A/N: More of a plot-light chapter this week, but one that sets up a lot of important character and story arcs later on. Perhaps some of you will pick up on what I have planned for future years! Oh, and buckle your seat belts for a nasty little plot twist in this chapter that I guarantee none of you saw coming...enjoy!

"Why the long face, Potter?" asked Daphne Greengrass. "You look like someone killed your pet."

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine," said Harry, tearing his attention away from the train window, watching the Scottish landscape zoom by. "Just thinking."

"How did you enjoy the ball?" asked Tracey Davis, turning away from her cousin Mark to give Harry her attention. "You went with the Bell girl, right?"

"Yeah, it was fun," Harry shrugged. "We both had a good time."

"Your face is telling a different story," Mark Davis pointed out. "What, did she spurn your advances at the end of the night?"

"No, nothing like that!" Harry huffed. "We just didn't get a chance to talk afterwards. I had to take care of my cousin Damian, and she left before I got back."

"Ah, yeah, I heard about that stunt," Daphne remarked. "Little twerp is lucky he didn't get expelled."

"You weren't there to see it, Daph?" asked Tracey, waggling her eyebrows playfully at her friend. "Did you and Weasley sneak off early to have your own fun?"

"Eww, don't be crass!" Daphne said haughtily. "If you must know, I mentioned I was still hungry after dinner, and he showed me how to get into the kitchens for a late-night snack."

"Daphne Greengrass, sneaking through the castle late at night?" Harry whistled. "I never thought I'd see the day." Daphne grumbled mutinously under her breath as the other three shared a chuckle at her expense.

"Well, your night can't have gone as poorly as mine," Mark smiled sadly at Harry. "Marietta Edgecombe slapped me when I tried to move in for the goodnight kiss."

"I told you not to take that bitch!" Tracey laughed at her cousin's expense. "She may be pretty, but she's got a mean streak to her."

"You're one to talk," Daphne ribbed her friend. "Theo Nott looked like he wanted nothing to do with you by the end of the night!"

"Don't bloody remind me," Tracey grumbled. "He disappeared with Draco and his mates before I even got the chance at a goodnight kiss!"

"D'you reckon you and Katie will see each other again?" Mark asked Harry.

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "I mean, we're playing Quidditch together this year, so I'll 'see' her...but we never really discussed if we were going as friends or as dates."

"So ask her, you dolt!" Daphne laughed. "Maybe she wanted a kiss but didn't want to act like she was expecting one."

"Yeah, girls don't always come out and say that stuff," Tracey added. "You have to be more direct."

"Don't play their silly female games, Potter!" Mark scoffed. "You're a Triwizard Champion, for Merlin's sake – make the women come to you!"

Harry sat back and chuckled to himself as Mark, Daphne and Tracey bickered over the proper male-female courting etiquette. He was grateful that Katie didn't seem to follow such rigid gender conventions, though he was still unsure how to approach the topic, if at all. What if she just wanted to remain friends? What if he ruined their Quidditch dynamic by reading more into their fun evening than she did?

But that was a problem for another day. For now, he simply wanted to enjoy the last week of his holiday vacation with his family. The Hogwarts Express deposited him and the other students at King's Cross Station a few hours later, and he disembarked with his classmates ready for a relaxing few nights.

James and Lily corralled him and Dahlia into a family dinner that evening, eager to talk about how their year was progressing. "I want to hear all about your classes!" said Lily excitedly. "But first, Harry, how is your tournament preparation going? I expect you've devoted time to solving your clue for the Second Task?"

"I've already solved it," Harry confirmed. "I have to dive into the Black Lake and retrieve something from the bottom within an hour."

"Ah, an interesting challenge!" James mused thoughtfully. "I suppose you've been looking into methods of breathing underwater? There are a few options you can go for: gillyweed, a Bubble-Head Charm—"

"Don't feed him ideas; he needs to figure it out on his own!" Lily chastised her husband. Then, second-guessing herself, she added, "But do know that we will never judge you for seeking help if it's too difficult, dear. Your survival is the most important thing."

"I've got a handle on it, Mum," Harry chuckled. "I already have some ideas about what to do."

"Good," said Lily. Then, her face lit up with excitement as her next line of questioning began. "So I heard you took a fifth-year girl to the dance! Who's the lucky lady?"

"Katie Bell," said Harry. "She plays for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"That so?" James remarked. "Branching outside of your own House, then? Good for you."

"When do we get to meet her?" Lily asked excitedly.

"Mum, it's not like that," Harry groaned as Dahlia snickered at his expense. "We're just friends."

"Ah, I see," said Lily, sounding somewhat disappointed. She turned next to Dahlia, whose smirk was wiped from her face immediately. "And how did it go with Neville Longbottom, dear?"

"It was fun," Dahlia shrugged. He's very nice...almost too nice."

"Too nice?" Lily frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I dunno...it's like he was afraid to touch me or even look at me," Dahlia sighed. She narrowed her eyes at her brother after this remark, as though silently accusing him for it.

"Did he go on complaining about how horrible I am the whole night?" Harry asked bitterly.

"As a matter of fact, he didn't talk about you at all," Dahlia said snippily. "He was a bit preoccupied with his own performance in the Tournament."

"Has he figured out his clue yet?" asked Harry.

"Dunno," Dahlia shrugged. "He didn't talk about it much. I even offered to help him, but he said he wanted to 'figure it out on his own'."

"Noble git," Harry muttered.

"He's under quite a bit of pressure, you know," said Dahlia. "He feels an awful need to prove himself. A lot of his classmates don't respect him – they think he's some kind of fraud who doesn't deserve his fame. He wants to show that he can do this on his own."

"It's not about his pride!" Harry groaned. "Somebody's trying to bloody murder him! He ought to accept help when it's offered to him, instead of being a prat about it!"

"Maybe you ought to focus on yourself for a while, darling," said Lily cautiously. "It's kind of you to worry about your friend, but you have to put yourself first."

"Yes, I still don't like this Tournament business," James muttered. "Someone is trying to tear this family apart, and I won't have you sacrificing your own safety for someone else's."

If only you knew who that someone was, Harry thought bitterly. Hopefully things would never deteriorate to the level they had in his last timeline, and Voldemort's plot with the Tournament would never come to fruition.

"But enough about such horrible topics," said James. "This is a time of celebration! Your mother has some big news of her own to share with you two."

"Oh, James, don't…" Lily sighed, covering her face in embarrassment.

"What d'you mean?" James laughed. "It's a wonderful thing that's happened...don't be modest, tell them!"

Lily sighed, then turned to her two children. "I've completed my Potions Mastery," she said with a relieved smile. "Took the better part of four years, but I turned in my dissertation last month, and the committee has decided to approve my application."

Dahlia squealed with excitement and launched at her mother with a hug. "I knew you could do it!" she laughed. "Congratulations, Mum!"

"Wow, that's amazing!" Harry grinned. He'd known his mother to be hard at work in the background on her mastery all throughout his existence in this timeline, but didn't realize how close she'd been to completing it.

"Your mother is going to be honored at the next International Potions Conference this spring," said James proudly. "The first British Master in over a decade."

"The last one was your Professor Snape," Lily beamed. "I owe him so much for this, honestly...all the assistance and support he's given me over the years…"

"Yes, how benevolent of him," James grumbled, though he desisted under the wilting look his wife gave him at this remark. "Anyway, we should all be there at the ceremony to support her."

"They don't have to come if they don't want to," said Lily quickly. "These events are always stuffy and boring, for self-important wizards to brag about the advancements they've made in the field—"

"I want to come!" Dahlia said excitedly. "I might go for a mastery myself one day, and it will be interesting to learn more about it."

"Of course I'll come," Harry piped in at his father's subtle urging. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That's unnecessary, really," Lily said modestly, though she remained in particularly high spirits for the remainder of the evening.

Harry slept in late the following morning, a luxury he didn't often allow himself. His parents informed him at lunch that they would be traveling to Sirius' home to continue the Christmas festivities, including a proper gift exchange and time to catch up with him and Remus. That sounded like exactly the kind of evening Harry needed to unwind: watching the Marauders get drunk and make fools of themselves as they reminisced on the good ol' days.

At five that evening, the Potters gathered around the fireplace as James grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the hearth. "Black residence!" he announced, dropping the Floo Powder into the grate and stepping forward into the green flames. Lily, Dahlia and Harry followed, spinning quickly through the fireplace network until they stumbled out at their destination.

Harry looked around in amazement at the large parlor they'd just stepped into. It looked nothing like he expected: sparkling-clean, with vaulted ceilings and elaborate wallpaper lining the walls, the room populated with ornate furniture and decor.

"This isn't Grimmauld Place," he muttered without thinking.

"And why on earth would we go there?" a voice laughed from down the hall, as a beaming Sirius entered the room to greet them. "My dearest mother may have saddled me with that horrendous building, but she could never force me to live there."

"Padfoot!" James greeted his friend with a hug. "Not getting into too much trouble, I hope?"

"No more than usual," Sirius winked. "Though you should hear what happened with that Hit-Wizard when he found me and his daughter here—"

"For god's sake, Sirius," Lily huffed, clapping her hands over Dahlia's ears. "Must you be so crass around the children?"

"Oh, I think they're mature enough to handle it," Sirius grinned mischievously. "Besides, I hear young Harry here is courting older women now! Flexing your status as a Triwizard Champion, are we?"

"It's not like that," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "Katie's just a friend. She doesn't care about all that stuff."

"Ah, don't be so modest!" Sirius chuckled, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulders. "You might think that now, but I guarantee this Katie can be wooed by your charm like anyone else. I'll teach you all you need to know, young pup. But first, where are my manners? KREACHER!"

There was a small pop, and Kreacher the house-elf appeared, looking just as ragged, filthy and miserable as Harry remembered from his last timeline. "Master Sirius called for Kreacher?" he asked, eyeing the newcomers warily.

"Yes, Kreacher," said Sirius pompously. "These are our guests for the evening, the Potters. Treat them as you would treat myself, and get them anything they need. Anybody thirsty?"

"I could go for a glass of wine," Lily piped up.

"You heard the lady, Kreacher," Sirius barked to his house-elf. "Chop chop!"

"Right away, Mrs. Potter," Kreacher croaked, shuffling towards the kitchen. But before he left their earshot, they could hear him muttering under his breath: "The Mudblood dares to defile the House of Black...her kind dares to drink from the stores of an Ancient and Most Noble House…"

Kreacher suddenly gave a loud yelp of pain as Sirius' boot made contact with the elf's backside, sending him sprawling against the opposite wall. "You will not disrespect my guests like this again, Kreacher!" Sirius said severely to the trembling elf. "Apologize to Mrs. Potter!"

"Sirius, that isn't necessary—" Lily said quickly.

"Yes, it is," Sirius huffed. "Now, Kreacher!"

Kreacher looked fearfully up at Lily, who was clearly uncomfortable with all of this. "Sorry, ma'am," Kreacher said with a shaky bow.

"It's fine," Lily sighed. Kreacher then scurried from the room, limping slightly from the physical blow he'd received.

"That little shit has been spending too much time talking to my mother's portrait, I just know it," Sirius said bitterly. "I usually make him stay at Grimmauld to keep him out of sight, but that might have been a mistake…"

"That's no excuse to hurt him like that," Harry pointed out.

"You didn't hear what he called your mother?" Sirius demanded, clearly still angry with his house-elf.

"I did," Harry nodded. "But he doesn't know any better. He's spent his whole life having his mind poisoned by your family...abusing him won't fix that much mental damage."

Sirius grunted unhappily, clearly recognizing the truth in Harry's words. But before he could respond, the fireplace flared green again, and Remus and Alessia stepped into the parlor, all smiles, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. At once the tension dissipated as everyone greeted the newest arrivals.

Apparently this was Alessia's first visit to the house, which gave Sirius an excuse to perform an elaborate tour, allowing Harry to have a look around the place. The three-story manor was set on a hill overlooking a large plot of land in the countryside, and every room was filled with expensive-looking decorations and furnishings. Harry had no idea what a ridiculous home might cost, but could only imagine how bottomless the Black coffers must be to afford such an expense.

"So what do you think?" Sirius asked the Italian witch as they returned to the parlor. "Fit for a king, wouldn't you say?"

"It eez quite extravagant for just one man," Alessia remarked.

"Well, one must keep up appearances for the ladies," Sirius grinned impishly. "Besides, I have to spend all the Black family gold somehow before I expire."

"Not leaving anything behind for your kids, Padfoot?" James remarked.

"Kids?" Sirius repeated with a harsh laugh. "As if any woman could tie me down! Nope, it's the bachelor life for me, Prongs, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Nonsense," Alessia chuckled lightly. "Perhaps ze right woman simply 'as not appeared in your life yet."

"That's the spirit," Remus grinned, kissing his partner tenderly on the lips before turning back to Sirius. "I would have thought the same for myself before I met Alessia here. Don't close yourself off to the possibility, my friend."

"They're all conspiring against me, the lot of 'em," Sirius muttered just loudly enough for Harry to hear, drawing a chuckle from the teen. Then, more loudly, he announced, "Time for dinner!"

He ushered everyone into the dining room, where Kreacher had prepared an elaborate Christmas spread of roast beef and all the fixings Harry could imagine. He sat and eagerly piled his plate high along with the rest of his extended family. Soon the room was filled with the sound of mirthful laughter and tales being swapped between the adults and children alike.

Dahlia in particular was eager to speak with Alessia about her Healing career. "I 'ave just completed my training at Milan and earned my license to practice Healing," the witch explained. "I could 'ave applied straight away to a hospital, but decided to wait while Remus and I travel."

"And she will be a brilliant Healer," Remus added, squeezing Alessia's hand affectionately. "Once we figure out where we're going to settle…"

"Unless we decide to pursue other goals!" Alessia said excitedly. "Such as zis enterprise with Lily—"

"We haven't solidified any plans yet," Lily chuckled awkwardly, glancing at her children as she did so. Harry got the sense that she didn't want to discuss whatever Alessia was referring to. Dahlia also picked up on this, and unlike her brother, she had the gall to confront it head-on.

"What does she mean, Mum?" Dahlia demanded. "What enterprise?"

Lily gave Alessia an exasperated look before sighing. "We've talked about starting a company to produce potions to counteract lycanthropy," she explained. "But it was merely speculation, and we have no viable path forward—"

"It is not just speculation!" Remus pointed out. "It was the entire topic of your dissertation, was it not?"

"Yes, but it's all still theoretical," Lily groaned. "We don't know if what happened to you can be replicated with a potion—"

"But once other potion masters 'ave read your paper," Alessia continued, "they will look into the magic themselves. Eet could change the world, Lily!"

"That sounds brilliant, Mum," Harry added before his mother could express her self-doubt any further. "If you could invent a potion to rid a werewolf of their condition, that would be incredible!"

"Severus has told me the same," Lily said with a bashful smile. "Though I think he is just being nice."

"And I would agree with that sentiment," James interjected. "Though in this rare instance, I also think he has a point. Don't give up on this one, Lil – it could make you a household name for generations!"

"How's work been for you lately, Prongs?" asked Remus as he reached for another bowlful of pudding. "Any closer to catching the culprit behind the Triwizard Tournament mess?"

"Sadly, no," James muttered. "Fudge is dead-set on it being Croaker or someone else in the Department of Mysteries, but I'm not so sure. I still suspect Crouch Sr. myself, but we haven't had any leads towards finding him yet."

"And you're sure it's not Crouch's son?" Harry piped in.

"He is most certainly back in Azkaban where he belongs," James assured his son. "I went and checked myself...he's not getting out of there again anytime soon."

"You couldn't get anything out of ol' Barty's house-elf?" asked Sirius.

"She refused to turn her master in," James sighed. "We had to let her go after the thirty-day holding period was up."

"And now she's probably back at his side, helping him evade the law," Remus muttered sadly.

Harry remembered his promise to Damian at the Yule Ball, and figured this was as good a time as any to broach the subject. "Perhaps a law could be introduced to compel her to speak?" he suggested. "Maybe if she was allowed to leave the service of a known criminal, she would be free to provide the Ministry with information…"

"Impossible," James shook his head. "Never gonna happen. The Wizengamot is full of old pure-blood families, many of whom own house-elves – they would never agree to it."

"But if you spun it as a national security threat," Harry urged, "surely they would see reason! I bet Lord Greengrass would help you gather the votes—"

"I have leaned on Dale far too heavily in recent years," James muttered. "I owe that poor man too many favors. He wouldn't stick out his neck for such a frivolous matter."

"It's not frivolous!" Harry insisted. "What about Dobby?"

"Who's Dobby?" James frowned.

"The Malfoy's house-elf," Harry explained. "He disobeyed his master's orders to help Neville in our second year, because he knew about the diary. If he was free to leave his service, he would probably be able to expose all of that family's secrets to the Ministry."

James actually considered this. "There's something to that," he muttered. "Malfoy has been causing lots of problems for me lately. He's in Fudge's ear constantly, and I'm certain he's behind these recent Rita Skeeter hit pieces as well—"

"But there's more to consider there, James," Sirius said warningly. "Kreacher would be free to his own devices as well. He could waltz right over to the former Death Eaters and help them commit Merlin knows what crimes like at the World Cup all over again."

"All the more reason to treat him kindly," Harry pointed out. Sirius rolled his eyes, but did not retort, once again acknowledging his godson's point without saying as much.

"I'll put some feelers out," James sighed. "The Winky case might be enough to sway some of the neutral families. But if it proves to be political suicide, it's a non-starter."

Harry was frustrated by the idea that justice for the elves might only come about due to the whims of the current political climate. He could only imagine how upset Hermione and Damian might be if they were here themselves. But he held his tongue, not wishing to upset his father, forced to passively hope he would do the right thing (even if for the wrong reasons).

Once everyone had eaten their fill, they returned to the parlor for drinks and relaxation by the fire. The night devolved rather swiftly from there, with the three Marauders quickly getting drunk and loudly boasting of their past misdeeds to anyone who cared. Harry eventually made his escape after Sirius took him under his arm and loudly began to explain how to 'show Katie a real good time', prompting Lily to chase him around the room with an enchanted pair of boots kicking at his rear.

Harry wandered back into the kitchen to refill his goblet of Butterbeer. When he did so, he encountered a very grumpy house-elf slumped over the kitchen sink, washing a large pile of dishes and glasses entirely by hand.

"Not using magic to wash those, Kreacher?" Harry asked as he poured himself a new glass.

"Master Sirius is not allowing Kreacher to use magic for his task," Kreacher grumbled unhappily. "For insulting the Mud— the Potter woman."

Harry watched as the elderly elf struggled to grasp each piece of silverware and fine china, limbs trembling as he dutifully scrubbed the grime from each of them. He could tell that the task would take Kreacher hours to complete, if he was able to complete it at all...which would only incur the wrath of his now-inebriated master once more.

With a sigh, Harry drew his wand and swiped it at the kitchen sink. At once, the many dirty dishes levitated out of the basin and began to scrub themselves, before stacking themselves neatly on the counter. Kreacher turned, bewildered, to stare at Harry.

"I do not approve of the language you used against my mother," Harry told the elf firmly. "But it does not excuse Sirius' poor treatment of you. His cruelty is not justified simply because you are his property."

Kreacher regarded Harry curiously for this statement. "Young Mister Potter is a kind boy," the elf said with a reverent bow. "He is reminding Kreacher much of Master Regulus."

"Regulus?" Harry scoffed. "The Death Eater? I'd prefer not to be compared to that bigoted coward, thank you very much."

"No!" Kreacher snapped with surprising vigor. "Master Regulus was a brave young man! He treated Kreacher with respect, like you yourself do!"

"If you say so," Harry sighed, taking his leave of the kitchen. Regardless of how Regulus Black treated his house-elf, Harry couldn't so easily forgive someone who willingly entered Lord Voldemort's service. According to Sirius, his younger brother had taken after his mother Walburga, and judging from Harry's interactions with her portrait at Grimmauld Place, that won him no sympathy in Harry's eyes.

The night eventually drew to a close when Alessia had the good sense to drag Remus back home after he, James and Sirius jumped atop the grand piano and sang a rambunctious folk tune badly out of key. The Potters took their leave soon after, with Harry forced to assist a sloshed James through the Floo and upstairs to bed. All in all it had been an enjoyable evening, though it certainly gave Harry plenty to think about. He would have a few more days to sleep in and relax before Hogwarts resumed term.

But as usual, his visions of rest and relaxation were rudely interrupted at the first opportunity. He awoke the next morning to the sound of loud voices downstairs – his parents. Arguing over the way the night turned out? Harry wondered, rubbing his eyes tiredly and hopping out of bed to head downstairs to start his day.

But he did not find his father in the kitchen as expected – only his mother, reading the morning's Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow. "Something the matter?" Harry asked. "Where's Dad?"

"He's been called into work," Lily muttered fretfully.

"On a Saturday?" Harry asked, frowning. "Has something happened?"

"Rita Skeeter," Lily sighed, folding the newspaper and sliding it across the table for her son to read.

"Oh, bloody hell," Harry groaned. "What did that cow have to say about me this time?"

He craned his neck to examine the front page for himself. Nothing could have prepared him for what he read, his heart leaping into his throat as he absorbed the headline:

RITA SKEETER FOUND DEAD ON HOGWARTS GROUNDS

by Alexander Sommerbee, The Daily Prophet

"The Prophet is saddened and horrified to report that one of our own intrepid reporters, Rita Skeeter, age 44, has been discovered deceased on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ms. Skeeter was on scene reporting on the Yule Ball, the school dance held as part of the Triwizard Tournament. Ms. Skeeter did not report back as expected the following day, and her body was discovered last night by the school groundskeeper in a shallow grave in the Forbidden Forest.

No cause of death has immediately been made clear, but sources within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement suggest foul play. Representatives for the school could not be reached for comment—"

Harry set down the paper, unable to read on, hands trembling. "Who?" he asked weakly. "How?"

"No one has any idea, dear," Lily sighed. "Your father's been called in to lead the investigation."

Harry could hardly believe it. Rita Skeeter, dead? It made no sense to him whatsoever. Sure, she'd made enemies over her many years of dragging prominent names through the mud, but this seemed far too sinister to be real. Murdered at Hogwarts of all places? Supposedly the safest place in the wizarding world? Who could have done this? Who would have wanted to do this? It boggled the mind.

Could it have been somebody at the Yule Ball? He had seen her there – perhaps he'd even been one of the last people to see her before she met her untimely end. Could it have been the same person who put his and Neville's names into the Goblet of Fire? What motive would they have for taking such a risk at such a heavily-populated event, right under Dumbledore's nose? It didn't make one ounce of sense.

"Something else came for you this morning," said Lily, handing him a small slip of paper. "Expecting mail?"

"No?" Harry frowned. He glanced down at the letter: a simple Muggle postcard, bearing the phrase 'Greetings from Eastbourne!' overlaying a beautiful vista of the southern British coastline. He flipped it over to see no accompanying note, aside from a signature: Saul Croaker's.

Harry waited until he returned to his bedroom to decode the mysterious missive. "Veil of Death," he whispered, tapping his wand to the postcard. At once the hidden words appeared in the previously blank space, but to Harry's surprise, the message was quite short:

"Meet me inside St. Anthony's Church in Godric's Hollow, tonight at midnight. Come alone. -S.C."

Harry frowned at this. Why the need for such secrecy? Why couldn't he just meet Saul at the Ministry like usual? But he figured it must be urgent to warrant such a clandestine meeting on short notice. He would have to find a way to sneak out of the house and head to the small church across town that evening without being noticed.

But that proved a simpler job than expected. James was still at work at the Ministry when quarter to midnight rolled around that night, and Lily had already retired to bed, leaving Harry a clear path to escape. He cast Disillusionment and Muffling Charms on himself and slipped out the back door, crossing the yard and hopping the fence boundary to jog down the narrow lane into town.

The sleepy village of Godric's Hollow was deserted at this hour, and he encountered no resistance en route to the church. Harry paused at the front door, testing the handle and discovering that it was unlocked. With a final glance around, he slipped into the church, closing the door softly behind him.

It was eerily quiet inside the hallowed space, as Harry strained to hear anything in the silence. "Show yourself," he whispered, heart pounding in anticipation. After a few seconds, he heard a rustling from the opposite end of the room, and pointed his wand at the newcomer, sensing the other party doing the same.

"It is I, Saul Croaker," the other person announced. "Who goes there?"

"Harry Potter," said Harry, not yet lowering his wand. "What did we discuss during our first meeting together?"

"Your unfortunate travels through time and space," Saul sneered. "You hail from a universe in which there is a different Boy Who Lived, and that is…?"

"Me," Harry sighed. He lowered his wand as Saul flicked his to restore light to the darkened space, a glowing orb rising to the ceiling so that they could see each other properly. "Why all this cloak and dagger nonsense?"

"My Department is still under investigation," said Saul. "Minister Fudge is especially interested in the relationship you and I share. I could not be seen meeting with you for fear of retribution."

"I see," said Harry. "I take it you saw the headline in today's Prophet?"

"Of course," Saul muttered darkly. "Rita Skeeter's murder is a rather disturbing development. I take it you had no knowledge or involvement?"

"Of course not!" Harry scoffed. "I'm no murderer, even if I think she is...or was...a terrible person."

"I didn't think you were," said Saul. "But this begs the question of why. The Ministry will never suspect the Dark Lord as a potential candidate for her killer, so we have to ask the question ourselves."

"You think Voldemort is behind this?" Harry asked, surprised.

"We have to consider it likely," said Saul. "I take it this never happened in your previous timeline?"

"No," Harry shook his head vehemently. "And she was just as nasty to me back then. But why would Voldemort want her killed, if she's basically doing his bidding for him without realizing it?"

"That's what puzzles me also," said Saul. "We can safely rule out Malfoy, I think, as he would never betray someone so clearly invested in your father's downfall. What other reasons might the Dark Lord want her out of the way?"

"Maybe he doesn't want me being in the spotlight so much?" Harry speculated. "So if he does try to kill me, it won't draw as much suspicion?"

"Perhaps," Saul mused. "Unless she knew something that the Dark Lord didn't want to become public knowledge?"

"I have no idea what that would be," Harry muttered. "I saw her the night of the Yule Ball, you know. She threatened to write something about me and my date...you don't reckon that could be involved, could it?"

"Who was your date?" asked Saul.

"Katie Bell," said Harry. "I don't think her family is prominent in politics or anything."

"The name doesn't sound familiar," Saul frowned. "That's also unlikely to be the case. There is only one other possibility I can think of – a theory I've been working on for a while now. I don't think you're going to like it."

"What's that?" Harry frowned.

"The Dark Lord may have been doing you a favor," said Saul. "By removing one of your family's primary antagonists from the equation."

"Why on earth would he do that?" Harry scoffed.

"Think about it," Saul pressed. "You've encountered the Dark Lord twice now in this timeline, haven't you? And both times he tried to recruit you to his cause. Have you considered that he may attempt the same maneuver for a third time?"

"You think this is a ploy to get me to join his side?" Harry laughed. "Are you joking?"

"Afraid not," Saul said bitterly. "He may have had you entered into the Tournament as a test of your abilities. If he's impressed enough with your performance, he may seek to draw you in once more. He clearly sees your potential as a wizard, and if he doesn't seek to eliminate you, he may wish to instead turn you against Dumbledore."

"Well, I would never do that," Harry said adamantly. "Not a chance in hell."

"I know that all too well," Saul shrugged. "But this wouldn't be the worst news, would it? If he wanted you dead or discredited, he might have left Rita Skeeter well enough alone. Now he may seek to curry favor by showing he can assist in your rise to power by eliminating all future threats to your reputation."

"Seems a little far-fetched," Harry said skeptically. Though he couldn't entirely rule out the theory: clearly the Dark Lord wanted something from him, and had his eyes on Harry's performance in the Tournament. If it wasn't simply a bald-faced attempt to have him killed, this was a very real possibility.

"As I said, it's only a theory," Saul shrugged. "We will continue to assume the worst and hope for the best when it comes to the Dark Lord. But on to other matters. How did you like the postcard I sent this morning?"

"From Eastbourne?" said Harry. "What about it?"

"You don't remember?" said Saul. "Mrs. Cole mentioned the place in our meeting over the summer. Said there had been an incident there between Tom Riddle and some of the other children."

"Yeah, so what?" said Harry.

"So Mrs. Cole gets murdered, and you don't put any stock into the information she had to give?" said Saul. "Think, boy! These are the kinds of things the Dark Lord didn't want people to know about himself! Secrets that he wants lost to the grave!"

"So you think the Dark Lord is hiding some sort of secret in Eastbourne?" asked Harry.

"I suspected as much," Saul confirmed. "So I started poking around town, asking questions. Simple ones, you know – 'where would you take your kids to have a good time', that kind of thing. A common answer I got was the cliffs overlooking the sea, where a lot of school field trips take place."

"Like the one Mrs. Cole took her orphans on," Harry realized.

"Exactly," said Saul. "I started exploring the cliffs along the coast, and eventually stumbled upon a cave. Not one easily accessible by Muggles, of course, but this was no ordinary Muggle child we're talking about, eh? And what I found disturbed me."

"What did you find?" Harry frowned.

"I didn't make it in very far," Saul admitted. "But there was strong magic present, old magic that even I did not understand. Some kind of blood sacrifice was required to gain access, and I wasn't about to offer mine up freely to a potential Dark Lord. But the fact remains that someone does not want people poking their noses around inside that cave."

"Same with the Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton," Harry muttered. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That those would be two good hiding places for objects the Dark Lord wants to protect?" said Saul grimly. "I believe so."

"So what do we do next?" asked Harry.

"For the time being, nothing," said Saul. "I'm still unable to travel freely while the Department is under investigation, and I wouldn't dare attempt to breach such powerful enchantments without an expert assisting us."

"You think we'll need someone else to help us?" Harry frowned.

"Unfortunately, that may become necessary before long," Saul sighed. "The obvious candidate is Dumbledore, as he is one of the few men capable of facing the Dark Lord and living to tell the tale. If anyone could be trusted with this knowledge, it is him."

"How would we explain that we know so much about the horcruxes?" asked Harry.

"You would likely have to reveal your secret to him," Saul shrugged. "I know you are hesitant to do so, but we are rapidly approaching the point at which your foresight is no longer an advantage, and his expertise vastly outmatches both of ours."

"I know," Harry sighed. "But I still don't know if we can trust him with this knowledge. If he finds out Neville Longbottom has a horcrux in his scar, he might intentionally put him in harm's way to let the problem take care of itself. Like it did in my last timeline."

"Your concern for Longbottom's safety is admirable, Harry," said Saul, "but we are fighting a war here. If Longbottom has to die in order for the Dark Lord to be vulnerable—"

"But you said we could find another way to remove it!" Harry protested. "Without him needing to die!"

"I never said it was a guarantee," Saul cautioned. "We can continue to explore options, but it may be out of our hands."

"It will definitely be out of our hands if Dumbledore finds out," Harry pointed out. "I'd prefer not to hand over the reins and lose the ability to make that decision ourselves."

Saul considered this, then sighed heavily. "We will table this issue for now," he muttered. "But if the situation escalates and our advantage begins to deteriorate, we may have no choice but to place our trust in the most powerful wizard of our time."

Harry nodded his understanding. Dumbledore was the nuclear option – if Britain appeared to be on the brink of collapse under Voldemort's heel, he would have to get involved. Until then, Harry would continue his shadow campaign to thwart the Dark Lord's quest for immortality. As long as the possibility remained that Neville could survive this war, Harry would strive to protect the boy from all threats – even those within the ranks of the light.

"We must continue gathering intel and learning as much as we can," said Saul. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help, but I'd encourage you to keep doing what you've been doing."

"I need to return to Little Hangleton before the Third Task begins anyway," said Harry. "Voldemort's going to be in for a rude awakening when he tries to use his father's bones for his resurrection."

"Just be careful not to draw his attention," Saul warned. "Do not make it obvious that you were there. If he finds his father's grave excavated and with the bones removed, he'll know that treachery is afoot and we will once again find ourselves in the dark about his next moves."

"Understood," said Harry. Subtlety had never been his strong suit, but he felt confident he could sabotage the graveyard ritual plan without alerting the Dark Lord to his presence.

He and Saul concluded their meeting soon after, and Harry successfully managed to sneak back into his house and close himself in his bedroom without anyone noticing. He had trouble sleeping that night, the 'peaceful vacation' he'd hoped for no longer quite so relaxing after all. The many tasks that lay ahead of him were daunting, and he felt once more like he was struggling to keep afloat. Too much to do, too little time.

Perhaps Saul was right: it might be time for Harry to extend his circle of trust and share the burden with somebody else. But who that person (or persons) ought to be remained unclear, and he feared opening up a whole new can of worms by divulging his terrible secret with someone new.