"Professor Snape?"

Roused from deep thought again, Severus raised his eyes to the next intruder.   Potter hadn't left more than twenty minutes ago.  Who did one have to kill to get peace and quiet for research?  Draco stood there, layered in a black school robe and a beige work smock, a small blade in one hand and a two-pound, half-gutted pumpkin in the other.  Malfoy should have been teaching the last class of Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years. What was he doing wandering around the school library with a slightly-undead gourd in his grip?

"Sorry to interrupt.  There's an owl for you."

"Take its letter, give it a tip, and leave me alone."

"I've tried.  It won't give the letter to me."

Severus climbed out of his chair, scooted it in to the table, and abandoned all but one of his tomes.  He showed Mrs. Pince the spine on the way out, and she nodded to him.  There were advantages to being well trusted by the terse school librarian.  He followed Draco to the Potions classroom, where he found a Great Horned Owl was perched on his desk.  He was quick to note it was no ordinary owl.  Children were crowded around it, and keeping a safe distance as well, whispering about it to each other.  The massive creature blinked cold yellow eyes as it spotted Severus. It turned its head around to reveal another face in the back of its skull, and another set of cold yellow eyes blinked at him.   

Severus tossed his book gently on his desk surface.  The two-faced owl shook out its brown and white speckled wings with a burst of movement that sent the young students in all directions.  They were going back to their desks by rather circuitous routes in order to avoid coming too near to him.  Severus took his eyes off the owl long enough to notice that the small children were all wearing smocks over their robes like Draco was.  Their work spaces were covered in the guts and shells of tiny pumpkins which were in various states of dismemberment. 

While undoing the scroll attached to the owl's leg, it occurred to Severus that Malfoy was teaching his potions students dicing techniques by letting them carve pumpkins for Halloween this coming weekend.  The idea was both creative and child-friendly.  Even the Gryffindors were having a pleasant time, it seemed.  Draco shifted around his pumpkin mess to allow Severus more room.  He was avoiding Snape's gaze, worried he would be chastised for such a low-tech, enjoyable approach to education.   

The children were gaping in awe and concern as Snape studied Draco.  It was by turns both unnerving and gratifying that these little ones should be so distressed by his presence.  He had heard rumors that many pupils had been much relieved to learn he had taken on an apprentice to help him teach, even if it was to be Draco Malfoy.  Outside of Hogwarts and outside of the Slytherins who saw his 'conversion' as betrayal, Draco had started to gain a begrudgingly-granted respect.  Incoming students like these first-years, they might know his family name by its poisonous reputation, but they were much more willing to give Draco himself a chance, because he was much less frightening to them than Professor Snape was.  Snape should not have been enjoying their terror, no, but somewhere inside him, there was a tiny spark of devilish glee warming up. 

"Careful dissection to avoid destroying the sample—it's not totally dissimilar," Draco defended in a quiet whisper that only Snape heard.    

"Quite creative.  Commendable.  Carry on then, Mr. Malfoy," Snape nodded approvingly.  Draco's face bloomed—it was obvious how much the praise had meant to him.   

Severus reached into his pocket and offered the two-faced owl a coin.  The bird turned its one face away and the second face frowned at him.  Money was apparently not the reason the creature was waiting.  Perhaps it wanted something else?  Timma's owl had always demanded pearls.  Dido was keeping herself busy now delivering letters for Whisper and Orpheus.  It was clear she missed her former mistress though.  Where was this strange owl from, Snape wondered.   Severus put out an arm to touch the bird, and it leapt off the desk.  It soared up into the ceiling before racing down at one of the students in the first row.  She screamed loudly and ducked under her work space.  Other students spread out and took off.  The owl snatched one of the girl's long braids, and took off out the nearest portal, which happened to be the opened door.  She gave another loud scream, and finally her ribbon came loose.  The owl sailed away with its black silk prize in tow. 

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, calm down," Snape growled out loud.  Draco bent down at Snape's desk to his own book bag, where he collected a long green ribbon he had been using as a bookmark.  He then hurried over to his terrified pupil. 

"Are you all right, Miss Quiverly?"

"Is it gone, Mr. Malfoy?" she whispered from under her desk.   

"Quite gone," Draco assured the small girl.  She crawled out, rubbed off her cheek, and stood abjectly at her desk as her friends raced to the table to reassure her.   Draco ushered them back to their own spaces.  Under Snape's penetrating gaze, Quiverly straightened her Slytherin uniform, blushing with dismay.  In a surprising display of tenderness, Draco picked up the end of her long braid, wove his green ribbon around her hair, and secured it firmly with the passable bow. 

"There we are.  Good as new," Draco said as he patted the girl on top of her head. 

"Thank you, sir," she whispered.  Draco touched his wand to her other ribbon, turning it the same shade of green as the replacement.   Then he hurried back to the chalkboard. 

"Eye sockets, anyone?" Malfoy suggested with a commanding voice.  Severus sat down at the desk to read the small letter while Malfoy demonstrated circular patterns with chalk on the black board.   The scroll was an invitation from the Dark Force Defense League, which would be meeting January 6.  He was to be at Prudent Passage in London at 5 pm sharp. 

"We want complete circles, perhaps some ovals, and a few elliptical shapes," Draco continued. 

"Won't it have more than two eyes if we do all that?" one student asked from the back of the room.

"Mr. Whitten, be creative.  Step out of the ordinary.  We start with the tip of our blade, slide it carefully in, not too far, and slowly rotate, slowly move outward, around, and there we are, nearly perfect eye sockets."

"Oops."

Discrete giggles sounded from the left of the room. 

"More of a gaping wound than an eye socket," one student was commenting to another, who lowered his head and went scarlet as he studied the two cleft halves of his once-whole gourd.  In his hand was a knife that could have killed two men with one  good stab. 

"Mr. Malfoy, my pumpkin is dead."

"Might I suggest a smaller knife for your next go?" Draco answered, lifting up another palm-sized pumpkin and lobbing it carefully to a largish boy, who caught it with ease.  Maybe the lad was a hold-back from the year before?  Maybe he was part troll. 

Severus rolled up the scroll and shoved it in the top desk drawer.  He retrieved a speckled, off-center pumpkin from Draco's basket, and took a spot next to Malfoy at the instructor's table.   Draco bleached white with dismay.

"Continue, please, Mr. Malfoy," Snape ordered, picking up a thin blade and waiting for instructions.  The students whispered to each other as Draco composed himself with a tremble, and then continued demonstrating circular motions with chalk on the large board.   As he spoke, the students watched Snape following each instruction. 

"The initial cut should be a slice, not a stab.  One should make the first cut almost unnoticeable.  Uncontrolled stabbing will create an uneven entry. Be sure to start with a clean, sharp blade.  We want neat and tidy—we want a specimen which will yield the most product with the least amount of waste."

3

"Am I imagining things, or were there an inordinate number of pumpkin-related dishes with dinner this evening?" Harry asked from in front of the fireplace across the tower room. Draco looked up.  He fumbled for a reply, annoyed to have been interrupted.

"I didn't notice," Draco muttered, going back to his work.     

Nights in the tower with Malfoy were like this when Harry couldn't bear the quiet any longer and had to make small talk.  Wounded prides were too sensitive yet to discuss the larger issues, and so small talk was all they could discuss without offending one another.  Harry stretched to put his stocking feet closer to the fire and turned a page.  He had long ago finished his Charms work, and he was merely too lazy to get up and get his Divinations work. 

Draco rustled around on his bed and scribbled notes on a nearby piece of parchment which appeared to have been the area rug for several extremely-disorganized chickens.  He should have been sitting at the large table, but to do so might invite Potter to join him there, and he didn't want that at all.  Sitting on his bed was the only way to have near solitude.  He could reassure himself that Potter would never in a million years climb onto this bed with him.  It was a perfectly safe spot in which to stretch out.   He should have closed the curtains, but he hadn't.  Did Potter have to sigh and stretch so noisily?  He coldly watched Harry settle back against the settee, and rearranged his homework. 

Both young men were yearning to be left entirely alone, and yet both were pining for the lost friendships they were missing desperately.   Nothing could compare to the unspeakable boredom of always having someone in the room, but never having someone to actually converse with.  They spoke, but they didn't really talk to one another.  Harry would ask a question, and Draco would grunt an answer, and Harry would go back to his work, and a minute or two later, Draco might return a question of his own.  Harry would give an answer if he were so inclined. 

"Granger letting you do your own work tonight?" Malfoy murmured with the perfect amount of snit and glee to convey that he really didn't care, but he was trying to make simple conversation.   Even if he didn't like Hermione, having her here was a buffer between himself and Potter.   Pity it was too late to owl Sergei to sneak out of the Ravenclaw dorm and come for a visit. 

"Study group.  Arithmancy class," Harry answered.  There was no point in Harry explaining he was worried that spending too much time with him was going to turn Hermione into a social pariah too.  He was encouraging Hermione to spend time with the other Gryffindor students instead of hustling up the Black Queen's Tower every night to study with him.  Sometimes she listened to Harry, and other times she was back to his room after classes before he was.  The wards were set to let her in.  It was more tense when she was here.  Draco could never resist saying something scathing to her, and Hermione spelled things in the room to tick at random when Draco walked near to them.  But at least when Hermione was here, Harry didn't feel so very lonely. 

Another ten minutes, and Harry would be expected to make a comment or a remark. Draco would probably tell him to bugger off so he could study in peace.  Harry yawned, leaned back against the side of the divan, and closed his eyes to listen to the crackling, hypnotic fire. 

"Potter?  What are you mumbling?"

            A cavern

            A cavern gleaming in the intense light that poured in through the hole in the rocks above.

            They were hiding in a cavern, clinging to the shiny walls, staring down into the piles of gold and jewels and casks of finery below.  Knees were scratching, legs were scrambling, and boots were clanking with cleats digging into the stone.  Fingers were clawing for purchase on the rock walls.

            In the distance, an angry roar shook the very earth, and small rocks and sand poured down through their hiding place. 

            "We're not going to get out of this one, are we?  Potter, leave me here.  You've got to leave me here and go!  She can smell my blood.  That's how she's tracking us."

            Harry turned to face Draco—an older Draco whose head was protected by some kind of ancient helm with golden wings on each side.  Harry was so vexed by the vulnerable, defeated tone in Malfoy's voice, and irritated by that silly helmet, that  he spit out the sand filling his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs in reply.

            "STOP YOUR DAMNED WHINING AND HELP ME MOVE THAT BLOODY ROCK!"

            Darkness descended into their hideaway, and Harry shivered as he felt hot, dank breath rocket over him in a heavy, stench-filled puff.  Every hair on his body stood up in fear.

            He tentatively raised his head and encountered a pair of golden, iridescent eyes peering down into the largest hole.  It was obvious that the eyes were possessed by a sentient creature.  Fury was building in their primordial depths.

            Out of reflex, Harry did a very stupid thing.

            He raised his fist, his hand covered in a magnificent, spiked gauntlet, and he nicked the surface of one of the huge golden eyes.

Harry slid halfway off the divan out of reflex or dream-memory.  His foot flopped on the floor briefly before he pulled himself upright.  Draco hurried into his pajamas, and cleared his bed of all signs of school work.  He was putting out the lights when Harry slid his Charms work onto the low table.  Potter put his head in his hands, and put his elbows on his knees.  Then he sat up straight and centered his gaze on Draco. 

"Caveat Viator," Harry murmured.   In spite of himself, Malfoy felt the hair on his neck rising.  It was Potter speaking, and yet the voice, the voice had an intonation and syntax that were not Potter's.   The way he was watching Malfoy with half-lidded eyes was beyond chilling. 

"Lights out," Draco called back from his bed, his voice muffled by movement.  "I've got an eight o'clock with the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years."

"It was hard on you, knowing your mother didn't like you.  She was unkind to you, kept you at a distance, and it saps your self confidence.  A man should always have a good relationship with his mother," Harry whispered.  Draco lay quiet in his covers for a moment before he sat up and stared through the darkness.   Was Potter talking like that to creep him out? 

"I said the spell for her, didn't I?" he snapped.   Harry watched him, waiting.  Draco was beginning to shiver.   

" 'Spirits of the dead, I commend to you the soul of my loved one'.  Draco, I'm so very sorry for how she treated you."

"What?" Draco gasped.  By the remains of the dying fire, Harry's eyes were alight with slivers of gold and indigo.   Potter produced a small sound, and then another.  It was a deep, slow scratchy chuckle that was making Draco's flesh crawl.   But more to the point, it was unmistakably Lucius Malfoy's laugh.  His father's voice crept to him like a shadow over the distance, low and soft.  Draco didn't know whether to scream or to cry. 

"I was watching you when you visited your mother's grave last week.  'Spirits of the dead, I commend to you the soul of my loved one.  Protect her as one of your own now.   Make the burden of the earth light upon her body.  Guide her soul safely into Paradise, and banish human sorrow from her heart forevermore'."

"P-Potter?" Draco murmured, wondering if he should venture closer.  Harry continued in the low voice not his own.

"Shhh.  We mustn't disturb him.  Though I dare say he's more than a little disturbed already."

Lucius laughed low and soft again, and every cell in Draco's body seemed to crackle at once.  An indigo mist whispered around Potter's body, shimmering and fading slowly away.  Draco waited, holding his breath, and the indigo returned, a shifting aurora around Harry.

"It's touching that you should grant her the love and protection she had always denied you.  You were always such a good boy, Draco."

The familiar chuckle slid down Draco's ears like poisoned honey.  Malfoy shot up off his bed and ignited a lantern while pounding his way over to where Potter was sitting.   The sudden bright light was making Harry blink.  Malfoy studied Potter's face, frankly scared what he might find there.  He found only confusion in Potter's eyes, confusion and nothing more.  Harry blinked and mumbled quietly.

"You and I will never go spelunking, and you will never make me wear that silly helmet."

Malfoy deflated from rising fear back to simple irritation. 

"What?" he snapped when he processed what Harry had said. 

"Nothing," Harry growled.   " 'What's the worst thing that could happen?'," Harry mimicked Draco, then erupted.  "They didn't name the place Catastrophe Cave on a whim, Malfoy!"

"What in hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Harry growled.  "Why are you lurking over me with a bright light?"

"You were mumbling your way through the Charm for Restless Spirits," Draco murmured uneasily.  He stumbled over the next series of words.  "You sounded funny.  Thought I heard….nevermind.  Charm for Restless Spirits.  I assume that's what you were working on before you went under."

"Charm of the what?" Harry asked, flipping open his Charms book on the low table.

"It's a traditional chant that puts the dead to rest.  If it doesn't work, or if you don't mean it when you speak it, the dead will wander forever, until someone somewhere gives them a proper send off."

"There's no Charm for Restless Spirits in here," Harry complained, closing the text with a thump.

"I said the spell for her, didn't I?" Draco repeated.  "Doesn't matter if she didn't like me.  It was my duty as her son.  I'm sorry it took me so long to go see her and say the words.   I was remiss, and unkind.  But I finally went, didn't I?  Sometimes we have to do unpleasant things if we want to get on with life.  Life isn't all rainbows and ponies, is it?"

Draco gave Potter a strange look, stifled his lantern, and went back under his covers.  Harry could tell by the strength with which the metal casing hit the table that Malfoy was hurt and angry.  But about what?

"What were you talking about, anyway?"

"I might ask you the same," Draco growled.   "My father  liked me very much," he hissed, his hatred coursing through the room.  The fire of his fury dissipated quickly.  Harry felt a different coldness wash over him, consuming the heat of Malfoy's hate.  The pain that Draco projected far outweighed his hatred, and it was that icy pain that was sinking through Harry's second sight and his bones and even further, into his conscience.   The chill of Malfoy's loneliness could have easily killed the both of them.  

"What's all this about the Charm for Restless Spirits?  Do you have to say that charm when someone dies?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter, at the risk of being redundant, you have to say that charm when someone dies.  It helps if you chant the words on the spot where they died.  The magic is stronger there.  It's also politely repeated at one's funeral as well.  Haven't you ever been to a- - -"

"No, I've never been to a wizard's funeral," Harry said, shamed to have to admit such things to Draco.  "Who says it?"

"Whoever is there, whoever is closest, whoever loves the deceased the most, whoever the deceased loved most.  It works on a case by case basis, or it doesn't work, if you know what I mean."

Harry mentally ran through the recent deaths in his life, even the not-so-recent.  He imagined the Weasley Family relatives had said the charm for them.  What was the policy for group funerals?  Did you have to say it for everyone, or will once do?   Remus must have done it for Sirius.  Severus never mentioned such a charm before, but he had spent several minutes alone at Dr. Mesarik's coffin, whispering down into her ear, straightening her hair for her.   What about James and Lily?  Who had spoken the charm for his parents?  Harry wondered if it had been Dumbledore, and a lump of sudden pain rose in his throat.

"Or they wander forever?"

"Yes, forever.  If they've been wandering for too long, the spoken charm will no longer work, and that's when you have to employ potions like Ghost of a Chance, or Out Damned Spot.  Spirits will wander until they find release, or someone to inhabit…."

"Did you ever say the charm for your father?" Harry wondered as Draco studied him for a fleeting second with an undeniably fearful gaze. 

"Of course I said it for him.  What is this sudden obsession with the Charm for Restless Spirits?" Draco growled, his hate flaring up again.  "It's not like you couldn't ask any number of people about this?  Why are you asking me?"

The loud knock on the door came as a relief to both of them.  The tension was palpable as Draco crossed the room and allowed Professor Snape inside.   Guido caught Harry in his gaze, nodded, and closed the door again, remaining outside. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," Severus said, dusting off the cold raindrops on his shoulders and shaking slightly.  He hurried to the warmth of the fireplace, and the flames leapt alive again when he fed another small log onto the embers.  Harry straightened his books and notes on the low table before him.  

"Cold outside?" Harry asked, his voice rough.  Severus bent forward and touched both of Harry's cheeks with icy fingers, making him squeak.  Draco lit a lantern on the big table, and glared at them until they parted. 

"Did I interrupt anything important?" Severus asked, straightening back up and watching Malfoy as Draco sat at the large table, muttering to himself.   "I thought the healer was going to be your guard tonight," Snape commented to Harry while he read Draco's body language.  Malfoy was agitated but covering it under his usual veneer.

"Well, Guido said Teddy said that Vixen is in bed with a terrible chill, and that Owen could use the help around the house with the kids, because he can't control Brigit and she runs around screaming like a banshee.  So Teddy is helping Owen out for a couple days until Vixen is feeling better," Harry babbled in the silence.  He wanted to take Severus's cold hands and warm them against his skin.   He wanted Severus to take him into his arms and crawl under one of these warm throws where they could sit and watch the fire burn itself back down to embers. 

"Anything new with you, apprentice?" Snape asked gingerly. 

"No, Master," Malfoy muttered crossly.

"Have you been to Grimwood?" Harry asked Severus.

"Yes.   Your wards were not breached.   They were lowered.  But you are in no danger," Severus quickly added, wishing he had chosen his words better.  Could Harry tell he had spent nearly an hour bawling out Lupin?  Yes, Remus had already conjured two house elves, and yes, they were tip-toeing around the library and Harry's living quarters upstairs with the express command of staying utterly invisible to Harry at all times.  Severus knew that was going to last about as long as a box of licorice whips in the clutches of Nymphadora Tonks! 

"Who is wandering around lowering my wards?  What do you mean I'm not in danger?" Harry managed to stay seated, but only barely.

"You are in no danger."

"Someone is popping into my house, cleaning the yard of leaves, and making my breakfast!  How do they know how I like my eggs?"

"Have you been conjuring house elves, Potter?" Malfoy asked slowly and mockingly.  He was suddenly alight with amusement.  Snape shot Malfoy a warning glance, to which Draco smirked as only a Malfoy could smirk.  It must be on their DNA, Snape marveled, that ability to mock one with the barest twitch of the thinnest lip.   How the hell had Malfoy figured the problem out so quickly?

Harry howled at him, "Mind your own business!"

"Judging by your half of this place, I'd estimate you're going to need an army of house elves to keep the library clean," Draco replied, undaunted by the flames of Harry's anger.  To him it was like a pretty light show, like fireworks--  an amusement, but not a danger.  Harry wasn't a threat to him as long as Professor Snape was standing in the room to referee.   However, if the Potions Master had not been in the room, he would never have risked taunting Potter. 

"I'm not in the habit of enslaving fellow sentient beings!" Potter hissed at Malfoy.

"I'm sure you'd never do it on purpose.  It must have been an accident.  Conjuring house elves is a complex and involved spell.  It's not something an unskilled wizard undertakes lightly," Malfoy pressed, a mocking grin spiraling up his pale face. 

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape cautioned.  Inwardly, Severus was congratulating himself on having successfully predicted Harry's response to even the suggestion of owning house elves, but now was no time to show glee. 

"Yes, sir," Malfoy answered meekly, fiddling with his notes on the table and stealthily watching the exchange between Snape and Potter.   Severus patted Harry's shoulder to get him to stop glaring hatefully at Draco. 

"Harry, you are perfectly safe at Grimwood, I promise you.  However, you would be advised to stay here at Hogwarts, where, might I remind you, students are  supposed to remain while the school term is in session, unless you are away on school-related business with written permission."

"Hogsmeade is so close, I didn't think you were going to hold me to a little technicality like that," Harry conjured a bare smile.   

"Think it," Snape nodded. 

"Who will run the library if I'm not there some evenings and weekends?  Draco is down in Hogsmeade nearly every night at his shop-pe," Harry retorted, and he pronounced the extra letters mockingly, reinforcing exactly how pompous they were.  

"That's because as my apprentice, he is obligated to be there."

"Don't you feel I'm obligated to be at the library?" Harry countered. 

"We will consult the Headmaster for his opinion in the matter," Snape offered.  Harry was temporarily mollified by that answer. 

"Does that include this coming weekend?" he worried. 

"No.  As Professor McGonagall has already given you permission to be away from school grounds, I will not resend her promise to you, provided that your celebratory soiree will stay contained at Grimwood, and will not become a disorganized melee of mayhem."

"Henri and Raffles are in charge of planning for the Halloween party.  There won't be much mayhem," Harry bluffed badly. 

"Do you know what they have planned?"

"Not exactly," Harry admitted.   "I heard a rumor about piranhas in the apple-bobbing tank, but I'm sure that's a complete fiction."

"Let us hope," Snape answered.  "It's getting late.  I must bid you both good night."

Severus gave a small nod to Harry and then to Draco before quietly exiting the room.  He had not reached the door before Guido opened it, proving at least to his mind that Modesto occupied a listening post as well as a protection post.  The question was who Modesto was listening for, and why.  Snape paused on one heel, gave Modesto a piercing look, and then strolled away.  He heard Modesto close the bedroom door as he was headed down the landing to the next part of the long, winding stairs.  He had to say this much—the longer Harry remained in the Black Queen's Tower, the better condition his own heart was in, having to run up and down these stairs several times a week.  By the end of the school year, he would probably be able to run a marathon without becoming distressed or even slightly moistened.

4

"Harry, you've outdone yourself," Sister Silverthorne complimented, coming up to him and giving him a gentle hug in greeting for the third or fourth time this evening.  "The children are having a wonderful time!"

"I can't take credit.   Henri and Raffles did all the work," Harry replied, surveying the screaming, running, playing youngsters of all shapes and sizes and ages who were bouncing from one side of the library main floor to the other while the orphanage volunteers, CeeBee members, and parents from Hogsmeade Village milled around a fully-stuffed buffet table and chattered among themselves.  Harry knew that Henri and Raffles were around somewhere, but hiding from the noise and chaos that the children had brought with them.   Thank goodness someone had had the presence of mind to remove all the books on the lower shelves and place them safely away out of reach.   Someone had also polished the floor to a terrific shine, and cleaned the area rugs.  That was hardly something Harry would have thought necessary, in light of the fact it would simply get scuffed up again.  He glanced skyward, and wondered who had gotten up to the roof in order to clean the courtyard windows.  They were sparkling with light. 

"Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daddy."

Potter bounced the babbling Mordred on his hip and ducked aside barely in time when the toddler tried to cram a piece of well-slobbered candy into his mouth. 

"You decided on a different costume?" the sister asked, her smile curling as she studied Harry's quidditch uniform.

"Yes, well, I had planned on coming as a frog prince.  Hermione was going to be a princess.  We even bought the outfits.  Dreddy was going to be a tadpole, but Hermione took one look at his costume and said it was not green enough and made him look like a sickly sperm, so, we decided to rethink what to wear.  So, here we are, a beater and quaffle.  Hermione is running around somewhere as a seeker.  She's got a pocketful of snitches too."

"Do you think he's uncomfortable?"

"No, the ball is very soft inside," Harry said, examining the holes he had made for the toddler's arms and legs and head.  Of course he had had to enlarge the ball so Mordred could wear it.  "What's more, he's easier to keep a grip on," Harry laughed, lifting the small boy up to his shoulder in order to nibble on his ear.  Mordred dropped his sticky piece of candy down inside the back of Harry's uniform, and Potter wiggled in alarm, nearly dropping the boy.

"Oh dear.  Let me have him.  You need to fish that out before it gets permanently stuck," Sister Silverthorne urged.  Harry handed Mordred over to her, trying to remain calm.

"I forgot to ask which goddess you are," Harry said to the sister.  He pulled his shirt tails loose in the back and tried to get a hand far enough up his skin to reach the sticky sweet.  He took off his gauntlets and tried again, with no better luck. 

"Goddess?" Silverthorne chuckled, kissing Mordred on the hand.

"You're not in costume?" Harry teased pleasantly.

"I'm a muse, not a goddess," Sister Silverthorne laughed. 

"Which muse?"

"I suppose either Cleo or Calliope.  Maybe the one for tragedies, I cannot recall her name presently.  It's an inside joke, I'm afraid, one that takes some explaining after all these years.  We girls from Barksdale and Fishpaws used to dress as the Greek Muses, and the boys from Wayfarer and Wicklow would dress as the Greek heroes.  Welly understands.  Look, she's making faces at me from over there, rolling her eyes at me."

"Which muse is she dressed as?" Harry wondered, dancing around and jumping up and down, hoping the piece of candy would fall out of his shirt.  It appeared to have a hellish hold somewhere in the middle of his back right at his spine.

"Welly!  A Muse?  Never!  We used to get so mad at her when she'd refuse to dress as a muse, but now….now I understand that it's part of her nature to be a little different."

"What is she then?"

"You aren't steeped in much history, are you, Harry?"

"Not really.   She's wearing lots of plaid and a golden crown.  Is she a female Highlander?  Why is she carrying a Roman centurion's helmet around?"

"She's Boudicca, Queen of Iceni.   She always comes as Boudicca if you ask her to dress up for a costume party.  Blame her father for that one."

"Is that a real head inside there?"

"Not this year," Sister Silverthorne laughed softly.  "One time, though, she bought a real head in Knock Turn Alley, carried the damn thing around for a week before she gave it a proper burial.  She's capable of being a perfect ghoul.  Yes, we're talking about you, and it's all bad," she mouthed across the room to her old friend. 

The Minister of Magic laughed out loudly, and made a good show of crossing through the hordes of children, leading Georgie by the hand and swinging the helmet around with the other. The young orphan was quite taken with the tall, bright woman, and the feeling was clearly mutual.  He had been following her all night, tugging on her shirt sleeves and trying to take her dead head from her.  Harry was still dancing around when they arrived, and Georgie stared at him in concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked as Harry shimmied back and forth and walked around in a tiny circle.  Potter was doing his best to amuse the little boy.  He had had a terrible fright earlier when he got an apple from the bobbing tank and nearly lost his nose to a snapping turtle.

Well, at least it hadn't been piranhas after all. 

"Dreddy dropped a candy down my shirt," Harry explained.  Georgie's bruised face screwed up in puzzlement.  He ran around Harry, stopped in front of him, and peeked up inside the front of his shirt from the bottom as Harry was peeking down inside from the top. 

"I don't see any candy," Georgie pointed out quickly. 

"Georgie," Sister Silverthorne scolded tenderly, making him let go of Harry's clothes. 

"Which muse this year, Sylvie?" Wickerwell asked

"The one for tragedy—Melpomene, I believe?"

"Nice boots," Wickerwell teased gently.

"Boudicca again, Welly?"

"As always."

"Next year, I'm going to hide that outfit from you and make you wear something different."

"Are you?" the Minister countered.

"In fact, we'll start with this year.  You and Harry should go trade costumes."

"Wouldn't it make more sense if you and I traded costumes?" Wickerwell chuckled.

"No.  You simply aren't muse material, that much is certain.  But you would make a fearsome quidditch player.  Did you get your season tickets yet for the M & M Manglers?" 

"Yesterday," Wickerwell beamed.   "I had to donate 100,000 galleons in order to get the box I wanted, at an angle to the home team goal zone– the sheer audacity!   But it's mine—mine!   Yippee!"

"Yippee!" Georgie echoed, laughing at the wonder of an adult using such a word.  Wickerwell lifted him up with one arm so they were on eye level. 

"I will make a quidditch fan of you yet.  Georgie has promised he'll sit with me in the box whenever I ask.  Is that all right with you?" Welly asked Sister Sylvia, who was easing her orphan carefully back to the ground.  

"Georgie and a few others, I hope," she answered, bargaining with them both.

"We could probably cram twenty of them in that box at a time!  Done!"  Wickerwell exclaimed.  "Yippee!"

"Yippee!" Georgie echoed. 

"All right then, you and Harry go trade costumes," Silverthorne pointed towards the main stairs.

"I hate to intrude," Harry interjected dryly.  "The main problem with your plan is that I don't look a thing like Boudicca," he protested to Sister Sylvia. 

"I hear you're rather fetching as a centurion."    Wickerwell leveled a challenging gaze at Harry and lifted her helmet to show him the extraordinarily-unreal dead head inside it.  It was made of green and gray Jello.  There were candy worms hanging out of the mouth and nose. 

"Really?" Harry tried to laugh, but could only manage to swallow nervously.   Had she been to the Three Sheets lately?  He searched her tentatively, but her blocking spell kept him out.  It was utterly mellow, like being bathed in melted caramel.  The minister had either had a couple drinks or she had been at her munia stash before coming to the party tonight.  

"Should we trade, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"I guess," Harry whined.  "I have to find out where that candy went anyway.  But what about Mordred?"

"He'll be fine with me.  You two go switch.  We will wait for you here," Sister Sylvia assured him.  In fact, Mordred did look very happy with the CeeBees Head-Witch.  She had a way of calming children.   Georgie tickled Mordred's toes, and the toddler kicked around in glee.   Harry followed Wickerwell off into the crowd, wondering exactly how skilled she was with reduction/expansion spells.  He might be able to fit into her costume with room to spare, but her fitting into his costume was going to be tricky without a touch of magic at work. 

5

"You don't appear to be enjoying yourself," Le Clair murmured to Harry as he slipped into the over-large chair which Potter was occupying, and snaked his arms around the young man.  Potter nodded slowly, nearly losing his golden crown.  He took it off and put it on the side table, under which was resting Mr. Head.  Harry tickled the crown of his centurion helmet, enjoying the feel of the prickly crest.  Harry had had one too many of the sweet drinks that Hermione had fixed for him, and he was pondering a variety of choices between a nap and a hissy fit. 

"He's not here," Harry explained.

"Ah."  Henri didn't need to ask who.  Harry had been watching the people coming and going all night.  The children's party had ended shortly after eight.  They had been sent off with bags of cookies and candies and well-wishes, given a smooch on the cheek or a handshake as was their own preference.  Georgie and Sister Silverthorne had been the last two in line.  Henri had tried to get the sister to stay on for the second party, but she insisted she was much too tired.  Wickerwell hadn't been too tired though.  She was across the hall in the sports room, engrossed in quidditch discussions with Nico. 

"Smashing party though," Harry whispered longingly.  He had ensconced himself in the Vampire Reading Room, expecting not many people would be there.  Party-goers had begun to funnel in after him though.   He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed wherever he went.  There was loud music playing from the central area of the library, and it was drifting even to the far corners of the corridors.  There was no place to go for peace and quiet.  Even in here, he was being plied with offers to dance, or to chat, or to drink.  It was very hard to avoid people at parties.  He'd have to remember that in the future. 

"Why aren't you dancing downstairs?  You should go have some fun!  Go be a teen for once in your life," Henri chided.

"No one wants to dance with me," Harry lamented.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, several of them wanted to dance with Harry Potter, and congratulate him on his victory over evil, on achieving adulthood against mounting odds.  There's no shortage of people who might want to sigh, bat their eyes, and fawn over the hero."

"You do not wish to be sighed upon, have eyelashes waved at you, have throngs of adoring women and men throwing themselves at your feet?  A proud, plumed drake being followed by his lovely retinue?"

 

"Not a drake, no.  I was feeling like a bull must feel when pursued by several skilled matadors," Harry commented.  "It may seem like a simple dance from the outset, but by and by, you come to realize that if you don't remain on your guard, someone else will be carrying around your balls before the end of the evening."

"What an attitude you have about romance!  I plan to have you tipsy and dancing on the tables before it's All Hallows Day," Henri chuckled. 

"Half there," Harry promised, staring down into his empty glass.  Hermione had been bringing him new drinks nearly at the second he would finish the last one.  This time she had not reappeared.  He wondered if she were somewhere in a dark alcove with someone special.  Had she found someone special again this soon?  Harry wasn't sure he liked that idea.  He was sure Ron would have been furious.  But then again, he was not going to dictate to his friend what she could and couldn't do.  This was no time to be brave or stupid.   Besides, he could never begrudge Hermione a small piece of happiness in any regard. 

Henri was measuring Harry's silences and his pensive expression.  There was clearly only one thing he could do for Potter tonight—amuse him. 

"What did you do with Young Mr. Snape?"

"Mordred?" Harry asked.

"Did you send him off with the rest of the children?" Le Clair mused, imagining Sister Sylvia getting home with one extra orphan in the night.  Or maybe he went home with one of the families from Hogsmeade?

"Oh, no," Harry shook his head as he lamented.  "No.  Whisper came and took him home to Ravensrood.  I told her I had a crib all ready for him upstairs, but she said that I wouldn't have any fun at my party if I was looking after a child at the same time.  She took him home for the night.  I haven't given him his birthday presents yet."

"His birthday was today?"

"Tomorrow, yesterday, today?  I need to ask Severus and find out.  He never makes a big fuss about birthdays, really.  If he ever shows up, I'll ask him about Mordred's."

"You're very protective of him.  There were ladies at the earlier party who nearly wet their pants because he was calling you 'Daddy'.  There were whispers about him being your 'love child' or such nonsense.  Shouldn't one love all children, whether  you made them yourself or not?"

Henri had hoped to provoke a smile.  Sorrow washed up in Harry's eyes though.

"I suppose I am protective of him.  I never….never want him to feel like I felt growing up with the Dursleys.  I will always be here for him, to make him feel wanted."

"Even if you have to brave over-protective house elves?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.  "I know Whisper's secret weakness.  Buttery toffee."

"Why exactly did you trade costumes with the Minister of Magic?"

"Sister Sylvia said it would be amusing, and the Minister thought it would as well.  And she said I'm to call her 'Welly'.  She said she would call me 'Harry' and I could call her 'Welly', and we were going to be good friends."

"I'm glad you traded before Nico got here.  I'm afraid he'd've pounced on you if he had seen you in your quidditch gear."

"Welly will be perfectly safe from him though.  You don't need to worry he'll cheat on you.  Has he cheated on you?  No, never.  He wouldn't.  He loves you.  He adores you.  And you're a fabulous fuck.   He won't ever cheat on you, not even when the right wing beater for the Wittenberg Wunderhunds strips off in front of him before going into the showers, not that he doesn't have a fine ass himself.   We're sitting in Nico's chair.  He was watching you talk to Augustus over there, and that's what he was thinking, while he was sitting here, before he left the room."

Henri flashed a wicked flick of a grin before studying Potter's outfit again. 

"You are the most delectable savage here tonight.  The Pict of the bunch, one might say," Le Clair murmured, taking away Harry's cup and pulling him around on his lap so they were facing each other.

"Welly drew the blue things on me," Harry motioned to his arms and bare skin under the plaid wrapping where blue runes were peeking out.  Wickerwell had been wearing an oversized white shirt under the plaid wrapping, but Harry had opted to go without one.  He was swathed in enough material that a shirt would have been redundant.  Except that the material kept slipping here and there.  Henri imagined that Harry had no idea exactly how revealing that material was becoming at the moment. 

"Yes, I wondered who would have had the nerve to do that.  Have an inordinate number of people been kissing you tonight?"

"Aloha and Raffles both plastered me.  Why do you ask?  What do these things say?"

" 'Kiss me, touch me, kiss me, hug me, kiss me'," Henri translated. 

"These better not be permanent," Harry groused, rubbing at one with his thumb.  "Why isn't Severus here yet?"

"The night is young.  It's barely eleven," Le Clair bluffed, caressing Harry's shoulder and trying not to stare down into his costume.    "Perhaps his invitation took a wrong turn in the post."

"I put it in his very hands last week."

"Then I agree with you.  There's absolutely no cause for such unforgivable rudeness."

"Illumina didn't want to come tonight?"

"No, no.  Raffles and I tried to persuade her.   She said she didn't feel like company, and she didn't have a costume.  I told her she could wear a green dress and come as a pear or a peapod, and she exploded at me.  She's been in a foul temper lately, and peeing every five minutes.  Lulu locked herself in her room, and she was in the middle of a Floo-call with Severus when we left.  That was four or five hours ago."

"Kiss me," Harry begged, leaning in.

"That's the drink talking," Le Clair chided him tenderly. 

"He's not here."

"Yes, I know," Henri replied. 

"I'm never going to be first with him, am I?  I'm never going to be first.  Illumina will always be more important to him than I am.  He will always love her more than me.  How am I supposed to compete with her?"

"Nonsense," Henri scolded him.  "You are not competing with Lulu."

"Kiss me,"  Harry whispered, then planted his mouth on Henri's.  Le Clair allowed the kiss, rubbing his free hand up Harry's back and teasing the young man with his tongue.  He put his own drink aside and sat up straighter in order to discourage Harry from sliding down into his arms even further.   Potter nestled closer against  him though, putting his face in Henri's neck. 

"Take me somewhere," Harry whispered.  All he wanted was to feel adored, to feel loved.  He knew Henri could make him feel that way. 

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, petit chèr, but why?"

"I want you to take me somewhere and fuck me into tomorrow."

"Oh, do you?" Le Clair murmured, his eyes getting larger and redder by the second.  He caressed the side of Harry's face and brushed a small kiss to his nose.   

"What is that smile for?" Harry asked, hoping he didn't sound like he had quoted a soggy line from the latest piece of racy fiction he had found in the erotica room. 

"I was considering that God is toying with me through you, and that he's a right bastard, and that I'm going to have to stop letting Him get to me."  The vampire was having a hard time restraining himself.  His eyes devoured Harry even if he couldn't do it with his hands and his mouth.  His self preservation had taken control even as his libido protested madly.  "Not that I'm not tempted, but I made Severus Snape jealous enough by marrying his ex-wife and making her pregnant.  I shudder to think how furious he would be if I fucked his boyfriend too."

"I'm my own man.  He doesn't tell me what to do," Harry countered.   A lie, and they both knew it, but Henri was man enough to allow Harry his self-delusion, for which Potter was forever grateful. 

"If you have your heart set on getting me killed, I'd prefer a well-sanded stake with an even point, right in the heart, thanks."

"Does the point make a difference?" Harry wondered, momentarily distracted.

"Nothing worse than a sloppy point on the stake.  Wounds go left.  Wounds go right.  You can miss the heart entirely.  Then all you've got left on your hands is a pissed-off, injured vampire.  It's not pretty, I assure you."

Harry smiled slightly, and kissed Le Clair again.   A sudden, commanding hand on Potter's shoulder made him straighten up though.

"Le Clair, have you no sense of decency?" Volkova scolded.  For her to even have the cajones to come into the Vampire Reading Room said something.  Several of Le Clair's compatriot creatures eyed Volkova angrily, ready to pounce on her if Henri so commanded.  Henri shook his head at them, and they discretely moved away.   Harry's impromptu no-mayhem contracts with both Le Clair and Volkova had held up quite nicely for both of them.  Le Clair was smiling faintly at Volkova, his admiration evident.  She tugged Harry to his feet off of Henri's lap, straightening the sliding plaid fabric that was Harry's costume.

"Very little indeed," Henri confirmed.  He was both disappointed and relieved to have been deprived of Harry's person.  Potter was beginning to blush, realizing what a horrible scene he was making of himself.  People around the room were whispering and staring. 

"Mr. Potter is going to come with me for a walk.  You stay here and try not to be wrapped around any other beautiful young men by the time we return."

"So many choices, so little time," Le Clair tried out a painfully-embarrassed laugh.  Anna nodded to him, and walked Harry towards the exit. 

"Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to talk to you," Volkova said, guiding Harry through the portal and out into the corridor, which was filled with loud music and dancing and gyrating bodies and such. 

Potter's head was beginning to throb.  He held tight to Volkova's arm as she pulled him down the steps and through the main area and the largest crowd.  They were headed towards the glass front doors of the building.  People went past Harry in a blur.  Had he really drunk that much that he was losing his grip?  He spun around to watch the dancing bodies, and could have sworn, if only for a second, that he saw house elves veering through the crowd.  It could have been his imagination. 

There were dozens of  wizards and witches crammed in here, dressed in varying costumes, among which Harry recognized several important people in his life, as well as himself more than a few times.  Two of the other Harrys were even dancing together.  He watched them, thinking it was weird and sexy and strange at once.   It was dizzying to see these faces all in one place—the living and the dead and himself as well.  There was even a couple dressed as Dumbledore and McGonagall out there dancing up a storm.  Harry was busy marveling at the accuracy of their outfits if not the precision of their dance moves until he realized, damn, those were the real ones!!  He stopped to stare again, and barely caught himself before he fell across the carpet into the foyer.  He clumsily followed Volkova out onto the porch. 

"I don't suppose you know where Severus is tonight?" Harry asked Volkova as the Dark Arts professor closed the doors tight and took a deep, relaxed breath.  She wasn't any more comfortable in crowded rooms than Harry was.  Solitude and the still of the night outside suited her well.   

The front path was lined with small glowing pumpkins.  The main gates at the end of the path were closed tight.  Beyond the gates, Hogsmeade was alive with mischief and revelry as well, but the grounds themselves were quiet enough.  Owen Stoneburne was guarding the gates, or standing very near to them, or peering about looking for someone.  Harry wasn't sure what Owen was doing, honestly.    The knot garden that Neville had designed on the right side of the house was glowing with torches.  There was a couple sitting in the very middle on a stone bench, necking quietly with each other.  Harry made a point not to stare at them. 

"I had thought to find Snape here," Volkova answered Harry's question. 

"What are you dressed as this evening?" Harry asked.  He knew very well she wasn't dressed for the party.  She was wearing everyday clothes, her usual, comfortable trousers and shirt with a short jacket. 

"Middle-aged mum.  Have you seen Draco around?"

"No, and I'm very surprised, to be honest."

"You invited me.  Did you not invite him?"

"I did not, knowing full well he would refuse such dubious charity."

"Then why are you surprised you have not seen him?"

Harry either leaned on her for support or she anticipated he would be listing her direction.  He was suddenly propped against her. 

"You see, it's like this.  If I had given him an invitation, he would have refused.  He would have been annoyed at my gesture of goodwill.  However, because I did not invite him, I felt sure that curiosity and sheer determination would compel him to break into the party while no one was looking."

"I see.  Strangely enough, I haven't seen him since dinner at school.  He's not at his shoppe either.  The windows were destroyed again.  One of your Gryffindor friends, no doubt."

"I'd be very surprised.  Hermione is at the party, and Neville and Luna were here, but had to leave about an hour ago. I find my number of Gryffindor friends had dwindled considerably.  It may have been Gryffindors, but not my friends, you see."

"No sign of Draco?"

"Not to worry.  I have left the wards open here for his signature."

"How did you get his magical signature?"

"I took one of his writing quills," Harry snickered. 

"Very clever indeed," Volkova complimented him, not bothering to point out that one did not have to steal a wizard's writing instrument to garner his magical signature.   One had to procure an object which belonged to the wizard, that was all.   Potter was being too concrete in his interpretation of whichever ward book he had read.  On the bright side, he was finally reading a ward book!   

"Not very clever if he doesn't fall for it."

"We shall wait and see if your ruse pans out."

"Severus isn't here though.  I wonder if he's mad I didn't invite Draco and so he decided not to come either, out of solidarity or such?"

"I don't know," Volkova said as if she suspected that might be possible.  Harry was suddenly very sad, and she regretted her words.  "Where, pray tell, is your guard tonight?" Anna asked. 

"Modesto?  He was upstairs in the weapons room demonstrating his fencing prowess for a very tasty blonde.  I'd rather have Teddy.  She's nice to me."

"I saw Teddy flying around the perimeter on her broom earlier.  She mothers you too much.  Thought I saw Aloha Hawkins around here too," Volkova added carefully.

"You should have seen Modesto with her!  Practically lapped her palm when he met her.  I thought she was going to have to spray him with mace to keep him back.  She came with Raffles tonight.  They're not together, together.  You know?  I didn't mean to imply anything illicit.  I saw them both earlier, and they were together at that time.  They spent about ten minutes mauling me with hugs and kisses.  Then they walked away giggling to themselves."

"Did you invite her?" Anna asked.  Harry shrugged.  He was probably indicating he hadn't but was too kind to say so. 

"It was nice to see her.  Why can't we be friends?  How are things with you and Havoc?"

"Better," she replied uncomfortably, wishing she didn't know why the two thoughts 'Havoc and Volkova' and 'being on friendly terms with an ex-lover' were connected in Harry's mind.  Everyone had assumed that the reason she was so flustered about Havoc was because they had been intimate as teens without knowing they were brother and sister.  Owen and Guido believed as such.  Teddy was at least a bit brighter than the others though.   She knew there was an unspoken secret between Havoc and Volkova, a bond made more delicate by their blunt reintroduction.  It was in Havoc's face every time they met. 

Have you kept my secret, La Lupa?  

Of course Volkova had protected her friend.  How could he question her ability to keep his secret?  It hurt  for her to always be a reminder that he lived under a shaky façade that might crumble at any given moment.  She insisted to him that being gay was not going to get him kicked out of his circle of friends, or lose him work as a body guard, but he didn't want to take the chance, and she was not going to make the decision for him.  Separately, Teddy had also told him that no one in their circle would care, but Havoc had not been so sure.  Maybe he knew more about Stoneburne and Modesto's manly fears than they did.   It didn't help matters that whenever Teddy and Havoc were in the same place at the same time, Owen attempted to put them together as a couple.  It helped even less that the reason Stoneburne was so keen to get them married was because he knew very well that Teddy was in love with him.  Morgenrot had long carried a torch for Stoneburne, believing she had been keeping it concealed when the very opposite was much more the truth. 

Potter's curiosity burned in his face.  Harry wanted to ask more questions about Havoc. He would have had to have asked, because Volkova was radiating a blocking spell so powerful he tingled when he leaned on her.   What must it be like to be reunited with long-lost family members as a grown adult?  Does it change one's view of the world, knowing there's someone else to depend on?  Not that Volkova was alone, per se, but there were so many things that Harry wanted to ask.    

Sensing his unasked questions, and wanting to avoid them, Anna waved to Owen as a distraction, and Stoneburne waved back.  He put away his wand and walked towards them along the pumpkin-lighted path.

"I saw Havoc earlier at Sandy's," Harry said, hoping to stir up conversation.    

"Sandy? Who's Sandy?" Anna growled.  Harry made a concerned face. 
 

"She owns the bakery, right over there," Harry pointed into the city. 

"That Sandy?  Yes.  Of course."

"He and Owen were buying soup."

"What kind of soup?"

"Eel soup for Vixen.  She's down with a chill."

Volkova gave a long pause, her face an enigma.  Harry had said whatever had sparked that blunt-angry expression, but he was damned if he knew what it was. 

"She needs to get out of the house once in a while, find a job or a volunteer post, something meaningful to do with her life instead of being an incubator for his progeny," Anna said bitterly.  Harry was left feeling as though he had missed part of the conversation. 

"I get the impression Owen likes having her at home."

"That's because Owen Stoneburne is a chauvinist pig," Volkova said as Stoneburne walked up to within earshot.  Owen laughed softly at Anna's words and watched her with a curious expression.  The couple necking in the knot garden parted with a loud gasp.  They exchanged a few words, dropped down out of sight, and hurried away stealthily.    They slid into the library through the concealed door directly in front of the knot garden itself. 

"Discussing my personal life again, are you?" Owen asked, giving Harry a nod and a quick, cursory glance up and down.   He reached out and tugged Harry's sliding plaid wrap up around his waist again.  "Damned cheeky costume, Mr. Potter.  You shouldn't be out here.  There is evil in the night air."

"Nonsense," Volkova scoffed.  "Don't change the subject.  You need to let Vixen have a life outside of being your wife and homemaker and mother to all those kids," Anna challenged.

"Yes, because you're the first person I'd ask for advice on marriage," Owen countered with a ruffled tone. 

"Has Malfoy been trying to sneak in through the front gates?" Harry asked, hoping these two weren't about to set into each other tooth and nail.

"Haven't seen him," Owen growled. 

Feet thundered over the tiles of the foyer and out onto the porch.  It was not Malfoy.  Harry darted left, then right to avoid being run over by Remus Lupin and Gunnar Halvorsen.  Remus was dressed in a cavalier uniform, complete with feathered hat.  Harry couldn't help but shiver at the thought that raced through his mind of someday working up the nerve to ask Lupin and Snape both to the Three Musketeers Room together.  Would they agree, he wondered? 

"What  a grand job they did on the place!" Havoc boomed.  He was wearing a simple monk's robe, complete with a beaded belt from which hung a large cross that dangled around near his knees.  The aesthetic simplicity of his costume only made him that much more handsome, in a gigantic, capable-of-mass-destruction sort of way.  Volkova grinned when she saw his costume, and she was itching to tease him about it, but refrained because Stoneburne was frowning at them. 

"Yes, indeed," Remy agreed. 

"Remind me to ring up this Le Clair fellow next time I want a proper party."

"Harry!  What are you doing out here?" Lupin exclaimed, giving Harry a brief hug before greeting Volkova and Stoneburne.    "We're off to have some late dinner.  Anyone care to join us?"

"Do you like Indian curries?" Havoc asked.  The very idea of spicy food made Harry queasy.   His upset stomach must have shown on his face.  Remy was grinning, eyeing Harry up and down.  He adjusted Harry's costume, and put a quick spell on the side to keep it from slipping further down Potter's slender hips. 

"He's about to turn in for the night, but you two have a lovely time," Anna said.   Volkova caught Harry as he tipped sideways, and she accidentally knocked part of his costume down.  She quickly pulled the section of plaid back up over his bare chest as Harry watched her in puzzled silence.

"Have you seen Severus tonight?" Harry finally asked Lupin.

"He was at dinner at school, conspiring with Malfoy.  They were thick as thieves at the Slytherin Table.  If we see him in Hogsmeade, I'll send him your way," Remy promised. 

Lupin made a sweeping bow with his cavalier hat and sauntered off.  Happily, Harry noted.  Remy was beaming.  Why was Remy glowing that way?  Havoc cast a backwards wink and grin at Volkova, which she returned.  Owen was suddenly glaring at her.  The other two wizards were hardly out of earshot before he snapped at Volkova. 

"You two, really!  I mean, you're so blatant.  Have a bit of decency, could you?"

"What?" Anna demanded impatiently. 

"It's bad enough you're shagging a boy half your age.  Do you have to advertise to the world you were once snogging your own kin?"

"Excuse me?" Volkova bristled.

"Could you possibly get into a normal relationship with an appropriate man your own age who doesn't share your gene pool?"

"I was going to ask Remy something important," Harry started to say, watching the front gates open and close to allow Lupin and Havoc to depart.  Owen still followed Volkova  with his narrowed glance. 

"What were you going to ask?" Volkova murmured, her voice calm as water, which probably meant Stoneburne was narrowly close to losing his life. 

"Restless Spirits," Harry babbled.      

"What about them?" Stoneburne added. 

"Does that charm make spirits restless, or is it used to quell restless spirits?"

"The Charm for Restless Spirits quells them," Volkova replied with a soft, sad laugh. 

"Where can I get a copy?" Harry asked. 

"I'll find one for you," Volkova promised.  She motioned back inside, and Harry followed her, unaware that his costume was unraveling behind him.  Stoneburne caught one end, and Volkova raced back to catch the other, and they managed to cover him decently before he crossed the threshold minus ten feet of unraveling plaid material.

"Watch your step," Owen murmured, patting Harry's shoulder and fitting a more secure spell onto the material.   Volkova took Harry's hand and guided him upstairs instead of back through the main area of the library.  Stoneburne closed and locked the front doors. 

6

Harry climbed into bed hoping Severus might eventually show.  He didn't have to appear in Harry's bed, but he might at least show up at the damned party.  Volkova tucked Potter in without undressing him, pausing only to slip off his sandal-like boots.  She patted him on top of the head and turned to wave goodnight from the door.  Owen took up a position in the hallway as the portal was closing, and Volkova lingered at Stoneburne's side.  Harry could have heard their conversation if he wanted to, but his eyes were closing even as his head hit the pillow.

Moaning and crying woke him a short time later.  His own.  He rolled to his other side on the bed, his throat tight and his body trembling.  A man spoke near to him but it was not Severus.  He nearly leapt into the air.  Someone helped him sit up and put a glass of water in his grip.  Harry drank the water and dried off his face, lying back down.  No light had come on in the room.  A big hand thumped him blindly on the chest once or twice, protection reverberating from the heavy paw.  Stoneburne's voice deep voice rumbled above.  He was in daddy mode. 

"Beware of night beasties, eh?"

Harry mumbled his puzzlement, and Owen lingered briefly.

"Tonight, the portal between the worlds is open.  Didn't you know that?  The barrier between the living and the dead drops at sunset and returns with the sunrise.  I've seen it with my own eyes, I have.  But you're safe here."

Harry shook his head no, closing his eyes.  Owen's voice continued onward for a few careful words.

"There's the holy spring……Teddy's wards….you're perfectly safe here.  We even put runes on the window sills.  Back to sleep with you."

Harry nodded, and felt the weight of his guard leaving his bedside.   Owen opened and closed the bedroom door, and Harry slid his feet out of bed.  He walked to the first window, pushed the curtains aside, and ran his hands along the frame until his bare fingers met the twin locks.  He felt his heart drop.  The locks were not secure.  Why did the window frame smell so strongly of orange polish?  Harry pushed the lock switch to the right, and he walked to the next window.  How many windows were there in the living quarters?  Would it take very long to find them all?

With his own room secure, Harry decided to check Hermione's room, which was next door.  He knew that his bathroom shared a wall with her bedroom, and rather than disturb Owen in the hallway, Harry touched the barrier with a small distortion spell, and walked right through.  Hermione looked to be asleep in her bed.  Harry tiptoed to her windows, ran his fingers along the orangey-smelling wood, and again, found the windows unlocked.  He pushed them as far as he could to the right, and satisfied his friend would be safe for the night, he walked around her bed and on towards the next wall.

Another small distortion spell later, and he was through.  He missed that the wall behind him did not close up properly.  Hermione rose out of bed with her wand in hand and stopped his spell partway.  She slid her robe on, shushed someone behind her, and followed Harry visually as well as she could.  He stumbled to the windows in the guest room at the end of the hall.  He was testing the locks, and found them lacking.  He twisted them violently to the right, and went towards the next wall.  Hermione screamed and raced out into the hallway, running towards the guest room.  Owen popped up from his post in front of Harry's door to follow her, mainly because she was screaming Harry's name as she ran. 

There was a gaping hole in the outer wall of the building, and autumn winds were filling the room.  A stray leaf raced upwards and tangled in Hermione's hair as she pushed her head out through the hole Harry had made through the woodwork and the bricks.   She was petrified she would find his mangled body lying down in the grass below. 

"Harry!" she screamed. 

Owen was right behind her for half a second before he was throwing himself out of the open space.  He grabbed the perpendicular plane with a spider spell and steadied himself, then shimmied down the rest of the bricks.  It was then he gaped up at the side of the building.  A broom occupied by two people hovered, and Teddy was quietly talking to Harry.

"Were you checking the locks from the outside?  Clever plan," she murmured, noting Stoneburne's arrival underneath her broom, and nodding down to him.  "Mr. Potter, why don't you let me check the window locks?  Owen will see you back to bed."

Without waiting for an answer, Morgenrot landed her broom, putting Harry safely on the ground.  Owen pulled off his own cloak and wrapped it around Harry, who was missing his costume entirely by this point.  His bare knees and hands and elbows were slightly scuffed, but none too worse for wear.  The blue runes had held up nicely though, and that was a good thing, considering they were the only thing covering him under Owen's cloak.  Stoneburne glanced towards the front of the library, where party-goers were coming and going and gawking all at once.   There seemed to be no alternative to having to walk him back through the house, because certainly they couldn't go back in the way he came out.. 

The hidden door directly in front of the knot garden opened, and Hermione appeared with Burnie Stoneburne at her heels.  Hermione latched on to Harry with a hug.  She was shaking from head to toe.  Harry was undoubtedly perplexed by her concern.  Owen never stopped to wonder why his son was there before the guard took Harry in through the hidden entrance and directly to the elevator that would ride to the top library floor.  From there, they would be able to enter the living quarters with a minimum of witnesses.   Owen's concern at the moment was getting Harry back inside with as little excitement among the guests as possible.  When he reached the elevator, he found that Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore were holding the folding doors open for him.

"What in the - - -?" Burnie whispered to Teddy.

"I'm sure it's no cause for alarm," Morgenrot lied easily.

"Was Potter trying to kill himself?" Burnie worried. 

Teddy hushed him firmly.  She pushed him inside, closed the hidden entrance, and reactivated the concealment spell.  Climbing onto her broom, she resumed her patrol of the perimeter of the grounds, and tried to persuade herself that Burnie hadn't been right in his assumption. 

7

Harry awoke late with a pounding headache.  His costume from the night before was folded on the chair, cleaned and pressed and spotless.   Funny that Harry didn't remember taking it off.  The blue runes were smeared about his naked skin and all over his sheets and pillows as well.  Apparently their binding spell had worn off in the night.  He stumbled into the shower and out again, feeling cleaner and wetter, but not better.  He forwent shaving for the day, hoping he could lie around a while more before anyone noticed he was up and about.  

He rummaged in a drawer that he thought had contained at least one pair of old mangy sweats he would wear around the living quarters as long as he didn't go into the library itself.  He found, to his surprise, that the mangy old sweats had been replaced with a sleek, new jogging suit with a small golden snitch on the breast area of the zipper jacket.   Mortified, Harry stuffed the shiny, slick black material back into the drawer and mourned for the disappearance of his comfortable clothes.

He searched other drawers in the dresser and found a slightly-less mangy pair of sweatpants that had not been snatched by unknown burglars.   The rent in the left leg had been mended though.  He wondered if he should bother going to the police and filing a report.  Harry gave up that plan and pulled on the sweats.  Then he rooted through drawers, searching around for a comfortable shirt .   He wanted to get warm.  Looking out the windows had revealed what a gloomy, gray day it had shaped into while he slept. 

Who the hell was stealing his clothes?  And, he wondered as he stared through the curtains, who had broken the window locks? 

Harry wandered back over to the bed and sat down, slipping his way into an over-sized scarlet sweatshirt that he had managed to locate in the bottom drawer.   When he realized the bed had been stripped, cleaned, redressed, and thoroughly made-up during his time in the shower, he slid off the side of the covers and landed on the floor with an exclamation of surprise.   Harry bounced to his feet and yanked the covers off the bed, searching underneath and around and then standing at the end of the bed and staring with puzzlement into the mangled mess he had made.  The sheets were clean, the pillows were clean, the covers were clean, and he was, he decided, obviously losing his mind. 

What should one do when they believe they've gone insane?  Was there an emergency protocol that wizards should follow?  Should he owl Doctor McGonagall and see if she had an opening earlier than his four o'clock appointment on Wednesday?  Harry left the covers in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed, and walked back into the bathroom.  He stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, peered deep into his own eyes, removed his glasses, stared further still.  He put his glasses back on, opened the bathroom door, and stared out into his bedroom.

The bed was made again.

Harry sat down in the portal between the two rooms and waited, eyes fixed on the bed.  Maybe it was charmed to clean and straighten itself once the occupant(s) extracted themselves for the day.  The problem was that it looked like it was a perfectly ordinary bed.  It was a nice choice.  He mentally complimented whoever had chosen it for him.  The bedroom was tidy too.  The furniture was sturdy and elegant and very classy.  The trouble was, just like the sleek, shiny new jogging suit that he had stuffed back in the drawer, it simply wasn't Harry.  There wasn't anything in this room that felt personal.  It was as anonymous as a large-chain hotel room, even down to the cheerful abstract landscape paintings hung on the walls. 

Harry felt adrift in his own life, as though maybe he didn't belong here either.   His living space here at Grimwood was obviously not secure.  His sanctuary at Hogwarts was occupied by Malfoy more often than not.  He was welcome at Ravensrood, but even there, he was a guest, not family.  The Burrow was gone forever.   Privet?  Privet had always been more of a prison than a home.  He could always move back to Monvert with Henri, but even there he was a guest, not family.  He wasn't family anywhere.  He was completely adrift. 

Harry could hear footsteps in the hallway outside his room.  Hermione was talking softly.  A quiet masculine voice was speaking to her.  Harry opened his second sight and could sense Granger was walking with Owen's son Burnie.   Harry hurriedly fled for a more dignified seating arrangement, throwing himself into a nearby chair.  Hermione knocked on his door and then opened it, peering inside.

"You ready for breakfast?" Granger asked, seeing him up and dressed and somewhat lucid.  It was clearly not time yet to broach the topic of last night's weirdness, but she was testing the waters already.  The smell of cooking bacon and toast drifted into his room.  Harry's nerves, already on edge because of the bed, twitched.  Hermione made a sympathetic face.  "Or a hangover cure instead?" she offered. 

"Is my bed charmed?" Harry asked her.  Burnie frowned as he tried to follow what Harry was alluding to, but Hermione understood what he was driving at.  Maybe it was because she knew he was not one to make the bed first thing upon getting up. 

"I'm sure it is.  All the newest ones are.  Very simple spell," she reassured him. 

"Oh, sure, okay," Harry tried to laugh, scratching at his unshaven chin and nodding.  "Sure.  That explains it."  He laughed unevenly, and sniffed.  "How long have you been up that you're cooking already?" Harry wondered.   Hermione made another face, an awkward smile. 

"I'm not cooking."

"Who is?" Harry nearly whimpered.

"Teddy.  She's a natural.  Best pancakes I've had in years.  Better hurry if you want to eat.  Guido has been devouring most of what she lands on the table.  She brought Brigit with her too, to give Vixen some rest and quiet."

"Don't worry.  Brim's wandering around in Hogsmeade," Burnie put in quietly. 

Potter wanted to tell Burnie that his grim-faced nemesis-sister was the least of Harry's concerns at the moment, but he held his tongue.   He heard Brigit's small footsteps scampering up the hallway, and climbed to his feet out of the chair as the wild toddler came screaming around the open doorway.  She ran straight for the bed, climbed into the middle, and bounced around gleefully as the three young people watched her.  Her blonde-red curls haloed her face, rose into the air, and stayed aloft even when she landed in between jumps.  She was radiating a powerful aura—of that Harry was certain.  The covers were completely jumbled, and pillows were starting to float around her.   Magical energy billowed around her.  She started floating for half a second between each drop. 

"Jump!  Whew!  Jump!  Whew" she chanted.  Harry wondered while watching the youngest Stoneburne if Volkova had looked like her as a little kid—all feral and disquieting and weird.  Burnie finally reached over and pulled his sister out of mid-air, draping her over one shoulder like a bundle.  The pillows dropped like stones, and the comforter drifted off the bed onto the floor in a heap. 

"Brigie, you and I are going to have to talk about shhhhh."

"Shhh?" Brigit repeated, standing up straight in his grip and planting her shoes on his hips for leverage.  "What shhh?"

"Shhhhh," Burnie replied back, softening his voice and covering her mouth with one hand.  "Shh.  Shh."

"I don't wanna SHHHHH!" Brigit bellowed, shoving his hand away.

"Shhhh," Burnie scowled, carrying her out of Harry's room.  Brigit screamed the whole way down the hall as if she were having her limbs ripped off by an ogre.  Hermione turned to follow, her eyes beaming with warmth as she watched them.  Harry realized in a second that  it must be serious between Hermione and Burnie.  It wasn't everyone's screaming kid sister she could tolerate, let alone smile at fondly. 

There were currently more pressing matters on Potter's mind though.  Harry was staring at the disheveled bed in great anticipation.  Hermione reached out and tugged his hand, pulling him along. 

"I'm waiting for the charm to kick in," Harry explained, peeking back around the doorway, and finally allowing Hermione to drag him down the hall and away.

8

Harry was back in bed before one, plowing through a copy of Spirit Charms which had appeared on his nightstand.  He had to assume that Volkova had left it there for him last night and he simply hadn't seen it this morning in his panic about the bed.  It didn't feel like a dangerous bed.  He rolled around under the covers to find a more comfortable spot on the mattress.  Hermione and Burnie had taken Brigit into Hogsmeade and the living quarters were blessedly quiet in her absence.  There were people coming and going from the library downstairs, but hardly any of that ruckus filtered up through to where he was.  Harry landed on his stomach.  He moved the pillows around to bear his frame better, and was asleep again in no time, face down, glasses smashed into his nose and cheek.

Had he really been mauling Le Clair last night, Harry wondered as he drifted off to sleep.  He should probably find him and apologize.  What was the proper etiquette?  So sorry to have put my tongue in your mouth without preamble?  Can we still be friends?  

"Malevolent boy-creature.  Still abed at this hour!?"

Harry rose to the surface, aware of nothing but the tickle of that sonorous voice.  Severus Snape was sitting down on the side of his bed, sliding a hand over the small of Harry's back.   If it had been anyone else, they would have found themselves on the receiving end of a nasty repulsion spell.   But it was Severus, so he was perfectly safe. 

"You're too close!"  Raffles shouted from the doorway, her voice muffled by the heavy dark cloak and mask she was wearing to ward off the sunlight, dimmed through it was on such a cloudy, gloomy day.   Snape gave the young vampire a piercing look, and she laughed out loudly. 

"Sorry to startle you," Severus whispered in Harry's ear.

"WAY TOO CLOSE!  BACK UP!  BACK UP!" Raffles laughed again, running over to the bed.  "Harry, how can you sleep at a time like this?   You're an uncle!!"

Harry turned over and pushed off the covers.  His book thumped to the floor.  Severus had obviously been awake all night, as he was pale and tired in spite of his proud smile.  If Raffles had slept, Harry couldn't tell.  She bounced around as if she had consumed several espressos. 

"Illumina has delivered her baby," Severus explained, retrieving the Spirit Charms book and giving Harry a weird glance.  Raffles wrapped a hug around Harry and Severus both.  She was brandishing a small photograph, which she thrust into Harry's grip.

"Isn't she the cutest??" Raffles gushed.   A dark-haired infant squirmed in the picture, opening her mouth to bawl out in protest.  Her pink ruffled outfit gave her the appearance of an overdressed cupcake.  Someone had already pierced her ears.  Little red gems glittered in her earlobes.   There was a tiny bow embedded in her luxurious dark curls.  A black shadow entered camera range.  Two arms were holding her carefully.   A pale chin and a big proud grin came into focus.  It was Henri, of course. 

"Very cute," Harry mumbled, surprised. 

"You have to come by later tonight and see her.  Maybe they'll have decided on a name by then."

She flashed the picture at Harry again, and he touched the center. 

"Desdemona Aurelia," he murmured.  Raffles blinked at him, smothering a surprised laugh.  "That's Dezzie."

"You've met before?" Raffles teased. 

The world went fuzzy for a few seconds.  Harry could hear Severus and Raffles talking, but a tidbit of a vision was whirling through his mind.

            "Dezzie, sweetheart?  Why are you nailing bacon around your window?"

            "Porcula," the small girl explained, not turning away from her business.  She wielded the large hammer with a fair amount of accuracy, securing another long strip of pink-red meat to the wood with a bent nail.  Harry kept standing in her bedroom doorway, studying the materials the five-year-old had collected from around Ravensrood: bacon from the kitchen, hammer and nails from the      toolshed, a jar of reddish-brown paint and a thin brush from the painting supplies on the third floor where Harry was resolved to complete the repairs to his personal den this weekend if possible.  Or was it paint?  Harry sniffed, getting a sudden craving for baked beans and coleslaw.  A pile of red apples was stacked in the bay window bench.  This was definitely serious. 

            Harry put down his work satchel and entered Dezzie's room.  He had seen the shadows outside the glass before she had, and was hoping to defuse the situation before things could get out of hand.  The last time someone had startled Dezzie, she had jolted them with enough defensive energy to put them in St. Mungo's for a week.  Sergei Volkov was pretty cautious around her these days. 

            "Were your cousins telling you scary stories?" Harry asked.  "Your first night back and they're already up to it, eh?"

            He picked up the brush and dipped it into the jar, releasing the sweet scent of barbeque sauce into the air.  It was pungent and wonderful, and Harry lamented he'd have a hard time duplicating that particular recipe.

            "You have to put it all around the window, or he'll come in at night," she explained, standing closer to Harry and ducking under his arm.  "I can't get to those spots up there," she pointed.

            Harry reached skyward with the brush and smoothed the sauce on the very tip top of the window space, and from his vantage point, he could see into the   bushes. Mordred and Galfridus were crouching, waiting for their opportunity to strike. Four wide eyes followed Harry as he spread the sweet sauce, and Harry glared back down at the boys, making his mood clear without saying one word. Dezzie was nailing up another strip of bacon. 

            Harry stuck his brush in the air and motioned them out of the bushes.  The pounding of Dezzie's strikes masked the rustle of the branches and leaves as the boys sheepishly dragged themselves clear of their hiding spot.  Harry leaned    sideways over the window bench and watched them the entire way. Pink pig masks jangled on the backs of their cloaks as Mordred and Galfridus slinked           around the side of the house and disappeared.   Seconds later, Galfridus's head appeared again.  Harry glared at him sternly, and he paled before vanishing again.  Harry would deal with them later.  For now, there was one scared five-year-old to comfort. 

            "Will Porcula leave tracks in the sauce?" Dezzie wondered, splashing a messy, drippy line across the bench.  It would take a week to clean this room properly, Harry decided. 

            "I think the best plan of action is to lock up your room safe and sound once we're done, and you can sleep with Uncle Sev and me tonight, hmm?  Porcula won't find you in our room.  It's pork-proof.  Tomorrow, Teddy and I will make certain your room is safe for you.  Would that be all right?"

            "Is this enough bacon?" she asked, trembling as she pointed behind him. 

"I'm sure it's enough," Harry said.  Severus and Raffles had stopped talking briefly. 

"Enough what?" Severus questioned.

"Bacon," Harry whispered, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face.    Raffles stopped mid-word, studying Harry closely. 

"You're glowing," she said.  "What were you seeing?"

"Hard to explain," Harry replied, shaking his head.  Raffles looked disappointed.  She sniffed around him on both sides.

"You were having a vision.  You're all warm.   You smell nice—warm and fresh from the oven.  Mmmm.  Nice.  You have to see Illumina tonight and tell her about what you saw, if she's feeling up to visitors.  Be careful though.  She was a bit cross  this morning.  Nearly killed the paper boy for waking her.  Sorry, but I have to run.  So many people to tell, so little time!"

Raffles kissed Harry on the cheek (bumped her mask rather forcefully into his cheek and nose) and ran for the door.  She was gone in a blinding flash.  Harry blinked at her disappearance, and stared blankly up at his Potions Master.

"Do I really smell nice?" he questioned dimly.

"Did you over-indulge last night at your party?" Severus murmured disapprovingly.

"When did Illumina have her baby?"

"Last night."

"Oh."

"I hate to rush you, but there's a Scotsman named McDermott waiting at Ravensrood with twenty dogs and about as many young relatives of the female persuasion."

"All Hallows Eve?" Harry questioned.

"All Hallows Eve was yesterday.  This is All Hallows Day.  All Saints Day, if you follow a Christian church.  Today is when many cultures, most far older than the Christians, honor the spirits of the dead.   It's November First, at any rate.  Do I look like a repository for information about pagan holidays and what-not?  Will you please come along?  There's practically an entire clan of Scots waiting for you.  It's rude to keep them this long.  And yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, you smell wonderful," Severus murmured, his voice husky against Harry's cheek.

Scant minutes later, Harry was pushed impatiently through the Floo, and found himself in the downstairs sitting room at Ravensrood.  The double doors had been thrown open onto the terraces and down into the ornamental gardens.  The entire yard was awash with yelping puppies and young women.  The sky looked as if it could open up with a downpour at any given second.  Grandfather Orpheus was walking around chatting with the blond and ruddy Scot named McDermott, while Mrs. Dalrymple supported both Mordred and Galfridus.  Harry stopped on the threshold and gulped his alarm, turning back to Severus for a quick word.

"You spent the night delivering a baby?  Why didn't you owl me?  I might have been able to help.  Boil water?  Find clean towels?  All those things they rush around doing in the movies."

"Draco was helpful.  I couldn't have done it without him."

"Malfoy helped you deliver Illumina's baby?  I'd have paid good money to see that!" Harry laughed, his voice carrying over the gray and gloomy morning outside. 

"He was very helpful indeed," Severus replied, shoving Harry gently out onto the lawn.  He surveyed the young man before him, hoping that everyone else couldn't instantly see that he had been roused out of bed.  But it was hard to hide that Harry's locks were disarrayed, his clothing was rumpled, and he was wearing mismatched socks peeking out of his runners.  He was frightfully messy-looking, and all the more delicious for it.  Clearly Harry had dressed himself this morning, and had had no help from the house elves lurking around Grimwood. 

"Is today or tomorrow Mordred's birthday?" Harry asked over one shoulder.

"Yesterday," Severus answered, putting on a cautious smile and waving to the young women, who all turned around at once, and squeaked with excitement at Harry's arrival.  Potter stopped in his tracks again, and faced Severus. 

"Halloween then?!  I'll have to remember for next year.  Are you eating later?"

"Quite probably, yes, after I've had some sleep."

"Can I join you?  Will you join me?  We'll get take-away if you don't want to eat my cooking."

"They aren't going to snatch you up and run, I promise," Snape murmured, turning Harry back around to face the throng of women rushing towards him.   Above the din of barking dogs and flustered greetings, Harry was never so happy as to hear one particular voice shouting for him.

"Daddy!" 

Mrs. Dalrymple landed Mordred cautiously into Potter's grasp as McDermott came over and started shaking his other hand.  He eyed the young child in Harry's grip, patting him on top of the head.   McDermott wasn't sure what to make of the boy clinging to Harry and calling him 'Daddy', but he was too polite to ask questions. 

Harry watched Orpheus and had to smile.  The charming old wizard was like a tiny boy who had landed in the middle of a free candy shop, what with all these beautiful girls wandering his terraced yard.   Mrs. Dalrymple was keeping a very close eye on him, as any cautious person would.  Orpheus was free to shake the hand of any young woman who stepped up to him, so long as her hand was the only thing he laid a finger on. 

"Are wolfhounds good with children?" Harry asked McDermott as he started shaking more hands and greeting several puppies as well.  Mordred screamed with excitement and delight, kicking Harry's side and motioning that he wanted to be let down to romp with the puppies. 

"Not to worry," McDermott assured him.  "All my whelps are good with children.  We've got quite a number of those wild creatures running around the place at home too."

Harry gave a final, wistful glance towards the sitting room doors.  Severus and Teddy were conversing.  Severus was frowning at whatever Teddy was saying. 

9

"You're not crazy, Harry."

"I'm not?"

"The very fact you question your sanity is proof that you're not insane."

"You can't be serious," he frowned.  Although he had no memory of sleep walking and breaking the locks on the windows, nor of nearly falling to his death from five stories, Hermione had helpfully relayed the entire situation to him.  She had even allowed him to read the thoughts in her mind.  None of his guards had dared mention the incident to him, which only made Harry that much more nervous.  Severus had not mentioned it either, but the incident was clearly what he and Teddy had been discussing.  He had urged Harry to move up his appointment with Doctor McGonagall by three days, and he was waiting outside in the hallway.    

"You don't feel crazy, do you?"

"Not at the moment."

"How do you feel, right at this moment?"

"I feel adrift," Harry decided. 

"In what way?  How do you mean?"

"Like I have no anchor, no bearings, no directions.  What am I supposed to do?"

"Why do you feel this way?"

Harry studied Doctor McGonagall and tried to decide what she wanted him to say.  That seemed to be the best, fastest way to derail her little tangents like this. 

"Isn't it your job to tell me why I feel the way I feel?  That’s why I'm here every two weeks, isn't it?"  Harry blurted crossly. 

"I can't tell about your feelings, Harry.  I can guess.  You're impatient with me because you're avoiding your self-anger.  You're angry with yourself because you're feeling guilty.  You're feeling guilty because you believe you let down Mr. Weasley and his family." 

The doctor kept her voice even and calm.  It was exactly the wrong approach.

"LET THEM DOWN?!?" Harry exclaimed, rocketing up off the divan and bawling at her in a loud voice which surely carried up and down the hallway.  "THEY'RE DEAD!  IT'S MY FAULT!"

"You told Lestrange where to find them?" the doctor remained unflappable. 

"No."

"You led her to their door?"

"No."

"You told them it would be a great day for a family gathering?"

"No."

"You helped Lestrange and her henchmen weave the spells?  Start the fires?  Stood gloating before the ashes?"

"No."  Harry's voice was getting smaller and smaller.  "I should have been there."

"To what end?  You wanted to die with them?"

"I should have been there.  I could have helped.  Maybe they could have used one more person."

"If you had been there, you too would have been ash and dust.  Is that what you want?"

'Sometimes,' Harry thought but did not say.  'Sometimes, I wish I were dead with them.'  'It was jarring to hear his inner voice speak that strange desire in full. 

Potter sat back down on the divan and folded himself up.  The doctor kept a collection of pillows and soft objects, stuffed animals, ornate toys, and complex finger puzzles in her office.  Harry knew she analyzed every time he picked up one of those distraction tools—which tool would he choose, how he would hold it, how long would he hang onto it?  He steeled himself, and did not pick anything up.   He wanted help.  He didn't want his every move to be compared to a pre-determined list, as if there could be a secret formula of so many pillow hugs to unlock what was wrong.  There was not a correct number of silly platitudes that would help him release his inner pain and hurt.   He should simply go home to Grimwood and fix the broken locks on the upstairs windows and repair the holes he had left in two walls.   At least then he would feel like he had accomplished something with his day.   

"The Weasleys are dead, Harry.  That's not something that can be undone."

"They're dead.  Like Cedric.  Like Sirius.  Like Doctor Mesarik.  Like nearly everyone else who has ever helped me.  I can do the math.  It's my fault.  I'm the reason they're dead."

He was not going to cry.  He was not going to cry.  He wasn't going to give her that satisfaction.  She waited for his tears on the edge of her seat, sadistic bitch. 

"Has it ever occurred to you," Artemis said with her carefully-clipped words, "that you are the very reason that so many other people are ALIVE?"

Harry remained silent and stopped himself from wishing her dead on the spot.  After all, even if he didn't feel guilty about it later, which he might not, there would be certain consequences to pay, and no doubt Professor McGonagall might be put out at him for offing her younger sibling. 

"The Weasleys were very good people.  I liked them very much.  But you can't keep punishing yourself because they're gone," Artemis continued. 

"If they hadn't been kind to me, they would be alive."

"Are you sure?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?!  Of course I’m sure!"

"Arthur and Molly would have been fighting against the Dark Lord and his followers  whether or not their children had befriended you.  They were willing to die to see him destroyed.  They were Soldiers of the Light, Harry.  I can't help but feel some of your guilt is based not only on anger, but on vanity."

"Vanity?"

 

"I believe you like feeling responsible for everything that happens.  You enjoy the burden.  It makes you feel bigger than you are.  There are, in fact, many things that happen which do not revolve around you, things you cannot control.  You are part of a greater whole, Harry, but you can't be responsible for everything that happens.  None of us can be.  Not even you."

"One person can make a world of difference," Harry quoted back her own words to her.

How many times had she said that to him since he had started these sessions?

"But there are also times when we as individuals are insignificant.  The trick is to know the difference."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Harry mumbled, glaring at her.  He jolted when the timer on top of her desk sounded.  It was a tiny blue dragon which would pop out of a small castle and honk twice before disappearing again.  His hour was up.  Harry stood silently from the divan, needling Doctor McGonagall with all the annoyance he felt.  He was surprised she didn't flinch.  She moved papers around her desk, smiling up at him.  He glared at her some more for good measure. 

"Next time I see you, Harry, I want you to bring me a list of three things that you have no control over."

"What?" Harry frowned.  Could his psychiatrist, sorry, mental-health healer, give him homework?  Was that allowed? 

"I want a list of three situations or people or activities over which you can exert no amount of power or influence.  You can do it.  Three examples.  Not the weather either.  That's a given.  Ta for now, dear."

"Ta?  That's it?  Ta?" Harry grumbled all the way to the door, which he consciously closed as gently as he could.  She analyzed how hard he closed the door too.  He knew that from the last visit, when she had spent ten minutes explaining that a few years before she had had to have her office door and front wall replaced after a particularly grueling session with a patient who would remain unnamed.   Harry had an inkling she was referring to Severus, but didn't bite the bait.  

He glanced at his watch and wondered if Henri and Illumina would be awake yet.   Out in the hallway, Severus hurried over from his shadowed corner.  He had of course been occupying the most uncomfortable chair in the waiting area, well away from the other patients and families. 

"How did it go?" Snape ventured carefully, testing out the very edge of a reassuring smile as though it were the unsavory end of a loaf of stale bread.  Harry, in response, crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his brow.  His answer was sullen, petulant even.

"She gave me homework."

Snape's careful façade crumbled into silent but wicked mirth.   Potter puffed up like an angry adder who had been stepped on, and Snape wisely put on another face, one with measures of both sympathy and sarcasm. 

"Did she really?  If you aren't giving your schoolwork for me its due attention, I wonder that she believes her assignments will fare a better fate."

10

"In deference to your Italian heritage, how do you feel about Belladonna?"

"You must be kidding."

"No."

"You are not naming my daughter Belladonna.  I don't even like Stevie Nicks."

"I see.  Clearly a modern reference with which I am not familiar.  What about Dominique?  We can call her Nicky."

"You are not naming my daughter after your boyfriend."

"All right.  That's fair enough.  Lucretia?  Lucille?  Lucia?"

"Too much like Lucius.  I couldn't bear it."

"She's not even blonde!"

"I said no!"

"All right.  All right.  What do you want to name her?"

"I don't have any preferences."

"You've had nine months to think about this, and you have no preferences??"

"I was going to name him after my father.  He was going to be Rudolpho Cassavecchi Le Clair.  Clearly, however, that is not an option, is it?"

"You didn't even consider the possibility you might have a girl?"

"I was quite certain it would be a boy."

"Why were you so certain?"

"We always have boys first time around.  Everyone else had boys first time.  Cousin Tilda had a boy even."

"Cousin Tilda adopted," Henri reminded her patiently.

"That doesn't matter.   I should have had a boy too."

"Are you somehow blaming me because one of the much-vaunted Cassavecchi family managed to produce a daughter instead of a son for her first born??"

"No."

"Surely not.  If that were the case, I should have no choice but to tell you what a ridiculous and insulting statement that would be.  What shall we name her, then?"

"Why not name her Complete Catastrophe and call it good?  That's what it is, isn't it?  A complete catastrophe?  Papa is going to be upset with me."

"Madness.  Utter madness," Henri said, shaking his head.

"I'm Italian.  We have boys."

"You're British from Italian heritage, and you are, in fact, a girl yourself."

"A girl simply won't do as a first child, especially as an only child.  It's bad luck."

"Hush.  You're going to give her a complex.  Put that nonsense out of your head right this second.  I thought you were a modern witch."

"I am a modern witch!"

"Fine.  Help me pick a name for the little darling."

"I talked to Severus about placing her at Ravensrood while she's at school, and he was very quick to say yes."

"I….school…what?"

"She's obviously going to need a human family during the school year.  She can stay with us during summers and holidays, but she needs a human family to maintain a normal schedule during the school year, at least while she's in primary school.  Once she's old enough, we'll have to make arrangements for the proper boarding school.  We can hope she'll be accepted at Hogwarts, but there's no guarantee, of course."

"She's not quite a day old.  I don't think school is a concern yet, is it?"

"She is going to have a proper education.  I won't stand for anything less."

"All right.  I agree.  But could we settle on a name before we start filling out university applications?  We could name her for your mother, if you like?"

"No.  She doesn't look like a Mercedes."

"That will never do.   Ferrari, maybe, but never Mercedes."

"Portia?"

"Portia, I like," Henri nodded.  "Have you any other favorite fictional characters?"

"Have they made a choice yet?" Harry whispered to the figure standing in front of the door to the sitting room where Henri and Illumina's voices could be heard.  The statuesque woman whirled around and shushed him wildly.  She tiptoed over to him, and pulled him away down the hall at Monvert.   

"You must be Harry," the woman said as she hurried him into the dimly-lit dining hall with the long table.  The surface of the wood was literally stacked two and three deep with baby gifts that had arrived, reminding Harry that he had neglected to bring a gift himself.  He felt his cheeks go hot.  The lights in the room rose higher, affording Harry and the woman a better opportunity to study one another. 

She was rather tallish—not to the point of Minister Wickerwell, but she was taller than Harry by several inches.  He found himself confronted by her in a way he couldn't immediately name, except that he felt it was very important that he meet her approval, exceed it if possible.  She took his hand and gave him a firm handshake before dotting a kiss on either cheek.   Her hair was a such a fiery red that he knew at once it must be bottle-bred.  It was coiled up behind her skull in a curl that resembled a spiky sea creature's shell.  Adding to that illusion was the starfish pin which held her hair in place.  Her clothes weren't too loud or too tight, but they were brighter and much more tailored than the usual English witch's might be.   She was chic and wonderful and elegant, and she smelled like something tantalizing and delicious and spicy, and he wanted her.  Oh, no, was he getting aroused just being near her?  How embarrassing!

"Tilda, unhand the boy before you make his hormones overload."

"Sorry," she purred in Harry's ear, kissing his cheek and pulling back from him.  Harry was both relieved and annoyed to hear Severus's voice and feel his hand on his shoulder.   Why had it taken him so long to come through the Floo from Ravensrood?  Severus placed two wrapped boxes on the table, and Harry realized what had taken him so long.

"Tilda, you've got to learn to go light with that potion, or you're going to hurt someone," Severus chided tenderly. 

"Sorry," she purred again.  Her voice was melodic, friendly, and a touch husky.

"Sorry," Harry echoed back, blushing and avoiding her eyes.  Snape whispered words that Harry couldn't hear, and Tilda tittered. 

"I mean it," he added, pretending to be terse.  "Halve the amount, or you're going to cause mayhem in the streets," Severus said, tucking a hand under Harry's chin and drawing his eyes upwards.  "It's not you.  It's all right."

"So sorry," Harry whispered.  Tilda had her wand out, and she was shooting herself with a spell that sparked and sizzled and fizzled around her.  One long loop of hair fell out of the starfish clasp, and it mesmerized Harry as it tumbled down her shoulder and swayed along her breast line.  Harry couldn't take his eyes away.

"Necessary evil, I'm afraid," Tilda said, mostly to Severus. 

"Are you part Veela?" Harry managed a few words.  Tilda tittered, making a funny face.

"Oh dear.  I've bewitched him.  That'll never do."

"It's a transgender potion with female pheromones.  It helps to chemically reinforce the permanent physical transformation," Severus was explaining.  He knew from the look on Potter's face that Harry was stuck on the first big word.

"Trans….." His brain wrapped around the word and he settled his eyes on Tilda again.  He found her no less beautiful and twice as mysterious.  She was worried she had fallen in his opinion though.  She put her wand in her left hand and took his right with her right. 

"I was Tibault Tortuga.  But my friends call me Tilda now.  Or Mommy.  I like 'Mommy' better, actually."

Harry shook Tilda's hand and lost his brain somewhere in her cleavage again. 

"Harry Potter, at your service," he rambled, licking his lips unconsciously. 

"Oh, I do like this boy," Tilda confided to Severus, who whacked Harry in the back of the head for good measure.  He separated their hands with alacrity.  "Severus, don't be jealous.  It only confirms the strength of your potions.   It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I do so like young men.  I know everything there is to know about them."

"Do you?" Harry gushed happily.   There was no doubt in Harry's mind what she had meant by that comment, and he couldn't have been more thrilled.   She found him attractive too.  She wanted him!  She wanted him! 

"I ought to," Tilda whispered wickedly to amuse Severus.  "I used to be one."

Harry nodded and gushed ill-advised words.  He simply couldn't stop himself.  "You can't tell, I swear.  Those look so real!"

Severus cursed under his breath and covered his face with one hand, torn between laughter and irritation.  Tilda was left utterly bemused. 

"Potter, do try to pull yourself together.  Those are not the first breasts you've seen, surely."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Harry babbled, closing his eyes.  This was the second person in as many days at whom he had thrown himself, both married, both far older than himself, and no denying it, Tilda could have been a mother replacement without trying, hands down.  He opened his eyes, staring at her chest again.    Severus snipped tenderly at Tilda. 

"Could you take another layer or two of that potion off, please?"

"All right," Tilda growled, using another spell on herself.   "Exactly how much should I take off?"

"Enough that he's not ready to cut diamonds with the nether parts of his anatomy."

"Harry!  You're here!"

Harry whirled around at the sound of Raffles bouncing down the stairs.  She gave him a smile at first, then her eyes dropped with a  startled look.  She blushed, then snickered, turning slightly to face Tilda.

"You are really putting that stuff on a bit thick, Cousin Tilda.  Harry, maybe you'd better sit down, before you hurt somebody with that.  Here she is!  Say hello to Uncle Harry."

Raffles pushed Harry into a chair and plunked a heavy bundle in his arms.  She succeeded in her clever distraction.  Harry was instantly mesmerized, everything and everyone else forgotten.  It was different holding a newborn than it was holding Mordred.  For one thing, there was a lot less kicking and screaming.   The baby's hair was black as night, and her skin was pink and rosy.  Her eyes were a shade of deep blue.  Startled at their color, Harry watched her closely.  Dezzie was human?  He had expected her to have red eyes.  Both Henri and Illumina had red eyes.  Did that mean she wasn't a vampire either?  He tentatively poked a finger at her bow-shaped mouth.  No teeth gleamed inside, pointy or otherwise.  Harry was completely baffled.  Raffles understood at once what he was up to, and she snickered at him. 

"You are so thick," she whispered to him.  Harry nodded, deciding not to ask any more stupid vampire questions lest he tick Raffles off again.  While Harry and Raffles cooed at the baby, Severus pulled out his wand and advanced on Tilda, hurrying her to a distant corner of the long hall where they whispered and exchanged spells and whispered some more.  Tilda was shuddering with laughter, peeking over Snape's shoulder at Harry every now and again.

Harry's racing heart was beginning to calm down.   He was even comfortable standing up by the time Illumina and Henri came downstairs and into the dining hall.   Illumina was more pale that usual, and she was walking stiffly.  Henri couldn't stop grinning.  He came over to Harry and the small bundle, bending over Harry's shoulder to make kissy noises and talk baby-talk.  If he was angry about Harry making a pass at him last night, he wasn't showing it. 

"That's Papa's wuv-wee.  Aren't you a wuv-wee?"

"She is very lovely," Harry agreed.  Illumina gave a tired smile and sat down in the chair he had vacated. "You're going to name her Desdemona, aren't you?" 

Illumina lifted her head towards Henri, who was making kissy faces at the infant.  He paused mid-face and studied his wife's stony expression. 

"Well, I like Desdemona.  It's very nice," Le Clair replied before making happy noises again. 

"Desdemona Aurelia," Harry said.

"It's Italian," Le Clair defended when Illumina screwed up her brow as if to launch some hot and nasty words at both of them.

"I'm too tired to argue with you lot of idiots.  Name her whatever you want," she said bluntly.  "Severus, would you be a dear and make me a drink?"

Tilda and Severus came out of the corner and hurried to Illumina's side.  She gave a half-smile each to her favorite cousin and ex-husband, curious what they had been conspiring about over there.  Even the smallest exertion wore her energy out.

"It's even alliterative," Henri was saying.  "Desdemona Aurelia Le Clair."

"You need to be quite sure, because that's the only child you're getting out of me," Illumina snipped testily. 

"Quite sure, yes," Le Clair smiled. 

"Good.  It's settled."

"Hallelujah!" Raffles exclaimed, clapping giddily. 

"Severus, have I thanked you today for not making me pregnant?" Illumina added to Snape when he handed her a tall glass filled with crushed ice and a sweet green concoction that fizzed as she sipped it.

"No."

"Thank you for not making me pregnant.  That was very kind of you."

"You're welcome," Snape bowed to her.  His face was enigmatic, but a hint of hurt lurked inside his eyes.  Harry wondered if he was the only one who noticed.  Perhaps not.  Tilda looked down and back up, almost embarrassed by Illumina's words. 

"You know, I believe I'm going to institute a policy that no one capable of producing sperm will be allowed within ten feet of my vagina from this point forward," Illumina decided rather loudly. 

"She's very cute," Raffles interjected longingly as she watched over the baby.  Illumina nodded in reply.

"Yes, and it's a good thing too, or I'd've eaten her straight away," she insisted.  Raffles gasped, flaming up with concern.   

"That's your hormones talking," Le Clair chided.

"No, that's the bruised and burning and throbbing sensation in a place you couldn't imagine having to accommodate ten pounds of baby and unseemly amounts of blood and excess body fluid and tissue.  And fat!  Do you know how fat I am now?!"

"I do understand.  Not my first child," Henri murmured back at her, annoyed. 

"My first child," Illumina snapped back, "and you're going to explain to my grandmother why she is not a great-grandson."

"Perhaps I should give you another dose of healing potion.  The first took rather more time to wear off than I expected.  I didn't want to risk giving you too much at once.   Dear, have you considered a small vacation?  A chance to unwind and relax?" Severus said to Illumina, petting her hand lovingly.   His ex-wife was in no mood to be patronized or distracted. 

"How is your apprentice?  I didn't scare him too much, did I?"

"No, no, not at all," Severus lied. 

"Is he done vomiting yet?" she mused.  "No, really, how is he?"

"You have successfully convinced him he doesn't want to become an obstetrician," Severus offered.  Illumina smiled a bit, but Tilda cackled.  Harry watched their exchange, and Henri watched the hurt on Harry's face to which Severus and Illumina were either immune or innocent. 

"Good.  He's got cold hands.  I should like to make amends to him for my rude behavior.  I was rather nasty to him," Illumina continued.

"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy wasn't offended."

"I made more than a few passing remarks about his questionable parentage and his inbred family.  As much as I despise Lucius, those rants about his father were entirely beyond the pale.  I was rude to Draco while he was helping me.  There's no putting a happy face on it.  Have you sold Wynding Lane yet?"

"No.  I haven't had the time," Severus managed.

"You have my permission to give it to him, as a thank you, if you think that will do?"

"It's very generous indeed."

"I want to apologize and to thank him properly.  Anything less would be ungracious."

"He'll be very grateful."

"Good," Illumina whispered.   "No, no, no," she growled at Raffles when she tried to take Desdemona from Harry and slip her to Illumina.  "I'm not going to like her for at least a month, maybe two.  You'd better hide her and the steak sauce both when I'm around."

"Illumina!" Henri and Severus chorused as one.   Raffles held Desdemona in a protective grip, close to her heart, and gave Illumina a very wounded, shocked look.  Her behavior was obviously in direct contrast to any other maternal reaction the young vampire had seen in other women, including her own mother presumably, and she was having a hard time coming to terms with it. 

"It's post partum hormones.  Nothing to worry about," Tilda soothed Raffles, nuzzling a kiss to the infant's cheek.   No one was the least bit mollified by the words of comfort. 

"You have to bring your children next time," Raffles said to Tilda, who nodded back. 

"They're out with their Papa today.  They wanted to go to the beach.  I said 'But we can all go to Scotland.  Won't that be nice?', and they said 'Não, obrigada'.  Exact quote."

"Have you hired a wet nurse yet?" Severus asked. 

"Is that necessary?  Surely you'd like to…." Henri looked questioningly at Illumina, who glared back at him. 

"Surely not," was Illumina's only reply.   Le Clair was at a loss for words. 

"Mordred's wet nurse is a woman of infinite charm and kindness, and patience, and I would highly recommend her to you if that wouldn't seem aggressive of me," Severus offered tentatively. 

"You don't even want to feed her?" Henri asked. 

"Do you know how much it hurts to breastfeed?? You want me to hold her that close in my present mood?  No!  No!  No!  No!  No!" Illumina shrieked forcefully.    Henri jerked back from her in alarm as her fangs extended and her eyes smoldered with pent-up anger and magic.

"Yes, dear," he quickly reassured her.  Severus refilled Illumina's drink, and Harry thought perhaps he detected a hint of melon scent in the air.  He had a sudden idea for a gift that made him smile behind his concern.

11

"Are you sure Fyodor won't mind another guest for dinner?" Harry hesitated.

"He won't mind whatsoever," Severus assured him, thinking to himself in addition, 'if he knows what's good for him.'

They stepped through the Floo into the sitting room at Ravensrood, and interrupted a scene of pandemonium which included one crying child, one babbling child, one laughing man, one soothing woman, two bouncing dogs, and, if Severus wasn't mistaken, a sweeping and patriotic march blaring out of the ancient phonograph in the corner of the room. 

"Ducky.  Ducky, don't cry.  We'll get you another ice cream."

'Ducky?  So that's what she calls him for short," Harry thought as Orpheus patted Galfridus on the head and Mrs. Dalrymple did her best to soothe the sobbing tot.  Mordred was sitting on the priceless area rug, spooning ice cream into his gob from the bowl before him.  He appeared to be wondering why Galfridus was upset.  The second bowl on the floor was beset with two wolfhound puppies, one dark grey and one a speckled, grayish-brown, both of whom had their snouts dug pretty deeply into the fine china dinnerware.   

"Ducky, it'll be all right," Orpheus promised.  With a flick of his wand, he turned off the phonograph, smiling up at Harry and Severus as the noise in the room was cut by a third.  Mordred's face lit up when he saw Harry.  He tossed his spoon wildly aside and abandoned his bowl, getting up onto his hands and knees and scampering across the floor.  He scooted to a stop, grabbed Harry's legs, and pulled himself upright until he stood on wobbling feet.  Harry swooped down and spun him skyward, and the infant giggled with happiness. 

Galfridus stopped crying long enough to stare up Severus's knees to his grim visage.  Not surprisingly, he took a deep breath and expelled an even louder wail than before.  Mrs. Dalrymple and Severus shared a sympathetic grimace, and she picked her son up. 

"Poor Ducky," she soothed. 

"Sorry to return unannounced," Severus began.  Orpheus listened while petting Galfridus's shoulder.

"Not at all."

"How is Whisper?"

"She is going to be fine.  The healer put her to bed for two days.  She was sleeping minutes ago.  Now, perhaps not.  Can we tempt you with dinner?"

"Perhaps.  Is he - - -?"

"Yes, he's in the kitchens, waiting for you."

"Did he bring them?"

"Yes."

"I delivered your present to Illumina."

"Thank you.  What a love!  I hope she likes it!"

"How do you feel about Desdemona staying with us while she's in school?" Severus ventured in a tentative manner. 

"They've named her?  Splendid!"  Orpheus glanced at Phillippa, who smiled wanly while clutching Galfridus in protective manner. 

"She's not……well….you know….a vampire?" Phillippa whispered the last word carefully. 

"See?" Harry defended.  "I thought the baby would be a vampire too!  I'm not the only one!  Ha!"

"She's entirely human, and she won't be a danger to either of the boys," Severus promised Phillippa while giving Harry a dirty look with one eye.   Harry stuck out his tongue and ducked downward with Mordred in his grip, letting the puppies lick the boy's smeared face. 

"Isn't that curious?" Mrs. Dalrymple said, clearly surprised at what Severus had said.  Her face betrayed that her mind was full of questions, but she quickly changed speeds, returning to her usual decorum of polite kindness.   "Severus, I could get her into Ducky's school.  One of my old school chums is the Headmistress.  It's the best primary school in the county.  Olive would be thrilled to have Desdemona too.  I got Mordred in with no trouble whatsoever.  I expect they'll all be ready around the same time, give or take a year.  It will be wonderful to have her here.  I've always wanted a little girl to fuss over."

"That would be very kind of you," Severus said slowly.  Mrs. Dalrymple's eyes actually glistened as she smiled back. 

"My pleasure." 

"I shall have to ask her parents of course."

"I could arrange a tour of the grounds if they like?"

"That would be very kind," Severus bowed to her briefly.  She smiled again, sniffing once. 

"I trust we'll get to see her before she's starting school?" Orpheus questioned.

"If you can pry her from her Papa, or her Aunt Tilda and Aunt Raffles.  You may then have to take your chances with the Cassavecchi clan, which is due to arrive from Venice tomorrow."

"All of them?" Orpheus gulped. 

"All of them, including Perpetua."

"Grandmother is coming too, eh?  Poor Henri," Orpheus whistled.  "Do they know yet that Desdemona is a girl?" 

"Not sure Illumina has broached the topic with her Papa yet," Severus whispered.    "In the kitchens, did you say?  What's he doing in the kitchens?" he wondered, getting back on topic.

"Shall I take the pups for walkies?" Harry asked, conjuring a long, forked-end leash from mid-air.  

"Splendid idea," Orpheus agreed.  Harry gathered the wolfhounds with the multi-head leash, and they accepted the restraint with surprising ease, considering that the first time that Whisper had tried to put a leash on them, they had dragged the tiny little house elf unceremoniously across the patio and down one of the terraces before anyone could stop them.  Fyodor was in charge of the house while Whisper was supposed to be taking time off to mend.  Orpheus had heard many a cleaver hitting the walls in that short time-span. 

"I'll join you shortly," Severus promised cryptically.

Harry took off into the gardens with Mordred and the two puppies in tow.  Galfridus watched them go, and started crying again.  His sobbing echoed over the lawn.  Harry let the wolfhounds bounce around to their hearts' content.  He decided wickedly that one good thing about Whisper being laid up for a day or two mending a broken leg was that she couldn't appear suddenly and snatch Mordred away from him.  But he could sense, without turning around, that she was watching him from her bedroom window high up in the house.  He chastised himself that he was being a brute, and told himself he should apologize to her for how his hounds had injured her.  Not that he hadn't apologized a thousand times already.  But he should go and see her and apologize again and make her some candy toffees!  That's what he should do!

Someone had obviously had a talk with the wolfhounds while he had been to see Doctor McGonagall.  Harry was trying to remember which one was "Bangers" and which one was "Mash".  McDermott had told him, had gone through a long explanation about how and why his grandchildren had named the pups, and the names had stuck.  Potter decided it was funny to imagine that every time he called the dogs inside, everyone in earshot would think he was advertising the dinner menu. 

"Bangers!  Mash!  Bangers!  Mash!"

Severus of course had rolled his eyes upon hearing the names.  Orpheus had helped by suggesting their proper names could be "Wall Bangers" and "Sour Mash".  That got  a smile from Severus.  They and Mrs. Dalrymple then began a discussion about the best Scotch whiskies and where to find them.  McDermott had had rather a lot to offer from his end, alluding to a potentially-lethal, undoubtedly-illegal brew that one of his Irish cousins had recently created.  Harry noted that the others were perfectly enthralled when McDermott described how his cousin had lost the feeling in one leg and several fingers after consuming half a jug of his homemade brew.   When he revealed that his cousin's name was O'Bannon, Orpheus had quickly talked him into sending over a bottle or two. 

Harry smiled at the memory, watching the wolfhounds chasing around the labyrinth gardens when he let them loose from their leash.  Mordred watched the dogs race away and kicked around in Harry's grip until Potter put him down on the walkway.   Harry put two fingers in his mouth and tested out the whistle that McDermott had taught him.  Mordred went stiff as a board at the biting sound.  But from around the far corner of the labyrinth, the hounds came sprinting back to them, bouncing excitedly.   It was a small victory, but well worth it.  They washed Mordred's face with their tongues, and raced away again. 

"Potter, could you please keep these fanged fiends out of the baby's face?  He's going to lose an eye if you aren't careful."

Harry turned to find Severus at his back.  Remus was also there, smiling the sheepish smile that Sirius wore in Harry's dreams.  Behind Lupin were two young house elves.  They were dressed in rather peculiar outfits which were comprised of the remains of his missing pair of sweats.  The sweats were only castoffs from Dudley, and yet it was sad to see them snipped, clipped, tucked, and reformed into the saddest sack-like coverings that his eyes had ever beheld.  At a loss for words, Harry stared at Lupin, who grinned broadly, rubbed the back of his head, and stared hard at the ground as his smile evaporated into worry lines. 

"I have good news and bad news," Remus began as he raised his head, feeling more nervous than he cared to admit as Harry frowned at him. 

'Bloody quick study,' Severus was thinking while watching the two of them interact.  'Keep him feeling ill at ease, and you've got him under your control.  Not that you don't have him under your sway already. Gryffindor, my Aunt Fanny.  What I couldn't have accomplished with you in Slytherin, my boy.'

"The good news is that I'm not going insane, and someone was creeping around the living quarters at Grimwood?" Harry ventured.

"Good guess," Lupin whispered. 

"What would the bad news be?" Harry asked.

"I took the liberty of procuring help for you without considering that you might be somewhat aghast at my shocking lack of manners in the situation," Remy chided himself and Severus nodded along. 

"You conjured these fellows?" Harry motioned to the house elves, who slipped into Lupin's shadow and goggled at Potter in horror and awe.  "How long have you been creeping around?" Harry asked them.  They shrank back from him even further. 

"I bound them to the promise that they would remain invisible to you.  Unbound them, obviously, since you can see them here," Lupin tried to explain.  Harry frowned at him yet.  "They've been there since the library opening."

"You finished my biscuits and things?" Harry asked, smiling again instantly.  The house elves bobbed their heads nervously.  "Ooooh.  Those were good."

"Thank you, Master," one house elf bowed.  The other glared at him. 

"Severus cautioned me that you might be adverse to the thought of owning house elves," Lupin murmured. 

"After  he had already conjured them," Snape was quick to point out. 

"You obviously need the help, and I can't send them back, and so I'll own them, they can work for you, and that'll settle things, right?" Lupin suggested hopefully.

"No," Harry frowned.

"No?" Lupin puffed up at the contradiction. 

"They will work for me, and I will pay them for their services.  Nobody is owning anybody.  It's not right."

"Harry, that would be scandalous," Lupin warned. 

"Let's hope so," Potter tested out a welcoming, friendly smile.  Harry stuck a hand at the first house elf, the one who had glared at him, but it fled from him, pushing the fellow elf towards Harry first.  When their handshake went off without pain or catastrophe, the first house elf accepted a handshake too. 

"It seems a fair compromise," Severus suggested to Remus, who pondered briefly before throwing his hands up in the air and launching a sudden hug around Harry. 

"You're right.  You're right!  I'm good with that.  Just tell me one thing, Harry?  How are you going to pay them for their services when you're not earning any money yourself?"

"I'll come up with something," Harry said, not fending off a second hug from Remy and giving him a faint smile.  "Why do you smell like curry?" he asked, burying his nose in Lupin's shoulder. 

"Dinner with Gunnar," Lupin replied blushing.  

"And breakfast and lunch, one must assume," Severus whispered.  Lupin shot him a dirty look. 

"Mind introducing me to my library elves?" Harry interrupted them. 

"Um, what?  Sure.  Harry Potter, this is Sunsprite and Moonshadow.  No, before you ask, I'm not responsible for that.  Severus took the liberty of renaming them for you."

"You weren't going to spend the rest of their days calling them 'Hey' and 'You'.  It was unseemly and insipid," Severus and Remus bickered politely as Harry shook each little elf's hand once more.

"An honor, Master," the first one said.

"Nice to meet you, Mister Harry Potter," the second one said while narrowing little green eyes at him suspiciously. 

"Always sticking your enormous proboscis into everyone's business," Remus snipped at Severus.  Harry hoped they stopped arguing long enough to tell him which one was which, or he was going to have to guess, which never turned out well.

"What are you called for short?" Harry asked them. 

"Spit and Polish," the first one answered.  Harry studied him (her?) for defining characteristics that would separate one from the other, and he came up empty.  They had the same long, pointy noses, identical green eyes and wispy white hair.  Oh bother.  Had Lupin conjured twin house elves?? 

"I can call you 'Spit'?" Harry wondered happily.

"Oh, Master, I'd be honored," one elf replied, taking Harry's hand and shaking it again.

"What about you?" Harry asked the second one, who was frowning at him. 

"You are not calling me 'Spit'!  I won't stand for it!" came the surprisingly-hostile reply.

"I can call you 'Polish'?"

"No!  It's not my name!"

"Call her 'Shady'," Spit giggled. 

"He's lying!  I'm not shady!  I'm not shady at all!" the second elf wailed.  At least Harry now knew that the first one was male and this second one was female.  He must be Sunsprite, and she must be Moonshadow. 

"Moony?" Harry offered her.

"What?" Lupin whirled around. 

"Nothing," Harry shrugged.  Lupin whirled away once more as Severus was making disparaging remarks about his shoes.  "That would clearly be too confusing," Harry decided.  "What were your names before you came here?" he asked the house elves.

" 'Hey' and 'You'," Remus interjected wickedly in spite of his insult exchange with Severus.  "Where do you buy your shoes, Snivs?  At a block and tackle shop?"

"There's curry on your shoes," Severus answered. 

"Before you were conjured by Mr. Lupin, did you have names?" Harry asked.  The house elves exchanged a secretive glance.

"No," they lied in unison.

"Where were you before you came here?" Harry pressed, curious. 

"Nowhere," they lied again. 

"What?  Are you all sitting around in a big castle on a hidden island somewhere that no one else can see?" Harry chuckled.  He could have sworn the small creatures appeared ready to faint dead on the spot.  "I want to know how to tell which one of you is which, that's all.  If you're going to be working for me, you need to have names."

"Most people call me 'Sparks'," the female house elf offered reluctantly.

"Ah ha!  So you came from an aisle in Marks and Spencers then?" Harry chuckled again.  They frowned at him together, not understanding the reference.   "No.  Guess not.  Spit and Sparks it is.  Hermione is going to kill me for this, isn't she?  Oh yes, I can hear her screaming already.  Have you two met Hermione?"

"Miss Granger?" they lit up, nodding. 

"I see.  Suppose then I can begin the conversation by yelling at her," Harry decided, feeling Mordred grab the backs of his legs and climb to a standing position.  "Miss Granger will help me reach an amiable agreement with you concerning pay and hours and lodging.  Where have you been hiding yourselves in the meantime?"

"Corner of the attic," Spit replied.

"What if we outfit one of the guest rooms for you to share?  You're going to need clothes as well."

"You're going to make us wear clothes!?!" Sparks wailed.  Mordred let go of Harry's legs in alarm and sat down on his bottom with a thump when Sparks grabbed Harry's knees and screamed in dismay.  "You can't make us wear clothes!  You can't!  You can't!  The other house elves will make fun of us!"

"You're not going to run around the library naked, or dressed like you're dressed right now," Harry retorted firmly.  "You look perfectly frightful."

"I won't do it!  I won't do it!  I won't do it!" Sparks screamed.  Severus loomed over her, and hissed three words in her direction.

"Shut it.  Now."

Sparks shrank back from him, her damp eyes widening with fear. 

"We would be delighted to wear clothes, if it makes Master happy," Spit said, taking Sparks by the hand and shushing her. 

"Not doing it," she whispered to him.  "It's bad enough he wants to pay us!  The other house elves will gossip!"

"Shush," Harry commanded.  Sparks gave a small snivel.

"Next he'll be putting bows in our hair," she sniffed.

"How do you feel about hats?" Harry asked.  Sparks opened her mouth in a silent, horrified scream.  "I'm kidding!  I'm kidding!" Harry promised, giving her a quick pat on the top of her wispy-haired head before picking up Mordred.  The puzzled toddler stuck a thumb in his mouth and continued to watch the angry house elf while she buzzed around Harry's knees, waving her arms in the air.

"He's going to make us wear hats!  He's going to make us wear hats!  This is horrible!  You heard him!  He's going to make us wear hats!"

"Sparks, I've only known you for five minutes, and you're already making me tired," Harry murmured, watching her spin around in anxious fits.  "Is she always like this?" he asked Spit, who shrugged and smiled back apologetically. 

"Not always," Spit offered limply.  It was practically a confirmation of the opposite. 

"You had to snare a neurotic one with that spell, didn't you, eh, Wolf-Boy?" Snape taunted Lupin.  "You know, I've always been told that the house elves who appear are often a reflection of the one who conjured them."

"I couldn't agree more.  That goes far in explaining why the one in your kitchen throws around meat cleavers when he's mad," Remus laughed with a wicked gleam in his eyes.  Severus wasn't smiling any longer.  Lupin had somehow guessed that Fyodor had been the first house elf he had ever conjured. 

"How did you ever manage to keep her a secret for this long?" Harry asked, watching Sparks race around and sputter angry words to herself in spite of Spit's attempts to hush her.   Potter gave another whistle through his fingers, watching Severus, Remy, and Mordred all tense up as if the note sucked the wind from their lungs.  Sparks screamed in surprise, and Spit clutched her hand to calm her.  The wolfhounds barked once and beat a quick tempo of paws on stones in order to catch up as they headed en masse up the terraces towards the house. 

12

Reaching out in his half-sleep state with his clairvoyance at partial-extension, Harry was doing a little bit of Divinations homework.  Trelawney had recommended these small games when one had a moment or two to spare.  It wasn't yet time to get up, and Harry wanted to stretch himself if he could. 

With your Inner Eye, focus on the ones you love, and try to send them a sense of reassurance and affection.  

The first person Harry encountered was Draco.  Not exactly a loved one, but someone for whom he was at least concerned sometimes.   He had to face repairing the windows in his shoppe again, and so Malfoy had been in bed all of Sunday, and had remained there Sunday night.  It was nearly six on Monday morning.  He had been awake long enough to drink the egg drop soup that Professor Volkova had brought to him before dropping back down into a deep sleep.

Volkova was also visiting Draco to make certain that she wouldn't have to put a stake through him.  She had been terribly concerned that Illumina might have bitten Malfoy during the time he was in her presence.  Harry had heard her vials clanking in her jacket.  She was carrying enough holy water to drown a virgin.  She had employed great stealth in opening one vial and pouring it onto Draco's left hand, waiting for the screaming, hissing, vampyric reaction that Harry (and presumably other vampires in their time) had had when the holy water touched their skin.  Draco had had no reaction at all.  Anna's relief couldn't have been more evident.  She sat down by his bed and stemmed back tears while Sergei and Harry discussed the fact that Remus Lupin had agreed to let the Dark Arts students watch his next full-moon transformation.  Harry marveled at what kind of leap of faith that was going to take on the part of Remy and his students alike.    

At the moment, Draco was sleeping on his stomach, as deeply engrossed in his slumber as a lethargic toad in the summer twilight.  His mouth was open, and snores were rising into the air around him.   Harry muffled a small chuckle and watched him without opening his eyes.  Snooooooore.    Snoooooore.  Certainly it didn't fit the mental picture he had always had that somehow Malfoys slept in a completely placid position on their backs, hands folded in peaceful repose across their stomachs, like Sleeping Beauty in her glass coffin waiting her prince and a photo opportunity.  It was somehow reassuring though.  Draco actually snored.  His feet really did smell like old cheese and fish heads.  He woke up with hair standing in all directions.  He was even, on rare occasions, gaseous.  He wasn't always the manicured and cultured society scion everyone believed.  Malfoy was human after all.

Harry reached out further, and encountered Owen Stoneburne outside the tower room door.  Owen wasn't asleep.  He was in the middle of a conversation with his eldest daughter Brim.  Defenses down, his anger rising, he was having a hard time keeping his voice level.   Truth be told, so was Brim. 

"The answer is no."

"I'm going to be seventeen in less than a month.  I won't have to ask your permission then."

"It's unseemly."

"Lots of people have jobs."

"I work so you don't have to work.  You have studying to worry about.  I want you to have a proper education.  Besides, if people see you working, they'll think I can't provide for my family."

"I can study and work!"

"You don't need to work."

"Da, I've seen the books.  Master DeFoe was never good with money.  You four buying him a villa on the seaside to retire to did nothing to help matters.   You aren't good with money either.  Teddy isn't doing any better.  I know for a fact that Guido is hiring himself out on the side.  Great Mother knows what Havoc has been doing to keep himself in money since the Minister pulled Master DeFoe's security license and all your assignments- - -" 

"Your mother is very good with money."

"But she can't work miracles, especially if you won't accept help from Grand-dad."

"I don't need your grandfather's money.  The Minister has been as generous as she can be under the circumstances."

"I'm old enough to work, and I want to help, especially with things changing the way…."

"Shush!"

"You're going to need help with another mouth to feed.  Burnie and I both want to help, but he hasn't got the backbone to stand up to you."

"This isn't about backbone.  It's about letting me do my job of providing for you, like a father is supposed to do.  The answer is no."

"I want to help!"

"You can help by doing things around the house for your mother."

"That's not going to put food on the table or money in Gringotts."

"The answer is no!" Stoneburne boomed. 

"Fine!  But come next month, you won't stop me!"

"Shhhh!"

Draco stopped snoring, sat up, grumbled, and laid back down.  Snoring started again.  Brim stormed away, her boots echoing down the tower steps.  Harry followed her, a ghost in her presence.  Her anger burned around her, and her hurt as well. 

"Damned prideful man!" she turned and shouted back up the steps. 

"Shush!" Owen shouted back down at her.   Brim stomped out of the tower and through a side door and across the school grounds, her cloak whipping about her in the ice-cold air.  Hagrid crossed her path and said hello.  She begrudgingly offered him luke-warm greeting and hurried away, headed into Hogsmeade if her path was any indication.  Hagrid hid a smile and made his way into the castle.  Without turning around, Harry knew Hagrid was on the way to rekindling fires in the main hall and from there each of the classrooms as well.   Harry left Brim to her anger and concern, and searched onward.

Hundreds of sleeping students in their dorms were beginning to stir.  Others continued to snore on undisturbed.  There was Hermione in Gryffindor Tower, brushing her teeth and squinting into the mirror at her complexion.  She was mentally counting the days until her next monthly cycle.  Harry grazed her aura, and she nearly bounced in the air in surprise.

"Harry?  Is that you?" she asked aloud. 

Potter hurried away after wiping steam off the mirror.  Ever onward.  So many other people to sense.  Professor McGonagall was having breakfast in her office, beans and toast and simple tea.  She reached for her wand, and then lowered it, giving a proper but proud smile.

"I will expect you on time for Transfigurations, Mr. Potter," she murmured, going back to her toast.

Onward.  Where was Severus this morning?  Where was Remus? 

Harry sensed a familiar person on top of the Astronomy Tower and went that direction.  Two persons?  Outside in the autumn chill?  Remus Lupin's soft chuckle rose into the air on a wisp of white.  A cloaked man was putting his arms around Remy, burying his cold nose into Lupin's warm neck.  Harry gulped and pulled away.  Remy was seeing someone?  Remy was seeing someone!  Harry gleefully rushed forward again, full of warmth and joy and congratulations and relief.  He encountered Remy's boundary ward, and pulled back again.  There was an aura of risk, an element of danger around them.   What if Remy didn't want anyone to know yet?  Harry should keep his mouth shut, he suddenly knew.  Harry tossed his warm feelings towards them and hurried away before they sensed his presence.

Harry sneaked away from the Astronomy Tower and tried again to find Severus.  Looking down over the school grounds, he searched empty classrooms and empty hallways.  He made it down into the Slytherin dorms, but his energy was beginning to wane.  It was time to reconnect with his body and refocus himself.  Back in the Black Queen's Tower, he heard Draco stumble out of bed and into the bathroom, scampering across the floor on quick, stealthy feet.  One thing about Draco—once he was awake, he didn't let grass grow under his feet.  Harry relaxed under his own covers, recentered himself, and opened his clairvoyance to full extension. 

'Severus, where are you?' Harry whispered in his mind.  A nearly-undetectable pulse radiated outwards from his form.  If he hadn't been the epicenter of the pulse, he would never have felt it. 

And there Severus was, suddenly in plain view.  He was in his office downstairs.  Minister Wickerwell was pacing around before him.   Green Floo fire wisped in her wake.  Snape was stirring tea, watching her.  

"Something funny in the tea?" Wickerwell asked.  "Not cat hair again, I hope."

"No.  I felt something.  I felt someone," Severus said, putting down his cup.   He settled into his hard chair and found it reassuring. 

"I have nothing new or pressing for you this morning.  Haven't seen the papers yet.  Philomena will be back with them once she's finished flirting with Haversham on the first floor.   Any news from your end?"

"News?"

"You haven't made any decisions about Hawkins?"

"You came all the way over her to ask me that?  I believe you know where I stand on the Hawkins situation."

"Very well.  You've made yourself clear.  It'll be up to me, won't it?  What is it?"

"There it is again."

"There is what again?"

"I felt…..someone."

Harry pulled away from Severus, and tiptoed closer to Wickerwell.  The Minister picked up her wand and Harry retreated away from her.

"Yes, I felt it too.  You should check your wards, reinforce them.  I must be off.  Meeting with Ballycrook.  Have a good day then," she nodded before stepping back into the Floo and vanishing.  Harry released the link between himself and Severus, knowing instinctively that without Wickerwell there, Snape would have no trouble figuring out whose transcendent shadow was bouncing around his office, wrinkling his aura.    

Draco was standing at the big table when Harry opened his eyes.  Malfoy was squinting at the sunlight coming across the horizon.  Harry sat up in bed, rubbing his throbbing temples as the room swayed before him.   That trip had taken a lot more out of him than he realized. 

"You're up.  Finally," Malfoy laughed, the weekend's foul mood forgotten.  He strode over to Harry, tossed the morning Daily Prophet in his lap, and stood beside Harry's bed while tying his silken tie into place.

"What's this?" Potter mumbled, putting on his glasses and picking up the paper.  He encountered a picture of himself on the front page.  It was from the Halloween party, obviously, because there he was, straddling Henri Le Clair's lap, his nearly-bare ass shining in the moonlight, his costume trailing down behind him and showing off far more skin than the Prophet ought to really print on Monday morning first thing.   Harry gasped out loudly, and Draco cackled with glee.

"You only wish that were really you."

"What do you mean?  It's me, isn't it?" Harry asked, studying the picture again.  Draco pointed helpfully, and Harry cried out in alarm.   From this angle, it appeared that his erection was practically gouging Henri in the chest.   Of course the picture had to show Henri glancing down that direction, and in some alarm, one might add.   Harry's first, most fervent wish was that Mirabelle Peabody's father had the good sense to hide the paper from her this morning. 

"That's you and the skillful work of a photo-manipulating wizard," Draco taunted. 

"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed.

"You should demand they print a detraction.  It's false advertising."

"It's not advertising of any sort!" Harry shouted at him, throwing his feet out of bed and burying his face in the latest article about him which spouted all kinds of nonsense about how he and Le Clair had been practically fornicating in a comfy chair while others watched and cheered their antics.   The entire situation had apparently been defused when Professor Volkova rescued Harry from the charisma spell and the clutches of the dubious creatures of the night.    At least there was no mention of Harry trying to leap from the fifth floor guest room later that night. 

"Don't worry.  That's the unedited galley.  I still have a few connections in the right places, you know?  I'm sure the one they print for mass consumption will have some sort of protective banner across your naughty bits," Malfoy mused, his tie as well-knotted as his disdain. 

"Severus is going to kill me," Harry mumbled.  Draco was already out the bedroom door, book bag in hand.  The superior bastard was whistling his way down the tower steps.  Owen came treading in on quiet feet.  Harry threw the paper down on the floor and hung his head in his hands.  Stoneburne picked up the daily and gasped out loud.

"Mother of God!" 

He gaped at Harry, who watched him through parted fingers.  Potter tried out a small, nervous laugh.  Owen continued to gape at him.  Harry could feel Stoneburne slipping into father mode (much different than daddy mode) before the man even opened his mouth.

"Honestly, Mr. Potter, you've got to be more careful about doing these sorts of things in the public eye!"

"I dunno," Harry bluffed, trying to put a happy face on things.  "I mean, in a hundred years or so, I might be thrilled to have once had my naked ass printed and circulated around the world."

"You have to demand a retraction, and an apology," Stoneburne insisted.

"Are you kidding?  I want to personally shake the hand of whoever doctored that photograph," Harry chuckled. 

It was almost at that very instant that they heard an apparent army of people beginning their march up his tower steps.  Harry's bravado was starting to melt down into his fuzzy slippers.  The fireplace burst to life with a rippling wave of green.  The head of Minerva McGonagall appeared.  Her eyes were the size and shape of fine china, and her face was about the same color. 

"Harry Potter!"

"I'll be in the shower," Harry squeaked, running full speed for the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself. 

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