Nothing is mine.

Harry gets a colourful visitor and goes shopping for the next DADA Professor!

Yet Night Approaches

A single dahlia swayed before a shining swirl of amber motes of magic, dancing to the tune of distant laughter — laughter that poured through the great, green glades like music, coming and going to the fey, fickle rhythm of childish delight. Each delicate golden petal of the flower trembled to its tune, spilling shimmering sparks from within the cluster of smooth, elegant petals that uncurled from the centre of the flower like the tines of a crown; each of them wore tiny jewels of dew, like drops of liquid diamond.

Beyond it, above the smoking cold of a stream that was all dancing dark and shifting shadows, those specks of amber magic burst into bright golden butterflies. They fluttered in a streaming cloud of glowing wings through the slim trunks and vivid, verdant canopy of leaves, chasing after that delighted, childish laughter over a carpet of flowers that shone as if spun from pure sunlight.

Harry curled his toes amongst the golden flowers, breathing in a fragrance of such dizzying full sweetness his head swam just with the scent of it; everything but a small soft smile melted from him at the breathtaking bouquet of flowers.

A flash of gold as bright as the summer sun caught his eye among the distant trees and the gentle little giggle of a young girl drifted through the green of the glades like the tune of some song so sweet it melted Harry's heart into a small hot drop of sunshine.

In a soft whir of wings, a wren fluttered down through the branches, perching upon the stem of the golden dahlia and bending the crown of the bloom down until the tips of its curving petals brushed the dark waters; the bird dipped its beak into the cold, smoking stream, drinking deep.

That soft, sweet girlish laughter came through the glades once more like the music of the leaves conducted by the fingers of a summer breeze. Gold flashed, gold as bright and brilliant as the summer sun, and somewhere away among the green, Harry felt a pair of curious blue eyes settle upon him, blue eyes brimming with the light of an azure paradise that shone with all the soaring, spectacular beauty of a clear high summer sky — that held such unspeakable, perfect splendour his heart cried out with longing.

Harry took a step toward it.

But jolted awake with a quiet gasp and nothing but the fading echo of yearning.

'If only that was a real one,' he murmured. 'I'd much rather those were real than whatever Voldemort's up to.'

He rolled out of bed and dressed bit by bit without haste, still caught up in that twist of lingering longing, the breathtaking beauty of those blue eyes holding his heart captive — they were, Harry felt, a little like Daphne's, but more, as if someone had taken her and made her even more perfect, so much so that he could not quite conceive of anything about it but a shadow of fragmented images, and how fair and fine that figure must be were he only able to fit them all together to see her clearly.

A sharp rap came at the bedroom door. 'Harry!' his aunt hissed through it. 'Get up! There is a man here. One of your lot.'

Harry's hand flashed to the wand sheathed on his spine. 'Is he wearing creepy long black robes and a skull mask that looks like — and probably is — real bone?' He pulled open the door.

Aunt Petunia stood there, looking like she had somehow both bitten into a lemon and discovered smudged fingerprints upon the very finest wine glasses in the cupboard at the same time. 'No, he's wearing purple… with lime green.'

'You're right, that's much worse.'

'It looks like the wallpaper of Mrs Jones's kitchen.' She sniffed. 'And that is from the Seventies.'

'I think this person is also from the Seventies,' Harry replied. 'The Eighteen Seventies.'

'Just go and… get rid of him.' Aunt Petunia shooed Harry along the corridor toward the stairs. 'Before the neighbours see.'

Harry glanced through the small circular window of the front door.

Professor Dumbledore wandered, cheerful as a white summer cloud, down the concrete drive, dressed in an appalling combination of dark purple trousers, a bright, lime green shirt with white frilly bits at the sleeves and collar and a tall, light yellow hat.

'Honestly, I think the neighbours have probably all already seen. He's… pretty hard to miss.'

Aunt Petunia tutted. 'Who is he?'

'Oh, that's Professor Dumbledore.'

'Who is who?' Dudley demanded, plodding down the stairs. 'Is Harry's cousin coming in?' He froze on the top step. 'Mum, has my grapefruit diet been working? Do I look better?'

Harry squinted at him. 'You know what, Diddums? I think it actually has. You're only Medium D now.'

Dudley grinned, hovering on the lowest step. 'Thanks, Harry.'

'It's not Nymphadora, though,' Harry said. 'It's a really, really old man.'

A rather crestfallen expression fell upon Dudley's face.

'There, there, Medium D—' Harry patted him on the arm '—I'm sure Piers thinks you look good too. Maybe if you ask him nicely, he'll wear a short skirt for you?'

Dudley grimaced.

'Yeah, I know, it's not quite the same. Piers has legs that look like they've been pulled off a raw rotisserie chicken.'

Professor Dumbledore rang the doorbell.

'I'll get it, Pet,' Uncle Vernon called, bustling out of the kitchen. 'Oh. What's all this?'

'It's him,' Aunt Petunia whispered.

Uncle Vernon glanced at Harry. 'Er…?'

'I think this him is the one who left me on your doorstep early one morning like a very large, squishy milk bottle,' Harry said. 'Although I assume milk bottles rarely go on to terrorise entire families with accidental magic.'

'Him?!' Uncle Vernon scowled and brushed toast crumbs out of his moustache. 'Well, I have a piece of my mind to give to him. Leaving us with a baby that can do things like that without any warning or help?! Absolute damn nonsense!'

Harry opened the door. 'Morning, Professor.'

'Good morning, Harry.' Professor Dumbledore tipped his hat with one orange and pink striped wool glove as he stepped inside. 'Petunia.'

Aunt Petunia's lips thinned.

'Now, see here, man,' Uncle Vernon said, beginning to bubble over with ire like some spluttering saucepan of boiling water. 'You have some explaining to do!'

'Oh I always do,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'The pitfall of becoming a professor, I fear. But, most deplorably, I'm afraid I only have time to request Harry's company before we must depart.'

Uncle Vernon sputtered. 'You — you—'

'Harry?' Professor Dumbledore asked. 'If you would, once again, take my arm.'

'The whole thing, sir?' Harry grinned as he shut the door. 'What should I do with it? Some form of macabre sculpture? I don't actually own any red crayons.'

Professor Dumbledore favoured him with a small, indulgent smile. 'Time is very much of the essence, dear boy. The wizard we are going to meet is a rather, how should one say it, slippery customer; if we linger here too long, he will vanish once more.'

Harry took a firm grip on Professor Dumbledore's wrist, admiring the bright stripes of his gloves. 'Can we not land on any furniture, sir? Or any signs?'

'Fret not, Harry. I have had many years of practice.'

'Now just hang on a minute—'

'I'm afraid, Mr and Mrs Dursley, there are simply a great many things that need to be done,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'And all in very short order indeed. I bid you good day.'

With a sharp crack, the front hall of number four Privet Drive vanished in a whirling blur of colour and the outraged splutter of Uncle Vernon, and Harry stepped in one smooth neat motion onto an overgrown, cracked path.

A small thatched homestead sat at the hill's summit, smoking at every broken window and its short chimney. A thick stream of choking grey poured through the gaping entrance and over the splintered door lying on the threshold.

Professor Dumbledore eased his arm from Harry's grip with a small chuckle. 'He always did love a good performance.'

'Who, sir?' Harry scratched the back of his head. 'Because the wizard I know who likes a good performance most is probably Voldemort.'

Professor Dumbledore paused two steps up the path. 'A most astute observation, Harry. You will find, when you meet Horace Slughorn, that there are a small number of confluences where his character and Tom Riddle's might meet. Not all of them are as harmless as an admiration for a good performance.'

'Does he also say a lot of things in Brythonic?'

'I have never heard him speak a word of it in my company.' Professor Dumbledore cast a sharp glance back at Harry. 'But he is a sly chap and very well read.'

'Apparently you should be careful saying things like that anyway,' Harry said. 'Or Maerdrid will pop up and make you have a magical accident like the world's second least helpful house elf — Dobby I only meant to maim or grievously injure is obviously still holding out at number one.'

'I fear you are not wrong when it comes to Maerdrid Pendragon,' Professor Dumbledore murmured. 'But come, let us investigate the scene of this terrible crime, Harry. Have you had a good summer? Your aunt and uncle were not overly… hospitable.'

'My aunt didn't like your choice of colours, sir.' Harry laughed to himself. 'She compared you to Seventies wallpaper, which is, if you don't know, truly horrible. I think they're also a bit put out that you dropped a traumatised magical baby on them without any help and they had to cope with several years of me doing terrifying things with accidental magic.'

'Ah, now that I'm old, sometimes I forget that the small accidents of children's early magical years can seem terrifying to those without magic at all.' Professor Dumbledore smiled into his long silver beard as he drew his wand from his sleeve and wandered up the path. 'Still, one advantage of age and, dare I say, fame, is that you can get away with being a little larger than life at times. And I do have a fondness for bright colours.'

'I can see that.' Harry peered into the smoke. 'Where is all the smoke coming from, sir? Nothing seems to actually be on fire.' He grinned. 'If only Ron was here, I could tell him that there is smoke without fire after all.'

'Another very astute observation.' Professor Dumbledore flicked his wand and the smoke vanished. 'How has your uncle been? I have heard, from the woman I asked to watch over you all these years, that he is not the most polite or even-mannered of men.'

'Wait, Tonks has been watching over me for years?'

A small frown creased Professor Dumbledore's forehead. 'Tonks being Nymphadora Tonks?'

'Yes. You sent her to watch over me this summer, professor. She's kind of hard to miss if you're into girls, or a piece of innocent furniture nearby. Or just any flat surface she attempts to walk across.'

'I asked Nymphadora to check in when she could or if there was a cause for alarm,' he said. 'But she is quite busy with her role at the Ministry, and Amelia — Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, who you briefly encountered during your trial, Harry — would never have let her go off far or for long without a very good reason. Indeed, Amelia was attacked over the summer, though she emerged from the altercation unscathed.'

'Well, I spent most of the summer with Tonks.' Harry grinned. 'I'm her favourite baby cousin. Although I pay a high price for it. She doesn't really seem to understand the concept of underage other than to call me baby cuz.'

Professor Dumbledore lingered on the doorstep. 'Well, I'm very glad that you have found another family member, however distant, to form an important bond with, Harry. Family can be one of our greatest blessings.' He stepped over the broken door. 'For now, let us admire the performance within, shall we?'

Harry crunched his way over the shattered glass in the door window and into the house.

Dark red blood splattered the white-plastered walls.

'Ominous.' Harry chuckled, poking his finger into the warm blood. 'How did it get all up the walls like this and not on the floor?'

Professor Dumbledore smiled. 'Quite right, Harry.' He pointed his thin pale wand at the long crimson drips. 'I am, of course, considered an expert in the field, but most wizards or witches with a keen eye could tell that this blood, of deeper hue and still uncongealed some time after an apparent attack, must be dragon's blood.'

'Right.' Harry nodded and wiped the tip of his finger clean. 'I absolutely knew that.'

'I would imagine we ought to head to the living room,' Professor Dumbledore suggested. 'This being a small place, it would seem wise to start there.'

Harry strolled through the corridor, trailing his fingers over the scorch marks and deep gouges sliced into the stone. 'Come out, come out wherever you are!' he called, poking his head into the living room.

A light chuckle escaped the headmaster as he surveyed the room.

The hearth smoked, still full of glowing embers, and either side of it, slashed from carpet to ceiling, two bookshelves sagged against the wall, spilling gashed books and torn scraps of paper across the floor into a tangle of broken chairs and the splintered pieces of a small round table.

'Come on down, Horace.' Professor Dumbledore reached out and caught a large, fat-bodied house spider on the tip of his wand. 'Harry and I have enjoyed your excellent display, but we would like to speak with you and mean you no harm.'

The spider's abdomen swelled as it dangled toward the floor on a thread of web and a short, pot-bellied man in a tight plum suit appeared before the headmaster.

'I ought to have guessed it was you, Albus.' Horace dusted off his suit and folded his arms across his protruding stomach. 'Turning up uninvited and causing trouble.' His pale green eyes — close to the colour of celery after Dudley had sullenly chewed it under his mother's withering gaze and then spat it out into the bin later — strayed to Harry and he moistened his lips. 'Harry, you say? Harry Potter?'

Harry swept his fringe back. 'You may stare for exactly three seconds, but don't tell me I have my mum's eyes; they're my own eyes, I was born with them, thank you very much, and so they're mine.'

Horace spared Harry's scar a glance. 'Quite so.'

'This is Horace Slughorn, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'He was once one of my foremost colleagues but, about fifteen years ago, opted to retire and live in quiet, comfortable seclusion.'

'Yes, well.' Slughorn held out his hand. 'A pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter. I have, of course, heard so much about you. Knew your mother. Taught her. She was a precocious witch, extremely gifted in a way very few witches or wizards are.'

'Thanks,' Harry said. 'I basically don't remember her at all.' He shook Slughorn's hand.

Slughorn's smile crumbled. 'Yes. Well. I am sorry, my boy—' a little more of his smile slipped away '—I am very sorry indeed.'

'Did you teach my dad as well?' Harry asked.

'But briefly,' Slughorn admitted. 'I must confess, Harry, your father was not quite my sort of student. Remarkably talented at transfiguration and at many other things besides, but compared to your mother…'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I know, I know, the brightest witch of her age...'

Slughorn's smile returned for an instant. 'Is that what they say? Well, forget all of that, dear boy; she was certainly bright, but no more intelligent than a dozen others in her year. No, she had a rare gift; she came to the magical world with a friend, a friend who I must admit I did not always approve of, but in her younger years, he told her our stories and our ways. He had a bitter upbringing and no real belief in them, but she did, because she knew nothing else about magic other than what he told her. And so when she became a part of our world, she knew and understood magic already, not the wand-waving and the spells and recipes, but magic, Mr Potter…' He glanced at Professor Dumbledore and composed himself. 'I'm sorry, I do ramble. It's been a long time since I got to talk about my favourite students and all those happy years so long ago.'

'I think that's actually the most anyone has ever told me about her.' Harry studied the fading light of the embers with a small smile. 'She's not gone, of course; just changed.'

Slughorn twitched. 'Why are you here, Albus? I told you when I left I wouldn't be teaching ever again.'

'I hoped you would consider a temporary return,' Professor Dumbledore admitted. 'Things are growing… dangerous, Horace. You were a friend for many years. If there are any conditions under which I could convince you back to the castle and its safety, you may name them.'

'Do I have to teach?' Slughorn demanded. 'I told you I won't teach again.'

'Perhaps just a NEWT class or two?' Professor Dumbledore proposed. 'Even in these times, I have to appease the governors with something. I cannot hire you and offer you board for completely nothing.'

'Is Malfoy still a governor?' Harry asked.

'He stepped down after that unfortunate incident in your second year, Harry,' the headmaster replied. 'We came to an… understanding.'

'You mean he nearly got a lot of students killed?'

Professor Dumbledore paused. 'I do believe that his intention was something else altogether — he is not a foolish man, Harry, no matter what else you might think of him.'

'So, what, he deliberately gave the diary to the daughter of someone he hates for a good reason?' Harry frowned. 'That doesn't make much sense. It wasn't exactly a toy.'

'Arthur Weasley is well acquainted with cursed objects, as is his eldest son, and they are both capable of reaching me very easily if need be.' Professor Dumbledore's bright blue eyes fixed themselves on Harry. 'I have watched Lucius Malfoy grow up from a quiet, sad boy desperate to step out of the shadow of his father to a quiet, cynical man desperate to do with his own two hands what his father always dreamt of seeing achieved. The book that he all but handed to Arthur Weasley, had young Ginevra not unwisely and perhaps unexpectedly concealed it, would have soon found its way into my hands. Fortunately, thanks to yourself, it reached my hands eventually anyway, and from it I have deduced a great many things about Tom Riddle that I could only suspect before.'

Slughorn cleared his throat. 'Tom Riddle?'

'Voldemort,' Harry said. 'If you move all the letters of his name around you get I am Lord Voldemort. He never did explain why it had to be an anagram, though; there must have been loads of better options. Maybe I should ask him next time he turns up to murder someone in a strangely artistic but extremely creepy fashion.'

'Thank you, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore murmured. 'Horace is well aware already, I'm sure, of both Voldemort's true identity and his recent actions.'

'Sure, are you?' Something bitter flashed through Slughorn's eyes. 'Still playing games, Albus? Hoarding all your cards close to your chest and leaving everyone else to stumble around in the dark?'

'Yes,' Harry chimed in. 'He went off on holiday all summer apparently and didn't tell anyone anything. My cousin thought I'd been kidnapped and he sent a one-sentence letter to say I probably wasn't dead, then this morning he turned up wearing what's possibly the worst suit I've ever seen and decided we were coming to see you for some reason.' He mulled it over. 'You don't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, do you? Because if you do, you really shouldn't say yes; there's a good chance you won't last the year. Since I've been at the school, I've killed one Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, one of them obliviated himself into St Mungo's, another was really bad at remembering to take his don't kill children potion and had to leave, then there was the Death Eater who got kissed by Dementors, and Umbridge, who Hermione insists that I also killed, but really, how was I supposed to know she would drink the fake Felix Felicis and try to leap the moving staircases after I commented on how silly it was to keep Floo powder in your handbag?' Harry frowned. 'Wait, was everything fine before I arrived? Maybe I'm the curse.'

Slughorn chortled. 'I teach Potions, dear boy.'

'I take it all back,' Harry said. 'You have to come immediately. I can't take another year of Snape; he's stifling my genius. His recipes are terrible and he has no appreciation for my creative flair. I made a potion to do the opposite of his boring flame-proofing draught thing and he didn't let me test it. Hermione even confiscated my ladle. I need a professor who supports me against her tyranny.'

Slughorn chortled. 'A budding potions master, are we?' Something about his smile was ever so slightly sad as he stared up at Harry. 'I said the same to your mother about twenty years ago, perhaps you've got something of the same gift.'

Professor Dumbledore pulled his gloves up at the wrist. 'You have rather driven poor Professor Snape hard, Harry, with your flagrant misuse of school ingredients to create potentially extremely dangerous potions. The one to which you are referring turned out to convey upon the drinker the sensation of being burnt alive when Professor Snape analysed it. And we must remember that those recipes are only OWL level recipe frameworks. He is a master in his own right.'

'If he was really a master, he would appreciate my creations,' Harry insisted. 'At least I know he's not a vampire; I've been learning all sorts about them recently.' He waved a hand in the vague direction of the headmaster. 'And he's not a jampire, either. They're much prettier than he is.'

'I never did manage to confirm the source of those rumours.' Dumbledore ran his fingers through his beard. 'But I do believe the cousin you have recently befriended is to blame, Harry.'

'Unsurprising,' Harry replied. 'She's a terrible influence. I promised her I would marry her in six years if she needed someone with a Wizengamot seat to hide behind, though, so…'

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. 'Fortunately for my sake, Harry, I shall be long dead by the time any children the two of you might have walk the halls of Hogwarts to cause chaos there.'

'Peeves needs some competition; he's grown very boring. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I saw him all of last year after that time he was harassing Astoria.' Harry laughed. 'And at least our children won't set up a death trap corridor and then pretend to broomstick to London and leave a bunch of eleven year olds to stop Voldemort stealing the Philosopher's Stone.'

'It was an urgent and secret summons to meet with Emyr Pendragon at his guesthouse, Harry; there is no convenient means of travel to reach it, I'm afraid.'

Slughorn cleared his throat, steepling his fingers over his belly. 'I will return, Albus. But I will teach NEWT classes only. And I want my own furniture this time, no more of those infernally uncomfortable stools!'

'Done,' Professor Dumbledore agreed. 'I shall see you in a couple of days, Horace. Unless, of course—' he glanced around at the debris '—you would rather move in a little earlier?'

'Perhaps a little, Albus.' Slughorn extended his hand to Harry again. 'I hope to see you in my NEWT class, dear boy. I—' something a little bitter and very sad flashed through his light green eyes '—I have missed my days teaching. Dearly dearly missed them. And I daresay I owe you a few stories of just how brilliant and gifted your mother was; it's hard not to see her, dear boy, with you standing in front of me just as precociously as she did. I might not be able to give you memories or any of the time you ought to have had with her, but what little I can do, I will.'

'Thank you.' Harry clasped his hand. 'Thank you, sir, I guess, if you're coming back. But… who's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts?'

The headmaster hummed. 'I think Professor Snape will be pleased to learn he can finally take his preferred post.'

Harry sighed. 'You know this is going to end up with me killing him, sir. All prior signs from the last five years that I have thought of just now point to me being the curse.'

'I cannot imagine that will be the case, Harry.'

'That's what you would've said about Quirrell and I'm pretty sure when I grabbed his face I burnt him alive with my mother's love. Which, you know, not very lovely, when you think about it.'

'But I would have said it with much less conviction had I been aware of all the facts,' Professor Dumbledore asserted. 'And in any case, by the end of this year, Professor Snape will want to move on from Hogwarts. Teaching is not his calling as it was mine, or, indeed, yours, Horace; I have persuaded him to stay to assist in my endeavours for the sake of the memory of a very dear friend.'

'He had friends?' Harry shook his head. 'If you don't want to tell me, you can just say, sir; there's no need to lie to my face so blatantly.'

'Professor Snape has had several wizards and witches he has called friends,' the headmaster murmured. 'But only one of them truly was. He misses her most terribly. Most terribly indeed. Tread lightly, Harry, should you ever broach that subject with him; the wound is ever raw, for it was by his actions that she was killed and he has sought to atone for it ever since.'

'By Maerdrid? Did she die in a suspicious magical accident?'

'By Voldemort.' Professor Dumbledore offered Harry his arm. 'Now I shall make arrangements for your things to follow after us, Harry, but I see no reason for you to return to your aunt and uncle's. I shall help you to your godfather's old place so you can see your friends again. You must be looking forward to it, after the summer apart.'

'Hermione's going to mother me and lecture me about grieving processes.' Harry rolled his eyes as he took the proffered wrist. 'But thank you, sir.'

'Goodbye, Harry,' Slughorn said. 'Good luck, and I look forward to seeing you very soon.'

The ruined cottage vanished in a whirl of white and brown and bright orange sparks, and Harry found himself stepping out onto the front step of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

'There is one more detail I do need to mention to you, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'I am convinced Professor Slughorn harbours a key secret, something that we must know in order to defeat Voldemort.' He slid his wand back into this sleeve. 'I retrieved, through less than admirable means, I fear, a memory of the moment, but one that has been tampered with by Slughorn himself. I will share it and greater detail with you once term starts, but whatever truly occurred in that moment, the shame and regret of it was so great he has attempted to tear it from his own mind.'

'Sounds pretty bad.'

'I doubt he was successful in doing much more than repressing it,' the headmaster murmured. 'Your task will be to get Professor Slughorn to share this memory with you. He favoured your mother greatly and, as you no doubt observed, is consumed by guilt beneath his jovial exterior. I must attend to other tasks with little time left to spare. You must not fail, Harry.'

Harry turned that all over in his head. 'I won't.'

'Anything less than a complete understanding of what we must do will prove fatal with so little time left.' Professor Dumbledore placed one hand on the old, black iron latch. 'If Voldemort is not stopped, he will provoke Emyr or Maerdrid Pendragon into terrible cruelty. I believe you have a very great part to play in avoiding that, as you have done for several years now.'

'It's fine.' Harry held the headmaster's bright blue eyes. 'If it has to be done, I'll do it. I always end up ruining Voldemort's schemes, so it'll probably be me anyway.'

'I fear so, Harry, I fear so.' Professor Dumbledore opened the door. 'Now, you must not mention this task to anyone you do not wholeheartedly trust and enjoy the last couple days of your summer before term begins.' He vanished with a deafening crack.

Harry wandered in. 'Hello?'

Walburga Black's purple curtains swept open; she stared at him with sharp grey eyes from within the cracked paint of the life-sized portrait. 'Oh, it's you. I should have known you would be here to pick at what is left of the remains of my family.'

'Hi.' Harry poked his fingers through the moth-eaten holes in the drapes and huffed dust off her. 'Seriously, what does Kreacher even do all year?'

'He does whatever the family requires.'

'I'm pretty sure the family requires some dusting,' he retorted. 'Kreacher!'

A loud pop rang through the house. 'Master calls Kreacher.' Kreacher stared at him with a nasty glint in his bloodshot eyes. 'Nasty, Blood Traitor Master.'

'Actually, Daph says I'm not a Blood Traitor, thank you. I revere true magic and all that stuff.' Harry wiggled his fingers through the holes in the curtain. 'And even if I were, at least I could do some cleaning. What have you been up to all this time?'

Kreacher squirmed. 'Serving the Most Noble House of Black.'

'Well go and serve them by doing some dusting. I know all of this is technically held in trust until I'm seventeen next year, but you look like you could keel over and die at any given moment, so I think you should probably start dusting now just in case. If you start now, it might even be finished by the time I am seventeen.'

Kreacher bowed so low his nose brushed the floor and scuttled off.

'Huh, I could get used to this whole slavery thing.' Harry glanced at Walburga. 'Don't tell Hermione I said that, she'd lecture me for hours and I'm already going to have to sit through a whole thing on grieving after Sirius died. She doesn't really understand the whole changed not gone idea.'

'My wayward son,' Walburga muttered. 'Neither of my sons amounted to anything and now nearly all is lost.'

'Yeah, it's me and Nympha—'

Something hard smacked him in the forehead and clattered to the floor at his feet.

'That better not have left another scar.' Harry picked it up. 'A teaspoon?' He turned the small silver thing over in his hand and weighed it. 'Why's it so heavy? And who throws teaspoons at people? Kreacher, if that was you, I'm going to make you dust your own feet with a feather duster.'

A snicker escaped the kitchen.

'Oh, it's the child molester.' Harry grinned. 'Nobody over the age of eighteen panic; you're all safe.'

'Oi.' Tonks barged out through the door and rested her hands on her hips where the hem of her tight black shirt fell over her short, dark miniskirt. 'You better not be saying that to everyone you know, baby cuz.'

'Just Walburga,' he promised. 'And Professor Dumbledore. And Slughorn was there too, but I can't remember if I said it before or after we were in the living room.'

'Brat.' She flicked him on the nose. 'Hello, Walburga.'

'Nymphadora.' The portrait sniffed. 'Tell your mother she needs to divorce her useless mudblood husband and return to the family home with her sisters.'

'I did,' Tonks said.

Walburga's expression brightened. 'You did?'

'Yeah, mum laughed for at least five minutes and spluttered wine all down her front,' Tonks replied. 'Anyway, why are you talking to this old crone, baby cuz?'

'Because she said hello, unlike my cousin who hid and threw cutlery at me. Maybe the reason you don't understand underage is because you're mentally about twelve?'

Walburga huffed and the curtains swept closed.

Tonks ruffled his hair and swiped the teaspoon. 'Walburga's pretty horrible. Off the deep end by quite a long way. Blames Muggles and Muggle-borns for everything, but particularly the Ministry's grip on power and the ICW above them. Which makes no sense, of course. Your friend, Hermione, has been arguing with her all week about the dangers of religious extremism and scapegoating groups of people for hardships. I don't think anyone has told Hermione that portraits are incapable of change, so she'll never win.'

'Can't we just get rid of her?'

'Not until you're seventeen.' Tonks scowled. 'Older families like ours are inherited only by sons and daughters as awesome and powerful as me if there are any; Walburga made a mess of things so Sirius inherited but wasn't really able to do anything because he was struck from the family. You'll be a clean start when you come of age.'

'It needs a clean start.' Harry grinned. 'I've even made Kreacher start dusting.'

Tonks cackled. 'Come on, brat. Your friends are upstairs in the library waiting for you to turn up. Everyone else has gone shopping in Diagon Alley.'

'Of course they're in the library. Poor Ron is probably desperate to escape after all this time at Hermione's mercy.' Harry followed Tonks up the stairs over the worn, stained marble steps. 'So… Professor Dumbledore said earlier that Amelia Bones wouldn't let you go off much?'

'She wouldn't,' Tonks said. 'Not without very good reason.'

'But you've been with me for like half the summer…'

'I still had all my auror shifts and normal duties,' she replied, opening the door to a room full of crooked, leaning dark bookshelves. 'I got permission from Bonesy to keep an eye on you as well after some little stunt you pulled in front of the entire Wizengamot. Something to do with describing the exact manner in which Igor Karkaroff died about three hours after they first found his body?'

'Oh. Yes. I saw that happen.' Harry shrugged. 'I thought Professor Dumbledore was the one who sent you.'

'He did. But I got extra permission from Bonesy so I could actually come and do something useful instead of just checking in if something seemed off.'

'Does she know you molest me?'

'Harry!' Hermione cried from somewhere on the other side of the shelves. 'Is that you?'

'No, it is I, the ghost of Mr Darcy Past.' Harry grinned. 'I'm taking your lack of answer as a yes, by the way, Nymphadora.'

'You're just trying to bait me into actually molesting you.'

'No I'm not; I have a girlfriend and she's prettier than you are.'

'You're the one who does the molesting anyway,' she retorted. 'Visual molesting.'

'What?' Hermione sputtered, darting through a gap in the shelves. 'Tonks…?'

'If you wore a short skirt—' Tonks eyed up Hermione's baggy jeans '—or any kind of tight clothing, you'd see what I mean. This brat has hit puberty hard and can't help himself.'

'Urgh.' Harry wrinkled his nose. 'I mean, sorry, Hermione; I didn't mean it like that.'

Hermione turned a little pink. 'No, I know. I'm not that pretty.'

'It's nothing personal,' he said. 'It's partly that I see you as a sister, but mostly because I saw your cat-girl phase and I can't ever unsee it.'

She snorted. 'Ron, what are you doing? Harry's here.'

'I can't find the way out,' Ron called from somewhere a bit further away. 'I went right, then left, then right and right, which is exactly how we got in, and now I'm stuck in here with this weird statue of a woman with a bunch of stone daffodils.'

'Oh, Ronald.' Harry sighed. 'Are you going to save him, Hermione? Or are we leaving him in there?'

Hermione folded her arms. 'I'll go get him in a few minutes; it'll be nice to have some peace and quiet and not hear about Lav for a bit.'

'He's still smitten, then?'

'Like you're one to talk,' Tonks said. 'Your girlfriend had one little meltdown and you forgot about everything else including the fact that I might think you'd been kidnapped or murdered.'

'Girlfriend?' Hermione's eyes widened. 'Oh no. Harry, please don't tell me it's who I think it is.'

'I'm very sorry, Hermione, but it is… also Lavender.' Harry cackled at her scowl. 'Daph's amazing.'

'She's a fanatic,' Hermione muttered. 'And she'd happily see me and everyone like me dead just to get her imaginary fantasy world.'

'I think it's a lot more about saving her sister.' Harry glanced at Tonks. 'Also, don't think it gets any better if I don't keep dating Daph. Because I said I'd marry Nymphadora in six years if I was still single.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I know you're joking, Harry.'

'I'm actually not.' Harry shrugged. 'For reasons.'

Hermione squinted at Tonks. 'Tell me he's joking.'

'He isn't.'

'Harry you're way too young for her!'

'She likes them that way,' Harry chimed in.

Tonks sniggered and flicked his ear. 'In six years, it won't matter so much. And it's only an agreement to give things a try in case I need to hide behind Harry to avoid bad things. Although, given how you talk about your girlfriend like she's a goddess and pester me with questions on how to make her happy, I'll probably keep you if you treat me like that.'

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. 'But you're cousins!'

Ron burst out from between the bookshelves and doubled over. 'I escaped!'

'Good work, Ronald.' Harry patted him on the shoulder. 'Quick, say something about Lav; Hermione's focusing on my love life and I need a human sacrifice to distract her.'

'You're cousins!'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, Daph said that's not a thing as much here.'

Ron pointed over his shoulder. 'So, not to follow through on Harry's plan to distract you, Hermione, but there's definitely something in there. It grabbed my leg.'

'Oh, that's just the tentacula.' Tonks beamed. 'It's just a bit friendly. As long as you don't let it get hold of anything sensitive, you'll be fine.'

'Can't be worse than you,' Harry jibed.

'You want some more bruises?' Tonks offered, shifting her weight. 'Huh, baby cuz?'

Harry kept a careful eye on her feet. 'If you try and start a fight in a library, Hermione will never forgive you. That's several levels worse than seducing me while I'm still underage.'

'I think that ship's sailed,' she said.

He chuckled. 'Yeah, it has.'

She snorted. 'Not the seduction one, brat.'

'What?' Ron screwed his freckled face up. 'What ship?'

'Ah—' Harry chuckled '—normality is restored. Come on, wannabe girlfriend Nymphadora—'

Tonks lunged.

He deflected her punch with his forearm and put his shoulder into her chest, knocking her back into the bookshelf. 'Ha. That's first bruise to me.'

Tonks patted the cleavage of her tight, dark t-shirt, tugging it down a little. 'Going to kiss it better for me?'

Harry's gaze dipped. 'Wait, no—'

She sprang forward with a cackle, spinning and sweeping a leg at him.

He jumped over it and dropped onto her side, pinning her to the floor on her back and sitting on her stomach. 'I win.'

'You need to stop falling for that.' Tonks grinned up at him, her grey eyes full of mischief. 'Happy up there, are we, baby cuz? Like being on top of me?'

Hermione flushed and looked away.

'I do.' Harry glanced down at the bright pink paint splatter design across Tonks's boobs. 'So… about kissing it better?'

'Harry!' Hermione squeaked.

Tonks snorted and threw him off with one hand. 'You pubescent little menace.'

'You started it.' Harry jumped back to his feet. 'You know, I think trying to impress the hot girl in the very short skirt finally got Dudley to stick to his diet, so you've managed a minor miracle.'

'He can thank me by staring at my legs until he walks into another lamppost. That was very funny.'

'How do you know how to fight?' Hermione interceded. 'Harry?'

'Nymphadora taught me this summer.' Harry grinned at her. 'She's a very… hands-on teacher. And every time I was good and let her have her way with me, she bought me ice cream.'

Tonks snickered. 'You've learnt more than just how to fight from me, I see.' She pushed herself up to her feet and straightened the golden sword pinned to her t-shirt. 'I need to go, I'm on Bonesy watch.'

'Because she was attacked?'

Her grey eyes sharpened. 'You saw it?'

'No, Professor Dumbledore said it happened earlier.'

Tonks nodded. 'Bellatrix tried to come after her, but Bonesy's no slouch; she's a first-class auror too and Bellatrix had to leg it when we all arrived.' She puffed her cheeks out. 'One day I'll get to chop something off my auntie. One day.'

'I can help,' Harry suggested. 'I always end up involved anyway.'

'No.' Tonks shook his head. 'You're going to be terrifying when you're older, favourite baby cuz, but you're not older yet.'

'I can fight.'

'You can look out for yourself and get away if you're attacked,' she said. 'You're much too young to be fighting Death Eaters, least of all ones like Bellatrix. She will dice you up like sashimi.'

'Oh now she knows what too young means,' Harry retorted.

'Always did, brat.' Tonks ruffled his hair. 'You go to school and try to pretend to be a good child for once. If you do, I'll flash you my knickers next time I see you.'

Another mortified squeak escaped Hermione.

'I don't want to see your knickers,' Harry said. 'Wait, no, what am I saying, I do. If only I thought that Daph wouldn't get a bit angry about it.'

Tonks laughed. 'Right. Go catch up with your friends, brat. I'll see you as soon as I can.' She jogged out of the library.

'You're really dating Greengrass?' Hermione demanded. 'You went to see her over the summer?!'

'Wait.' Harry held up his hand with a grin.

'Wait?! Wait for what?!'

A loud thud echoed back up the stairs.

'I'm okay!' Tonks yelled.

Harry laughed. 'Wait for that.'

Hermione scowled. 'Fine. Avoid it. We'll keep an eye on Greengrass won't we, Ron?'

'Er…' Ron's ears turned a little red. 'We will?'

'Yes!' She cried. 'She's a religious fanatic! She thinks Voldemort is going to be the saviour of the world and that me and everyone else like me and my family should be killed! All of this is probably just a trap to get to Harry!'

'It's not.' Harry fixed her with a long stare. 'Trust me, Hermione. It's really not.'

Hermione huffed. 'I'm still keeping an eye on her.'

He rolled his eyes and laughed. 'Fine, if you must. I'm going to keep an eye on her too; two eyes, actually, she's very watchable, especially after she realised I might like short skirts and decided if I was going to like girls in short skirts then the girls I should be liking in short skirts should be her.'

Hermione muttered something under her breath.

'That was something rude about short skirts, wasn't it?'

Ron nodded. 'I think it was something about having a bad relationship with her father.'

'Hermione's just very jealous.' Harry laughed to himself. 'I've never actually met him, so I don't know if she's right, though.'

Hermione sighed. 'Clearly you're not going to listen to me about Greengrass; I don't know why I bother sometimes.' She thrust a finger at him. 'I hope this doesn't come back to bite you.'

He broke down into stitches of laughter.

She folded her arms and scowled at him. 'I don't know why the idea of being betrayed by your girlfriend is so funny to you. Did you hit your head last summer?'

'No.' Harry offered her a huge grin. 'It's not that. Don't worry about it.' He breathed out the last of his laughter in a soft chuckle. 'How do you feel about jampires, Hermione?'

'Not this again.' Hermione huffed and grabbed his arm. 'Come and look at all these books I found on that horrible Pure-blood cult and what they think Muggles and Muggle-borns do.'

'Do I have to?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Alright, alright.' Harry held up his hands in surrender. 'Ronald, do we have any food?'

Ron shook his head. 'She won't let me bring any into the library, mate.'

'How unreasonable.'

Hermione dragged them both through the gap in the bookshelves into the gloom. 'Come on.'

AN: More via the linktree!

linktr . ee / mjbradley