I do not own Harry Potter nor World of Darkness

Park Royal, London, 17th November 1993 (Wednesday)

Harry sat at the temple in room 3. The rest of the people had already walked out of the room, heading to one of the many rooms set aside for the feast and celebrations, but Harry didn't feel like joining them. He was still doing his morning prayers, but sitting on the ground in Hogwarts's dungeons in front of a small statue of the Triat was not the same as praying in here. There was a peace in the temple, a certain peace of mind that he just couldn't find during his morning prayers in the dungeons.

"You have something on your mind, child."

Harry looked up at the old priest, who had just sat down at his side.

"I… it's nothing."

"No need to hold back, my child. One does not need my experience to see the turmoil in your spirit… But my old age grants me a certain degree of experience as to how to deal with such problems. Would you like to share your worries with this old man?"

Harry thought about it. Where to start? Sir Zettler? The taxi driver? The fact the vampire had full control of him to the point he could shut down his organs by simply doing nothing? Maybe that was a tad too much… But maybe… Something a bit simpler… There was something that he hadn't found the opportunity to ask Aragog, after all…

"I… Can I ask you a question?"

The priest smiled "Of course, child."

"What… What is the Weaver?"

The priest nodded sagely. "I see. You have stumbled upon some mysteries of our religion and, not understanding them properly, it has caused you to start doubting what you've been taught. Am I… close enough to the mark?"

Harry looked at the priest with wide eyes, causing the older man to smile.

"I'll take that as a yes. Well, child, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there existed three brothers.

The first brother was a creative soul: he liked to make up new things all the time. He used his talents to design the skies, tossing stars into the cosmos for the pleasure of doing so. He crafted planets, seeded trees and made animals, in a never-ending quest to craft something new, something different, something more exciting. He didn't care about what he created, for he was enamored with the act of creation itself, discarding things as soon as they were finished.

The second brother was a collector. He didn't create, but he was enamored by the things crafted by his older brother. He picked the stars falling across the sky, locking them in place. He fixed the constellations in the night's sky, placed the planets into orbit and mapped the location of every seed and animal his brother ever made. He didn't care for the individual, only for the big picture and the satisfaction of having everything exactly where it ought to be. A silent, still, perfectly beautiful picture of death.

Then came the third brother. He loved the creation of the elder one just like the middle brother, but he wasn't satisfied with the still image the second one was obsessed over. He ignited the stars, he sent the planets spinning and rotating around their axis, he breathed wind, giving life to the trees and movement to the animals. He watched them grow, struggle, live interesting lives and die satisfied. He collected stories about these creatures and cherished them all like they were his own children.

Does the younger brother sound familiar to you, child?"

Harry nodded. "The Wyrm."

"Precisely, child, precisely! We offer our prayers to the Wyrm because he's the one that gave motion to us, the one that breathed life into existence and that one day will take it back. But he's not the only being of power. The other two brothers are his equals, but unlike the Wyrm, they never cared for us. The Wyld abandoned his creations and the Weaver never cared about us any more than a simple piece of a cosmic picture whose sole purpose is being pretty. We understand their power, but do not feel these beings are worthy of prayers. They never cared for us, they do not care to mend our suffering and do not listen to our woes… so why should we even bother offering them prayers? But the Wyrm listens. The Wyrm offers his assistance, the Wyrm showers us with blessing, to the point that even servants of the Weaver and the Wyld, fragments of that impossibly powerful cosmic entity, have seen the light and abandoned their own uncaring creator to serve the Wyrm's magnificent goal. Rust Spiders abandoned the Weaver, shattering the webbing that keeps the world stagnant to stir things into action."

Harry nodded, understanding what the old priest was saying. It made him remember what Aragog had said and the fact that the… well, he wasn't exactly sure what Aragog was, but the fact that, at the very least, the creature hadn't been lying to him and they were on the same side made him feel a bit better. His life wasn't built on a total lie. Sure, he still had no clue what to think of Zettler, and the idea of meeting the vampire in person was still making him feel uncomfortable, but he'd think of that later. After all, Zettler wasn't in Park Royal for this year's celebrations and if his letters were anything to go by, the vampire was too busy to even consider spending some time with him.

Which, in Harry's opinion, was probably for the best.

Daily Prophet headquarters, London, 22nd November 1993 (Monday)

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Cuffe?" asked a blonde witch in a bright green outfit, closing the door behind her.

"Ah, Rita! Come in, come in!"

Rita sat down in front of the editor in chief and took notice of the overweight man standing in the room. There was something in him that viscerally repulsed her, besides the sickly yellow eyes and crooked teeth that looked like they were to fall apart any second.

"Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Ethan Mollet."

"A pleasure, miss Skeeter."

"The pleasure is mine." answered Rita, wondering what was her purpose of being here. Was this Mr. Mollet a fan? Had he some kind of juicy information for her next article? Maybe something about the mysterious Sir. Zettler? She had all but begged editor Cuffe to send her to the USA to dig something about Mr. Potter's enigmatic guardian for years now.

"Mr. Mollet here is an American wizard that wishes to expand his business interests in England. He has recently bought roughly 22% of the Prophet's stocks."

Rita gulped, trying not to show her nervousness behind a courtesy smile. With 22%, this man was now the largest shareholder of the Daily Prophet and, effectively, held Rita's entire career in the palms of his disgustingly greasy hands.

"Miss Skeeter, let me preface this by saying that I really like your articles. The way you tell your stories is fascinating and makes stopping reading almost impossible. I am very pleased."

Rita smiled. At least the man didn't call her here to fire her. "I am glad you like them."

"Very much. Still, I have a personal favor to ask of you. You see, a friend of mine was recently attacked by a werewolf. A terrible incident, he barely survived."

"I'm… sorry to hear that." she said, faking empathy. She had a pretty good idea what the man's favor would entail now.

"Thank you. So, after the attack, I have done some investigating on my own regarding what can be done about it and imagine my shock when I discovered that there is little recourse for it. He knows who attacked him, but is unable to press charges against his almost murderer! How backwards is that? - The man took a deep breath. - So… I would like for you to start an investigation on the matter. How antiquated are the anti-werewolves laws in this country? What is the ministry doing to protect the victims? What is the ministry doing to prevent attacks? Should we pass more strict anti-werewolves laws?"

Rita frowned a bit. She didn't like being told what to write, and even if the subject at hand was very interesting, it was as clear as day that this man wanted to gain something out of it. And with the amount of money needed to buy 22% of the Prophet in a single transaction, there was absolutely no way this man didn't have friends in the ministry already writing up a new anti-werewolf law. He probably only needed to create a discourse to present his own bill to the Wizengamot. She ignored the distaste and smiled at Mr. Mollet, swallowing the bile coming up as the wizard smiled back at her. Besides, this was a good opportunity to do some interviews and get some new blackmail material at the ministry.

"When do you need the article ready?"

Mr. Mollet smiled and Rita could swear she saw a maggot crawling in between his teeth.

"The first one before the end of the year. We're aiming for one article per month for the next ten months."

Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, 19th December (Sunday)

Harry's friends had spent another nice day at Hogsmeade. Kaa was getting big enough that he could fly almost as fast as a broom and the group had spent the majority of the morning flying over the town, trying to catch the surprisingly fast flying snake. After the students had eaten a nice warm meal delivered to them in the middle of a snow field, courtesy of Hogwarts house elves, they had left Kaa to go hunting boars (or at least attempt to: while Kaa was now more than a meter long, no one actually believed he would be able to take on a boar just yet), they had opted to spend the afternoon at the pub. On the way there, Theo had met and introduced Fay Dunbar and Justin Finch-Fletchley, two students that took the Music elective together with him, to the rest of the group. It was at that point Ron had suggested the trio to play something and, after a lot of nagging from the girls and a swift visit at Dominic Maestro's Music Shop to borrow a violin for Theo, a harp for Fay and a flute for Justin, the Music group had relented and put on a small performance that earned them a free Butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta, before disappearing in the back with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid and Minister Fudge.

"Why music? - asked Hermione, curious - Theo has told his reasons, but you two?"

"Oh, that's my fault. - said Fay - My family has a bit of a history with bardic magic, so I sort of pulled Justin with me."

"Bardic magic?"

"Yeah. Casting spells through music."

The group looked at Theo, who raised his hand in surrender.

"Don't look at me like that, I didn't even know it was a thing until I started classes!"

"You didn't? - Asked Justin, almost shocked - Why did you take Music then?"

"I like playing!"

"Regardless - said Hermione, taking the attention away from Theo - What can you do with bardic magic?"

Fay shrugged. "Unfortunately not a lot. It's mostly illusions, but Professor Strauss says that if we get to N.E.W.T. level he'll teach us how to manipulate emotions."

"Like 'Pan Piper'?"

At their confused looks, Hermione explained.

"It's a muggle fairy tale. A musician came to a town infested by rats and started to play his music, forcing all the rats to follow him out the city."

"That's Professor Strauss's N.E.W.T. exam! - exclaimed Justin, before taking a second to reflect. - Wait, our N.E.W.T. exam comes from a muggle fairy tale?"

He sounded disappointed.

"I should have taken music as well." Muttered Hermione.

"You already have way too many electives. Besides, this year we're not doing any magic, Professor Strauss wants us to master our instrument first."

"And you have a horrible sense of rhythm." Added Harry.

"Excuse me!?" almost shouted a red-faced Hermione.

"I agree. - added Theo, smirking - I've seen you bobbing your head while we were playing and… you were completely off beat."

"I was not!" She looked pleadingly at Justin and Fay, who were suddenly very captivated by the craftsmanship of the table.

"C'mon guys, don't be mean. - said Sally, making an exaggerated move to hug the Gryffindor girl. - It's not her fault she's hopeless."

"Thanks, Sally." said Hermione, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Any time." said the Slytherin, blowing Hermione a kiss.

Daily Prophet headquarters, London, 23rd December 1993 (Thursday)

Rita Skeeter ran through the door, barely dodging a biting jinx aimed at her.

"Bad day, Rita?" asked Kit Gerrard, looking at her dirty dress.

"Those savages are at it again! - she almost shouted. - They are trying to curse me! Me!"

"You are pushing articles that would make it nearly impossible for them to get a job, it's not really surprising that they want to curse you…"

"Are you defending them now?!" screeched Rita.

"Maybe, if you didn't make up lies about how they are… wait, lemme quote one of your articles… 'monsters in disguise aiming to assault and infect our children'..."

"They are! - protested Rita. - Did you forget about Greyback?"

"That's one man."

"One man with a pack of almost a hundred followers! They are dangerous! And those a-W.O.L.F. protesters are not helping! Attacking an innocent reporter like that… wait until my next article! 'Werewolf supporters attack in broad daylight'. That'll show them."

Kit frowned. He was the newest hire, no matter how much he despised Rita's articles for their lack of journalistic integrity, he had to shut up. Things were bad enough with Editor Cuffe, but with Mr. Mollet's fascination for Rita's inflammatory articles, he'd be out of a job before he could even finish criticizing her. Sure, he didn't particularly like a-W.O.L.F. either, and their chosen name certainly made them an easy target. Like…anti-Werewolves Oppression Liberation Front? Seriously? But despite that, they were opposing what they deemed an unjust law from harming their loved ones, and he had to respect them for it. It was a shame he'd never get permission to publish an interview with the leader of the movement. This Francesco seemed like a good guy.

Slytherin common room, Hogwarts, 25th December 1993 (Saturday)

Harry woke up alone in his dorm room. He glanced at Theo's empty bed and felt sorry for his friend. They had planned to spend Yule together, but three days ago he had received a letter stating that his mother's health had suddenly taken a turn for the worst and this might very well be her last Yule.

He swiftly got ready and walked over for breakfast, offering his best wishes to Ron, whose brothers and sister all spent Christmas at Hogwarts, and Hermione, who had decided to stay at Hogwarts since both her parents had to attend a mandatory week-long seminary in York during the holidays. The trio then moved to 'Potter's gym', as some of the students started to call the room where Harry stored his weights, where a house elf had stashed their holiday gifts.

Harry had, like the previous year, received a sweater from Mrs. Weasley. Ron's gift was, predictably, a large bag of sweets he had bought from Honeydukes, while Hermione had given him a book on how to raise magical snakes.

While Harry wasn't sure if Hermione was trying to tell him something with that gift, Kaa had appreciated and profusely thanked the witch. Perhaps he should pay more attention to his familiar in the future.

As expected, Hagrid had also sent a gift for Kaa: a small bag of mummified rats that the Amphiptere immediately jumped on and ate with gusto. At least Harry got some rock cake.

His Slytherin friends seemed to have coordinated their gifts, and between the three of them he now had a full set of elegant, size-adjusting Slytherin green robes, paired up with a set of Basilisk leather boots, no doubt coming from the same Basilisk they met in the Chamber of Secrets, all of them enchanted with defensives charms.

Barnaby, Edwin, Zafrina and Samuel didn't celebrate neither Yule nor Christmas, so Harry was very surprised when he spotted a long, thin package with no name or letter attached to it. They were the only people he knew that didn't send something, so the gift must have been from them… Maybe they coordinated?

Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto the floor. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.

"I don't believe it," he said hoarsely.

It was a Firebolt, the new model of brooms Harry saw in Diagon Alley. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

"Who sent it to you?" said Ron in a hushed voice.

"Look and see if there's a card," said Hermione, helping the boys rip apart the Firebolt's wrappings in search for some kind of letter, name tag or anything else that could give them a clue as to who sent this present.

"Nothing! Blimey, who'd spend that much on you?"

"I bet it was one of the teachers. - said Ron, now walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. - I bet the same that sent you the Invisibility Cloak anonymously..."

"That was my dad's. They just returned it to me. They can't go giving students stuff like this…"

"That's why there's no note! What if it's Dumbledore?" asked Ron.

"It wasn't Dumbledore. - declared Hermione. - He would have sent some kind of note, even if he didn't sign it."

"I know! - said Ron - I know who it could've been… Lupin!"

"What? - said Harry, now starting to laugh himself - Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he'd be able to buy himself some new robes."

Hermione's face fell, and she bit her lip.

"What's the matter with you?" said Ron.

"I don't know - said Hermione slowly - but it's a bit odd, isn't it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn't it?"

Ron sighed exasperatedly.

"It's the best broom there is, Hermione," he said.

"So it must've been really expensive..."

"Probably cost ten times more than all the school brooms put together." said Ron happily.

"Well... who'd send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?" said Hermione.

"Who cares? - said Ron impatiently. - Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" said Hermione shrilly.

Harry and Ron looked at her.

"What d'you think Harry's going to do with it… sweep the floor?" said Ron.

"You don't think… could this be from Sirius Black?"

"Why would he send Harry a Firebolt as a gift?"

"Maybe he hexed it. Maybe it will stop working at a certain height or when Harry reaches a certain speed, and then…"

Hermione's hand mimicked something flying around, then it suddenly dropped, slamming her hand onto the other in what was meant to be Harry splattering on the ground.

The boys stopped and considered the idea. It certainly sounded like a good trap. A broom that suddenly stopped flying at high speed would put Harry's life in great danger.

"So… what do we do?" asked Harry.

"We give it to Professor Hooch for testing. She does teach Broommaking, after all…"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot - said Ron - Hey, do you think she'll let me see how she does it? I was hoping to take her class on my sixth year."

Hermione looked at Ron like he was dumb.

"Ron, you can't."

Ron blinked.

"And why not?"

"Because you need Ancient Runes to study Broommaking."

Ron's face went pale. "No you don't! You need Ancient Runes for Wandlore!"

"Wandlore and Broommaking, Ron" pointed out Harry.

Ron got up, walking around the room while swearing for a couple of minutes.

"Do you think I can make it into Ancient Runes?" he asked, his voice slightly panicked.

"You have an entire semester to catch up on." pointed out Harry.

"Yeah, but you can help right? You, Hermione, Theo and Daphne all take Ancient Runes, right? You can help?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

"Well… we can ask Professor Babbling and give you some of our notes, but…"

"We can talk to her before lunch and figure something out."

The trio rushed down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, still carrying breakfast, stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy- looking tailcoat. Currently, there were only three other students: two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year.

"Merry Christmas! - said Dumbledore as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables... Sit down, sit down!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down side by side at the end of the table.

"Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.

As Harry was helping himself to some pumpkin juice, the doors of the Great Hall opened again, letting in Professor Trelawney gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster - said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway voice - and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary brunch and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair…"

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.

"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyll. - said Professor McGonagall impatiently. - Do sit down, the bacon's getting stone cold."

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest bowl.

"Beans, Sibyll?"

"Where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again. - said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. - Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

Sick again. It was almost clockwork at this point. And the way he acted when he got back… Harry had never experienced the full symptoms himself, but whatever Professor Lupin was affected by was awfully similar to Vitae withdrawals…

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised, causing a satisfied smirk to appear on Hermione's face.

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva. but one does not parade the fact that one is All- Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Professor McGonagall tartly.

Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty.

"If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him…"

Curious. Sure, there were those like Sir Zettler that made a point not to know about their own future, but fleeing from a seer? That seemed rather excessive.

"Imagine that," said Professor McGonagall dryly.

"I doubt - said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's conversation - that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster." said Snape in a tone that left no room to continue the conversation.

Seeing his opportunity, Ron cleared his throat, getting the attention of the whole table.

"Headmaster, I was wondering… - asked Ron, hesitantly - …would it be possible to add Ancient Runes to my electives?"

"It is very unusual to join a class mid-way through the year, Mr. Weasley." pointed out Snape in a cold tone.

"What Severus said is true, my boy. Can I ask what brought on this sudden passion for runes?"

"Well… it's not… I mean… I… I was hoping…" stammered Ron.

"He missed the fact you need Ancient Runes to take Broommaking." said Harry.

Ron's mortified expression at Harry's blunt declaration caused a few giggles from the fifth year Slytherin.

"Mr. Weasley, you ought to be more careful with this! We're talking about your future here!" chastised Professor McGonagall.

"Now, now, Minerva, there's no need to kick the boy when he's down. - commented Dumbledore. - Mr. Weasley, I suggest you take this up with Professor Babbling and Professor Hooch. You'll have to work hard to catch up, but if the professor gives her permission…

"She will." commented Trelawney with certainty.

"...then I have no objection to it."

Ron nodded, his relief almost palpable.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Notes

Pentex is making good work on their machinations, playing both sides as one woud expect from a manipuative bunch like them.

Harry received his Firebolt ike in canon, but since he doesn't pay Quidditch here he isn't as hasty as in canon (also, due to the fair play rules I added, he woudn't be able to use it anyway because it would be an unfair advantage)

Ron fucked up his electives. While this doesn't happen in canon, the list here is a tad more complex than the one in canon, with prerequite classes and minimum marks requirements. Plus, it felt in character for Ron to make such a mistake (no, he's not the ony one to make such a mistake, but he's the only one from Harry's group and thus the only time this plot point will come into play)

This chapter was a bit slow, more focused on machinations and character devellopment, but next chapter we jump back into pure action! stay tuned