Another chapter of this little story.

On with the show.

Harry Potter, October 31st, outside the secret entrance to Gryffindor after dinner.

"Why it was that lout everyone has been on about, Headmaster," the mad Knight says as his visor falls over his face. "That man, Sirius Black did this," he points out as he shoves the visor back up to look at the shocked faces of the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Árd-Greimne. The woman whom Harry so affectionately called Teacher's head whips around, her blood-red eyes wide and searching the crowd of students before they land on Harry. Something passes through them when Scáthach sees Harry standing in the crowd of students that were now all looking at Harry.

Harry watches as Professor Árd-Greimne leans over and catches the headmaster's attention, whispering into his ear for a moment before he takes turns and looks at him. Whatever Árd-Greimne said to him must have convinced him as he nodded to her before turning his attention to the gathered students.

"All students are to return to the Great Hall immediately, I repeat, all students are to return to the Great Hall immediately," Dumbledore announces with his wand pointed at his throat to magically enhance his voice to the Gryffindors assembled on the stairs.

"Harry!" Percy Weasley calls out as he is flanked by the twins and Ginny. "Come on, we're heading to the Great Hall. I want you, Ron, and Hermione with Ginny in between me, Fred, and George," he tells the trio quickly as he gestures to them to start moving. "If there is any trouble, I want you four to start-" he continues to speak as the twins fall back, both having their wands out. But before he could finish, he was cut off by someone else- the same person who placed her hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from continuing down the stairs.

"A fine plan Mister Weasley," Professor Árd-Greimne says, causing most people surrounding Harry to turn and look at her. "You should continue with it, but I'll be the one escorting Mister Potter to the Great Hall," she tells Percy, whose lips were pressed into a thin line, but he nods his head.

"All right, you lot heard the Professor; let's get moving," Percy intones before waving his hands to get everyone moving.

Hermione and Ron look toward Harry as Percy's Goose steps down the staircase; Harry nods at them, showing them he is okay. It does little to settle the look on Hermione's face but both of them nod back towards Harry before turning away.

"Come along, Mister Potter," Scáthach urges him as they walk down the stairs, but instead of following the crowd of the students, they paled off to the left, taking them into a corridor leading in the opposite direction of the Great Hall.

"Teacher?" Harry says, looking up toward the woman leading him away from the crowd. "Where are we going?" He asks Scáthach, and like always, she has an answer for him.

"We're taking the back way to the Great Hall," Scáthach tells him, her eyes alert as they sweep the corridor for any threat that may be hiding in the shadows. Harry falls quiet at his teacher's side, with her hand never leaving his shoulder as his mind wanders over the last few months under Scáthach's tutelage.

Scáthach Árd-Greimne was an oddity when she first started teaching at Hogwarts; she was an Irish national who was teaching at England's premier magic school. Something that some of the Slytherin students made it their mission to remind her at almost every turn, even Draco Malfoy went out of his way to do so. Snide comments under their breath, always asking "If she was sure that's how it was taught" when asking questions, talking about the welfare of the Irish Circles within earshot of her. The only person who didn't do this from what Harry saw was Tamsyn; his friend seemed to hang onto every word that left the Professor's mouth with some intent to find deeper meaning in them.

But through all the muttered words and undermining that they did, Scáthach Árd-Greimne weathered it all undeterred from what she saw as her path in life.

Punishments were swift to be handed out to anyone disrespectful or trying to undermine her. Point lost, and detention was handed out like they were going out of style in the school; nearly all of Slytherin had, at one point or another, faced Professor Árd-Greimne wrath, as well as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor members who tried to emulate their Slytherin counterparts. The only ones who seemed to be immune to her wrath were the Hufflepuffs, but they tended to get along with most people, so Harry really didn't look too deep into it.

But throughout the hazing and disrespect, Professor Árd-Greimne didn't falter in the reason she had come to Hogwarts and her classes quickly became the most popular in the school. She was an inexhaustible font of knowledge and wisdom in all things magic and warfare, classes were a mix of open discussion, learning spells, history of magical warfare, and mock battles. It also helped that she was one of the few teachers in the school whose homework never went over six inches of parchment on what they learned in class that week due that Friday; and on Monday she would go over the most common misunderstandings her students had before sitting down with the others that had problems with specific things in her lessons.

But beyond the classroom, she quickly climbed to the illustrious position of Harry's favorite teacher when she invited him for tea after the first week of classes.

"So, how have you been feeling, Mister Potter?" She had asked as she poured them both a cuppa before pushing a small plate of biscuits toward him. "I was a bit worried about you after the Dementor attack," she admitted, picking up her mug to take a sip.

"Oh, Er-," Harry intones eloquently as he pauses while reaching for a chocolate chip biscuit. "I'm- I'm fine," he says before looking away as he nibbles on his biscuit. He didn't want to remember the train ride to Hogwarts, the hooded and cloaked figure that looked like drowned death and brought all the horrors of his life rushing back in a bone-chilling winter wind.

Scáthach hums non-committedly for a moment. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe you on that front, Mister Potter," she informs Harry as she places her mug down and looks across the table to Harry. "I've studied dark creatures the world over and there are very few worse than the Dementors of the Formorians," She intones as she picks up a biscuit and takes a bite out of it.

"Formorians?" Harry asks, perking up at the information. "I thought they were from Azkaban and Ekrizdis created them? Or at least that's the current theory," Harry points out, confused at Professor Árd-Greimne words. The woman herself blinks at him in complete surprise before smiling softly at him.

"My oh my, such a learned boy at such a young age as well," Scáthach praises him as she hides her mouth behind her hand, causing Harry to blush at her words. "But while that is a current theory in the English Wizarding World, the circles of Ireland have a much longer memory than those men who think our stories are just that; stories," she tells him before taking another sip of her tea to wash down the biscuit. "But we've long known the origin of the Dementors, and that is their sire by the name of Balor the Baneful," she informs Harry as her face scrunches into something like distaste.

"Whose that?" Harry asked with a frown as he wracked his brain for the name, but came up empty-handed.

"Balor the Baneful was a dark wizard from the age of myth, he was a part of a cabal of dark wizards and witches known as the Formorians," Scáthach says as her demeanor changes, switching from the kind woman sitting in front of him to the the teacher he was now used to seeing. "The Formorians dedicated themselves to spreading fear over the islands, and Balor was particularly interested in the fear of pain. He thought that causing suffering to others would infuse the magic and rituals of that era with more power thanks to the heightened emotions during the sacrifice. He wasn't wrong- but throughout his experimentations, he created something new using the suffering forms of a Lethifold and a drowning Muggle," she says with a disgusted look on her face.

"So, he just… combined them? With a ritual? Can you even do that?" Harry asks as he feels his skin crawl at the subject matter.

"I personally don't think he meant it to happen at all, but the stories are… unclear about his intent, just that he enjoyed causing fear and misery among all living things so he certainly didn't complain about his creation," his teacher informs him before taking another sip of her tea and putting her mug down. "But he had created his perfect weapon no matter his intent, Dementor's pulls the most painful memories of its victims to the surface of their minds while smothering all their happy ones," Scáthach says with a shake of her head.

"But not everyone… faints," Harry says, his eyes downcast and looking into the murky water of his tea.

"No, not everyone," Scáthach tells him, her fingers drumming on the table between them. "It is an understudied phenomenon, but the current theory is that when someone has… a disproportionate amount of pain and trauma in their lives, more unhappy memories than happy ones, they are more susceptible to the effects of the Dementor," she says and Harry could feel her eyes burning into the top of his head as if she was expecting something. But as the moment drags on without Harry saying a single word, Scáthach sighs before speaking once more. "Mister- Harry, I know you know that I have my suspicions about what your home life is like-"

"It's fine," Harry quickly supplies through gritted teeth, jerking his head up at her accusation to look into her eyes as if to challenge her.

"Hmm, I'm sure it's fine for someone," She supplies right back, not looking away from Harry's livid glare. "But I need you to understand Harry, I just want to help- I want to make sure what you've suffered through, whatever that may be, doesn't happen again," she says, her eyes losing the hard demeanor and softening greatly as she looks at him. Harry could see it too, her willingness to help- her want to protect, something he had never seen before in any of his other teacher's eyes. "So, I'll ask once more, how did you get the bruise on your cheek, the one you had when we first met?" she asks in a soft, pleading tone.

Harry had almost told her, the words almost sprayed from his throat and slipped past his lips like a confession; but in the end, he didn't. He had simply dropped his eyes again and told her he had fallen and she had sighed.

It didn't stop her from inviting him back to tea, however. Every Saturday at one in the afternoon found Harry back in his teacher's classroom for an hour where they would sit and talk or she would help him work through any homework or classwork he was stuck on. She would tell him stories about her homeland and tales of her own battles fought, she had even started teaching him spells outside of the curriculum. Professor Árd-Greimne had told him that a few of the spells she was teaching him were considered "Dark Magic" by the Ministry due to the nature of the spells she showed him.

It didn't take long for Tamsyn to join him either, Harry had walked into the classroom one Saturday afternoon to find Tamsyn already there talking animatedly to Professor Árd-Greimne. Soon the one-on-one tutoring turned into a small study group with both Harry and Tamsyn learning under Professor Árd-Greimne. Tamsyn, like always, helped him when they hit a particularly complicated spell as Scáthach stood by watching them with a soft smile, it was honestly the best Saturday that Harry had ever had.

But the Professor who walked beside him in the dark corridors of the castle wasn't the friendly and caring mentor he had found in her. No, the woman beside him fit the moniker she had earned over the long war she waged with England "The Witch-Queen" she was called and Harry didn't question why. It reminded him of the first time they met outside of the ice cream shop, her magic was almost suffocating as it filled the air like a thick summer humidity. She walked with no less grace but with an air of violence about her that would make even the most seasoned auror question if they should engage her in combat as she held her wand loosely in her free hand.

Harry keeps quiet as she leads him through the halls and into the trophy room that connects to the Great Hall, stopping before the door, Professor Árd-Greimne turns to him; her blood-red eyes seem to be glowing in the dark.

"After I leave you in the Great Hall, I will be needed to sweep the castle, you are to remain in the Great Hall until I or the Headmaster comes to get you personally, no matter what, do you understand me?" Scáthach spoke, her voice firm as her question sounded more like an order to Harry; but still he nodded his head once in understanding. She nods her head once as well. "Good, let's get you to your friends," she tells him with a small smile before opening the door to the crowded and loud hall.

It seemed that the Headmaster's words could have been heard by everyone in the castle as the rest of the houses were in the Great Hall; each person holding a comfy-looking sleeping bag. Harry starts pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring the looks and the whispers coming from behind him as he looks for his friends; and he doesn't have to look for long.

"Where. Is. He?!" Tamsyn's voice snaps at someone, her tone dripping with venom. "And don't lie to me, Granger! I'll know," she threatens as Harry inwardly sighs.

"Not this again," Harry thinks to himself as he moves toward the sound of Tamsyn's voice. She and Hermione were at each other's throats for months, ever since they had returned to Hogwarts. Hermione would try to find a way to keep Tamsyn and Harry away from each other while Tamsyn, almost maliciously, took joy in undermining the other girl's plans while Ron and Him tried to keep the peace between the two.

"Tamsyn!" Harry calls as he lays eyes on his friends, all three of them turning to look at him, two with wide fearful eyes and the last set in panicked worry that soon flooded with relief.

"Harry!" Tamsyn calls out as she charges at him, wrapping him in her arms and crushing him to her chest for a long moment. "Are you okay?! He didn't touch you did you? Did he curse you!? I'll do more than kill him, I'll dis-" she begins to babble as she squeezes Harry into her.

"Tamsyn! I'm fine! I didn't even see him," Harry says calmly as he struggles in Tamsyn's almost overbearing grasp. Tamsyn lets him out of her hug, her eyes swiping over him to inspect every inch of him for anything remotely off. "Professor Árd-Greimne escorted me here through the trophy room, I'm fine, I swear," he tells her softly. Tamsyn's piercing ice blue eyes bore into his for a moment, as if she were looking for something before she sighed.

"Fine, but you are not leaving my side tonight," she demands with a look as Hermione scoffs and begins to open her mouth to refute what Tamsyn just said.

"Okay, you can come sleep with me, Ron, and Hermione," Harry says with a large grin that both cuts Hermione off and causes Tamsyn to pause for a moment before her neck begins to turn red.

"Oh! Yes,... Sleep with the sleeping bags… close to each…" Tamsyn says, blinking in surprise for a moment before shaking her head. "Capital idea, Harry!" She says with a huge grin as Hermione scowls at Tamsyn's back.

The Great Hall, the early morning of November 1st, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter wakes up in a precarious position, one he didn't remember falling asleep in. But while precarious, he never felt warmer or safer in his short life. He was pulled to the chest of Tamsyn as they were both sleeping on their sides, her arms were wrapped around him pulling him closer to her as her legs coiled around his in an almost possessive manner. Harry could feel the slow and steady breaths of Tamsyn's on his head as she had her face pushed into his hair.

As he laid in Tamsyn's embrace, he wondered what in the world had awakened him from some of the best sleep he had ever gotten when he heard the soft echoes of heels on the flagstone floor of the Great Hall.

"Albus," the soft voice of Scáthach says in greeting.

"Ah! Lady Árd-Greimne, did you find anything?" Dumbledore's voice answers and questions back just as softly in the early morning hours.

"How many times must I tell you, Albus?" Scáthach says with an exacerbated sigh. "We are not only colleagues but equals, you can refer to me by my given name," she says and Harry swears he hears the soft smile on her voice.

"I seem to remember a conversation like that we've had a few times, my dear. But you must forgive an old man for his need to mind the manners his mother imparted to him at a young age with a switch," the Headmaster says with a light chuckle following, Harry could practically see Scáthach rolling her eyes at Dumbledore's words. "But I dare say you are avoiding my question, Scáthach," he points out in a soft tone. Harry could hear the sigh of aggravation from his teacher from where he lay and knew it wasn't a good sign.

"I couldn't find hide or hair of him, it's like he vanished into the aether," Scáthach says with no shortage of frustration as Dumbledore hums in thought. "Where is he?" She asks next, confusing Harry for a moment but Dumbledore doesn't say a word before the click of heels begins walking towards him.

Harry lays completely still as he feels Scáthach approaches him, steadying his breathing so as to not give himself away. He felt a hand brush his bangs as it to see his face; his mind was racing a mile a minute as to why Scáthach was doing this.

"Have you come to care for the boy so much and such little time?" Dumbledore asks, his voice was curious and light.

"Are you that surprised, Albus?" Scáthach says as she stands and moves away from him and back towards the Headmaster.

"With what I know of you, My Lady, yes," the Headmaster supplies matter of factly. "Even knowing what I do, the boy takes more after his father and looks nothing like Uath-" the Headmaster begins to say before he is swiftly cut off by Scáthach.

"Watch your tongue Albus," she snaps softly like she is chastising a child with a very real anger in her voice. "Least you want me to strike you," she threatens, causing the Headmaster to cough awkwardly.

"My apologies, Lady Árd-Greimne. I was speaking without thinking, I didn't mean to drag up your past in such a painful way," Dumbledore apologizes for something that Harry didn't understand. They two soon fall into a small stretch of quiet, neither of them speaking as Scáthach reigns in her anger before she speaks again.

"How is the investigation going?" She asks, far more softly this time.

"So far, none of our other colleagues have reported anything, nor has the Dementor's report anything amiss. It is as if Sirius Black was a ghost, slipping into the grounds unnoticed by all and leaving much the same way," the Headmaster says, frustration and curiosity lacing his tone like its own kind of venom. "While I have many theories on how he did this, each is more impossible than the last. The Dementors wanted to search the castle of course, but I told them so long as I am Headmaster, they will not set foot on the grounds," he rambled, speaking his thoughts out loud as if to hope to divine some secret from them.

"That's nice, Albus, but it wasn't the investigation I was asking about," Scáthach supplies in a broad tone now; Harry could almost see the deadpan look on her face and fights off the want to giggle at it.

"Ah! That one, hmmm…" the Headmaster answers, sounding genuinely curious about Scáthach's motive. "It seems that you do care…" he notes, no doubt looking at Scáthach.

"I am not in the mood for games, young man," Scáthach says icly to the Headmaster who just chuckles at her words.

"Forgive me, when you get to my age one must find their entertainment where they can," the Headmaster supplies cheerfully. "But it is going well, there is enough evidence to formally bring them in for a discussion. Hopefully, after the consented use of Veritaserum can be employed to get the whole truth of the situation from them," he tells Scáthach as they begin to walk away from where Harry was lying.

"And if they don't consent?" Scáthach asks confidence in her words rang throughout the hall as if she knew whoever they were wouldn't do it.

Dumbledore sighs. "There is still more than enough evidence to have him removed, temporarily if nothing else," he tells the Witch-Queen with an unsatisfied tone, to what Harry didn't know.

"If that's the case, I'll be putting my name forward to-" Scáthach says before the soft creaking of the door to Great Hall drowns out the rest as the Headmaster and Scáthach leave the hall in quiet silence. Harry tries to pull himself from Tamsyn's embrace only to find her arms wrapping around him tighter. He pulls his head away and looks up and into Tamsyn's open eyes as she smiles slyly down at him.

"You're awake too, huh?" She whispers to him before she leans her head forward to press her forehead against his; their nose now centimeters apart. "What do you think that was about?" She asks him, her hot breath washing over his face and making him flush.

"I don't know," Harry murmurs back to her. "They were talking about removing someone from somewhere," he says, trying to fight down the blush that crawled its way across his cheeks.

"Yes, they were…" Tamsyn says absent-mindedly, her eyes sparkling with some deeper understanding that Harry couldn't comprehend. "Harry?" She says causing Harry to blink and break the spell that Tamsyn's eyes had him under. "Can you do me a favor?" She asks before Harry nods once.

"Anything for you, Tamsyn," Harry says, meaning every word of it; she was his first friend- someone he cared deeply about at that.

"No matter what you hear about Sirius Black, no matter what anyone tells you- do not go after him, okay?" She tells him, a pleading look in her eyes that baffles Harry.

Harry blinks, confused at her words. "I wasn't planning on chasing after some nutter after my head, Tamsyn, why would I?" He asks before Tamsyn lifts her head to tuck his head under her chin.

"I know, Harry. I know," she says softly as her grip tightens on him. "Just… promise me, okay? That no matter what, you won't go after Sirius Black," she repeats herself almost desperately.

"I promise, Tamsyn, I won't go after him- no matter what," Harry swears, intent on keeping that promise to his friend.

"Good," Tamsyn says as she nuzzles the top of his head. "No matter what Harry, so long as you don't go after him- I swear he won't touch you, he will never touch you," she tells him as Harry closes his eyes to drift back to sleep in Tamsyn's embrace, missing the malicious and terrible gleam In Tamsyn's eyes as she swore to the darkness around them.

Chapter done.

With mysteries abound, the plot thickens..