How many muggles do you need to kill to never be forgiven? Apparently the number was somewhere higher than a high five-figure number. Nobody knew the exact number, but Lily Potter had been effective in eliminating whomever she had been sent for. Which wasn't cause enough to send her to Nurmengard, in the eyes of the judges. One had to possess magic to be found guilty of muggle-baiting.

The ICW was, if nothing else, an opportunistic organisation. Sure, this woman before them had committed unspeakable crimes against humanity, but that was easily balanced out by the utility she brought to the table.

Lily Potter, aka. Bellatrix Black, had been heard and judged before the Council. Usually a trial of such magnitude had all Mugwumps on the bench. Akinbade was notably absent from this one.

For the first time in her life, she came to think of her old Charms professor as a coward.

After the ICW had arrived at the location, Agatha had felt like she was standing in the eye of a storm. Akirazael had been brought to Hogwarts, and her father had given him over to trusted members of the Healers Corps, well protected from the Church, or any others in his life who weren't part of the Confederacy. Lily Potter had been arrested and almost immediately been dragged in front of the Council. The sheer breakneck, bureaucracy defying urgency with which the ICW had acted spoke lengths to how much Albus Dumbledore wanted to hold his protective hand over her.

In times like these, it became scarringly clear how much sway he held within these walls, and truly how callous he could be whenever he truly wanted something.

She could only marvel at his way of twisting words, until those words began to twist the narrative. These were the times when one got a glimpse of what could have been, had Albus Dumbledore been selfish in his youth. What could have been, had he taken on the mantle of Grindelwald doctrines? The careful political touch of Albus Dumbledore was what had been missing in Gellert's arsenal.

Here, in the halls of the Confederacy, that potential was presented openly, as her father commanded an entire court with his presence; his force of will formed into arguments and pleas of mercy.

The three hitwizards she had killed were quickly declared victims of circumstance. The muggles were pretty much forgotten as a number on some roll of parchment within a pile of parchment. The Tutsi were simply not a large enough voice alone, without their Mugwump, to demand justice.

Lily Potter, also known as Bellatrix Black, had too much information to be thrown into the dungeons. What had happened on the night Voldemort fell? How had Lily known? Her entire life was seen in a new context, now that her secret life before had been uncovered. This didn't even begin to consider her remarkable knowledge of obscure magic the Directorate wanted to document and classify. Hag magic was an infamous blind spot for wizardkind, and there presented itself an opportunity to rectify that. Justice be damned.

"Lily Potter. By decree of the International Confederacy of Wizards, you are hereby sentenced to life in servitude." Mugwump Wu spoke, as he read the sentencing. "In accordance with the laws regarding the Servitor's Curse, the accused has one more choice, between the Curse and death. Lily Potter, how do you choose?"

"I choose the curse." she answered.

Agatha watched her father apply the Servitors Curse, and bind Lily to a ring on his finger. She was alive, she wouldn't sit out the rest of her life in a cell, but in most ways she was a prisoner. The curse gave her about the same range of personal choice as the curse that held the houseelves under its yoke. It was presented as a compromise; somehow as a fair verdict, but it didn't fool anyone.

Out of all the things in the courtroom Agatha could have noticed, it was her father's face that stuck with her. Deep sorrow had no place next to a gentle smile. He made the motions, curved his lips, but Agatha knew that Albus was well aware of the price he was paying. He was leashing a monster, instead of putting it down. It was hard to say how many had lost their trust in Albus Dumbledore because of this verdict. His golden tongue was just enough to get his way, not to appease the people while he got it.

Agatha felt only numbness. She could barely focus on the trial, so loud were her own thoughts. What if she had taken Baba Yaga's deals? What if she had just been selfish? Finally, what if she would have just ended Lily then and there? Have her be a footnote in history, and forever remain silent about what abyss she had been thrown into as a "dead" woman.

"Agatha?"

She startled. She had been so deep in her mind, she hadn't even noticed that most people had left the council chambers. Her father stood next to her, and not far behind, Lily.

"Are you quite alright, dear?" he asked her.

It was just the tiniest twitch of her eyes, but her father saw anyway. He saw her eyes twitch to Lily for just a second, before she answered, "No."

"In time you will see that she will save many lives in the years to come."

"This isn't a scale she gets to balance, and you know that."

"Indeed, it is not." Albus nodded solemnly, before he walked back to Lily. One last time did he look back with a grimace of sorrow and regret. He opened his mouth, closed it, only to then speak quietly, "You have shown great restraint and integrity, today."

"You didn't."

"I am aware." Albus said, and apparated away, Lily in tow.

Restraint and Integrity. Her mind circled around these words, and the numbness spread out into her limbs and guts. What was it worth, if this was the result? If nothing was done in the name of justice? Thousands of souls remained who would have to face eternity knowing that their suffering hadn't outweighed a simple, strategic calculation.

Her feet carried her to the Directorate, up to a clerk's table who handled Executor business. Her numb hands penned a letter of resignation. She stared at it, and the words felt as wrong as they felt right. Integrity. She couldn't do this again. The next time, she would take the deals, and she would kill the murderer.

Yet, her hand couldn't sign. What else would she do? Where else would she go?

With a swish of her other hand, she erased the text. Where once had stood her resignation, she wrote a note of absence. Hadn't so many already asked and pressured her to do it? Maybe this was her own compromise?

She declared herself on leave for a year. That was easier to sign.

Just as she signed it and filed with with the astounded clerk, she apparated away.

Her feet landed on her own beach, right where she had seen herself hold Fleur in Baba Yaga's mirror. Right where she had seen herself in her human form, free of worry, free of dangers, free to hold her budding love.

Something in her snapped. Her chest, her throat and her mouth built up pressure like she had never felt. Her claws dug into her own hands, and every single one of her muscles came out of the numbness, and tensed like she had never feel them tense.

Her magic felt like a tidal wave breaking through a dam. Every single one of her veins felt like bursting from the onslaught. Just with the snap of her finger, it unleashed everything she had, all at once. It was a wave of undirected, wild magic surging from her in waves of fire and brimstone.

And she screamed. Screamed until she could feel her vocal cords threatening to burst, until every last bit of air was out of her lungs and the pressure finally subsided. She fell down to her knees, and just let herself fall forward.

She felt so empty.

Her forehead landed on the pebbles, cool and smooth from the water. All she needed now, all she could think about, was how much she wanted to hear Fleur call her ma cheri.

"Perfect,"

With her pinky, Fleur tapped the rose in the slender vase to point towards the lake. The living room was set up. So was the kitchen, the bathroom, and especially the bedroom. Everything was just right, so they could maybe repeat the night of talking and laughing they had the last time Agatha came back from Executor business. Ideally, without her half-dead, this time.

She readily admitted to herself that Agatha jumping on a Rukh to fly to Mongolia not even an hour after they had confessed their feelings, hurt. She knew this was the deal she made, dating an Executor. Still, she couldn't ignore the voice telling her that she would always be second. She made a valiant effort to silence it, though.

Life has bad timing, and in most cases it is no one's fault. It is just fate, and her whims. The illusion of control over these happenings helped no one. No, Fleur rather focused on the things she could control. Those were, for one, the bottle of champagne in the cooler, and the assortment of sweets in a crystal bowl. It was the finely scented bath for two she had under a stasis charm and her outfit after. The roast that Styx had going, and beautiful cocktails they could drink, looking at the moon. Now, all she had to do was to wait for Agatha.

She felt a bit like a housewife, so focused on making sure everything was in order for her spouse to arrive from work. She had to chuckle at the thought.

Then she frowned when she once more spotted the letter on the coffee table. Truth be told, much of the effort was done, because she also had to convince Agatha to attend a ball with her. Maybe she had a thing for balls, but Fleur expected her girlfriend to not go against type in this matter. The not-quite-ballgown she wore right now would maybe help her see Fleur's point of view.

The letter was an invitation to the annual Beauxbatons Graduates ball. Her classmates would be there, amongst rich and famous former students. It was a day of networking, and most of all, of gaining reputation, presenting your first steps into the wider world. It was there that you could flaunt your first successes, if you had them. Her full set of elvish jewellery, older than human civilization, though not enchanted, would do that flaunting for her.

For Fleur, it was also the perfect cover to have a one on one with Madame Maxime and find out where she stands in this madness. Beauxbatons was hallowed ground. Even a simple social faux-pas at the ball was the subject of gossip for months afterwards. If one were to attack someone else, there, they would make themselves persona non grata in the eyes of the french high society. Which the Veela could not afford, if they wanted to remain semi-independent from magical governance.

She had read the letter a dozen times, arguing with herself back and forth if bringing Agatha was even a good idea. Not only the Marquise would be there. In that confrontation, Agatha would no doubt be a boon. However, there would also be her mother, and father.

It was confusing, how her parents meeting her girlfriend had her more worried than meeting the Marquise Delacour. There shouldn't be anything to worry. She could be sweet and polite, couldn't she? It wasn't like she had picked a hag from the streets of Paris. She was a Dumbledore, an Executor, a Professor of Hogwarts. By those titles alone, Agatha should be a parent's dream partner.

"Ah, but you really can't hide those horns, can you?" she thought with a small smile. She wouldn't have it any other way. Sure, she was worried. Didn't everyone want their parents to like their partner? Didn't everyone fear the choice they would have to make if they didn't? Not to mention that it would be a tad early. They wouldn't even be an item for a month, when the ball came around.

Fleur looked up when she heard the crack of apparition on the beach. Agatha had finally come home. Fleur took two flutes of champagne, and began to make her way over, when all of a sudden her entire field of vision was white.

The glasses shattered on the floor. She grabbed her wand with one hand, while protecting her eyes from the explosive surge of light. Just as she did, an explosion shook the house, so loud it threatened to deafen her.

She found herself on the floor, scrambling to her feet. When the ringing in her ears grew less, the first thing she heard were heavy footfalls down the stairs. She saw a pink-haired woman come running down.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Tonks, Fleur remembered the name, held her wand out into the living room. She was half haphazardly clad in her underwear, with deep rings under her reddened eyes. It took her a moment, but then she stared hypnotised at the inferno outside on the beach. "Bollocks,"

"She just… exploded, I…" Fleur shouted through the explosions. "You are still 'ere?"

"Just got woken up by that. Merlins balls!" Tonks stumbled back, and landed on the stairs, still staring outside. The sky was ablaze with the head of a dragon made of fire and smoke. "Oh fuck me, that's fiendfyre."

The house was alight with the screaming heads of monsters of flame, all across the sky. Like a swarm of vultures they circled, screaming in hunger and agony, trying to devour but being held by a screaming Agatha Dumbledore. She screamed at them, so raw and intense that it silenced even the roaring flames in comparison.

Then, just as fast as it began, did it stop. The flames vanished as if swallowed by the earth, and all that was left was the kneeling form of Agatha, slowly sinking to the pebble beach.

"Quick, let's go," Tonks sprung up, and began to run to Agatha. Styx was right next to them, making haste to help their mistress.

"Go home," Fleur commanded, as she stepped into Tonk's way. "Go home. I'm here. I handle it."

"But,"

"I have… I planned an evening." Fleur swallowed, against her tightening throat. She felt the tears well up in her eyes, but refused to let them go. "Now, I would like to welcome my lover back home and try, as best as we can, to enjoy it. Just the two of us."

"I just," Tonks began, but stopped when she saw Styx just holding silent vigil next to a still moving Agatha. She nodded to Fleur, and slowly the reality of the situation trickled into her mind. "Alright. Looks like she needs you more, anyway. Brighten her night, luv."

Just as she said it, she apparated out, still only clad in her underwear. For just the smallest moment, she wondered if Tonks realised that, before she kicked off the heels, and made a mad dash to the open terrace door.

Once her feet hit the gravel, Styx walked towards her. Their ghosts glided erratic around them, though the porcelain body remained perfectly calm. "The mistress is in great distress. This one shall postpone dinner until later."

Fleur didn't stop to answer. She ran down the small decline to the edge of the beach, and slid into a kneel next to Agatha. "Ma cheri?"

Agatha fell into her lap like a sack of potatoes. She held onto her thighs. Her claws came close to hurting, before Agatha pulled them back slightly into a tight grasp. She took a heavy breath, rattling and shaking. Eventually, she turned over to Fleur, and despite her dead and exhausted expression, tried to smile up at her. "I hoped I'd hear that first."

"What happened?" Fleur stroked her lover over the dust and soot covered face. The disintegrated remains of burnt reeds and grass left greyish streaks behind.

"It was… I had…" Agatha closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. She slowly sat up. Staring at the lake in front of them, she stood, held out her hand to Fleur and asked, "Can I try something?"

Fleur just nodded, and took her hand. She was hauled up into Agatha's embrace, hugged so tight to her that she could hear Agatha's heart beating wild in her chest. She couldn't say how long it took. Maybe it had been ten minutes, or half a hour, but eventually Agatha's heartbeat became slower.

Agatha herself looked over the lake, searching for something, or nothing, Fleur couldn't see. Sometimes she would look up to a specific spot in the sky, as if she hoped to find something there.

"Ya," Agatha hugged her closer once more, with a little squeeze and a peck on her forehead. "I didn't need it anyway. This will do. It's enough."

"What is, ma cheri?"

"You. Me. Together as we are." she said, but became bashful when she continued. "Would you… and be honest, please. Would you prefer if I were human? Fully?"

"No," Fleur didn't even think of the answer before she said it. Everything in her, down to her instincts, was not only indifferent, but appreciated the fullness of the woman in front of her. You couldn't hide those horns, could you? She stroked one of the obsidian black, long horns of her love. Who would hide something as gorgeous as them, anyway? "Will you tell me why you ask?"

"Yes. But first," Agatha pulled her towards her once more, and kissed her deep and passionate, with a longing in every gentle touch. She felt herself curving backwards, more or less falling into her arms. She felt Agatha's tail wrap around her ankle, and her claws carefully wrapping around her, as if she was made of the most delicate of glass.

There was no rage or fury here. Fleur had feared that the first time they would be in such an embrace, the memories would surface. But when she looked up in the red eyes above her, which were looking for any sign of her discomfort, she felt nothing but safe and endlessly wanted. She wrapped her own arms around Agatha's neck, and pulled herself even closer, until their embrace no longer left any more room than it needed to.

Agatha's kisses wandered down her jaw, and down her neck until Agatha's head came to rest on her shoulder, and Fleur's on hers. "I imagined this being the end of the night, not the beginning." she whispered. "Tell me what happened?"

"Well," Agatha whispered back, still holding her tight. "Lily Potter is alive and a war criminal. I met the literal Baba Yaga, and I took a year off."

Despite the levity, Fleur hadn't forgotten the terrifying outburst just minutes ago, and when she took a closer look at her lover in the moonlight, she saw the pain clearly in her eyes. "I prepared a few things. Just for us. Go inside and tell me everything?"

"I don't want to spoil anything."

"Ma cheri," Fleur wiggled free of the embrace, and gave Agatha a well meaning pat. "After your entrance, it can only get better."

Agatha quickly glanced over to some of the still glimmering and smoking reeds. "I'm sorry, I lost myself a bit there."

"No worries. You have an entire evening to make up for it." Fleur grinned, took Agatha's hand, and led her into the house - their house, and their home.

Potter,

Before I continue, I want you to know that the only reason I even reply to your inane rambling is that I do care about Pansy, and won't stand for her ending up with your scarred visage as a husband.

That her father is throwing in with Fudge is no surprise. Parkinson senior was always a leech and a useful fool. He hung on every one of my father's words, and now he must have found someone new to hold his leash.

I'm also unsurprised that he would use Pansy in these conspiracies. His children were always only pawns in whatever games he was allowed to think himself playing.

Obviously, I cannot help myself. I am, literally, knee-deep in dragon shit, halfway across the world. However, I have sent out several letters to people I trust to have her best interest in mind.

The list is attached. Do not contact anyone else without consulting me, or mother.

Don't mess this up.

Malfoy

Harry held the list of names in front of him. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Pansy that it was quite so short. The only three names on it were Daphne Greengrass, Tracy Davis and Tobias Goyle, formerly Parkinson, her older brother.

"What do you think we should do?"

Narcissa and Harry sat in the lounge of Grimmauld Place, alone and undisturbed. The house knew by now that the lounge was forbidden territory when those two stuck their heads together.

She had been released from St. Mungos after the healers were finished restoring Narcissa to a semblance of her former self. The ten scars on her face were only the first gruesome reminder of the pain she had suffered. Her new eyes, made from layers upon layers of crystals and gems now had a soft green glow to them. Jade irises surrounded a pupil of black quartz, and where the white was supposed to be, she had golden floral patterns woven through dark emerald. They were a magnificent pair of arcane craftsmanship, although not nearly as magically potent as Moody's eye. Narcissa preferred her eyes to remain of a normal size, and not see people's knickers wherever she looked.

"Contact them," Narcissa said. "Meet them somewhere inconspicuous. Who's to say four people don't meet by chance?"

"Where would those three and I ever meet?" Harry laughed. "Greengrass is known to talk as little as possible, with as few people as possible. Davis is a Faun and in Hogwarts, and Goyles usually don't mingle with blood traitors such as me."

"So few options, are there?" Narcissa's smile became almost predatory. "I can think of only a few places where, say, a Malfoy and you would meet and get to talk."

Harry's mind went a mile a minute, trying to figure out even one such place. He must've looked ridiculous, judging by Narcissa's knowing giggle. That was, until it clicked. "You are unbelievable," he deadpanned.

"Whatever are you talking about, dear?"

"You got your wish, now. I can't believe this is how you get me to do it."

"Look at it as throwing two goals with one quaffel." Narcissa quipped, took some parchment and a quill, and started penning a letter. "I'll ask Madame Malkin for some private hours."

When Narcissa Black asks for private hours, Madame Malkin even closes during the day.

It could not be overstated how childishly giddy Narcissa was that she could commission an entire wardrobe for him with Madame Malkin. While Narcissa swept across the shop, picking fabrics, buttons and whatever else she could find, Moody and Tonks were utterly focused on covering all corners of the shop. Moody's magical eye went up and down Diagon Alley, always looking for anyone suspicious. Which was about everyone. The retired Auror's wooden leg tapped relentlessly. So much so that Malkin eventually just conjured a pillow beneath it for him to tap on - quietly.

"Second customer," Moody grumbled.

"Perfect timing," Tonks snorted a laugh.

"Now?" Harry stood on the pedestal in the shop, sewing needles and tape measures floating around him. He was down to his underwear, while the measuring tape took his sizes.

The adults in the room vanished one by one. Moody and Tonks under Disillusionment Charms, and Narcissa in Madame Malkin's office, to wrap the seamstress into a prolonged discussion on the incoming order. Such was the plan and the deal. For anyone who may have followed Daphne Greengrass, it looked like she just happened upon Harry by chance.

The door chimes rang, and in stepped the ever elusive Daphne Greengrass. Blonde hair the colour of wheat fields, a sharp featured face with two gold-brown eyes that entirely focused on whatever she looked at. She was clad in a light summer robe, the colour of her eyes.

The only thing he knew of her, and the most interesting, was that he knew next to nothing. Just like almost everybody else. Even Hermione, who was way more connected to the Hogwarts grapevine, thanks to Lavender and Parvati, knew only that she had a younger sister, and that she shared Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes with her.

Secretive was an understatement for Daphne Greengrass.

She turned to Harry, and suddenly he felt pierced by her light-brown, almost golden eyes. "You are combining trips. Very efficient, Potter. I'm glad to see that on your list of priorities, Pansy ranks as high as your underwear."

"Pansy, doesn't… Merlin," Harry sighed, and took a second to collect himself. Of course, this would immediately become antagonistic. "This is obviously a cover. You can imagine that I can't just hop into the Leaky for a cuppa."

"You are quite famous, or currently infamous, I give you that." she said in that humming, yet unmistakably clear voice she had. "Almost makes one wish back to the tournament, doesn't it? Schoolyard banter seems easier to handle than being the target of a government."

"I wouldn't call it banter, but yes."

"Bullying is more accurate, of course. You do make an exceedingly easy target for that."

"I think we should probably get to the point." Harry hated that he had to stand still. Being abused by tape measures somewhat stole one's authority. Then again, it also kept him from losing his head.

"What other point than you being an easy target is there? We meet because they are throwing my dear friend at said target, and if we endeavour to arrive at a possible solution, we may as well examine the underlying problem. Why is the target so big?"

"I'm trying to get better." he admitted through gritted teeth. "But this target won't be small enough in time, so we have to think of an immediate… what are you doing?"

Harry could feel the blush rise on his cheeks. Daphne stepped forward to the pedestal, uncomfortably close to him. With the height of the pedestal, it was just enough so that she looked straight at his privates.

"Do I make you nervous?"

"Do- Yes! Of course." he protested. His blush must've been about Gryffindor red at this point.

"Why?"

Harry did a double take. "Why?"

"Answer." she demanded.

"Move."

"No. Answer."

Dripping with sarcasm, he complied, "If I wouldn't wear my underwear, I'd slap you in the face."

"Don't flatter yourself." she hummed in that voice of hers that was as amused as it was mocking. "You blush because your mind conjures an image wherein I, a complete stranger, would pleasure you in public. Don't deny it, I can see."

"You got me, I'm a boy and I like girls. What a revelation."

"No, a problem." Daphne shrugged, barely a movement on her. "It is almost guaranteed that you are dosed with Amortentia before the hearing. Led by your genitals, as all my male peers are, your first reaction to loving Pansy would be to take advantage."

"He got his friends around?" Moody asked from his spot amongst the robes, still invisible.

Daphne nodded at no one. "Tobias was able to attend some of those new meetings in the bureau of the Undersecretary. Parkinson tends to boast, when he thinks himself amongst friends."

Moody harrumphed. "That makes things difficult. Do your people have a plan, girl?"

"The way we see it, Potter has to withstand the Amortentia. Two plans. One. Tracy has offered to ask one of her dryad friends to charm him, beforehand."

"We just established that the boy is, in fact, a boy. Get him in a dryad grove, and he's not coming out anytime soon, if at all. What is your number two?" Moody continued, and Harry thanked him for it. He felt heady from all the blood in his cheeks.

"Equally unlikely. As we just established,"

"Okay, can we stop mentioning this?" Harry tried not to shout, but it was close. "Please? And for Merlin's sake, move!"

Daphne smiled at him in that almost imperceivable way of hers. "Our second plan was to establish a more mature motive of Love in Potter. Given his developing legend, I had hoped it to be feasible but, well, we have been asked to not mention it."

"More mature motive? And stop it." Harry first protested, but then gave it a second thought. He had built a certain reputation, he supposed. "You had hoped my first instinct would be to 'rescue' Pansy, and that I would deny the contract out of love?"

"As irrational and erratic as you are, it cannot be denied that your ill-advised actions often have heroic motive, wouldn't you agree?" she hummed, again giving him the slightest of smiles. Smiles he had no chance of interpreting. They could be as mocking as they could be genuine. Somehow, it seemed like they were both at the same time. "But again, that too seems unlikely."

"You also forget that rescuing Pansy could absolutely entail me taking her from her father." Harry pointed out. "I believe you know better than I that removing her from home is rescuing her."

"I do, indeed." Daphne agreed, and finally took a step back from him.

Harry hopped down the pedestal, thankfully accepting an open throwover-robe that hovered towards him. Daphne's golden eyes followed him like a hawk, always completely focused on him. "See something you like?"

"Not what I hoped to see, as I said."

"Well, sorry for not meeting your expectations."

"Hopes." Daphne corrected. "It is easier to not meet those."

"Thank you, though, I suppose. For having them in the first place." Now it was his turn to give her a smile. He truly felt like it was a nice thought to have about him. "I didn't know the Slytherins would see it like that."

"Most don't." Again that small smile of hers. "But I do think Tracy was right. You are smarter than you act, which leads me to believe that it's not pride, or arrogance, or whatever Draco would like to believe. It truly is kindness, isn't it?"

"That's nice of you to say,..."

"Ask,"

"...but most of it is just doing the best I can, in a bad situation."

"Bad situations that are not yours, yet here you are, saving the little Weasel, saving the little Veela, and even if you fail, you at least bring back a corpse to bury." Daphne tilted her head, and took a step at him again, back into his private space. Her eyes pierced his own, as if she tried to look inside. "Do you think he is involved? I speak of the Dark Lord, of course. Would he command to whore out a pureblood daughter? What do you think?"

"Pure or not doesn't matter." Harry refused to back off. She tried to make him uncomfortable, so he would be vulnerable, but even without Narcissa's advice, he wouldn't back down. Dudley had played this game with him since he could remember. He wouldn't be intimidated by someone a head smaller than him, girl or not. "Not to him. They're just useful to him. Pansy is just a price he doesn't even have to pay himself."

"True. From what has been said, the only one who ever made him pay, was you." Still she stared directly into his eyes, so close he could feel her breath on his chest.

"Even if he isn't, it plays into his cards."

"Do you know what hand he holds?"

"No,"

"Then you should become better at bluffing."

Harry laughed. "No matter how hard I train, I doubt I could bluff Amortentia."

"You'd have to hide your ace up your sleeve. If only your feelings were a card."

"If I could just throw it down the round to an accomplice?" Harry gestured throwing a card to her, and chuckled. "Maybe if I just wish hard enough."

"Shut up," she suddenly hissed. Immediately, she stepped back from him. Her serene, indifferent demeanour suddenly changed to one close to panic. "Do not use that word."

"What? What word?"

"The W word."

"Wish?"

"Shut. Up." she hissed again, and underlined it by poking his chest. "Stop using it."

"Why?"

"People are never careful what they ask for, and run their mouth in front of anyone as if words didn't have any meaning." She spat, while holding her hands up and checking each finger for something Harry couldn't possibly perceive.

Harry leaned back a bit from the suddenly so furious girl. "Alright. I won't say it. You know you're being weird, though, right?"

"I'm not. Weird." She pressed out through gritted teeth. Now it was her turn to blush furiously. "You are being careless."

"You're being ridiculous." He gave back, though he couldn't help but grin, now that her mask had finally fallen. "May I ask what this is about? You're acting like a completely different person, all of a sudden."

"You may not." She spat back, still checking her fingers for something only she knew. Then she suddenly startled, looking at her right pinky. "Oh no."

"What is it?"

"You,… nothing. Nothing. I can fix it."

"Fix what?!"

"Your carelessness, of course."

"You make no bloody sense."

"I'm under no obligation to make sense to you." She poked him again, harder this time, and turned to leave. "Figure out how to withstand Amortentia. We're going to do what we can from our side." She said, addressing the adults as well with her last sentence.

The moment the door fell into its frame, and the shop's chimes rang once more, the three adults in the corner began laughing, with even Moody chuckling along.

"Odd lass," he simply stated between chuckles.

"Don't know what her deal is, but I'm into it." Tonks giggled along, all while giving Harry a pitying look. "She came at you like a Bludger, mate. You alright?"

"Confused. Disturbed. But alright, I suppose." Harry just shrugged. The only even remotely similar experience he ever had, had been with Luna, yet the difference between the two was like night and day.

"Don't worry, Harry. You just went through what most go through when they meet the eldest Greengrass sister. She is an… acquired taste." Narcissa said, coming from Malkin's office, just at the right time.

"You didn't even hear what she said."

"I didn't need to. I've heard this girl talk since she was able to. Her potion is brewed different."

"You could've warned me."

"And ruin the fun?" She winked. "Anyway, Aurora, have you got everything?"

"Of course, Narcissa. Three days, as usual."

On the bright side, Harry did look forward to having fitting clothes for the first time in his life. If anything, the trip had been a success in forcing him to finally take the first step to burning "his rags". Unfortunately, other than a mortifying experience, all Greengrass had to offer was a vague something they would do on their side. He took some comfort from the thought that there were stakes in this for others.

"If Goyle gave the girl the right tip, he can only mean the Marchner family." After they had all apparated out, back to Grimmaulds Place, Moody hadn't waited a second longer than he had to for the debrief.

They were sitting in the kitchen, with Sirius as a silent observer in the corner, drinking tea. The name, though, startled him up. "Those dragonshits?"

"For the new recruits?" Tonks asked.

Moody growled, staring down the wall with his good eye. "Bastards. Prussian alchemists and poisoners. Voldemort has sent them after the Bones family in the first war. Parkinson supposedly procures rare potion ingredients for them, but we never could pin it on him."

"No offence, Harry, but you're no Edgar. If the Marchners want you potioned, you're going to be potioned." Sirius too stared into nothingness, while his face became grimmer and grimmer. "Any antidote we can get, it's going to be on you, or around you."

"The way they do it, you'd need to lick a bezoar like Fortescue made it." Moody added. "You're made of tough stuff, Potter, but even you would eventually give in, bezoar or not."

"Forget the love potion, what if they actually poison me? What if that's their plan?" Harry threw in. Who said this wasn't just another way to drag me out and murder me?"

"Good lad," Moody chuckled. "Vigilance, always. But nothing that we couldn't fix is going to get past an Auror office led by the oh so jolly Brother Gregorius, Amelia, and both Dumbledores."

"You're sure?"

"Potter," Moody leaned down to him, both eyes meeting his. "I am sure, you understand?"

"I-" He began, but ended in an understanding nod. If Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was sure of something, almost everyone else would have felt safe long ago. "There is still the problem of Amortentia."

"About that, I do think I have an idea." Tonks spoke up with a cheeky grin. She rubbed her chin, comically wide to the left and right. Looking at Narcissa, she said, "Don't I just know two people who could help?"

Narcissa's eyebrow raised. "I know you know Agatha, but who is the other?"

"Her girlfriend, of course." Tonks grinned. "You know her, Harry. Fleur Delacour?"

Harry felt his cheeks blush again, like they had in Malkin's shop. "Oh no,"

The clock was long past eight when Harry had settled into a comfortable armchair, and opened the book on Occlumency for the first time. Wouldn't it have been handy, had he already bothered to look at it. Then again, the earliest one could begin, was right now. Just the introduction already told him that this book was going to go over his head. The first chapter named itself "Exploring Ego", and almost immediately spoke of concepts with names Harry had to believe were made up.

After just a few more pages, he slammed the book shut. He may as well be reading something written in a foreign language for all he understood. The image of gold-brown eyes piercing his thoughts came into his mind, and him wanting anything but her to see his actual mind. It swam over into an image of a courtroom, with him humiliating himself in a bout of love potion, while cameras flashed.

The door slamming open ripped him from his thoughts. Sirius stumbled in the room, as if in a daze, and slumped down onto an armchair next to Harry's. He took a few breaths, while he stared at Harry like he stared at someone else. He leaned over and opened a small cabinet. One of many liquor cabinets the Blacks had in Grimmauld Place. Sirius poured himself a glass of whiskey, and took a large gulp. He hissed at the alcohol's burn. He savoured it.

Then, finally, he leaned forward and spoke. "So, Albus just called over the Floo."

Harry remained silent. His godfather was paler than usual, and he had never seen such an expression on the man. He was halfway to crying, and half to laughing. His hand wiped over his face rapidly, stopping over his mouth. One last, heavy breath.

"This is going to sound mental. We are… Well. Albus has asked us to shelter… Merlin, I wish Narcissa was here. She can just say stuff like this."

Still, Harry said nothing.

"Here goes. Your mother. They found her. They found Lily." Sirius choked. "She'll be here in an hour."