"ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴀ ᴠɪᴘᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙɪᴛᴇ."

― ᴍᴀᴅᴇʟɪɴᴇ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ, ᴄɪʀᴄᴇ


Chapter Three: Sunlight and Secrets

The foyer of Malfoy Manor was as still as a mausolem. The only sound was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, and the nervous, syncopated shuffling and rustling of robes and feet.

The late, feeble July warmth refused to permeate the pale marble; instead, the foyer was infused with a slight chill.

Voldemort regarded his two charges. He knew they were not completely alone; Narcissa and Lucius's whispering was audible from a room down the hallway, Bellatrix occasionally interjecting with a barb at Lucius's expense.

Nature or nurture? What was more responsible for the vast difference between the two boys? Theodore Nott, small, scrawny, quietly confident, cunning; Draco Malfoy, cold-eyed, fine-featured, self-assured, brutal.

Neither particularly ingenious. Neither breaking the mold. I suppose they have always known what shape they must grow into.

"I need not remind you of your failures, Theodore," said Voldemort.

Almost imperceptibly, the boy shivered. Beside him, Draco attempted to suppress it, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

"My Lord, I—"

At a harsh look from Voldemort, Theodore promptly shut his mouth.

He fears I will kill him. Now, that would be a waste of talent, for failure which is by-and-large the fault of Dumbledore.

"Your endeavors were not a complete loss. Hogwarts shall no longer be Albus Dumbledore's kingdom." Voldemort paused. "However, the situation we find ourselves in has proved that you do not have sufficient skill to successfully carry out my orders."

"Please don't punish me, My Lord," Theodore stammered out, his eyes widening comically.

Draco lifted his hand over his mouth, glancing down at the floor.

"I— I'll do better, I'll make it up to you," the boy continued, his nose twitching in a nervous, almost rabbity fashion.

The confidence had all but vaporized.

He is certain I will kill him. Or, at least, torture him.

"You will," Voldemort promised.

The stricken look on Theodore's face as he worked out what Voldemort was implying was evidence of torture enough, after all.

"I can't go back, My Lord," Theodore protested, his voice soaring high into a falsetto register. "Harry Potter knows—"

To think— to think Harry Potter could stand in between his will and his desired goal — to even suggest it!

"Harry Potter's word against the most powerful names in Wizarding Britain? A boy believed to be crippled, dangerous, foolish, paranoid, and insane, against Narcissa Malfoy, against my hand in the Ministry of Magic? I see fear moves you, Theodore. Do not be foolish; it is unbecoming."

The silence, again, was deafening. Even Draco Malfoy had re-schooled his face into placidity.

Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Lucius's overlapping voices were barely audible.

Why must they always interfere? Voldemort put a hand to his head, and sighed deeply. It's enough I must deal with children. Adolescents; even worse.

"Draco," he said tightly, "we will do your mother a favour. You will return to Hogwarts along with Theodore, and this, time, ensure that my orders are fulfilled. Doubtlessly, without Dumbledore obfuscating communication, that should be trivial."

It was Draco's turn to look taken aback. Idly, Voldemort reached towards his squirming mind. The boy's thoughts ran from frantic confusion into burning resentment — my friends — my Quidditch team — I was going to play in Viktor Krum's position next year!

"Time to turn away from childish things," Voldemort chided.

When I was his age — fifteen — what I was capable of, what I had done, what I had seen — No. He would not think of red skies, bombs, and dead children.

Draco looked surprised, realising that Voldemort had either surmised or directly read his mind.

"And your orders are… to do what, My Lord?" he asked in a defeated tone, shoulders sagging, expression limp.

Voldemort paused. No — not here — not with so many ears, it would draw suspicion and breed conspiracy. After all, his idea was highly experimental, and slightly risky.

"You will act normal," he said, beginning to step out of the foyer and past the boys. "You will make friends, play Quidditch, go to Hogsmeade, perhaps get into a detention or two, do everything necessary to appear a normal Hogwarts student." Voldemort stopped in front of Draco, glaring down at him. The boy stilled, like a prey animal hoping against hope not to be noticed by a prowling wolf nearby.

"There is one order. You will avoid Albus Dumbledore, at all costs."


The Order was planning to arrive, now that the house was what Mafalda called 'fifty percent clean,' Ruby 'still absolutely filthy', and Sirius 'as best as it's going to get.'

Harry, for his part, was at the end of his tether with the cleaning. He'd been nipped by Doxies, screamed at by Walburga Black while trying to wipe the muck off of the frame of her painting, and assaulted by vicious, biting spiders the size of dinner plates.

Despite their strenuous efforts, the whole house remained steadfastly dingy, and the portrait of Walburga Black could not, unfortunately be removed and set somewhere less… obtrusive.

Harry allowed himself a sigh as he sunk down into one of the armchairs in the drawing room and watched the street. About twenty minutes later, he felt himself begin to fall asleep, nodding off just when the loud, clanging doorbell jolted him wide awake.

"Coming," he muttered, stumbling to his feet and out of the room, Walburga screaming obsencities at him as he made his way to the door.

"Child of filth! Stain of dishonour! By-product of mud and betrayal—"

Harry threw her a withering look over his shoulder, and wrenched the door open, leaping back as a flood of people trooped into the hallway in silence, lit by the warm, eerie glow of the gas lamps that Sirius had just finished fixing.

"Amazing," said a tall, dark-haired witch, in a low voice, trailing a hand along the embossed wallpaper once the door had swung shut behind them. Harry thought he heard a note of scornfulness in her voice. "Just how I remember it."

"It's a bit dingy, isn't it?" asked a younger witch in an emerald stole.

"I suppose beggars can't be choosers," a wizard who reminded Harry of Ron answered.

All of a sudden, the small crowd parted, and a familiar figure made his way through, seemingly oblivious to the rearrangement. Serene, smiling slightly, sapphire-robed — Dumbledore.

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry jolted, and then the crowd finally seemed to notice him, many of them peering curiously and keeping a wide berth simultaneously. He couldn't help but wonder if they were all comparing him to what they'd read in the newspapers.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore." Harry realised, with some discomfort, that the role of host had fallen to him. "Sirius's in the kitchen — I'll go get him. If you'd all like to, er, wait in the drawing room…"

As the crowd then moved in that direction, murmuring amongst themselves, Harry turned and started to go downstairs, only to catch sight of a figure in dark robes just behind Dumbledore continuing down the hall.

It can't be, he reasoned, as he went down the stairs. Him being at Hogwarts is bad enough; being around the Order of the Phoenix — who knows what he might repeat, and to who — never mind what he might do!

When Harry descended to the bottom of the stairs, Sirius was, not as he had previously said, trying to check the cutlery for curses, but instead sat at the kitchen table and gazing into space.

"The Order's here," said Harry, but Sirius didn't hear him.

"Sirius," he said, louder. "The Order—"

"I heard," said Sirius acidly. "They're here."

Sirius seemed distinctly irritated about this. Ever since they'd come to 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry reflected, Sirius had been slightly melancholy, but he had assumed that was because of his injury.

"Must I play host?" asked Sirius, in that same acerbic tone.

"I, er, can tell them you're not well," Harry offered. He did not seem well, after all.

"No, that will only encourage suspicion. I have no choice."

With a heavy, resigned sigh, Sirius got to his feet, making his way slowly toward Harry.

"It can't be that bad," said Harry as he approached. "Dumbledore will have told them—"

"Dumbledore will have told them that you're not really a paranoid, helpless little boy who turns into a shadow monster at the tip of a hat. Yet, isn't that exactly the reception you received?" At that, Sirius looked a little contemptuous.

Harry was silent.

"They respect Dumbledore," Sirius continued, "so they'll give his 'charity cases' like us a chance, to please him."

Somehow, Harry could not find a retort, and he instead quietly followed Sirius back up the stairs. The sounds of talking grew louder and louder, and as they descended and Harry's ears adjusted, he realised that the Order was arguing. Sirius pushed the stairwell door open just as Mafalda stormed into the drawing room from down the hallway.

Harry and Sirius shared an uneasy look.

"It's not too late to hide in the kitchen," said Sirius quietly.

"Not very brave for a pair of Gryffindors!" said a scornful voice.

Harry jumped at the disembodied voice — a wand flared with light, revealing Ruby sitting on the gloomy, house-elf-head-lined grand staircase, Hephaestus a dark shadow in her lap.

"You wouldn't be allowed in, Harry, anyway," said another voice, somewhere in the unlit darkness further up the stairs. "As I understand, only Order members are allowed to find out whatever they're arguing about. And the door's spelled — you can hear the arguing, but it sounds like gibberish from out here."

Turning to frown at Sirius, Harry realised he was no longer by his side, but already with his hand on the doorknob.

"Wish me luck," Sirius muttered, as light flooded the hallway, and then he stepped inside.

Even from the hallway, Harry heard the deafening silence when Sirius entered. Not heeding the mysterious person's instructions, Harry walked over to the door, reached out to turn the doorknob, and quickly snatched his hand away when an electric shock went up his arm.

Someone snorted.

"The simplest wards are all flesh-activated. How are you still alive?"

Finally, he stepped fully into the light. Harry's heart began to pound into his ribcage as he looked up and into the cold, dark eyes of Tom Riddle. Ruby flinched as he kept descending past her and towards Harry, whose feet were rooted to the floor.

He stopped by the door, a mere foot away from Harry. He had to command every nerve to prevent himself from flinching, too as he took in Riddle's contemptuous expression.

"Don't be afraid, Harry. Dumbledore's finally found a use for me. He doesn't think you're safe at Hogwarts anymore after what happened in the dungeon, and I, apparently, am the solution."

So that's why he sent us away with Sirius this summer — it makes sense, if he's desperate enough to resort to Riddle*.*

When Harry said nothing, Riddle merely replied to his silence, "The feeling is mutual."

I hope he's not staying, thought Harry. There were still five weeks left in the summer holidays — five unbearable weeks, with the prospect of Riddle's odious self slinking around 12 Grimmauld Place.

Riddle leaned a little on the door, more light from the gas lamps above pouring onto his face. Peering closer, Harry realised the silver seal was no longer drawn under his eye.

"May I have a tour?" asked Riddle, his tone deceptively light.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I'd have to ask Sirius."

Rocking back on his heels and humming slightly, Riddle's own eyes slid shut as he smiled.

"You could at least show me the library."

Is that a good idea? Whatever new angle Riddle was trying to play, Harry distrusted it. He had better speak to Dumbledore first, before—

"Let's just go," said Ruby, coming up on the other side of Riddle. "We'll be able to keep a better eye on him there. Best not to let him wander around."

Harry did not appreciate Riddle's laughter as he followed them past the grand staircase and into the darkness. The sounds of the Order arguing soon retreated as they took the next corner, went up a smaller flight of stairs, and into the library, which was no longer inhabited by a ghoul and now only smelled slightly musty.

To Harry's annoyance, Riddle's eyes lit up like a child in the toy section, and to his even greater annoyance, he realised that Hermione made an almost identical expression at the sight of bookshelves.

Ruby and Harry exchanged a look as Riddle walked forward as if in a trance, running his hands across the leather-bound tomes.

"You know this library's full of Dark magic manuals, don't you?" asked Ruby out of the side of her mouth.

Harry hadn't, in fact, thought of that. "Yeah, well, what can be in here that he hasn't gotten his dirty hands on before?"

Just then, Riddle turned to them excitedly, his hands already full. "There's a first-edition copy of Principles of Inferi Construction!"

"Just incredible," said Ruby under her breath, almost disbelievingly. "We could lock him in here and he'd wouldn't notice any difference."

Harry could only watch with mild horror as Riddle made his way to the bay window and seated himself comfortably, kicking his long legs up on the sill. Loath to leave him unattended, Harry and Ruby found themselves an armchair and took up watch.

It wasn't long before the door to the library swung open. By the sudden pallor that came over Riddle and the speed with which he closed his book, Harry didn't need to peer over his shoulder to be certain that it was Dumbledore who had entered.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, his hands folded almost piously in front of him as he walked into the middle of the room, the gloomy shelves lit gold and pink by dying afternoon sun. "I thought I mind find you here. Hello, Ruby. I hope you are well?"

She, apparently, could not suppress a grimace at that. "As well as I can be, Professor."

From the corner of Harry's eye, Riddle was trying to make an escape, eyes darting around the library for another exit. But the door that Dumbledore had just entered through was the only one; he was stuck here, like a king on a chessboard, forced into checkmate, walled off by his own pawns.

"I trust Tom has told you of our arrangement?" asked Dumbledore, stalking closer to the bay window. If Harry was not mistaken, Dumbledore found this cat-and-mouse game with Riddle amusing — and Harry could not deny that he found Riddle's obvious discomfort gratifying.

"Somewhat," said Riddle tightly, and then Dumbledore was there, peering at the cover of the book he had just hastily closed, as if out of mere curiosity.

"Principles of Inferi Construction, first edition. Very nice. A bit of light reading, I suppose, for academic purposes only."

Why, Harry pondered, feeling sick to his stomach, does the library have a manual on making Inferi?

Riddle's gaze darkened. "Of course, Professor Dumbledore."

With that, Dumbledore sat beside Riddle on the bay window seat — Harry nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the sight — Riddle ramrod straight and somber-robed, Dumbledore relaxed and smiling, bedecked in patterned sapphire.

"I have charged Tom with your protection," said Dumbledore. "I am afraid I cannot stop Theodore Nott from returning; Narcissa Malfoy will not allow me to expel him. And besides, he may not be Voldemort's only weapon. In fact, I have yet to find a suitable Defence professor, as all of the applicants have been… untrustworthy. I fear the Ministry is attempting to once more gain influence over Hogwarts."

Harry cleared his throat. "The Ministry's influence means Voldemort, Professor, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly.

"Yes, Harry, you catch my meaning exactly."

Tee and Harry locked gazes, and Harry tasted something sour in his mouth before jerking his head away. To his side, Ruby had somehow sunk deeper into the armchair, her arms crossed, glowering, chewing determinedly on the end of a curl — and, of course, looking anywhere but at the bay window.

"And what if you're arrested again?" asked Harry. "I mean, last time, you couldn't get back until it was almost too late."

"Last time," said Dumbledore sternly, "I was woefully unprepared. I will not make the same mistakes again."

Harry said nothing but could not help his scepticism. Once bitten, twice shy.

"Why don't you give the Defence position to your Potions Master?" asked Riddle sourly, shifting his pile of books further out of view. "He seems to be game."

Dumbledore said nothing in response, irritation making his serene appearance flicker only slightly.

All of a sudden, a great pop resounded, startling all four inhabitants of the room. Kreacher had appeared in the middle of the library, scowling, the fury seeming to roll off of him.

"Master asked Kreacher to tell Master's…" Kreacher trailed off as he noticed Dumbledore and seemingly redacted the insult he had been about to utter "…friends that dinner is served."

With a look of distaste, he Disapparated.

Dumbledore was the first to stir. "I suppose that is our cue," he said, getting to his feet.

"I suppose I should make myself scarce," said Riddle, though Harry noted he did not seem at all put out by this.

To tell the truth, thought Harry, I'm not looking forward to dinner with the Order either.

He could only hope it wouldn't be worse than his interrogation by the upper-year Slytherins in his first year.

On their long, uncomfortable, and quiet march to the dining room, Harry's trepidation only mounted. To his relief, as they approached, the conversation sounded far more genial than it had earlier, laughter even emanating from behind the door. Steeling himself, Harry put his clammy hand on the doorknob, and turned it.

The dining room was just as poorly-lit and gloomy as the rest of the house, dominated by a long wooden table, and antique, greasy light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. They cast an anaemic light on the occupants of the table — Sirius at the head of the table, unengaged in the discussion, his head leaning on his hand, expression despondently vacant. To his right, the seat was empty — most likely Dumbledore's. To his left was the dark-haired witch who had commented on the wallpaper, regarding Harry with a raised eyebrow. Beside her sat the grizzled-looking Auror Harry remembered from first year, Mad-Eye Moody; he grimly raised his glass in greeting. Mafalda and Tonks seemed otherwise occupied; the rest of the table was peering at Harry with the same strange interest that they had in the corridor. He felt the familiar, spine-tingling feeling of being studied like a bug in a glass.

"There he is," said Moody gruffly. "The man of the hour."

To Harry's misfortune, the stares seemed to grow in intensity.

"Pleased to finally meet you, Harry," said a warm, reassuring voice. Harry turned in the direction of the voice; he didn't recognise the wizard, a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man wearing a gold hoop earring that sparkled in the wan light.

"Er, thanks…"

"Shacklebolt. Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Kingsley liaisons with the Muggle government," Tonks supplied, breaking off her whispered conversation with Mafalda.

"And… is that…" A young witch trailed off, looking to the side of Harry.

Sirius looked up, and made an impatient noise. "Everyone — Harry and Ruby; Harry and Ruby — everyone. There."

Awash with gratefulness at the forceful redirection of attention as he made his way to the table, Harry found himself seated beside Dumbledore, and the wizard who resembled Ron from earlier. His long, red hair was tied back in a jaunty ponytail, and Harry thought he would not have looked out of place at a rock concert. The wizard turned to offer his hand with a lopsided smile, and Harry shook it tentatively.

"Bill Weasley — Ron talks so much about you."

"Really?" asked Harry. He had always sort of imagined himself as an impermanent image, fading from peoples' memories during the holidays.

"Tonks was regaling us with tales of your harrowing cleaning adventures," said Bill lightly. "I heard you had a run-in with Doxies?"

The bites were indeed still sore, and worse yet, Harry felt that he was being stared at and listened to by the whole table. "Er, yeah. How's everyone?"

Bill sighed. "Better, now the Dementors are gone."

Harry found that he had somehow forgotten how to have a natural conversation, with the awareness that every word he said was being carefully evaluated.

"So, er, I thought Ron said you were in Egypt?"

"Bill was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts," Mafalda interrupted from further down the table, "But now he's got a mind-numbing desk job, just like mine. His words."

Tonks snorted, and Bill said, "Always appreciated."

"Anyway," Sirius cut in, getting up from the table, "Merlin knows what poison Kreacher's cooked up for us, but I think I'd better check he's not trying to blow the house up from the kitchen."

Everyone looked towards Sirius, even Dumbledore. Harry watched him leave, and if he wasn't mistaken, slam the door shut behind him.

Across the table, Ruby was seated between Mafalda and Tonks, seemingly put out by them having a conversation across her.

"What," Harry heard her ask Mafalda, "was the argument about?"

Harry didn't hear Mafalda's response, but if the look on her face was anything to go by, her feelings on the matter were still… unresolved.

What if it's Riddle… What if Dumbledore told them about Riddle?

He couldn't. There was no way. It would shatter everything.

"It's interesting," said Bill quietly. He was regarding Harry with a quietly evaluative gaze.

"What?"

"Everyone says, or, at least, implies, that you're some kind of—" Bill gestured with his hands as if to encompass something vast and complex "—small, sickly, crazed child that Dumbledore puppeteers around, without a mind of his own. But you're clearly not."

"To be fair," Bill continued, "the last big piece of news we had about you was that you were at death's door."

Harry was dumbfounded at that. So that was what everyone was thinking — what shadow they were comparing him to.

"Well, that's… brilliant."

Stewing in irritation, Harry turned his attention from Bill Weasley, choosing to instead glance down the table. Thankfully for Ruby, people seemed to be too busy paying attention to whether or not Harry was a 'small, sickly, crazed child' to take much notice of her.

How many had the true story of the Dursleys reached outside of Hogwarts? It had to be almost everyone by now. Harry knew it must be.

Unless — and this horrified him more — they simply didn't care, because the Dursleys were Muggles.

Harry turned his attention to scanning the rest of the table. The witch who had been staring at Ruby, he noticed, had an angry bruise on the side of her face. Mad-Eye looked slightly singed. The entire group seemed to have a slumped-over, defeated look.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

But Bill simply shook his head, and Dumbledore made a point of looking up to say, "Ah, I see Sirius has returned."

A harassed-looking Sirius had indeed entered, storming down the length of the table. Some people flinched, and Harry heard a whispered "I don't know if I like the company Dumbledore keeps."

Next, Kreacher appeared with a loud pop.

This, thought Harry resignedly, is going to be a long dinner.


A cold sense of trepidation had come over Ruby. Dessert was long gone—the remains of Kreacher's rubbery rhubarb pie lay on her plate in blood-red smears. The conversation had slowed to a trickle, although none of the Order seemed to want to be the first to stand up and leave.

Tonks and Mad-Eye were still having a lively debate, which no one dared interrupt, about whether or not mastery of Muggle-Repelling Charms should be required for all Auror trainees, after all.

Both Harry and Sirius, who had been quiet all through dinner, looked particularly agitated, the former drumming his fingers on the table, and the latter fidgeting with something — probably an old Snitch, Ruby guessed.

Slowly, people began to get up from the table, stretching and yawning as they did. Accepting defeat, Ruby got up too. She looked towards the head of the table, hoping to catch Dumbledore's gaze, but he was occupied. And besides, a veritable crowd of people separated them; no use trying to fight her way through. The crowd was forcing her towards the exit as it was. Once out in the hallway, Ruby turned and slipped up the stairs as quietly as she could, with the intention of getting to her room unharrassed. It was not to be, however.

A shadow darkened her path. Ruby's stomach lurched.

"You," she said, forcing herself to look up into his cold, dark eyes.

Tee stared back, with the steady, unwavering gaze of a Legilimens.

"I wanted to see if you were alright."

Ruby scoffed, stifling a laugh, her eyes flicking to to meet the portrait of a girl in flouncy, stuffy robes, lit by the weak light of the hallway.

"You don't really think I'd believe that," she said. It was a shame the hallway was so narrow at this point. It would be hard to edge past him.

Staring up at him, Ruby asked, "What do you really want, Riddle?"

"Nothing," he said, with an almost casual shrug. "To talk. That's all."

"Well, we're talking."

Tee scowled. "Don't be difficult."

An almost hysterical amusement bubbled up in her throat. Ruby moved to throw up her hands — but what was the point — she let them fall limply to her sides again.

"What would we possibly have to talk about?"

With a pang, Ruby realised Tee's irritated expression was painfully familiar — one she'd seen every day for nearly a year.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe, let's see, Horcruxes, Mordred, any of the several incidents, Dumbledore's shifty behaviour, or, hmm, what about Lord Voldemort?"

He sounds like Harry when he gets going, thought Ruby, and then that thought grew so monstrous and terrifying that she instantly stifled it.

"I don't need to ask about Voldemort," said Ruby acidly, "seeing as he's right in front of me."

And with that, she pushed past Tee, ignoring his gasp of surprise as she smacked into his shoulder and then kept going—

"Hey!"

Ruby stopped, ice forming in her blood. She didn't turn. Just stiffened.

"You think it's all so simple," Tee began angrily, his voice echoing through the hallway. "But you don't even understand half of it."

"You think I don't understand?" Ruby shot back, her voice trembling too with poorly contained anger. "You're the one who doesn't know anything."

"You think you're the only one who's ever had a hard time? You think Harry's the most important person in the world, and anything, for him, is justifiable? I understand you perfectly. You're no innocent. Don't forget the diary. I know your deepest secrets, your greatest fears."

Ruby couldn't move, rooted to the floor. Her feet might as well have had a Permanent Sticking Charm applied to them.

She heard Tee's slow, deliberate footsteps as he stalked forward.

"You think you understand survival? You think you know desperation?"

Ruby whirled around. "Look into my eyes, then, Legilimens," she ground out. "Find out for yourself."

Now, he looked taken aback, but he did what she had demanded. He stared, his gaze seeming to go right through and into the hallway behind; and Ruby stared back, unflinching.

Finally, Tee broke away abruptly, as if he'd seen enough. He averted his eyes completely, choosing instead to catalogue the shifting, swirling patterns on the carpet.

Good, thought Ruby, let that unsettle him, whatever he's seen. If he wants to be a know-it-all — well, that's a double-edged sword.

"Good night," said Ruby, with forced politeness.

Tee's head snapped up. "Good night," he said in a cursory tone. And then, he added, a bit nastily, "Sleep well," knowing, of course, that she wouldn't.

By the time Ruby made her way to Narcissa's room, her limbs and mind were drained. It was all she could do to climb on top of the bed, not even pulling the covers over her. Her pyjamas were still draped on the back of the chair, Hephaestus a dark blot in the corner.

Sleep, as she had expected, did not come.


Her and Harry's birthday was miraculously sunny, and Sirius said he didn't see any reason why they couldn't go out, as long as they stuck to Muggle areas.

When Sirius mentioned this over breakfast, Harry's face positively lit up, and Ruby was reminded that Harry had, in essence, been locked up for years. 12 Grimmauld Place was flung into a flurry of barely-contained excitement.

"That means you stay in sight of one of us," Sirius said, following Harry up the stairs. "And by one of us, I don't mean Riddle — Unbreakable Vow or no Unbreakable Vow."

Tonks glanced at Ruby over the top of her pumpkin juice. "Who's Riddle, again?"

"Protégè of Dumbledore's or something to that effect," Mafalda answered smoothly, before Ruby could get a chance to fudge a response. "According to all accounts, a bit untrustworthy."

Better to tell as few people as possible, thought Ruby. Once that cat is out of the bag…

Tonks shook her head. "I still don't get why Crouch rejected your offer."

"Nor do I." Mafalda looked as if she were about to launch into a tirade, so Ruby took that as her cue to go upstairs and get dressed to go out.

Hurrying back to her room, she quickly got changed, glowered at her appearance in the spotty mirror, and fruitlessly attempted to comb her hair, somehow making it worse in the process. By the time she managed to smooth down her Peter Pan collar and wrangle her hair into something approaching neat, another problem reared its head. The blood-red palms—and how was she supposed to hide those?

Frustrated, she stared rifling through the drawers of the vanity table, then stopped in surprise, her fingers wrapped around the crow-headed pull. A pair of wrist-length gloves, in white satin, was lying there, lightly yellowed at the lacy edges, like everything else in the room.

Without a second thought, and despite the fact that she knew things found lying about in the houses of old magical families had a tendency to be cursed, Ruby pulled them on. To her surprise, they fit perfectly. She smoothed down the front of her clothes, and faced her appearance in the mirror again, lifting a hand to her eyes. The redness couldn't be helped.

Ruby turned away sharply, made sure that she had her wand, and shut the door behind her; it creaked on its old hinges.

Something compelled her to glance down the hallway. There was Tee, leaning against the wall. The sight made her feel sick to her stomach.

He looked impressively Muggle, Ruby thought, with his hair artfully floppy, combed towards the front, and a pair of wide trousers that Aunt Petunia would have scoffed at and called scruffy.

Resolved to make her escape before he looked up and noticed her — or, perhaps, he had noticed her and was simply ignoring her — Ruby headed in the direction of the stairs.

When she reached the bottom, Harry was pacing in front of the door. He'd clearly made an attempt at getting his hair to behave, as well but failing, only managed to make it wet, dripping onto his green button-down shirt.

"Where's Riddle?" asked Sirius, his hands slotted into his pockets as he looked towards the stairs.

Ruby shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. Maybe they should leave him behind, after all.

But Sirius's attention had already turned to Harry.

"Have you got the Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry looked surprised. "Yeah. Why?"

"You never know," said Sirius darkly.

"You're beginning to sound like Mad-Eye," said Tonks.

Sirius grimaced, just as Tee appeared amongst them. Tonks and Mafalda peered at him curiously — they hadn't seen his arrival last night — and it seemed that the latter wanted to ask him some questions.

But then, Sirius turned the handle of the front door, and the afternoon light, searing into the gloomy hallway, nearly blinded Ruby, stinging the back of her eyes. Before she had time to adjust, Mafalda ushered her over the threshold, the red door was swinging shut behind them, and they were outside.

And then, as if this were something they did every weekend, Sirius said that they were going to walk to the bus stop.

Harry cleared his throat, quickening his pace to catch up to Sirius. "You've, er, got Muggle money, haven't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking of Confounding the bus driver," said Sirius lightly, and Ruby was only half-sure he was joking.

Mafalda rolled her eyes in response, and pulled a wad of colourful notes out of her pocket.

It wasn't long until the bus pulled up, the destination sign reading A1 VIA UPPER STREET; Mafalda got on first to pay the fare; thankfully, Sirius and Tonks didn't stick out too much. It was a risk for Sirius to be out in public, even with the transfiguration he'd done on his nose and chin and the blond hair that didn't suit him, but there was no way they were getting a dog on the bus.

To her distaste, Ruby found herself sitting between Tee and Mafalda — and tried not to think of their trip to the Cave. She kept her gaze fixed on the back of the seat ahead of her.

Across the aisle, a woman fruitlessly tried to wrangle two identical toddlers; a teenager tapped away at a Motorola's buttons, squinting at the tiny screen.

"So we meet again — Riddle, was it?" said Mafalda, snapping Ruby's attention back to her and Tee.

"Yes," said Tee, tightly, but he didn't look at her, staring determinedly out of the window, watching the street.

Mafalda lowered her voice to a whisper. "Did Dumbledore order you to kill Lockhart?"

Ruby had almost forgotten about that. How could she have forgotten about that? Everything that had happened in the Chamber seemed so long ago.

Tee stretched his legs out, finally condescending to glance towards Mafalda. "Well, he didn't seem to mind, if that's what you mean," he said, his voice barely audible over the rumble of the bus.

No, thought Ruby, he didn't.

Mafalda did not look pleased at that explanation. But it didn't matter, because there was a loud chime, and a recorded voice announced, "Islington High Street and Pentonville Road."

"That's us," said Malfalda, and Ruby got up, the bus lurching under her feet as it slowed to a stop.

As the bus pulled away, Ruby found herself gazing up at the imposing taupe building on the corner.

"Come on," said Tonks, "let's go."

They turned to walk down the street. It was a strange, familiar shock to see regular people again — Muggles — laden with shopping bags, bicycle wheels twinkling, dogs barking, and a throng of screaming football hooligans on the other side of the street. Quaint bookshops, with names like The Red Pen, stood alongside little cafés, with people reading thick paperbacks or having lively arguments outside.

"Good idea," said Mafalda approvingly. "You wouldn't catch Umbridge's posse or Death Eaters dead around so many Muggles."

A faint, deep thrumming was coming from somewhere; Ruby started looking around for the source. There seemed to be more people now, moving slower, almost leisurely. A pair of legs dangled from a street sign; the music grew louder; a red banner emblazoned STREET NOW OPEN stretched between two lampposts. Someone had dumped sand over the road; children ran about, shrieking, armed with small plastic buckets. A cornucopia of enticing scents wafted from hastily-thrown up stalls, and what seemed like thousands of people clustered in front of a makeshift stage, the booming of bass and guitar permeating the air with a steady heartbeat.

Tee looked towards them, agape.

"What's going on?" asked Harry.

"Street party," said Sirius. "And pretty well-organised, from the looks of it."

Someone was handing out lollipops, with "Smog Off", "Let London Breathe", "Support the Railworkers" written over the wrappers.

Ruby stared up at the impossibly blue, cloudless sky and marvelled at what a strange day it was today.

"Look." Harry was pointing. "A magician!"

"Where?" asked Sirius, putting a hand to where his wand was concealed.

But it became clear that it wasn't that type of magician — a man in a top hat appearing to stick a hat pin through his arm, to thunderous applause and laughter.

"Yeah, could be fun," said Tonks, although she looked a little ill at the sight of the obviously fake blood.

Ruby was just thankful it wasn't Tee that accompanied them, as she and Harry drew closer. Somehow, they found themselves near the front of the crowd, watching the magician demonstrate his ability to 'levitate' and produce a dove from an empty frying pan. They wandered between stalls, Ruby picking out a deck of locally made, illustrated playing cards, and Harry selecting a set of old chemistry glassware, found something to eat, and eventually rejoined the other three, who were sat around the edge of the sand area.

"These things are kind of disgusting," Mafalda said, studying her "Smog Off" lollipop.

"Maybe you got the snot flavour," Tonks suggested.

"Muggles don't have snot flavour," Tee pointed out, and then flushed when the other two looked at him in surprise.

Despite it all — despite the darkness that lay around and ahead of them — Ruby couldn't help but feel an odd sense of normalcy creeping in, as she watched Tonks and Harry laugh at something Sirius said. It felt as if they were a family, enjoying a sunny day out.

And then, she looked over at Tee. He looked back, his expression dark and impenetrable, a stark contrast to the almost candy-coloured environment.

"Alright?" asked Harry, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

With a glance over her shoulder, Harry said, knowingly, "As Ron would say, don't let him get you down."

Right. But this city was heavy with memory — the first lost year, of her and Harry in that liminal space between Little Whinging and Hogwarts, and the second lost year, with Tee, running from what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.

All of my secrets are disappearing, thought Ruby. Maybe it was right, what Tee said before. That everything whispered in the dark comes out in the light.

Everyone knows the worst thing about you. And it's not so bad. You survived Mordred. So you'll survive again.


A/N: The RECLAIM THE STREETS event actually happened on July 23rd, 1995. But when I found out the dates were only a week apart, I just had to include it in the scene!