had occasionally heard him even from the girl's dormitories. For nearly two weeks this had been allowed to continue until Pucey and Higgs, discreetly supported by some sympathetic girls, had had a violent row with the prefects.

As a result, the somewhat shunned boy had been taken under the wing of those two and a few of the girls, who tried to keep him company most of the time. To her not inconsiderable surprise, Greengrass seemed to be part of this group as well.

It was strangely heart-warming.

Neither Harry nor Draco, however, had made any sort of comment, Hermione noticed with a little pang of disappointment. Pure-bloods, she thought grimly, were expected to be self-reliant and fend for themselves – at any cost. If anything, most of the boys seemed to express faint disdain about poor Harper practically screaming for help, irrespective of the fact that he was also getting a lot of unfriendly glares for being the centre of attention in a group with rather popular and outgoing girls.

With a sigh, Hermione watched Harper being led towards a few seats at the end of the Slytherin table, guarded by five rather fierce-looking witches. Pucey and Higgs were already waiting for them. Both of them had gone from rather admired members of House Slytherin – largely due to their respectable performances on the Quidditch pitch, or so Hermione heard – to barely accepted. They didn't seem to mind, though, as the drop in regard for them had apparently been easily compensated by the gratitude they got from the girls.

Hermione had felt an immeasurable sense of pride in her house, maybe for the first time ever, and would have liked to help cheer up the boy as well, but she had struggled with herself. Eventually, she conceded that she wouldn't really know what to say or do. A problem, she noticed, the other girls didn't seem to have.

With another sigh, she returned her attention to the breakfast in front of her.

'Are you alright, Hermione?' asked Harry, glancing at her from over his newspaper. 'You seem rather prone to sighing this morning.'

'Oh.' Smiling awkwardly, she waved her hand dismissively. 'It's nothing.'

'Anyway, I notice you've been staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes, mate,' said Draco, for once rather serious, perhaps in fear of Harry's morning temper.

'Yeah.' With a sigh of his own, Harry put the page he'd been reading flat on the table, turning it around so Draco and Hermione could have a look.

It was an article about the newly elected Czech Minister for Magic. The picture showed a grizzly, if dignified, middle-aged man in baggy robes. Hermione's eyes, however, were drawn to the scar that nearly ran across his entire face.

'Josef Svoboda, last in line of one of central Europe's most prominent and famous magical clans, surprisingly won the election over his vastly favoured rival candidate, Marek. Experts question whether this utterly unprecedented upset will have repercussions for European relations, as Svoboda is famous for many controversial political opinions, especially concerning the tutelage of Muggle-borns and Muggle relations in general. Immediately following the announcement of the results, supporters of the original favourite began calling for a re-vote, insisting that the election had to have been rigged...'

'Hang on,' said Draco slowly. 'He looks familiar.'

'Does he?' asked Hermione.

'You would think so,' said Harry, 'because he was one of Grandfather's guests at the ball.'

'Your grandfather knows the Czech Minister?' asked Hermione, amazed.

'I suppose so. He introduced himself to me, as a matter of fact.'

'Wow!' breathed Hermione, before she saw Draco's patronising smirk. 'I mean,' she said, coughing respectably, 'what's that about the tutelage of Muggle-borns?'

'A fancy phrase for the age-old question of who should have the last say in matters of underage Muggle-borns, probably,' explained Draco with a shrug. 'In recent years, many countries have changed the laws to give their Muggle parents more rights or even the entire custody, but that hasn't been exactly popular.'

Harry could obviously read her just as easily as Draco could because he interrupted her before she'd even finished formulating her angry riposte. 'Look, let's not get into that right now, Hermione. We have more important political things happening a bit closer to home anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

Harry nodded towards the front, where their headmaster was in deep conversation with Professor Prewett – or rather just Prewett, as Hermione had recently come to think of him.

'You haven't heard?' asked Draco with palpable glee. 'Honestly, you'd think you would be at least a bit curious as to what's happening around you. Dumbledore's been sacked from his post as Chief Warlock. He managed to hold on to being headmaster, and the ICW's always been in love with his backside, so his position there is regrettably safe too – for now at least.'

'What?! Why?' demanded Hermione, vowing to get a subscription to the Prophet as soon as possible.

'My father sacked him,' replied Draco with an expression of ultimate smugness.

'It was a bit more complicated than that,' Harry pointed out, rolling his eyes.

'Father always said he would rid us of Dumbledore. Merlin, it's a good time to be alive.' With an insufferable grin, he raised his glass to a toast. 'To Albus Percival Wulfric Brienne-'

'Brian,' corrected Hermione automatically.

'Brienne Dumbledore,' finished Draco importantly. 'Our erstwhile Chief Warlock. May his remaining reign as headmaster be a short anecdote in the margins of our history. Cheers!'

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry, with a shrug, clinked glasses with Draco. 'Will it change anything? I thought he was important with the Ministry.'

'Is this really the time to explain this to you?' asked Draco sourly. 'I want to commit this moment to memory!'

With a pleading look, Hermione turned towards Harry, who made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. 'It's more of a symbolic thing, really. Dumbledore is still the leader of the second largest faction in the Wizengamot, and that won't change anytime soon.'

'Stop that, Harry! Way to ruin this for me!'

Curiosity sparked, Hermione sat up straight. 'Who are the others?'

'It's complicated. No group is entirely unified, so it's difficult to speak in terms of factions at all. But I can try to break it down for you.

'Firstly, the Pillars who, on a good day, unify a vast majority of the votes. In your terms, they're liberal-progressive, usually spearheading reforms under either the Prewetts' or Longbottoms' guidance.

'Dumbledore and his admirers have no common agenda at all. Rather, they simply gather under our headmaster's flag, a loose coalition of friends and contacts. Their group is the most diverse, some of them being rather moderate in all their dealings, others, in your Muggle terms, leftist libertines. Without the man sitting right there, it'd all be falling apart within a matter of months.

'Then, there's the Ministry crowd around Crouch. They used to be firmly integrated within the Pillars, but as of late, they've created more and more distance. Crouch is a fierce believer in hard justice, but, at his core, he's more of a conservative, preferring to keep the status quo with the least amount of legal regulation.

'Selwyn has, in the last fifteen years, managed to gather a lot of the more...traditional people around him. He doesn't have nearly as many votes as the Pillars or even Dumbledore, but since his policies favour many of the wealthier families, those votes he does have carry a lot of weight.

'And lastly,' Harry made a rare face of open revulsion, 'there's the Notts.'

'You mean...?' asked Hermione nervously, trying to confirm her suspicions without speaking the name of Theodore Nott.

Apparently, her attempt at subtlety failed spectacularly, as Harry's mouth turned from a cool frown into an icy snarl.

'I've heard people talk about that family sometimes. They, er, weren't very complimentary.'

'The Notts are the dregs of Wizarding Britain, Granger,' said Draco. 'They believe we should take up our wands and butcher Muggle children in their sleep.'

When Harry gave Draco a pointed look, the boy shrugged nonchalantly. 'What?! She asked!'

'What about your family, Harry?' asked Hermione after a few seconds of awkwardness.

'Oh.' To her surprise, Harry just chuckled. 'Yes, of course, there's also Grandfather and Rodolphus.'

'Grandfather and Rodolphus...?' repeated Hermione, confused.

'Leo's dad,' supplemented Draco helpfully, once again giving in to his habit of pretending the elder sibling didn't exist, more than likely due to his very private dreams for this to – someday – become reality.

'Wh- What, you mean your grandfather has only two votes?' Hermione stared at the boy with wide-eyed bafflement.

'I suppose so,' admitted Harry rather easily. He didn't seem to care at all, to her incredible surprise. Seeing her disbelieving expression, he smiled enigmatically. 'It's not all about the quantity of the votes. Look, I told you it's more complicated than that. Most heirs study for years and years before they enter the Wizengamot for good. The family feuds alone fill several ledgers.'

'Family feuds? What... Can't they just...set aside their differences in times of need?'

Draco snorted, spraying his pumpkin juice nearly all the way over to the Ravenclaws. 'My, that's just precious, Granger! Grow up, will you?! Harry's grandfather and Dumbledore will never vote on the same subject on principle. Nor will my father and several of Crouch's cronies. Oh, except whenever that ghoulish Nott makes another move to sanction the use of the blood of young Muggle girls as a potion ingredient, or some such rot.'

'You're joking!' She gaped, horrified.

'He's nasty,' replied Draco, refilling his cup.

Appalled, Hermione looked from Draco to Harry, who gave an apologetic little smile. 'I wish Draco was telling some tale like any other day-'

'Oi!'

'But he's got a point with Nott. Stay away from them, Hermione – seriously!'

'I've been told the same about you,' she returned, realising a moment too late what she'd said.

Harry, however, didn't seem offended. 'Decent advice, but my family doesn't really concern itself with Muggles these days, to be honest.'

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione, nervously taking note of the 'these days'.

With a forlorn look that seemed to defy the very concept of distance itself, he stared down the table to where Greengrass was sitting with some other girls, pampering an embarrassed Harper.

'Nothing,' he said.

~BLVoD~

'And that,' finished Professor Vector primly, neatly stacking her notes with an air of finality, 'will be all. I'll be expecting your notes next week. Good day.'

Hermione, still glowing with pride from the rare praise she'd gotten out of their Arithmancy professor, hastily made a few notes on her calendar to remind her to finish her homework on time.

'You really take this all quite seriously, don't you?' asked Harry, resting his head in his hand in a relaxed fashion as he smiled at her notebook.

'Of course, I do!' she replied indignantly, not sure if she should feel offended.

With a provocative glance, she added, 'And seriously – the walking encyclopedia of charms doesn't have the right to take a dig at me!'

Harry gave a little smile in response. 'What do you plan to do after school, Hermione?'

'Oh, I don't know. Something worthwhile?'

'Shouldn't you start looking for something worthwhile, then?' he asked, sounding strangely serious.

'What do you mean?' she asked, stopping her packing and giving her full attention to Harry.

'Well, being studious is a good thing, as is wanting to learn. But you lack...direction, Hermione. You can't just read everything and expect something to come off it.'

'But how am I supposed to know what I want to do in five years?' she shot back, frowning.

'Well, that is, I admit, the tricky part. I'm just saying that people only accomplish something meaningful when their mind is set to a task. And reading every book in the library,' he added with a teasing grin, 'isn't it.'

Hermione flicked her tongue, resuming her packing. 'Don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself.'

'How very Slytherin of you,' remarked Harry slyly.

There it was again. She was sure Harry had said it only in jest, but his words also revealed a deeper meaning. Deciding that this was the time, as Harry was the only one she shared Arithmancy with, she asked, 'Harry? Why is it such a big deal that some are helping Harper? He's had it really rough!'

'Ah,' returned Harry, his easy grin slowly turning sour. 'Well, it's just not how it's done, I'm afraid.'

'What do you mean?'

'As a child growing up in a traditional family, you hear all the time that you should only share your most inner self with those you know you can trust. It's...a sign of closeness. I've seen Muggle's kissing strangers on either cheek or even the mouth as a way of greeting. I don't mind telling you the thought is a bit...revolting. It's difficult to explain. It's a...ceremonial thing. It's an important step if you trust someone enough to reveal your most personal thoughts, but you cannot just do it with random strangers. That would be...presumptuous, obtrusive, and – frankly – rude.'

'So, you keep strangers away and only really good friends close?' she asked curiously.

'Exactly.'

'Who do you confide in?'

Harry flinched visibly. 'That's...not something you should go around asking people, Hermione.'

'Oops, sorry!' she said in a small voice, smiling apologetically.

'In any case,' he murmured, 'at Hogwarts, there's only Daphne I could even conceive myself confiding in – probably.'

Hermione chose to remain silent. After a second, she said, 'Why is Greengrass helping Harper?'

Harry shot her a look, one eyebrow raised. 'That's a bad habit to have, Hermione. You really should ask her yourself. I thought Leo had tried to impress that on you already.'

Hermione felt herself go red. 'Oh, right – sorry!'

With a bit of a chuckle, Harry shook his head. 'I think we should ask Draco to resume your lessons with him.'

'Please, no!' she barked out. She really wasn't looking forward to that, despite her promise to keep learning.

'But you really should. How else will you be attending the ball next year?'

Hermione blinked. Did he just...? 'You want me to go to the Black Ball next year?' she asked nervously.

'Yes. That way, you'll have a fixed goal.' With a wicked grin, he added, 'Either do your best or disgrace yourself in front of the entire high society.'

Hermione felt her throat go dry. 'And you want me to go with you...?'

'Oh,' said Harry, coming to a halt, apparently not having considered that. 'Well, you don't need to, obviously. You can go with whomever you want, I suppose, but if you don't find anyone, I'm sure something can be arranged.'

'Are you sure about this, Harry? I thought the ball was a big deal...'

'It is. But, to be honest, the younger crowd is usually left alone, more or less. Otherwise, you probably would've heard about Tracey and me almost crashing during the first dance already – or Leo's drunken adventures.'

'What?!' shouted Hermione, gaping in disbelief at the rather amused Harry.

'Come on, we'll be late for dinner.'

'He's fourteen, Harry!' she cried out, appalled.

'So what?'

'Well, he shouldn't be drinking yet!'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Nobody is forcing anyone to do anything, Hermione. If he doesn't mind facing his mother's terrible wrath, and I assure you I would, who are we to say he can't? Come on, they'll start without us.'

'We aren't done talking about this,' she grumbled.

'If you say so,' he returned with a grin, supremely unrepentant.

All the others – that is to say Draco, Tracey, Greengrass, Leo, and Amadina – were already seated by the time they arrived at the Great Hall. Greengrass had, to nobody's particular surprise, saved Harry a seat next to her. Hermione had to take the only other free seat next to Leo, not that she particularly minded.

'There you are, mate!' said Draco impatiently. 'Oh, and you, Granger.'

'Yes, here we are,' returned Harry calmly. 'By the way, 'mate',' he added just as the food appeared on their table, 'I'd appreciate it if you could go back to regular lessons with Hermione.'

'What? How come?!'

'Harry wants me to go to the ball next year.'

'You're joking!' Seeing Harry's cool demeanour, he looked even more surprised. 'You're not joking?!'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' grumbled Hermione, annoyed.

'No, no, it's not even that! It's just...' he looked at them all, from the casual Harry, the disinterested Greengrass at his side, over Tracey (who looked amused), to the Lestrange siblings, who seemed to be discussing something.

Amadina, noting Draco's stare, looked up for a second, confused. Then, she shrugged. 'I agree with Harry,' she said, before returning to her conversation with her brother, evidently not having paid attention.

'Alright, alright,' he grumbled listlessly. 'I suppose... I hope you appreciate the opportunity, at least.'

'Of course!' said Hermione enthusiastically, trying to sound as ecstatic as possible. 'It's not like I could've expected a better teacher than the privileged scion of one of Britain's noblest families!'

Greengrass choked on her tea. Harry, clapping her on the back, winked at Hermione, mouthing, 'Nicely done!'

'Well,' said a very pleased-looking Draco, sitting just a tad straighter, 'it's good that you understand your position. I suppose I could make time for you. What do you say about two evenings every week? I'll come up with a syllabus this week...'

Draco continued to ramble on for a while. It was almost cute how easy it was to string him along, thought Hermione, deciding she'd thank Harry later again for his tip about praising Draco to flip his mood.

'Anyway, guys?' asked Leo, apparently having finished his secret talk. 'Have you realised that Antonius person is still here? I thought the ICW was supposed to go back to the mainland, now that...everything's over.'

Hermione looked towards the head table. Sure enough, the massive figure of Antonius the Auror, easily dwarfing both Prewett and Professor Dumbledore, who sat at his side, towered over the masses like an overseer.

'I don't know,' said Harry slowly, looking interested. 'It does seem...strange.'

'Oh, him?' interjected Draco unexpectedly. 'Yeah, I've heard that he's staying behind with a small group of his most trusted people. Don't ask me why. It's all very hush-hush.'

Hermione could've sworn Tracey had been trying to catch Harry's eyes for a few seconds, but the boy only shrugged, seemingly losing interest already. 'Well, it's not our problem, is it? We have nothing to worry about.'

'Are you sure?' asked Tracey in a low voice, holding her head in her small hands. 'That...text of ours...won't get us into trouble, will it?'

'No,' said Harry simply.

Hermione silently watched their exchange, feeling she wasn't on the same page somehow. Are they talking about Leo's book?

'Hey, isn't that one of yours, Harry?' exclaimed Daphne, pointing towards the very same gigantic eagle owl Hermione's mother had once spoiled rotten.

Imperiously, the owl swooped through the hall, circling over their heads until it landed, quite dignified, on Harry's shoulder.

Clutched in her talons was a single page of parchment. Even from her seat, Hermione could make out some part of the coat of arms: two rampant hounds charging a shield with a single sabre.

Harry wordlessly took the parchment, and the owl, after one last warning screech, immediately took off.

For a few seconds, Harry gazed at the parchment in his hand. Then, he turned it over, but Hermione could see that the back was devoid of any writing. The front, as was now revealed, featured only two words underneath the coat of what she had to presume to be the Black family sign.

'One week.'

~BLVoD~

The weather had, or so it seemed to Harry, taken the same turn as his previously somewhat restored mood. Grey clouds covered the skies as far as one could see ever since he'd received the strange letter last night. For the hundredth time, he took the parchment in his hand, trying to pierce the mysterious message with his gaze.

There could be no doubt that the message was genuine, as he would always recognise his grandfather's fine penmanship, but the meaning behind the message completely baffled him.

One week.

Had it been one week since something happened, or was something supposed to happen in one week? Had Harry forgotten something and had only one week left? Should he be careful this week, in one week, or possibly just seven days?

Scratching the back of his head, he turned the parchment on its head, trying to gain a new angle, but no matter what he did, the message remained as incomprehensible as it was simple. He'd tried everything, every charm he knew of, checked for transfigurations, had even asked for Daphne's help to see if she could tell if the ink was magical in nature – or a potion.

And it had all amounted to exactly nothing.

His last, his greatest hope had been his hidden trump, but even his strange sight, which had gotten even clearer since he'd proceeded to study lucid dreaming to help his Occlumency, had revealed that the little bit of parchment in his hand was just that – mundane parchment with a coat of arms, two words, and a full stop written in expensive but otherwise unremarkable black ink.

But what could possibly happen in one week?

True, Antonius' appearance at Hogwarts had unsettled him a bit and must have truly shaken Tracey, considering how blatantly obvious she had been.

But there couldn't be any connection to the Lethifolds, could there?

They were gone, and whatever he had missed in the duelling chamber, Aenor had said she'd taken care of. He was even sleeping better since Yule. True, he'd had a bit of trouble the first few nights after London, but that was only to be expected, wasn't it? What sort of monster could see such things and just pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened? He couldn't.

But he'd been perfectly fine, sleeping six or seven hours each night this February, and Daphne – to her disappointment, he suspected – wasn't required to wake him up and drag him out of bed any longer.

It was a mystery.

Harry dearly wished he hadn't gone out of his way to avoid his grandfather now. There was a man who had all the answers, the man who knew it all. And hadn't Harry only avoided him because he thought he'd disappointed his sole remaining parental figure?

Or maybe because he just let you crash against the wall...? remarked an ugly voice in his head. Arcturus might have all the answers, but he didn't share those answers with you, did he?

Harry sighed, watching gloomily as the first raindrops hit the window like the tears of heaven. Right now, he dearly wished he had someone to talk to. But the only two people who, in his mind and heart, qualified were people he didn't want to involve; Daphne, because he just couldn't bring himself to taint her bright outlook on life with ghoulish tales of blood and nightmares, and Aenor, in front of whom he didn't want to appear like a hapless fool.

The image of another person, an elf to be exact, buzzed through his mind. 'Sometimes,' Minnie had said, 'it be better to fess up and get help.'

Grandfather had always said he was too unwilling to cooperate. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and write back? What better option did he have left...?

But not today!

Surely, one or two days wouldn't really matter anyway. And who knows? Maybe I'll be able to crack this message after all!

~BLVoD~

'Well, who would've thought,' said Aenor with a lazy grin as she continued to prod his work.

'I got it right, then?' he asked hopefully, sinking deeper into his chair and feeling exhausted.

'Hmm.' Aenor turned the little frame this way and that way, inspecting it critically from different angles. 'Well, to my own surprise, I think so. It's still fairly unstable, and you need a lot more practice to pour more power into it, but, fundamentally, yes, I think this is it.'

'Thank Merlin!' muttered Harry, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 'If ever I see little wooden windows again, I think I'll go on a rampage.'

'Still feeling full of energy, are we?' asked Aenor with palpable amusement.

'What?! Er, well...'

'Excellent!' Suddenly, Aenor jumped from her seat, stretching like a gymnast about to astound her audience. 'You know, if you think it's dull trying to weave your magic into that, what do you think about watching some kid playing for days and days with the window I broke off some doll's house?!'

'So it really was a doll's house?!' asked Harry, embarrassed.

Aenor laughed. 'Don't worry, I'll probably keep your private obsession to play house secret. But now...' With a lazy swish of her wand, all the furniture in the room floated gently towards one corner. Aenor, with an excited grin, began to slowly circle him. 'Now, how about we do something more fun.'

With a conspiratorial wink, she aimed her wand at Harry, who was desperately fumbling for his own.

In a sweet voice and with a kittenish smile, she said, 'Bombarda Maxima!'

~BLVoD~

Later that night, his robes in tatters, every bone in his body creaking in protest, Harry dragged himself down the stairs leading to the dungeons. Aenor really had been bored, he figured, and him depriving her of her 'little project', as she had taken a liking to calling it, must have equally frustrated her.

Well, it was a good lesson, he tried to tell himself as he took another pause near the Potions classroom, rubbing his stinging side. He had learned something, hadn't he? He couldn't quite claim to have ever wondered if it was possible to transfigure the better part of an enemy's robes into hungry lion cubs, but now he knew the answer – so there was that. Clearly, a win, wasn't it?

And if your opponent remarked that they looked rather cuddly, was it further possible to transfigure lion cubs into Chimaera cubs? Well, not for him – definitely – but apparently for some other people. You only had to look for the lessons learned and everything seemed a lot more worthwhile!

Hesitantly, he lifted one side of his robes, inspecting the bite mark. Were Chimaeras venomous? He'd have to discreetly inquire with Leo later...

Nodding to himself, he started walking again.

He briefly ran into the eldest Weasley, who looked a bit suspicious about the state he was in but decided to let it go when Harry earnestly pointed out that he needed to hurry up to make it until curfew.

Eventually – finally – he arrived in the Slytherin common room, heading straight for his bed after a brief and innocent talk with Leo. Giving Draco, who was bragging about his ability to sneak into Hogsmeade, a wide berth, he tended to his wound, slipped out of his robes, and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to take off his socks.

Sleep at last...

Though, apparently, not necessarily for long. He awoke some indefinite amount of time later – though not by choice. Someone with long, blond hair was shaking him violently. 'Urgh...What...Daphne?!' he muttered, confused.

'Harry, you need to come with me, right now!' she hissed urgently, stealing nervous glances at the other beds.

Bewildered, Harry stared at her for few seconds. Then, without another word, he got up, wobbling dangerously but managing to dress nevertheless. Daphne, her back turned to him, was shifting her weight uncomfortably, clearly eager for him to hurry it up.

Rubbing his eyes, he said in a rough voice, 'Yeah, I'm dressed, you can turn around. What is it, Daphne? It's the middle of the night!'

'It's Tracey! I- I don't know what to do anymore!'

Harry, wrinkling his brow and struggling to cope with this bit of news, blinked like a reptile enjoying the first rays of sunlight.

'Just come with me,' snapped Daphne, grabbing his hand.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged out of the boy's dormitories and up towards the girl's quarters. A sudden shriek from Daphne kicked him completely out of his drowsiness.

The stairs! he thought, managing to break his cousin's fall. Just in time, he tapped the handrail to freeze the charm. The step under his left leg had already nearly vanished.

Daphne looked embarrassed as she picked herself up. 'Forgot about that,' she mumbled. 'It's stupid, I can get into your dormitories no problem! Anyway, come on!'

Unfortunately, they had to use the handrail to climb the slope. While Harry knew how to stop the charm from triggering, reversing its effects or outright breaking the ancient spell was, frankly, impossible.

Eventually, they managed to get to the top, Daphne helping him the last few feet. Harry wasn't particularly embarrassed; he'd long come to terms with the fact that she was fitter than him.

Sneaking on the tip of her toes, she led him towards the door he knew their sleeping quarters lay behind.

'Can you do something about the other girls?' she whispered suddenly, one hand already on the doorknob. Obviously, she hadn't exactly thought this through.

Harry nodded concisely.

Expertly, Daphne opened the door with nary a sound. As soon as the lock clicked under his cousin's soft touch, he could hear the whimpering. Exchanging a nod with Daphne, he took a brief peek into the room. All the curtains were closed, all except Daphne's and Tracey's. The short girl was tossing and turning, whimpering, and – to Harry's disbelief – crying.

Without another word, he directed his wand towards the other beds, muttering under his breath for a few seconds until a white-golden ball of light illuminated the whole room as if a nocturnal sun had arisen. The spell lingered in the middle of the room for a second, and Harry noticed movement from behind two curtains, but then, the charm finished and much smaller rays of gold shot towards each bed.

Not bothering with the question whether he had overdone it or not, he pulled Daphne into the room, charmed it locked, and strode over to Tracey's bed.

Daphne pushed her head through the canopy of some other bed, prodding what looked like Hermione. 'What did you do to them?!'

'I made sure they're actually sleeping and not just pretending. Don't worry, they'll wake up – er, eventually. So, what happened?' he asked as he took a seat on the edge of Tracey's bed, watching her petite body giving rather worrying nervous twitches.

'I- I don't know! She's been all strange ever since it started to rain again.'

Harry watched as Tracey, in her sleep, gave another wailing sob. Her behaviour seemed rather excessive for a simple dream but... 'Are you sure she's not just having a nightmare?'

'Harry, I wouldn't tell you normally, but I've never seen Tracey cry in my entire life – ever!' said Daphne in a guilty tone, looking at her best friend, full of worry. 'When I heard her sobbing, I thought someone else was sleeping in her bed at first! I woke her up, of course, but she's always slipping back into the same nightmare whenever she falls asleep!'

Harry reached over and carefully lifted Tracey's eyelids. 'How often did you wake her?'

'Six times!' hissed Daphne. 'I can't get Pomfrey, Harry. I just can't! Harper is one thing, but he's at least pure-blood. Tracey's having enough difficulties as it is, with her father being Muggle-born and all. I just can't go get Pomfrey for something like this!'

'I understand.' He pointed his wand at Tracey's temple and cast a charm meant to relax muscles so she wouldn't hurt herself at least. The spell would dissipate within a few hours anyway. 'You said this started when it began to rain? You have to listen really hard to even notice that sort of thing down here...'

'Yes, well, it's quite windy outside tonight. I don't know,' she said, leaning over his shoulder and gazing at her friend. 'You think she'll be okay?'

Seeing her so worried for her best friend put a smile on Harry's lips. 'She'll be fine, Daphne.'

To be honest, it probably was a very natural reaction, he thought to himself. Today was, after all, the first stormy night after London. For a second, he listened with all his might. True enough, if he really strained his ears, he could hear the wind stirring the lake above – as well as any number of other haunting noises the storm coaxed out of the old castle. Was it just his imagination or could he really hear the rumble of the surf...?

He stood up, walking over to the door. 'Do you have a decent brush and permanent ink, Daphne?'

'What?' she asked, taken aback. 'I think so.'

She turned around, jumping onto her bed. She'd hidden her shrunken trunk under her pillow, he noticed with amusement. It didn't take long until Daphne had unloaded half an apothecary, two fashion stores, and a lot of things Harry didn't dare to ask about on her bed until she happily raised her little jewellery-adorned cedarwood box containing pencils, quills and brushes into the air.

'Found it!' she proclaimed proudly.

Harry sighed, but couldn't quite keep himself from smiling either. 'Give it here, please.'

He selected a sturdy, fine badger hair brush, picked a subtle brown ink, and began to write immediately, the brush running smoothly over the wood of the door frame.

'What are you doing?' asked Daphne, watching him curiously, still kneeling on her bed.

'These,' he explained, finishing the first rune, Peaceful, 'are ancient runes meant to protect houses from storms, rain, lightning, flooding, fire, and the like. They're not particularly powerful, but they're absolutely harmless, permanent, and – best of all – completely legal. I stumbled upon them a few months ago and looked them up. Wait and see.'

As promised, it didn't take longer than a few minutes. As soon as he finished the last set of runes directly opposite his first, the symbols flashed dark green. 'You won't notice the light in a few hours. But listen!'

Daphne blinked, hesitating, but did as he told her, closing her eyes. Harry listened as well – but there was nothing to be heard.

'The noise is gone,' remarked Daphne, surprised.

Harry nodded, walking over to Tracey again. Strangely, she seemed to be sleeping easier already. In all honesty, he hadn't expected such a strong reaction.

Well, if it helps...

With one last shrug, he pointed his wand at Tracey again, watching with interest as the golden cloche settled over her face.

'What was that?' asked Daphne, shuffling over.

'A Daydream Charm. She'll sleep more calmly tonight.' Noting the thin line of saliva and the wide grin that started to appear on Tracey's face, he chose to rectify his statement. 'Well, at least she'll sleep.'

Daphne gave a huge sigh of relief, though she too looked rather amused by her best friend's expression. 'Thanks, Harry...'

'Don't mention it. If she continues to have nightmares, brew her a Dreamless Sleep potion. You can do that one, can't you? I always get it wrong somehow...'

'I, well, I think so? But it won't solve anything, will it? Do you know why she was like that?'

Harry took a second to ponder his answer. He did not like lying to Daphne if he could avoid it. 'Hard to say. Maybe it's something personal? If so, it'll get better in time.'

'Okay,' muttered Daphne, taking his left hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. 'Thanks...'

He turned around, smiling at her honest expression. 'Anything else?' He pocketed his wand, suppressing a yawn. 'We can talk tomorrow, Daphne. I'm really tired...'

'Oh,' she replied in a disappointed voice. She glanced at her bare feet, her free hand coiling a few strands of her glossy hair around a finger. 'I thought – that is if you don't mind – maybe...maybe we could watch the lightning? You know, like we used to do when we were kids...?'

Through the curtain of her long mane, she sneaked a peek at his face with her ocean blue eyes.

'Maybe some other time, Daphne,' he said softly, gently squeezing her hand back. 'I'm already more asleep than awake...'

'You can fall asleep right here if you like,' she said, recovering fast and pointing towards her bed with a teasing grin.

'Stop messing with me,' groaned Harry sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

'Hm.'

Without another word, she embraced him, holding him tightly, her entire body moulded to his. With a certain amount of discomfort, Harry noticed that Daphne's nightgown appeared to be rather thin – he could feel the warmth radiating from her. He gently disentangled himself after a few seconds of her lingering hug, scurrying towards the stairs and the common room's promise of cool air.

He turned around to look over his shoulder one last time, waving at her. Daphne stood at the door, her head leaning against the wood, and he could feel her gaze following him even after the darkness of the deserted common room had swallowed his figure.

~BLVoD~

Ironically, Harry was having trouble falling asleep again that night as well – and not just because of his cousin's brazen nature. Now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the wind howling through the cracks, slamming doors, whistling eerie melodies in the corridors – even down here in the dungeons.

The ceiling trembled ever so slightly with every strike of lightning that hit the lake above him.

Expressionlessly, he stared at his canopy, wondering if thunderstorms would ever be the same for him again – more than another reminder, another prompt to remember London. Restlessly, he turned around, trying to ignore Yaxley's loud snoring.

It hadn't always been like that.

Resorting to yet another Occlumency technique, he forced himself to remember another night, a night of his childhood, a different night under a roof besieged by lightning.

'I'm afraid!' Daphne had cried, holding on to his arm as if her life depended on it, her tears soaking through his robes. 'Make it go away!'

In her younger days, Daphne had always had little love for thunderstorms during the night, he remembered. But why that was, he had never understood.

With a sinking feeling, Harry finally understood why Daphne had taken it upon herself to cheer up that Harper boy though.

He must remind her of her younger self...

Harry stared into the gloom until he realised with a groan that his thoughts had been straying again.

'I'm afraid!' she had cried, clinging to him.

'There's nothing to be afraid of!' he had said. Thunder and lightning had never frightened him. If anything, he'd always felt a quiet sense of belonging and security during stormy weather. Marietta and the rest of them had always left him alone on such days, and most social events would be cancelled, especially during the summer season. Thunder and lightning had been his friends; he'd even named his first pet Tempest.

An owl, a beautiful, noble white owl with streaks of black – just like lightning. It had been a present. From Sirius. Or Lupin? He couldn't even remember anymore...

Marietta had taken the animal from him as punishment for some long-forgotten misdeed. She'd given it to the gardener, telling him to get rid of it.

Harry had watched from his window, horrified, as the ghastly little man had hurled the bird against the garden fence.

Marietta had seen to his dismissal, shrieking like a banshee, but what good did that do? His friend was dead. The next day, Marietta had told him Tempest had gotten sick and had to be taken care of far away. He had never told her he'd seen it all...

Harry's eyes, back in the Slytherin dormitory, shot open, realising with increasing nervousness that he couldn't get a hold of his restless mind.

'What the hell is wrong with me...?' he mumbled, turned around again, forcefully shutting his eyes.

Deliberately slow, to the sound of faint rumbling, he counted to ten.

'There's nothing to be afraid of!' he remembered saying, back then even more than today stumped what to do about the crying girl.

'It's scary!' Daphne had cried, squeezing his arm. 'I hate it!'

'It isn't scary!' he protested, frowning and feeling offended for his friend, the storm.

'It's scary!' repeated Daphne, shaking violently.

'It's not!' little Harry insisted, trying to tug his arm free. 'Look! Lightning's amazing!'

Daphne grabbed his arm even tighter, burying her head in his shoulder. 'I don't want to see! I don't want to!'

With a scowl, Harry wiggled in her grip, but the surprisingly strong girl just wouldn't let go. Silently, they glared at one another, one seeking comfort in the presence of another, the other through distance. A few tugging motions eventually turned into wrestling, each of them struggling to get whatever they wanted.

A few moments later, both of them were screaming mirthfully, tussling with all their might for supremacy, tugging, tickling, pulling on clothes and – in Daphne's case – hair.

Daphne eventually got the better of him, pinning him to the ground with a triumphant smirk.

'I win!' she proclaimed proudly.

'I went easy on you,' he said, completely out of breath and pretending that he hadn't lost to a girl. He was also desperately trying not to imagine how Sirius would wind him up.

Daphne seemed to find the situation as amusing as he feared his godfather would. Laughing brightly, she raised her hands into the air like a true champion. 'I win! Wait until I tell Daddy and Uncle Sirius!'

'No, please!'

'Daddy will be so proud!'

Embarrassed, Harry looked away, Sirius' outrageous barks of laughter already ringing in his ears.

'...Unless,' started Daphne slowly, her hands falling down again. 'Unless you stay here.'

Confused, Harry looked up again. The girl that was supposed to be his cousin looked back at him, her lips trembling. 'Please?' she asked in a pleading tone.

After a second, Harry admitted defeat against her puppy dog eyes. 'Okay,' he grumbled. 'But you have to watch it with me!'

'What?' she asked reluctantly.

Slowly, Harry sat up. 'Turn around.'

Daphne slowly turned around, now facing the big panorama window. A vicious bolt of lightning struck the hill not a mile away, the glorious roll of thunder following only two seconds later.

'I don't want to look!' she cried out, hiding her eyes behind her hands, shaking her head.

'No,' Harry said impatiently, grabbing both of her hands, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from looking away. She didn't resist.

'Look,' he murmured into her ear, waiting for the next awe-inspiring display of overwhelming power.

When the next lightning came, Daphne gave another stupendous start, but at least she didn't look away this time.

'Isn't it awesome?' he mumbled, goggling longingly into the dead of night. Daphne, clinging to his arms as if they were a lifeline, didn't answer.

Harry felt himself disconnect from his memory. He wondered what kind of face Daphne had made. He wished he could see it now but knew better than to try.

It was his memory, and young Harry hadn't really paid much attention to the girl in his arms, which – in hindsight – was probably the only reason he had tolerated the close contact to begin with. Thinking back, this might have been the first time he'd tolerated her, or any girl for that matter, being this close for longer than a mere moment.

Sitting down on the ghost of cherry wood, he stared into the heart of the storm, just like his younger self, a melancholic smile tugging at his lips, feeling a small part of his troubles lift with every glistening strike of violent light, with every pounding of the deafening thunder – crushed beneath the unimaginable power of nature.

The storm raged longer than he remembered, but Harry didn't care. Blissfully, he awaited every bolt with anticipation, feeling like a six-year-old all over again, barely refraining from clapping as a particularly phenomenal lightning struck the earth a few hundred yards away.

The storm was getting closer, he realised delightedly.

He looked up in confusion when little Harry and Daphne stood up, the boy looking disappointed, the girl considerably cheered up.

Fifteen-year-old Harry frowned. This wasn't right. He remembered, he knew they'd watched the entirety of the storm in silence, watched until the last rumbling echoes of thunder had diminished into inaudibility.

'That was fun!' said his memory.

'It was okay,' returned Daphne bashfully.

His brow wrinkled in confusion, Harry looked from the figures of his memory to the panorama window again. The storm was as vicious as ever – a true king of storms, the gale bending the trees like grass to its whims.

'Wanna play hide and seek?' asked Daphne, as he had known she would.

'I don't know,' young Harry returned, rightly fearing the unfair advantage of a match at her home.

'Come on! Hide and seek is fun!'

Perplexed, Harry's gaze wandered from the approaching storm to the two figures who seemed to remain completely oblivious to it.

What in Merlin's name...?

He watched his younger self reluctantly give in, leaving the room together with the girl.

The whole house shook with the thunder as the boy returned only a minute later to hide underneath the bed. He was completely unaware of the lightning, his beloved lightning, pouring like rain from the ash-coloured clouds.

Footsteps, barely audible over the cannonade of thunder, and then the girl arrived, just as another bolt of pure violet lightning struck the patio in front of the window.

The girl sniggered, went straight for the bed, crouched down and shouted,

'Found-'

:::YOU!:::

Harry awoke to a bloodcurdling scream of terror.

The scream went on and on, the threatening thunder still fulminating in his ears, until he realised it was his own voice screaming. The clamour died away with the realisation, but – looking around – he realised with a rush of panic that he wasn't in his dormitory anymore.

'Harry, Harry!' cried present-time Daphne, pressing him tightly against her to restrain his flailing limbs. Tears were running down her face. 'I've been so worried! You wouldn't wake, you just wouldn't wake!'

From the other side of his bed, he heard Poppy say, 'It's alright, Harry – it's alright. You're in the infirmary. You've been comatose for nearly two days.'

His throat felt hoarse – as if he'd been screaming for days. He brought a shaky hand to his lips, gazing blankly at his fingers as they came away with a smudge of crimson.

'Blood...' he mumbled, coughing violently, wincing as the back of his throat burned with hot pain. Holding his breath, he gaped at the blood on his fingertips.

'You've been screaming for nearly three minutes before you awoke,' said Poppy, more to Daphne, who was about to break out in tears again, than Harry. 'He must've injured his throat, nothing to worry about, Miss Greengrass.'

'Blood,' he repeated, ignoring the pain as he gave another wheezing cough.

Poppy gave him a stern glance. 'Harry, are you feeling alright? You're not feeling light-headed, are you?'

'Merlin's beard, it wasn't the runes. It wasn't the room at all. She was wrong, too!' he muttered, his eyes widening with fear. 'It's my blood!'

'Harry? What are you talking about?' demanded Poppy sternly.

'...Harry?' whispered Daphne fearfully, clutching his arm.

But Harry, after a short look at Daphne, turned his head away from both his cousin and the matron. Instead, he met the golden gaze of Tracey, who was slowly backing away, shaking her head as if denial could make it any less real.