BLOOD OF THE PURE

September 5, 1005 after the Founding of Hogwarts

Slytherin First-Year Residential Unit

"C'mon Al," entreated an 11-year-old Harry as he shook the curled form of his best friend.

"Leave me to my misery," Alphard mumbled from under his covers.

"Who cares what Lestrange thinks about your wand?" Harry urged. "Is he a wandmaker?"

"Easy for you to say," Alphard whined. "Your wand's massive — and powered by a white dragon's heart!"

"It's just fifteen inches," Harry sighed.

"'Just fifteen inches,' he says," Alphard scoffed.

"Al, your wand's a solid thirteen," Harry pointed out.

"Average," Alphard despaired. "I'm average."

"That's objectively false," Harry corrected. "And wand length doesn't measure magic might."

"Avery laughed at my core," Alphard added in a small voice.

"Unicorns are the embodiment of purity and grace," Harry reminded the young Black.

"Avery said unicorn-hair wands are for maidens and mudspawn," Alphard whimpered.

"Avery doesn't know what he's talking about," Harry declared firmly. "Have you ever seen a unicorn up close?"

"Wha–no?" Alphard replied with confusion.

"Great, you're in for a treat then," Harry stated as he dragged his friend up from under his covers. Alphard wriggled and squirmed, but he was no match for a determined Harry.

"Where are you taking me? I refuse! I can't go out without a bath," Alphard protested.

Harry murmured a minor blessing to cleanse and groom Alphard's face and hair.

"I'm still dirty!" Alphard bemoaned.

Harry rolled his eyes, then closed his eyes in concentration as he clasped Alphard's wrist and cleansed his entire body in a golden-white show of magic.

"Woah," Alphard breathed dazedly.

"Now c'mon. We'll use my invisibility cloak, so don't worry about us being in nightgowns," Harry informed.

"My perfume," Alphard insisted.

"Okay, Miss Black," Harry lightly shoved Alphard, who snickered and scampered to his bedside to apply Sweet Honey Water to his exposed skin.

Slytherin House

"You forgot your shoes," Alphard pointed out as the pair exited their 14-room residential unit.

"I like feeling the ground beneath me. And magic reinforces my skin," Harry explained.

"Must be nice," Alphard grumbled.

Harry rubbed his friend's back and caressed the radiant energy that was Alphard's magic.

"You've always been strong and bright, just like the star you're named after," Harry reassured.

"Tell that to my father," Alphard muttered.

"Your connection to magic is different from your family's, not weaker," Harry said. "The fact that Grimmauld Place didn't taint you shows how resilient you are."

"What if Father replaces me with Cygnus?" Alphard pressed. "Father favors my younger brother, I know it."

"If he casts you aside for your magic, then he's a fool," Harry declared.

Hope pierced through the gloom in Alphard's thunder-gray eyes.

The pair walked silently through the common room under the cover of Harry's heirloom cloak. In a corner, a group of older students played some sort of card game. But even if they hadn't indulged in alcohol, they would have seen, heard, and felt nothing if they turned their attention to where Harry and Alphard walked. And no spell they cast could have changed this fact. So strong was the treasure Harry received on his birthday.

Which was why he was startled to feel someone watching him.

"What is it?" Alphard whispered.

"I feel like someone's watching us," Harry murmured back.

"That's impossible, right?" Alphard asked.

"Almost," Harry answered.

Professor Albus admitted that he could see the cloak, but he was more powerful than the rest of the faculty put together — and owned the Elder Wand, to boot. To even glimpse Harry's cloak, a Hogwarts student would need a raw connection to magic more potent than any of the other professors. And frankly, only Harry himself carried that raw strength.

"Well, whoever is watching, who will they even tattle to? Your godfather? Your tutor?" Alphard dismissed. "Not to mention my father chairs the governors board, and my great-grandfather was the last headmaster. So anyone who wants to rat on us can take a nice dive in the lake."

"First, Professor Albus isn't my 'tutor'—he's much more than that," Harry reproached. "Second, isn't Phineas Black the least popular headmaster ever?"

"Shut up," Alphard grumbled as his best friend snickered.

Harry nudged Alphard on the shoulder and led him out of the Slytherin dormitory, then through the catacombs until they reached the grand staircase.

"Must we climb stairs inside this shroud?" Alphard complained. "We might trip!"

"We could levitate," Harry mused. "Oh, sorry, you can't."

"Don't let me hold you back, oh great one," Alphard challenged. "I'll wait here to catch you when you fall. Then laugh at you."

"You're funny," Harry drawled as Alphard snickered. "Climbing the stairs won't be much harder than walking down a corridor. We just have to do it together."

"What don't we do together here?" Alphard muttered as the two began ascending the stairs. After one false start, the boys synchronized perfectly and made it to the entrance level.

"That wasn't so hard, was it Alphie?" Harry nudged. "Ow," he whined a second later when he got whacked in the back of the head.

"May I remind you I am named after the greatest star of the Hydra constellation," Alphard grandstanded. "I am not some dainty pillow."

"Really?" Harry questioned. "I swear that you look—don't you dare-haha! S-haha—stop that! Ha ha…not-haha-f-fair," he protested when Alphard began tickling him.

A few minutes later, a breathless Harry finally received clemency.

"Y-you're a mean one, Black," he wheezed.

"That's Mr. Black," Alphard preened.

"Not until you're seventeen," Harry reminded. "Now c'mon."

Concealed from all monitoring enchantments, surveilling portraits, and patrolling ghosts, Harry and Alphard made it out of the castle and trekked down the hills to the north.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Alphard asked when they finally entered Hogwarts' famous forest.

"For the last time, you're not going to get eaten," Harry huffed. "They'd go for the tasty one."

"How would you know you're tastier?" Alphard retorted.

"I have a great diet?" Harry submitted.

"Of treacle tarts!" Alphard exclaimed.

"Like you don't help yourself to sweets when your sister's not watching?" Harry riposted.

A silence fell between the friends. Walburga Black was a sensitive subject, namely because she believed her brother should not "cavort" with a "mudborn bastard" — particularly one whose existence "sullied" the "sanctity" of a Black marriage. Nevermind that Harry was conceived months before Dorea Black entered any relationship with Charlus Potter.

"Wait, I think I saw something," Alphard whispered.

Harry stretched out his awareness in the direction his friend had been facing and sensed the pure presence of a unicorn on the cusp of adulthood. With the noble creature at ease with Harry's aura, the boys found themselves able to creep closer to the majestic sight.

"Wow," Alphard breathed as he saw the colt drink from a glistening pool. All around the unicorn, flora took an extraordinarily vibrant shade. The unicorn himself reflected light from the night's waning crescent, emanating a soft silver-white glow from his coat, a pure-white shine from its mane and tail, and a golden-white gleam from his foot-long horn.

"We can introduce ourselves," Harry informed. "But first—"

"I can't!" Alphard panicked.

"Al, calm down," Harry placated while taking hold of his friend's wrist.

"I'm a Black," Alphard fretted. "The unicorn will skewer me where I stand."

"So you do believe that unicorns are powerful," Harry pointed out. "Not just for—how did Avery put it—'maidens and mudspawn'?"

Alphard blushed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I should have thought about what I was repeating," he apologized.

"Apologize to yourself for letting Avery's words get to you," Harry directed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black," Alphard said to himself.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend's ego, but smiled at the progress.

"Now that we're leaving behind the nonsense of unicorns being weak, let's debunk some other myths," Harry proceeded. "Unicorns are not mindless puritans that exact the death penalty on anyone who so much as had sex. That doesn't even make sense! They obviously have sex themselves. And no, they're not blood purists that spill any 'dirty blood' who approaches them. And, most relevant for tonight, they do not read family records and kill boys for the sins of their great-grandfathers."

"But w-won't he sense my magic?" Alphard stammered.

"Your magic," Harry emphasized. "Unicorns judge individuals, not legacies. Trust me, I know."

"How would you know?" Alphard challenged. "Your mother was the whitest of white witches!"

"Can I tell you a really big secret?" Harry asked. "A please-don't-tell-anyone-ever secret?"

Alphard's eyes widened.

"Do you promise?" Harry prompted.

"I swear on my blood," Alphard affirmed.

"My middle name…my middle name is Ignotus," Harry revealed. "After Ignotus Peverell, my distant ancestor."

Alphard gaped.

"Ignotus Peverell? Youngest of the Peverell Three Ignotus Peverell? Buried-in-Godric's-Hollow Ignotus Peverell? The Master of Death Ignotus Peverell?" he quizzed once he regained his wits.

"That one," Harry grumbled. "I'm a direct descendant of the Peverells. And with the Gaunts dead, I think I'm the last."

"Wait, are you saying your mother…" Alphard started.

"Wasn't mud as your sister thinks? Yes," Harry stated. "My ancestors hid our legacy for centuries from those who would take advantage of our blood, powers, and heirlooms."

"Heirlooms?" Alphard gasped. "Do you mean…"

"This cloak we're under is none other than the 'Cloak of Death'," Harry divulged. "Created by Ignotus Peverell around nearly nine hundred years ago."

Alphard's mouth opened like a trap door.

"Why—why haven't you told everyone?" he questioned. "No one in pure society would turn their nose at you ever again! You should—"

"My point," Harry cut Alphard off. "Is that my lineage is surely darker than yours. The Peverell brothers are known as the Masters of Death for many reasons, many more than in that dainty bedtime story Beedle the Bard wrote. I've inherited a measure of the Triumvirate's powers — I have a thestral steed like Antioch, I'm good at sensing spiritual auras like Cadmus, and I can power Ignotus' cloak. And yet, I can approach unicorns. Because unlike my ancestor, I'm neither plotting wanton violence against another living creature nor predisposed to it."

"You're a pacifist?" Alphard asked.

"No, and neither are unicorns. They don't grow a massive horn on their foreheads just for show," Harry corrected. "But unicorns only attack in defense of defenseless critters. They eschew violence and thrive in peace — kind of like someone I know."

"Me?" Alphard wondered.

"Yes, you," Harry said. "All those times your father tried to get you to 'prove' your connection to magic, he assumed your displays would come in moments of anger. But they almost all came in moments of tranquility, didn't they?"

"It's not like I didn't want to show my magic when he tested me," Alphard reflected bitterly.

"Magic is the most complex entity in existence," Harry explained. "Everyone holds a unique connection to this all-binding energy force, because we are unique individuals with unique souls. So this Salazar Slytherin ideology that a 'true wizard' must 'demonstrate an indubitable sign of the supernatural' by age three is stupid."

"Did you just call Slytherin stupid?" Alphard gasped in disbelief.

"He's one of the most brilliant sorcerers on record, I'll be the first to say that," Harry clarified. "But his social philosophies leave much to be desired. Think of this — he doesn't even say what an 'indubitable sign' is. He leaves that to the eye of the beholder. So your father decided that since you didn't create a mini storm when throwing a tantrum, you didn't 'demonstrate the supernatural'. What if I said that because he failed to sense your magic signature, he hasn't demonstrated the supernatural? What if I said everyone who has to ask for 'proof' of magic is little better than a muggle, and could easily be fooled by a sleight of hand?"

Alphard gaped.

"See? We can each set our own standards, to the detriment of us all," Harry stated. "I wonder how many gifted witches and wizards have been cast out, or killed outright, for failing to meet Salazar's supposed standards."

Alphard hung his head.

"But it doesn't have to be this way," Harry advocated. "And any time you doubt that, you can remember the night you first rode a unicorn."

"Wait, what?" Alphard yelped as Harry dragged him forward. But not much time passed before Alphard's fright turned to delight as the boys spent the night with a new friend.

Finally, at the break of dawn, Harry carried a tired Alphard bridal style back to the castle, wrapping the older boy in the Peverell cloak for extra cushion.

"I…ove…cuz…" Alphard murmured as they approached the castle doors just before sunrise.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I love you, cousin," Alphard whispered.

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the last word, the word he had been secretly yearning to hear from his best friend. A word that meant acceptance, love, and family.

"L–love you too, cousin," Harry responded with a cracking voice.

"Family forever?" Alphard asked hopefully.

"As long as you'll have me, I'll never leave you," Harry promised.

September 9, 1008 years the Founding of Hogwarts

Slytherin Fourth-Year Residential Unit: Room 14

Harry returned to the waking world to see a glowing pair of stormy-blue orbs.

"Witching hour approaches," Tom stated.

"A simple knock would wake me up," Harry grumbled. "Ow!" he yelped as his bare chest endured a superhumanly powerful rap from Tom's knuckles.

"Cleanse yourself. You will not defile my ancestral sanctum," Tom ordered.

"Yes, my lord," Harry drawled before levitating from his bed and onto the hardwood floor. Summoning his wand, he bathed his mostly naked body in golden flamelike energies, purifying it of any perspiration, grime and excess oils and replacing them with a rich aroma of treacle tarts baked over a mahogany campfire.

"Imagine if you could use your light tricks to clothe yourself," Tom sneered as his cousin replaced his boxers.

"You first, Marvolo," Harry retorted before dodging an emerald curse aimed at his manhood.

"Watch it! That's one of my most valuable possessions," he complained.

"You have been corrupted by carnal desires of the flesh," Tom condemned.

"You wouldn't exist if your ancestors didn't have sex," Harry laughed.

"I am the culmination of Lilith's legacy. None will follow," Tom proclaimed.

That, Harry could believe. Tom would sooner renounce black magic than peck someone on the cheek.

"Of all the boys the Great Mother had to truly bless in the looks department," Harry huffed.

A bitter chill descended upon the room.

"I despise my countenance," Tom snarled. "And I hope you do not believe I'll keep the face of a filthy muggle. My whore mother shamed me enough by foisting his name upon me."

"Voldemort—" Harry whispered as his cousin's raw power whirled through the room.

"Do you enjoy wearing the face of your begetter?" Voldemort turned the tables. "A wizard who abandoned your mother in her time of need? A wizard who has never acknowledged you? Why, Herr Grindelwald was far more a father to you."

"Shut up!" Harry snapped as his own blazing magic flooded about him.

"Face the truth, Ignotus!" Voldemort pushed back as emerald and golden energies clashed. "The disrespect you suffer will be cured once you reveal yourself as Grindelwald's chosen heir, molded and trained by the dark lord himself."

"Three years! When I was a child!" Harry thundered. "Grindelwald doesn't define me, and I don't want my friends to fear me because of him. It took Darren long enough to treat me normally after I told him—"

"Therein lies your failing," Voldemort sneered, eyes glowing and spiteful. "You pretend they are your peers. And to persist in this delusion, you contain your power so often I am surprised you remember you possess it."

"Well Crucio me for caring about them," Harry spat out.

"Is that an invitation?" Voldemort smiled as he summoned his red-golden wand to his hand.

Emerald-golden electricity arced through the room, sending a rush of heat and a sonic boom throughout the space. Yet neither wizard so much as flinched, for in truth, they were enjoying themselves. Every minute of every day, they took pains to contain their magic output unless in a heavily warded room with only each other for company.

We appear to have woken your friend, Voldemort notified telepathically.

Who, Goldwin? Harry thought of his next-door neighbor.

Voldemort shook his head.

Withdrawing a fraction of power from the standoff, Harry stretched his magic across the corridor to coax Randolph back to sleep — only to find him undisturbed in his rest.

Harry looked at his cousin in confusion.

I was referring to your "family forever," Voldemort taunted.

Seriously! Harry exclaimed.

With a fiery crackle of energy, he withdrew his magic — ceding the match to his elder cousin. Ignoring Voldemort's literal air of arrogance, Harry donned a Renaissance-inspired dueling attire: a frilled, flame-colored poet shirt; black linen pants; black leather boots; and a sleeveless, midnight-blue doublet jacket adorned with 14 gold buttons.

"For the record," Harry spoke, now that the air was not so saturated with energy. "Black means nothing to me."

The aspiring dark lord simply raised an eyebrow before walking toward the door.

"And stay out of my memories, why don't you!" Harry demanded as he summoned his ancestral cloak, donning it to make himself a spectral figure to present company.

Keep me out, Voldemort challenged.

Harry growled, knowing he was Heir Slytherin's inferior in the mind arts. With no further words, the Peverell progeny briskly walked the length of the fourth-year residential hall and exited into the wider Slytherin dormitory. But before closing the door behind him, Harry vented his vexations in a vicious telepathic strike against his "family forever."

He laughed as Black screamed.

Salazar Slytherin Scriptorium

As the clock struck three, two cloaked wizards entered a sanctum hidden deep within Hogwarts' catacombs. Although the false wall concealing it opened for any Parselmouth, the main room only admitted witches and wizards who produced a dark aura or performed black spells before the second threshold.

Harry would never forget the pure agony he suffered under his cousin's Cruciatus Curse; Tom would never forget being forced to confess his deepest desire. But there was wisdom in Salazar's sadism. Not only did Harry and Tom — or Ignotus and Voldemort, as they referred to each other in places such as this — prove they would not let societal whims impede their goals, but their shared suffering confirmed the depths of their loyalty. Harry would always put Tom first; Voldemort would always favor Ignotus above all others.

A hiss from Voldemort illuminated the second room with emerald light from his raw magic. Harry gazed about the large circular space— a mostly empty area excepting for some Anglo-Saxon pottery, tapestries depicting Salazar Slytherin's favorite ancestors, two arcing staircases at the back that led to the study beyond, and the back center shrine featuring a giant marble bust of Salazar himself.

Meeting the imperious gaze of the long-bearded sculpture, Harry walked along the edge of the room until he was equidistant from the shrine and the entrance. Turning to the opposite point in the room, he expected to see his cousin there — only to see the Anglo-Saxon-attired sorcerer standing near the entry point.

"We already sparred, unless you have forgotten your defeat?" Voldemort sneered.

"Forgive me for not wanting Black to spy on our magic," Harry retorted.

"He is attuned to yours, not mine," Voldemort claimed.

"He caught a glimpse of your true aura," Harry pointed out.

"His sister has already told him of my nature," Voldemort dismissed.

"That you're darker than anyone he knows?" Harry pressed. "I don't think so."

"All the more reason for a Black to genuflect before me," Voldemort declared.

"He's not like the rest of his family," Harry cautioned.

"Ah yes, the unicorn of the pack," Voldemort scoffed. "His defiance will cease soon enough."

"He…he doesn't respect your lineage," Harry reported. "I made it clear to him, in no uncertain terms, and he said 'I will not kneel before this Heir of Slytherin. I will not see my house circle the drain for his delusions of grandeur'."

Acerbic laughter echoed through the scriptorium.

"Oh Ignotus," Voldemort sighed. "As always, far too honest. 'Kneel'? That is the inevitable due, not the pitch. I commend you for taking initiative to recruit our thirteenth member, but you acted far too quickly. You must allow the gravity of his situation to weigh upon him. Let him feel the absence of his Crabbe cousins this year. Let him watch his sister bend her neck before me, and his cousin kiss my ring. Let him observe his social stock rapidly diminish, and even his closest associates curry for my favor. Then, when he is alone, weak, and in need of protection from the wrath of his father, offer him deliverance."

"But he's slandering you, after everything you've proved," Harry noted.

"His focus is, as ever, on you," Voldemort redirected.

"This is different," Harry complained. "We had a deal — hex each other when no one's watching, do our jobs on the Quidditch pitch, and ignore each other besides that. But now, he's making public scenes. First on the train in front of Orion. Then, that whole spiel about the Imperius in Defense. Then he challenged my handling of the beater tryouts."

"Did you appreciate my surprise gift?" Voldemort inquired.

"Why didn't you tell me Conny would try out for beater?" Harry questioned.

"Greengrass' success stems from me," Voldemort seized the credit. "But of course, I did not act out of a care for that stupid sport. I did it so that you would choose your self interest over your chivalrous facade."

"What?" was all Harry could say.

"You, Ignotus Secundus, are to be the leader of my armies," Voldemort pronounced. "Yet so often you act as the good, noble son of Lily Evans that you forget your true glory. 'Good' and 'evil' are constructs of the powerful, meant to corral the meek. But you accept the shackles of the weak, and now your own rival makes a mockery of you before an audience."

"What does Black want?" Harry asked.

"You would be surprised," Voldemort claimed.

"I don't suppose my mind-reading cousin could just tell me?" Harry prodded.

"You are a legilimens yourself," Voldemort returned.

"I don't read minds outside of combat," Harry stated.

"Another shackle you have accepted from Dumbledore," Voldemort condemned.

"Professor Albus is wise," Harry defended his mentor.

"Wisely corralling you," Voldemort rejoined.

"Hmm," Harry hummed in a signal that they would agree to disagree for now.

Pausing, Voldemort clasped his hands behind his back and blanked his facial expressions.

"Yes?" Harry prompted.

"I would like your counsel on a matter," Voldemort presented. "As you know, my paramount quest is to conquer death."

Harry nodded.

"Last year, you assisted my blood sacrifice of a unicorn, for which I remain grateful," Voldemort continued as he began pacing slowly.

Harry nodded.

"But even repeated performances of the ritual will buy centuries at most," Voldemort stated. "My body will eventually fail me, and I must establish other ties to the physical plane."

Harry nodded, curious where this was going.

"You recall sharing with me the tale of Koschei the Deathless?" Voldemort inquired.

"The Slavic myth?" Harry remembered the story of a 12th-century sorcerer who hid his "death" inside a needle inside an egg inside a duck inside a hare inside a buried chest.

"Perhaps not so much of a myth," Voldemort segued.

Harry shifted nervously.

"Voldemort…Grindelwald told me that story to make a point of how no one can truly avoid death," Harry said.

The room darkened.

"I care not for the misgivings of some has-been dark lord," Voldemort ground out.

"Okay, sorry," Harry placated with raised hands.

"A horcrux," Voldemort introduced, "is an object in which a wizard conceals part of his soul. This would, as I am sure you realize, give me a second tether in the event my body expires."

It wasn't difficult to guess why a wizard as dark as Grindelwald warned against such magic.

"Did the book at least advise you on how to split your soul?" Harry started.

"A 'violation against nature'. The text recommends cold-blooded murder," Voldemort related.

"And what, you meditate on your deed until you splinter your soul?" Harry supposed.

"Yes. I suspect the more socially disfavored the act, the better," Voldemort postulated.

"I know there's no stopping you from killing your father," Harry sighed. "All I ask is that you wait a few years. It'll be suspicious if he dies so soon after we made him will all Riddle possessions and properties to you."

"I shall not wait till graduation," Voldemort declared.

Harry felt his breath hitch.

"To kill your father…or to make this horcrux?" he asked his cousin.

Voldemort smiled.

"Tom—Voldemort," Harry said, running his hand through his hair. "This is very dangerous."

"Is that fear in your voice, oh silver stag?" Voldemort taunted.

"Our souls are the centers of our power!" Harry exclaimed. "This is worse than a knight amputating his sword arm. Can you even control how much of your soul you remove? How can you be sure your horcrux will hold your soul piece — and outlast your body, at that?"

"My ring is centuries old, and the stone within was created by Cadmus Peverell himself," Voldemort said. "If this talisman cannot host a piece of my being, nothing is worthy."

"I'll help reinforce your ring's wards," Harry offered.

"Finally, something useful out of your mouth," Voldemort snarked.

"You asked for my counsel," Harry reminded. "We'll also practice spiritual projection weekly, until you can bilocate at will."

"So long as you do not force me to conjure some silly spirit animal," Voldemort conditioned.

"A Patronus is only one form of projection," Harry shrugged. "Knowing you, you'll probably prefer casting a full apparition of yourself, or some wraithlike specter to terrify your foes."

"My soul fragments must be fearsome should my horcruxes be discovered," Voldemort agreed.

"Horcruxes plural!" Harry shouted.

"I must have at least one spare," Voldemort answered as if this was obvious.

"Ugh," Harry groaned as he felt tempted to tear his hair out. Tom Marvolo Riddle was in some ways the most insane person Harry knew. But Tom was family. And if Slytherin taught Harry anything, family and magic were the two things a wizard could truly count on.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Harry pledged to support Voldemort's newest endeavor.

September 11

Hogwarts Grounds

"We'll lean against some trees at the back of the group," Harry told Randolph and Goldwin as the three strolled to their Monday second period.

Druella was spending the day only with witch companions. In pureblood society, it was questionable for a maiden witch to be found alone in the company of multiple wizards unless one of the males possessed a reputation "beyond reproach." Tom, a sexless perfectionist, met this standard easily. However, he had "fallen ill" that morning.

"I haven't been at the back of a class since first year!" Randolph cheered.

"You just want a rear view of all the witches," Goldwin teased.

"Talking to your mirror again?" Randolph laughed.

"I was talking to Harry," Goldwin claimed.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed with mock indignation.

"Well, I guess it all depends on whether our boy's gotten his weekly wand polishing yet," Randolph remarked suggestively as he slung his left arm around Harry.

"It's not weekly," Harry denied.

"Is it daily?" Goldwin gasped with mock horror as he slung his right arm around Harry. "Randy, we might have to reign this stag in."

"Yes. We'll have to find a good witch to betroth to him," Randolph nodded sagely.

"Sorry, but I'm fresh out of female cousins. Maybe you have one to spare?" Harry quipped.

Randolph retaliated with a nipple-twisting jinx while Goldwin barked with laughter.

"What are you laughing at, Goldilocks?" Randolph fired. "Black would rather do her little cousin than you. In fact, I'll wager a third of my trust vault she'll marry the little brat."

"No bet," Harry chuckled.

"Wait, seriously?" Goldwin asked in shock.

"Pollux doesn't think anyone else is worthy of his daughter," Harry shared. "He always finds fault with our generation, no matter what Horace tells him. Then Pollux reports his perspective on Hogwarts to Arcturus, so who else will the good sire find for his son?"

Both Randolph and Goldwin were incensed.

"The Blacks think we're scum, do they?" Randolph snarled. "Some chief governor, denigrating the Heir of Slytherin and his coven like that."

"More like Alphard's been lying to his father," Goldwin shifted the blame.

"No doubt," Harry answered. "And because Walburga's a witch, her word didn't matter in that grim old place. But now that Orion will report directly to his father…"

"Pollux will look like a fool," Goldwin chuckled caustically.

"You think he'll Crucio his spawn?" Randolph hoped.

Harry and Goldwin shared a look of exasperation before simultaneously delivering an electric shock to Randolph's buttocks.

"We're in public, you loon," Goldwin chastised Randolph.

The offending boy groaned in pain, but didn't seem particularly repentant. Mostly because he knew neither of his two closest friends would report him to Tom.

"Yes," Harry answered Randolph's question. "Pollux spared the wand and spoiled the child. But he'll act in his self interest as always."

Randolph and Goldwin laughed.

The boys were among the last to join the Care of Magical Creatures gathering, ensuring they could position themselves against a great tree behind the flock without seeming strange. However, the professor was notably absent.

"What creature do you think he has for us today?" Randolph inquired.

"Nothing you can get your hands on," Harry answered.

"A dragon?" Goldwin hoped.

"Can't be. Harry here's a world-class dragon tamer; he wouldn't dawdle in the back with us," Randolph pointed out.

"Can't I keep my lads company?" Harry suggested.

"And miss a chance to stroke your ego? Never!" Goldwin laughed.

"It's not arrogance if it's true," Harry justified.

"You know what else is true?" Randolph grinned. "You're a bastard."

"Go snog a dementor," Harry retorted as the two began jostling each other.

"Lads," Goldwin chided.

Harry and Randolph turned to see Newt Scamander ride into class on the back of a unicorn, to the oo's and ah's of most of the class.

"Whities," Randolph sneered at their classmates.

"So you can't tame a unicorn?" Goldwin asked Harry.

"Of course I can tame one," Harry defended his world-renowned record. "But casting an Imperius would be frowned upon, even if it's just on an animal."

"You can cast that curse?" Randolph asked.

"Wait—you're the one who tamed the Beast of Hogwarts," Goldwin realized.

"Don't sound so surprised," Harry grumbled.

"Makes sense," Randolph mused. "He mothers 'Conny'. So when the kid got an ouchie—"

"Rawrr!" Goldwin badly imitated a mama bear.

Harry rolled his eyes, then levitated for a better view than his five-seven height afforded.

"In addition to their snow-white coats, unicorns are renowned for quite possibly being the purest creatures on earth," Newt told the class. "They can kill the mighty elephant in single combat, but they will never feed on another critter. Unicorns could dominate any ecosystem by force, but choose to act as guardians and peacekeepers. They use their strong connection to magic to purify nature, especially the air and water we increasingly pollute. And even when hunted, they prefer to flee than fight — resorting to violence only if given no choice."

"Pathetic," Randolph scoffed.

"But make no mistake, the unicorn is one of the fiercest creatures in existence," Newt continued. "First, they are the fastest and most enduring runners in the world. Second, their horns are the sharpest of any living creatures, known to pierce even dragonhide. Third and most importantly, they are the most incredible natural judges of character. Your true nature will be laid bare before them; irregardless of your lineage, talents and deeds."

"What, so they're mudblood lovers?" Goldwin spat.

Harry sighed at his friend's vitriol, not quite understanding it. It was true that muggleborns were less talented, and they championed muggle ways to a fault, but they couldn't help these things. None of their ancestors had been hunted, flayed and burned at the behest of a god of "love." None of their ancestral properties had been seized and degraded to muggle tourist spots. And none of them had been forced into hiding — they hailed from the dominant population, and came and went from magic at will.

"… anyone?" Newt posited.

The class was silent and stayed that way.

"Alright then, Harry, would you like to demonstrate?" Newt asked as his hazel eyes searched the area for his best student.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"He wants you to make contact with the unicorn," Goldwin whispered helpfully.

"Professor, I'm sorry, but I can't," Harry answered.

"Harry, what are you doing all the way back there?" Newt wondered. Naturally, the 48 students in front of Harry collectively looked back toward him.

"Professor, I lost something this summer. I've searched and searched, but I just can't find it," Harry claimed while wearing a half-mischievous, half-bashful face.

"What did you lose?" Kirk Diggory asked with waggling eyebrows, clearly catching on.

"Our boy Evans lost his virginity!" Randolph proclaimed to the class.

"Rumor has it he's been walking on air ever since," Goldwin sensationalized.

Harry, who then noticed he was still hovering, shrugged and flushed his face to sell his act. Fortunately, the class was so amused by the theatrics that they collectively forgot or ignored that Newt was married.

At least, until Black opened his mouth.

"With how often you lie, Evans, you should at least be good at it," Black scoffed. "To quote your eleven-year-old self, 'Unicorns are not mindless puritans that exact the death penalty on anyone who so much as had sex. That doesn't even make sense! They obviously have sex themselves.'"

Lovely, Harry fretted now that he was cornered. Unfortunately, it would have been suspicious if both he and Tom had "fallen ill" on the same day, so Tom stayed in his room while Harry had banked on the "I'm not a virgin" defense. But Black was at it again.

"Since you're such an expert on unicorns, why don't you make contact with it, Black?" Randolph challenged. "Who knows — it might even be the one that powers your wand!"

Goldwin laughed aloud.

"So you think wizards with unicorn-hair wands are lesser, do you?" Black challenged. But instead of looking at the two who made those comments, he trained his eyes on Harry.

Given the choice of tossing his friends under the carriage or insulting his own dead mother, Harry chose a third way.

"I cannot speak to unicorn-hair wands," Harry provided, adding a Tom-like disarming smile.

Black looked furious for some reason.

"I've seen you cast from these as well as you cast from dragon heartstring," he argued.

"I can use just about any wand," Harry dismissed.

He struggled to cast from only two wands. The first was Professor Albus' wand, despite it being the relic of none other than Antioch Peverell, the eldest Master of Death. The second was Tom's, which despite being powered by a feather of a very familiar phoenix, combined with 14.5 inches of yew to form an occult wand as particular as its owner.

A jet-black blur hurtled toward the bridge of Harry's nose, which the levitating boy caught with his left hand a moment before impact.

"Your wand?" Harry questioned as he reviewed the 13-inch ebony wand of Alphard Black. He was intimately familiar with the admittedly exquisite piece of craftsmanship, having tasted its stings more than perhaps any other wizard.

"Cast a spell, any spell, on me," Black challenged.

Obviously, Black was trying to humiliate him in some way. But with the class looking on, and Newt apparently letting this play out, Harry would not back down from such a test.

"Call me a Gryffindor," Harry shrugged. "Deflue," he cast a juvenile "pantsing jinx" at Black.

It didn't go as planned.

Harry rightly assumed Black imbued his wand with some sort of protective charm to prevent others from using it, particularly on him. That proved no issue — Harry's magic burned right through it. Then the wand core, of its own volition, violently rejected Harry in a brilliant flash of white light. But being hurled back by this pure energy into the tree behind him also gave no issue to Harry, whose enhanced physicals could easily endure it.

No, the issue came in the form of a memory.

October 31, 1007 years after the Founding of Hogwarts

The Forbidden Forest

Harry watched his cousin celebrate Samhain by devouring the beating heart of a unicorn.

Over the past few months, Tom had grown obsessed with ancient blood-sacrifice rituals. Separating fact from fiction and magic from religion had taken work, but he reverse engineered a ceremony similar to offerings Mayans made to their gods a millennium past.

The key was to find the most innocent, magical life a practitioner could sacrifice. Tom fantasized aloud of performing this ghoulish ritual on Harry's infant firstborn; but after an unequivocal repudiation of this proposal, Tom settled for the next best thing: a unicorn.

However, unicorn remains spoiled with notorious speed, a process the unicorn could initiate while alive. The one sure way to circumvent this was to befriend the unicorn, earn its trust, cast a subtle Imperius that prevented it from self-spoiling, then slow-bleed it.

But, with Tom's psychopathy and murderous intent, Harry worried his cousin might get himself injured in his quest. So Harry sacrificed a friend, the unicorn he had watched blossom for the past two years. He introduced this unicorn to Tom, allayed all rightful fears and concerns, and bewitched the noble creature so he would not self spoil when Tom pounced.

Thus, a young unicorn was robbed of his blood, vitality and life. Yet, apparent in both the creature's mind and sky-blue eyes, the greatest pain had not been physical, but emotional.

"Ahhhh," Tom released as he stood, face coated with radiant blood and gore.

Harry averted his eyes from the grisly sight.

"I must say, this is the first time I have enjoyed eating and drinking in a long while," Tom declared. "Now, only one task remains."

Even now, both wizard boys could sense the unicorn carcass begin to decompose.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Tom offered.

"Wha—me?" Harry stammered.

"You sacrificed it to me," Tom reasoned. "It is customary for you to immolate the remains. Not to mention you hold the more fiery wand between us."

"I–nnn–ugh," Harry gasped out before flicking his wand and incinerating the corpse. Despite the power of the spell, Harry made sure to keep the size of the fire small so that Tom could stand over it and inhale the smoke until the ash scattered to the wind.

"Thank you," Tom said when the task was complete.

"Is it…do you feel more powerful?" Harry asked.

Emerald light emanated from Tom, who turned to reveal stormy eyes glowing with dark power. The Slytherin heir then displayed the full might of his magic, allowing it to swirl about him in the form of a frosty whirlwind. Shadows flourished and flora faded in the true presence of one of the five most powerful wizards in the world.

A wizard whose magic matched Harry's own.

"I withheld my full glory from you before," Tom admitted. "I had to be sure I could trust you."

"Trust me?" Harry asked.

"All my life, I have walked alone," Tom shared. "My mother abandoned me at birth. The muggles at Wool's Orphanage reviled me. And everyone at Hogwarts, the school which exists only by the grace of my very own ancestor, doubts me. Everyone except you."

"You put me first," Tom thanked. "You have put me first before, I see that now. But this…you have sacrificed. To me. For me. I shall never forget this, Ignotus. My followers will ever grow, but I shall always put my one true friend first before them all."

"You're welcome, Tom," Harry gave his cousin and best friend a bittersweet smile.

"Voldemort," Tom responded. Seeing the questioning look in Harry's eyes, he drew his wand and wrote his name in the air in flaming letters.

TOM

MARVOLO

RIDDLE

He then rearranged the letters to fashion a new name.

I

AM

LORD

VOLDEMORT

Harry returned to the waking world to find himself on his arse with Black standing over him.

"The core…" Harry breathed out.

"My wand was Ollivander's newest creation when I bought it," Black revealed.

"I see," Harry murmured as the other boy twirled his wand.

"Was it worth it?" Black asked.

Randolph flared his aura and twirled his own wand while Goldwin helped Harry to a stand and spelled off any dirt.

"I regret nothing," Harry decided, taking advantage of the fact no one else knew what he and Black were discussing.

"Fuck you, Evans," the other boy spat before hurling a curse.

Harry backhanded the malignant energy with ease, but Randolph entered the fray with curses straight from his family libraries. Black responded with equally vicious spellwork, resulting in a display that unsettled more than a few of their classmates.

"Stop this at once!" Newt commanded as he swished his wand and disarmed both boys and confiscated their wands. "That'll be detention with me after dinner, I'm afraid."

"Professor, Lestrange was defending me," Harry interceded. "Let me take his punishment."

Newt agreed with a speed that suggested he wanted this in the first place. Unsurprising: unicorn-hair wands were not for everyone, but they were not known to hurl incompatible wizards through the air. And a zoologist as knowledgeable as Newt would have only a few grim theories run through his mind.

Compartmentalizing those thoughts, Harry laid a hand on Randolph and healed both his shoulder and mended his clothing.

"Show off," Randolph grumbled.

Harry nudged his friend playfully, but their thoughts ran on similar, serious tracks. Harry, Randolph, Goldwin and Darren hexed each other constantly, but they kept a strict "hex one, hex all" policy for outsiders. Black, the fool, forgot that detail when he slung a blood-boiling curse at Harry in broad daylight. And though Harry could have forgiven that, he couldn't let the flaying curse shot at Randolph's shoulder go unanswered.

However, they would need to retaliate in a manner that did not affront Walburga, or she would be honor bound to avenge her brother. Then all of them would suffer Tom's displeasure.