Veela Enclave Paris France

Harry Potter POV

There are few things more awkward than sitting down for late night dinner, a surprisingly expansive affair for the French involving an improbable number of dishes Harry could not recognize and Hermione could not be understood, as she attempted to explain while both inhaling them, and raving in French about how, whatever they were, was amazing, with a circle full of women you have never met who just watch you have sex with your wife.

Harry found himself so thankful for Paddy's presence. Hermione and the coven of Veela, didn't that sound like it ought to be some sort of movie? Hermione and the coven of Veela were chatting happily away about how romantic it all was (much cooing and enough eyelash batting that Harry was surprised the tables were not blown away), and how absolutely intriguing the magic involved was, and what the implications of what Hermione's ritual were in the relationship between magical core, soul, blood magic and the largely unexplored interaction with the deeper communication of parselmagic.

Harry was surprised he had blood left, he had blushed so often when Hermione would simply bare her chest for various witches to touch with fingers and wand, the crest on her breast, then rush over to do the same to Harry.

Honestly, as a teenage boy trying hard to die of embarassment, stroked and poked by a room full of excited Veela, in front of at least three husbands, was enough to make him wish his wand worked so he could apparate home.

"Honestly Paddy, I just can't take any more of these Veela feeling up Hermione under the guise of examining her crest." Harry said, looking down at his new dog for sympathy. For some reason, even the dog was taken in by examining the stroking and poking of Hermione's breasts by a room full of excited and entirely too attractive Veela. I mean, just because a room full of semi human idealized blonde beauties want to see and squeeze Hermione's breasts, is that any reason to spend hours on it.

Paddy looked at Harry, gave him a sympathetic whine, a playful lick, then went back to oggling Hermione with everyone else. Harry looked down at his crest and could honestly admit that there was something to it. While Harry and Nidhogg were still somewhat rootless in the sea that passed for their shared mindscape, suddenly Pythia was rooted deep inside Hermione. One head of his three was firmly anchored to Hermione and her magic.

Harry could feel Hermione's own analytical mind and intellectual curiosity bleed into him, and the chaotic storm that was Pythia's mind began to, well not so much come into focus, and become something Harry could focus if he chose to.

Harry had felt the strength of Hermione when they...yeah. Not thinking about that again until I am out of a room of Veela sex magic witches. These underwear are more stylish than functionally restraining, and I don't need another reason to die of embarassment. Suffice as to say, Hermione had become much more physically powerful since their consumation, and he could feel some of his aggression, his ambition, his seemingly endless fountain of rage nestle into the parts of Hermione that had always been too afraid of ridicule to shine.

Harry grinned. Rubbing Paddy's head, Harry looked at Hermione avidly drawing with her wand the diagram of what looked like Harry's six cores and Hermione's two in a complex diagram in mid air with two blurs to indicate something that she was expanding to the oldest of the gathered Veela witches about.

Arithmancy wasn't his thing, but he recognized enough from his rune knowledge to know that what Hermione was discussing with very senior and skilled witches was Mastery level work, not OWL or NEWT. To Hermione, it was nothing special, just another exciting problem for her to devour. He felt a wave of pride and possessiveness sweep over him, and he wallowed in it. Mine. She is mine. She chose me.

Harry was grinning at her like an idiot when she glanced over, saw his frank admiration of her in work mode and sent him a smoldering look that made it a good idea for Harry not to stand up for a few minutes at least. In a life filled with Dark Lords and snake bites, Harry finally got lucky.

Paddy barked once, sneezed, and nodded. Harry rubbed his head. Paddy got it. Hermione was the best thing that ever happened to him.

As the evening progressed, Hermione came over with the senior Veela, and a married Veela with her husband in tow. He wore what was obviously a charm around his neck, if Harry had to guess, it was a protection from Veela charm, but the fellow was still looking a bit dazed. He also had his shirt bared to show a golden bindrune in his chest, similar to the marriage crests magic had burned into Harry and Hermione.

The senior Veela smiled, "Bon soir Lord Harry James Potter Slytherin, I am Ygraine Beaumont, the head of our little Veela enclave. Permit me to introduce my niece, Apollonia Delacour, and her husband Pierre Delacour, he is what you English would call the chief Auror. I apologize for the manner with which you were summoned tonight, but with your marriage rite unfinished, your lovely bride, and perhaps you as well, were becoming dangerously unstable, and the unrequited love was calling strongly enough to affect others. Soon, probably tragically."

Harry blanched. Was Vernon's going on and on about Harry's degeneracy a result of his being afraid his Aunt was being effected? Merlin, Harry suddenly felt like throwing up. Where are the oblivators when you need them? That memory needs to go.

Seeing Harry's expression change, the two Veela and the French Auror shared a very worldly laugh, and Harry wondered if he could blush so hard his ears would actually catch on fire and melt him before this conversation went any where worse. Instead, it got practical

Apollonia stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry's blushing head, and brushed his hair away from his famous but fading scar.

"What tante Ygraine is meaning to say, is that you did not legally enter the country. You are too far from England for anyone to apparate, and you will need an international portkey, which is of course impossible to get for a foreigner who has no record of ever entering the country."

Harry, being famous in Hogwarts for his eloquence summed his situation up perfectly. "I'm right down the pan then, aren't I?"

This time it was Pierre Delacour who threw his fellow overwhelmed male a lifeline. "Do not worry lad. You are the famous Boy Who Lived are you not? All manner of improbable things happen to you, like being ambushed by young love and dragged across the sea to make mad passionate love to your young bride in front of a room full of cheering Veela." Pierre said entirely too cheerfully.

Harry groaned and hung his head, desperate to just die already and get out of this conversation. Pierre laughed helpfully.

"So what could be more reasonable than to admit that French Aurors in pursuit of international criminals unspecified and of course to secret to ever identify, required the assistance of the famous young hero, Harry Potter, the dashing young Lord Slytherin. Being the dutiful and law abiding citizen that you are, you insisted on acompaning them back to France to give your testimony, which you are magically sworn not to discuss. As a result, I the head of French Law Enforcement will portkey you back to the British DMLE along with a letter of thanks for you unspecified but heroic actions in the service of Magical France."

Harry looked at Pierre Delacour in alarm. "But that is a lie!"

Pierre shrugged. "French and English have been lying to each other since before the Romans conquered us both, which we lied to the English about so they wouldn't see it coming. It is a time honoured tradition, and we French are a deeply traditional people!"

The two Veela and French Auror laughed uproariously, and even Paddy gave a cheerful tail wag, and dancing series of barks.

Pierre had to ruin it by slapping Harry on the back. "Besides Harry, do you mind if I call you Harry? I witnessed your efforts this night. France is the nation above all that celebrates love, and what we all witnessed this night was nothing less than pure heroic effort in the service of love."

Harry shared a grin with the French Auror who was waggling his eyebrows too suggestively to get offended at. "It seems a little late in the day to get shy. Please call me Harry." Harry concluded sheepishly.

"Bon, bon. Tomorrow I will have you dressed in French Auror robes without insignia, to make it clear it is the French Auror corps sending you back as a hero, and we will march you into the British Ministry with everything but trumpets."

Pierre shuddered. "I received a medal from your Ministry for the Grindelwald war back in 45. I have heard what you English do with trumpets, and you should stop."

%%%

That night, Harry and Hermione had their first night together officially. Unlike what history books, magazine articles and those really tasteless romance novels written decades later, they mostly slept. They only fluid transfer was Hermione drooling on Harry's arm for the last several hours before a need to pee beat the wakeup call for the portkey by less than ten minutes.

Paddy was growling and losing a battle of wills with a Veela who was determinedly forcing nutrient potions down the half starved dogs muzzle. Harry unsympathetically held his head and scolded his dog.

"Don't be a baby. Madame Pomfrey makes me take these once a week for the first two months of term every year because the Dursley's starve me. Just pretend you are a big fierce guard dog, not a toy poodle or you will find out that this potion works as well stuffed up either end. Trust me, that is how Madame Pomfrey broke my will to resist drinking them." Harry said, wondering how a Grim could look offended, but this one managed. he also drank his nutrient potion.

Harry had his new Occlumency text stuffed in the expanded pocket of his totally legitimate French Auror robes, like the English ones, only royal blue not British scarlet. With his dog on the entirely too fancy leash, he strode with the head of the French Aurors through the length of the French Ministry building in all its overdone splendor, taking pains to say hello and exchange names with an utterly improbable number of people, all of which Pierre seemed compelled to tell their cover story to. Harry would die his hair red and change his name to Weasley if the news of his mysterious deeds and pending arrival was not through both the British Ministry and press before they got near the international portkey department. This was made doubly true because they simply had to stop for crepes and coffee before bundling him off to that horrid cold wet island without decent food or clothing.

It should not have been a surprise when they emerged from the International Portkey into the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, where Amelia Bones, head of the British DMLE and its Aurors, and Cornelius Fudge Ministry of Magic.

With a flash, four cameras captured the moment when Cornelius Fudge shook Harry Potter Slytherin's hand as the chief Auror of France and England smiled down encouragingly. Totally low key entry. Odd of Dumbledore noticing are somewhere between unity and worse.

"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, hero not only of England but of France, of course we expect no less!" The English Minister in his regrettable tweeds and improbably green bowler pumped Harry's hand like it was a North Sea oil derrick and there was a gas shortage.

Pierre Delacour spoke entirely too loudly.

"If I may correct you Minister, that is Lord Harry James Potter Slytherin, Lord Slytherin. It is not often that one of your aristocracy dares to put his life and magic on the line to do what is right, rather than what is personally easiest. It would be well to give the young lord the glory he has earned." Pierre said, giving Harry a wink.

As Pierre had explained over coffee and crepes in the Ministry, politics is best done in the dark, and little people are easily made to disappear. Now famous people are not necessarily safer, but they at least are harder to make disappear. However those with a noble title recognized by the magic of the Wizagamot are a different thing altogether. They cannot be made to disappear, and once the press has reason to follow their every word and deed, it is very hard for governments to do anything but follow the laws as written, at least as long as they know everyone is watching.

Harry did his best impression of Lucius Malfoy, looking every inch the young noble. It was remarkably effective, as Harry simply worked on copying all the posture, gesture, and tone, and had no spare thoughts for the dripping malice of the real Malfoy, so as an accidental result came off as both noble and kind. This only went to show how much effort young Draco put into being a total prat.

After leaving the Ministry Lobby, Cornelius Fudge let his own Auror detail quietly close around them both as they walked through the building as if they didn't have a care in the world.

"So Harry," Minister Fudge asked. "Any plans now?"

Harry nodded cautiously, rubbing Paddy for comfort. "Well Minister, I had thought to drop by the Leaky Cauldron and book a room. I have to see Gringotts for some business, and then Olivander's for a new wand. The basilisk thing sort of did mine in, and doing any sort of grand adventure without a wand is a bit too Gryffindor even for me." Harry said watching the Minister from the side of his eye for reaction.

Cornelius nodded. "Yes yes, that would explain the accidental magic. Always a problem when your core is still growing, especially when you are," the minister coughed, then eyed Harry a moment. "exceptionally strong."

Harry winced. "Ah, Minister Fudge, about that." Harry was fumbling for a way to apologize without getting himself in trouble, when Paddy slammed into his leg and glared at him. Honestly, it was like the dog was trying to get him to stop confessing his sins, and just see what he could get away with. Harry thought dogs were supposed to be naturally law abiding, and cats were the evil ones?

The Minister gave a hearty and not entirely honest laugh, and beamed at Harry.

"Oh nonsense Harry. Who hasn't wanted to blow up an Aunt or two. I mean, not to speak ill of your family or anything, but your uncle so upset the oblivation crew that one of them turned him into a walrus. My senior Auror had to stop the rest of the team from posing for pictures with the damned thing. The last thing I need are accusations of muggle baiting or walrus smuggling." The Minister grumbled, and one of the Auror detail quietly flashed Harry a photograph, which Harry palmed and slid into his robes without visibly reacting.

That figures. It wouldn't take more than five minutes with Uncle Vernon to make any wizard think seriously about turning him into a walrus, or a smoking crater in the floor, so honestly he got off easy.

The Minister walked Harry to the floo, and tossed in a pinch calling out "Leaky Cauldron!" Before stepping through. Harry and the Auror detail followed. When Harry came through Minister Fudge was already laughing with Tom the Barman, and looked every inch the "man of the people" he tried to present himself as.

Fudge was a very good politician. A terrible leader, but the actual business of getting into power was truly where he shone. He saw Harry come through and let his voice ring through the tavern.

"Well Tom, I will leave young Harry here in your care. I will have a few of the Aurors in the area to make sure reporters and riff raff don't disrupt business any. He's just back from some daring do in France, very hush hush, but we in the Ministry take great pride in his heroism. It's not like we can stop dealing with lesser threats just because we must watch for the menace Sirius Black!" Fudge said with a knowing wink which Harry nodded solemnly in answer to.

Fudge gave every impression of being "in the know" of a secret of grave importance to England and France that he, being the epitomy of discretion, could not possibly speak further on. If you didn't know there was no secret, and Fudge didn't even know that, you would assume the Minister was on top of top secret affairs upon which the fate of the world depended, but still had time to catch up with the little people.

Harry understood now how a person of so little substance could rise to power, and how totally unprepared Wizarding Britain would be with him at the helm

Sliding down to the pub seat, he ordered a turkey pie and chips for himself, a pork chop for Paddy. Rubbing his dog's ears, Harry whispered softly.

"We really have to get me a new wand fast. If this is our Minister, and Dumbledore is our great defender, we are bloody doomed."

Paddy whined and bumped his head against Harry's thigh.

%%%

Diagon Alley

Harry POV

The first and foundational stage of occlumency was memory partitioning. Harry unfortunately had three independent minds, a lifetime of stolen and completely unsorted Voldemort memories, and a seer who dreamed things that might be more than he saw what was in endless and ever expanding webs of probability. Luckily, he had Hermione Granger's soul and magical fragment loose in his inner self. Soon he feared his brain would have color coded tabs for easy access, and his inner most desires would be alphabetized.

The ritual with Hermione had crystalized the changes in him that started in the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione was now a part of all three of his minds. Hermione the seeress gave him the ability to swim inside the sea of fate, the tides of wyrd or destiny, wracked by storms of random chance and turned upon the stone solid certainty of mortal choice. It would take a lifetime to master, but that part of Hermione that was inside his head was busy turning the primordial chaos of endless potential timelines into something that fit neatly into cue cards and poster boards colored to match the tabs on the aforementioned cue cards. I don't know if destiny was scared yet, but it ought to be.

The same changes in Harry's own mind had caused him to realize he had always been drifting in the moment. He hated his past with such a deep and abiding passion that it bordered on phobia. His past was horror, shame, and despair, so don't look at it, don't examine it, and don't ever question it.

Well turning a little bit of Hermione loose in the reference section of his skull was having some rather terrifying effects. Hermione pried into everything. She might be too shy when she didn't know someone to ask, but she always wanted to know. Things she would never ask in a million years she was free to rifle through herself now that his past had become her private library.

The results were humiliating. Harry was supposed to be the planning head, yet, due to never examining the past, he never realized how easy he had always been to play and to manipulate. He never compared what people were saying and doing now, with what they had been saying and doing before. He may be a tactical genius, but he had been a strategic moron, living in the moment and never having any plans beyond that moment, no thought about what part the current choice played in the larger game around him. He had been little more than a pawn, so proud of himself for taking a piece or a square that he never questioned why he stood there in the first place, or what goal his victory advanced towards. A lot of peoples words and deeds were showing a widening gap in his memory. A lot of his trusted friends and mentors failed the test of close examination, and to his very great shame, many of those that had only sometimes been "on his side" had remained true to both themselves and Harry's long term best interests.

Hermione would never say I told you so, because, she always knew she was right, and didn't feel the need to point it out. She would probably give him that little smile that said she took her silent victory without rubbing his nose in it, and give that happy Hermione wiggle. Harry's mind broke for a second. Merlin's beard but that wiggle did things to his brain, and assorted lower regions. She was cute when she was right, which was going to make their relationship work out.

The real problem with setting Hermione loose in their head was with Nidhogg. Nidhogg had been born of Harry's rage and pain, and eating the soul fragment of Voldemort, along with the inchoate mess of his memories had not made Nidhogg a vision of stability and good choices. Nidhogg was their ambition and defense, Nidhogg was want, take, and defend. He was not overgiven to self-examination.

Hermione was. Let loose in the memories of Voldemort she was trying to sort them out like a spilled deck of cue cards from a course she hadn't taken yet. Harry wanted those memories for bits of Sirius Black that explained how and when he betrayed their parents. Nidhogg wanted not only the bits of magic, but blackmail, intimidation, torture. Hermione's fraction oddly enough followed down those bolt holes with Nidhogg, getting into long drawn out discussions about where choosing the most brutal tactic caused problems versus where it solved them.

Honestly, as much as the Dark Lord's terror campaign had been a success, he had made it impossible for people to be neutral. Sure, they were all too terrified to directly interfere, but the awareness that it would be better for everyone who didn't care much either way about pure blood politics, or the sodding downtrodden masses, if Voldemort just WENT AWAY before the madman found a reason to target them, made it inevitable that if the Dark Lord or his forces ever even stumbled, they would be gutted by those who would never dare to face them on the field of battle.

In any war, most people just want to survive, and stay out of it. Voldemort overlooked the little people, and Dumbledore idealized them. As a herd, they were little more than cattle, so many productive cows to be milked for resources or slaughtered for provisions, but when Voldemort fell, their stampede drove his proud Death Eaters into Azkaban or desperate humiliating, and financially devastating attempts to appease those same mooing masses into letting the proud Death Eaters up from under their stamping hooves.

Those cattle were witches and wizards, hags and goblins, centaurs and house elves. Creatures of magic. Individually they were weaker than any Death Eater or Auror, but a hundred people who scraped by in Charms or Transfiguration for a passing OWL could fire a volley that could turn a Dueling Master into a smear on the ground, and leave bits of Death Eater hanging from nearby roof tops. Hermione's exasperation at the elitist attitude of both sides made Nidhogg and Harry both proud and terrified of the woman they had married by accident.

Voldemort's memories about Harry's parents and Sirius Black had yielded a lot about how hated Lilly was. James and Sirius had been pure blooded scions of ancient lines, and worthy enemies of the Dark Lord, but that flame haired mudblood bitch dared to meet him wand to wand, spell to spell and not even have the grace to cower in fear?

Harry's only memory of his mother had been her begging Voldemort to take her life for his. He accepted Dumbledore's story of his mother the martyr, the woman who forsook violence to offer her life freely to save her son. Harry had seen her as a victim, almost without realizing it. Nidhogg had hated her for being weak, and Pythia had laughed at the secrets he knew but would not share.

Hermione's little librarian mind, gathering each memory and sorting them like so many cue cards for the Fall of the Potters 101 OWL exam, showed a different story. James had been a blunt instrument, a hammer wielded with crushing power, turning the air and stones that made the battlefield into weapons against Voldemort. Sirius had been a killer, his every spell dark and biting. Not as powerful as James, but so much harder to block or evade, he struck at flesh, at soul, at mind, and trusted speed over shields, often ignoring defense for the chance to draw blood with spells that could not be magically healed. It wasn't hard for Harry or Hermione to understand how anyone who saw him fight could see him as a Dark Wizard, if only based on the spells he fought with.

Lilly Evans was different. She lacked either James or Sirius power, but her creativity was on another level. Illusions spun so that Harry had seen the Dark Lord cut her down a hundred times, only to find he had "slain" a lamp post, a post office box, a tree, while the real Lilly stood ten feet away transforming fallen leaves into birds made of razor blades to fly at the Dark Lord, or butterflies that danced in the air, ignored by everyone until they made a rune circle above the Dark Lord and Death Eaters heads to open a portal to the London Aquarium and drop a half million liters of sea water and three confused sharks on the battlefield.

When Voldemort killed her, she was caught without her wand, tried to apparate, and activate portkeys to escape, and when she could not escape, and without her wand had not chance to fight, she used that very same cleverness to make the one thing she could guarantee happen serve to anchor her win. She forced Voldemort to kill her by demanding mercy. She knew he would view her with contempt for asking, and cut her down just to make clear to her what he would do to Harry next. She forced him to power her final act of magic to defend Harry and punish him.

She was not a victim, she was a witch version of a suicide bomber. A cold act of ruthlessness any Slytherin could envy, any Ravenclaw applaud, an act of selflessness any Hufflepuff would weep to claim, but it was a Gryffindor who threw away her pride and made of herself the final weapon.

Of all the things he hated Dumbledore for, this was it. Dumbledore had painted her as a helpless victim, and Harry the Dark Lord's destroyer. It wasn't enough he cast her son away like trash on the Durley's doorstep, when Harry finally learned of his mother's death, Dumbledore robbed her of her power, of her brilliance, of her very agency, to turn her into some tragic helpless victim.

He stole her victory, stole her glory, and forged of it chains to bind her son in his service. Nidhogg was not just drawing on Voldemort's hatred, but Harry's own when he viewed the Headmaster's actions.

No. Harry would not be Dumbledore's tool against Voldemort. Both would pay for what they had done. Voldemort would die for the lives he had destroyed, but Dumbledore would see his throne shattered, his name drawn through the sewers for the crime of stealing the very deaths of Harry's parents to weave his political agenda.

Still, in all the memories he could find, Sirius, Lilly, and James had been the Dark Lord's enemies. He hated all three of them, respected two of them, but very much would see them die screaming under his wand if it took the blood of every last one of his Death Eaters to do it. Why could Harry not find anything about Black's betrayal.

He sighed. He was being lied to. Again.

By who, and for what he did not know.

He needed a wand, he needed answers, and more than anything else, he and Hermione needed allies. A mudblood and a muggle raised sacrificial beast raised for slaughter was hardly enough to face two armies in a shadow war.

He leaned down and ruffled Paddy's fur.

"Everyone knows Sirius Black betrayed my mother and father to their deaths, and is coming to kill me. If he did, then he is going to be a long time dying. Thing is Paddy, I have half the Dark Dork's own memories scattered around one of my little brains, and damned if I can see Sirius Black doing anything but fighting him.

If I find him first. I want to talk to him."

Paddy whined and looked down, as if his heart was as broken as Harry's. That was enough occlumency practice for one night. Partitioning and organizing your memories and emotions with magic was a bit like therapy, and a bit like heavy construction with magic. Even with six magical cores working with growing synchronicity, he was knackered.

Time for sleep. Tomorrow, a wand!

%%%

Olivander's Wand Shop

Diagon Alley

Harry's POV

Olivander greeted Harry oddly.

"Mr Potter, 11 inches, holly, phoenix feather core. I told you that I should expect remarkable things from you." Olivander turned and looked at Paddy meaningfully and muttered to himself as he did the last time Harry saw him.

"Curious. Curious indeed. Are you looking for help for your own wand, or a wand for your new friend." Olivander muttered. "I do know that one is of course, lost."

Harry blinked. Did Olivander make dog toys, as well as wands? No, don't let the old man distract you. Wand Harry! Get your wand!

Harry pulled out his former wand, the scortched and warped look of it made Olivander wince like he had just produced a badly abused child for medical treatment.

"What have you done, Mr Potter?" Olivander almost sobbed, taking the wand carefully in his hand and giving it a swish, which produced a bird of flame that fell to the ground and flapped to its eventual death, seeming to be wrapped and crushed by a serpent made of the smoke the wand was emitting.

Olivander stopped, cocked his head.

"This wand no longer recognizes you as master, and it's core has been overwhelmed with the power you have tried to force through it. This is one of the two strongest wands I have ever made, and when it no longer recognized you as master, you should not have been able to force it at all, let alone destroy it by forcing it to channel too much magic."

Olivander called forth his tape measure, and the thing began to dance around Harry, causing Paddy to dash back to the door and bark at the tape measure as it danced around Harry.

When it measured something over Harry's right breast, Olivander's eyes widened.

"Not Mr Potter. Lord Slytherin. Not only that, not fully that. Not yet. There is more, yes more. Potter yes. Slytherin yes, and Peverell? Not yet. Not quite."

Olivander now brought forth a wand from behind the counter and imperiously handed it to Harry.

"Unicorn horn, 10" Rowan. The wand of a white witch or wizard of unmatched power."

Harry took the wand, feeling the vibration in his hand, feeling Pythia slide into it, but Nidhogg reject it, he strove to drive his power through it. "Lumos"

The shop exploded in light and Paddy dove behind the counter to shield his eyes. The wand caught fire and Harry dropped it.

Olivander pulled out a second wand, "Boggart heart, blackthorn, 9 and a half inches, supple. The wand of a Dark Wizard of power and subltety."

Nidhogg slid into it seamlessly, and Pythia sniffed with indifference. Harry found its touch distasteful, but he knew he could make it work. Not wanting to be blinded again, he cast a simple "Protego"

Olivander was thrown over his own counter as the shield slammed into existence, the nearly transparent bubble Harry was expecting turned into a purple dome that had to be a good six inches thick and leaking strands of lightning. The sheild was so potent that Harry knew he could stand in front of the Hogwarts express and watch it derail as it slammed into this shield. His power roared from him through the wand, until the wand exploded in a raid of fragments that left a good two inch piece stuck in Harry's palm.

Olivander chinned himself on his own counter, his eyes peaking owlishly over the top.

"Curious indeed. It seems that you have inside you a warring nature, a lack of unity that should make it impossible to wield magic at all. Without unified intent, a witch or wizard cannot direct magic to do anything. Magic is the witch or wizard putting their will upon the world and without a united will, magic will not answer." Olivander mused.

Harry shrugged. "It answers me. Anyway, it isn't that I lack a united mind, I just have three of them."

This is not something you admit to normal people, but Olivander was a Wand Lore nutter, and honestly, if you rode the Midgard Serpent in through the door he would only wonder if he might have a scale, in case he ever met a witch who might need a world serpent scale wand.

On that note, Harry thought it best to mention. "And I'm a Parseltongue, if that makes a difference."

Olivander blinked again, straightening up. "Are you really. How fascinating. He stroked his beardless chin and frowned. Gregorovitch outbid me for the last pure basilisk venom on the market back in '53. I know Anwar claims to have access to some Naga venom, but he has been known to stretch the truth. Isa has some venom of Leviathan, but dealings with her are best avoided. I don't really have any serpent core strong enough to chanel the power you are putting out."

Harry found himself doing an Olivander impression as he blinked.

"Would you like some?" Harry asked.

Olivanter turned his head slowly to stare into Harry's eyes, watching as they switched from human green, to slit pupiled blood red.

"Some what, Lord Slytherin?" Olivander asked, carefully.

Harry felt fangs descend from his mouth, and his voice slid into parseltongue without thought.

"$ Basilisk venom. Inherited from Slytherin's own beast. $ Harry hissed.

Olivander was not a reasonable man, not a sane wizard by any stretch of even a flexible person's imagination. He was however, the finest wand maker in Europe. He was casting powerful transfiguration charms on several bottles to turn them from glass to diamond, the only substance that could resist basilisk venom.

Milking Nidhogg's fangs for enough to fill six vials, Olivander finally stopped and set them in a potion holder. Then went to get his big box of wand samples. he dragged the barrel before Harry.

"Now Lord Slytherin, reach your hand inside and choose the wood that you find calls out to you, this will be your wand wood." Olivander said, and Harry's slit pupils flared as he felt his magic reach into the box. Nidhogg was in control, so his left hand, for his was the left head, slid down to feel in the wood. A cold wood that sang to him of darkness and snow, of cruel winds and bright poison berries felt good and firm in his hand. This was his.

Harry's eyes flickered again, and the bright green of the killing curse and round human pupils stood out in the darkness, causing Olivander's eyebrow to raise in curiousity. Harry's own right hand fell down and he felt the wood bundles shift and a hard smooth wood fell beneath his palm. This one sang of roots deep in the black earth, strong limbs that defied the highest wind, dominated the forest and claimed all the sun's light for its own. The power of the summer sun, the promise of the earth's bounty and strength were his and his alone. This was his.

Harry's eyes flashed to opal white, and a sneer fell upon his face, curling his lips, and he shook his head slowly. There was nothing for Pythia here. His wand was already made.

Olivander froze, recognition blossomed on his face, first joy, then fear, then acceptance as he nodded slowly.

Reaching in, Olivander took both Holly and Oak from the bin. He turned to Harry and smiled softly.

"My ancestors have been wand makers to kings before, but never three at once. Do you remember the old lore Mr Potter? You were not raised in the wizarding world, so you might not know." Olivander said as his own wand worked as he turned the wood in mid air to bring forth the wand that lay beneath it.

Harry had thought that was poetry for carving a wand shape from a block of wood, but that is not what Olivander did. He cut away all the bits that were not part of the wand from the wood, revealing the wand that was sleeping inside of it. Magic was, well, sometimes it really was magical.

"The people of this land believed there were two sacral kings of life. In the summer, the oak king ruled, and drew his power from the light and warmth. In the winter, the holly king ruled and drew his power from the dark and cold. The wheel of the year divided the year in four. The spring and fall equinox, when power passed between fading winter and rising spring, the fall when it passed from fading summer to rising winter. The two solstices where midsummer the oak king ruled alone, and Yule where the holly king's power reigned.

Your power calls for wands of both kings of life. Holly king for the left, Oak king for the right. The third I shall not speak of, for it is beyond my arts, and unnecessary, as I fear you will find it on your own."

Olivander had spun two wands now, Holly and Oak. Each was the same 11 inches, as his phoenix wand, yet Holly was twisted and bent, the oak straight and smooth.

Olivander beamed at Harry. "A wand is split, and its core placed inside, bound with runes to contain its power, to channel it into the wood. Basilisk venom cannot be used this way, it will destroy the wood before you can carve any runes to contain it.

There is an older path. A slower path, to sing the essence into the wood. To draw through the vibration of your voice the blood or venom of a liquid core up the body of a wand as the sunlight will draw water from the roots of a living tree. It has no power over basilisk venom, but if you are indeed a parseltongue, then hear my words, and sing them to your venom, sing them to your wands. Sing them whole, Lord Slytherin, for your children are half formed and dreaming. They need your song, your blood, your venom to wake."

Olivander's words and voice should have disturbed Harry, but Pythia was already swaying and lost in the vision of what must be, what could be, what it fell to Nidhogg to make be. Harry used his pathetic skill at Occulmency to drop into a meditative and passive state, to let the visions of Pythia and the will of Nidhogg control their magic.

Harry simply listened to Olivander, and sang.

"$ The world tree stands

rooted in corpses

Foul poisons burn

Cold waters churn

Decay warms the earth

Blood waters the ground

Sun sings life

Golden glory

Purifies all $"

Each wand drew basilisk venom from a single vial as Olivander held them and chanted, while Harry sang the translation in parselmagic. They sang the song seven times, as the venom rose up the wand, filling the hollow veins where water and life once flowed, replacing it with the venom of the most purified essence of death known to all of magic.

Cold dark and decay filled the Holly wand, malice and rage, destruction, deception, yet also the protection of the final defense that will die rather than yield, the willingness to embrace pain and even death to do what must be done. The dark was never so cold that there was no room for love, yet it burned away all weakness, all deception and lies. It's truth was poison, for it burned where it touched.

Fire burned in the Oak wand. Ambition, pride, creativity, and lust. This wand could heal or burn, but it would shine. This was the glory twig, the hand of god, the judgement of kings, the light that banished the darkness, but also the fire that scoured the land. The light was healing and purifying, but there was no room or tolerance for imperfection in it. Creation was at its heart, a violent act.

Both wands bore crowns upon the handle just above where thumb and forefinger would grip them. Both wands bore the carved scales of a serpent twined around the wand, and each ended with a carved serpent's head. The Holly wand with tiny rubies for eyes, the Oak with tiny emeralds.

Olivander looked at the two empty vials and smiled. He had drawn six vials of basilisk venom from the Boy Who Lived who was somehow also now the risen Lord Slytherin with the expectation that this would be almost impossible and require multiple failures. Instead, it had resulted in two wands clearly beyond any he or any of his ancestors had created.

Olivander gestured to each wand. "These are my finest work, Lord Slytherin, and Mr Potter. While I would never have crafted wands so utterly out of balance, for each is wedded so deeply to its own nature as to be almost useless at spells of the other kind, you have not simply three minds, but three very different natured magics alive and inside you. One the Holly King of Winter, one the Oak King of summer, and the other one I shall not speak of, because his attention I do not seek yet."

Olivander looked at Harry quizzically.

"Are you not going to transform back?" Olivander asked, and Harry did not know what he was talking about. Olivander took his own wand and conjured a mirror.

Harry potter did not have a head, he had a cobra's flared hood of black darker than onyx in which shone stars of shining white. His eyes burned with blood red fire, and his fangs folded neatly up into his fork tongued mouth, but flared into dagger sized killing tools at a thought.

$ Futter me with my own broom. I'm half snake. How am I supposed to go back to the Leaky looking like this? $ Harry asked, aware that it was quite a while before Hermione got back from France and they could meet again on the Hogwarts express.

Olivander suppressed a smile. He did not speak Parseltongue but the tone of a wizard who has made a terrible magical mistake they cannot fix is indeed universal.

Paddy the dog came out, and sniffed Harry's legs and whined. Looking up at Harry, he barked, then put his front paws over his own nose and glared up at Harry.

"$ Right Paddy, good thought. Hide the face. $" Harry hissed. Taking up his wand, he tried to remember the illusion charm he had seen Fred and George use to imitate other Gryffindors to sow chaos in the common room. How did that go again.

Harry had used it once to see what he would look like blonde, and decided he would rather be bald. Hissing the spell to himself, he drew upon his own self image, and the Harry Potter-Slytherin who stood in Olivander's was just a little smaller, just a little more faded and fragile looking than the truth. Harry's self-image owed more to Durley malice than true self awareness, but it was at least not a cobra headed fork tongued snake man.

Paddy barked and wagged his tail.

Harry fist pumped in victory, hissing. "$ I did it! $

Paddy whined and Olivander winced.

"If I might suggest, young sir. A caterwalling charm can be used to simulate speech for those who have lost their voice, or who can't remember how to speak human, like yourself. I have know wizards to use it to speak Mermish while in the air to Mermen in the water, to avoid having to stick their head in the lake just to speak. You could use that to avoid people noticing your parseltongue." Olivander suggested.

Sighing. "Herpo the Foul, Emeric the Evil, and He Who Must Not Be Named are really the only Dark Wizards who were parselmouths that we know of. However the survivors of there reigns of terror tended to murder children with the gift before they could read, let alone cast spells, so the myth of all of them being evil has been hard to get rid of. Our own Ministry being a case in point."

Harry had mostly used the caterwalling charm for pranks, but he had used it for rather a lot of pranks. Technically it was an illusion, so his holly wand began to dance as Harry cast his words like spells.

"Thank you sir." Harry said. "What do I owe you?"

Olivander smiled. "If I may retain the venom left over, that will be more than sufficient. It is the largest sample of basilisk venom in Europe, and quite beyond price."

Harry blinked, thinking of the few dozen liters sitting in the Chamber of Secrets waiting to be harvested and smiled behind his illusion uncomfortably. Olivander, oblivious to Harry's shame, had continued on.

"If you don't mind me asking, the ability to do a partial animagi transformation as you have demonstrated is a very advanced form of animagery. Only the most skilled practitoner of that most ancient art can do so, yet you say you cannot transform back. How is it that you were initially able to find your form enough to transform, and then regain your human form to walk into my shop to buy a wand in the first place, if you never consciously managed the change." Olivander asked.

Harry blushed, and ducked his head. Owing Olivander for the wands, and his advice, and knowing the basilisk venom was really basically free for Harry, he decided to answer him.

"I got transformed by accident when bitten by a basilisk. My friend, she used a book of forbidden snake sex magic to turn me back, and now we are kind of married." Harry said, using the wand to say that was somehow less embarrassing than saying it out loud. Still bad, but survivable.

Olivander's face split as he burst into deep and booming laughter.

"That is mighty wand work indeed, Lord Slytherin. Mighty wand work indeed!" Olivander gasped in between peels of laughter. Paddy barked happily as if in agreement.

Harry Potter, savior of magical Britain, the rightful lord Slytherin retreated from Olivander's before he died of terminal embarrassment.

He would have to get Hermione to help him on the train. Until then, I guess he was going to get a lot of magic practice trying to not be murdered as a snake headed Dark Lord in the middle of Diagon Alley.

He sighed. Hermione was going to love him. In order to minimize his human contact over the summer, he had little choice but to hold up in his room, and work on either his reading for the school year ahead, his occlumency training, or searching his memories for the truth of the treachery of Sirius Black.

Harry groaned. Who was he kidding, he had three independent brains, each with a bit of Hermione the endless workaholic and cheerful researcher in them. he would do all three, and probably enjoy it.

He grinned. Still, had to admit, he was looking forward to Hermione treating his condition. She was possibly the only form of treatment he ever wanted to use again.

He made his wand simulate whistling happily as he walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. Paddy trotted behind him happily. Got to love that about dogs. They were very non judgmental.

%%%

Diagon Alley

Sirius Black POV

Sirius knew Harry had his wands now, so he could defend himself. This was the perfect time to go hunt that bastard Petigrew down and murder his little rat ass. On the other hand, the boy was trapped half transformed. As Sirius had alway had a hex first and ask questions only if forced to at wand point policy with Slytherins in general, and snake faced dark wizards (the only one he knew being old baldy-voldy himself) most definitely included, he knew that if Harry was discovered like this, the Ministry would kill him faster than you could say Avada Kedavera. Actually, exactly as fast as you could say that. It's only unforgiveable cast on humans after all. Fudge's ministry drew the line on humans in a place that left Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid and even Filius Flitwick decidedly on the wrong side of having human rights. This was a bad time to be not visibly a hundred percent human.

That was part of why Sirius never registered. You registered and the Ministry began to treat you as a magical creature, which meant that the rights of witches and wizards might or might not apply to you, depending on the Ministries needs at the moment.

No. He couldn't leave Harry yet.

Sirius wanted to curse Pronglet for screwing up the animagi process so terribly he could not even transform back. On the other hand, he had given himself a medical condition that caused bright, cute, and terrifyingly capable witches to have sex with you as an utterly urgent medical intervention. Why hadn't he even thought to ask Madame Pomfrey for a note like that?

As an animagus, he was driven to teach Harry how to do it properly. As a godfather, he really thought he should hold off. I mean, what kind of godfather would simply cast the animagus reversal spell and prevent a hot and loving witch from doing some serious and doubtless perverse snake charming.

Sirius Black had done many shameful things in this life. He had lied, killed, failed to keep alive people who needed him to protect them, used spells he swore he would never use to get information from Death Eaters, but he would be damned if he would cock block his god son.

Sirius Black would rather be kissed by a dementor than cock block his godson.

This was the hill he would die on.

Marauders forever!